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THE  JAPANESE  LETTERS  OF LAFCADIO  HEARN THE  'JAPANESE  LETTERS  • OF LAECADIO  HEARN ttSULLs^-** EDITED  WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION  BY ELIZABETH  BISLAND WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY Biticrjsibc  prcitf  Cambribge ,«t 5 COPYRIGHT,   IQIO,  BY  ELIZABETH  BISLAND  WETMORB ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED Published  November  igio PREFACE SHORTLY  after  the  death  of  Lafcadio  Hearn,  Edmund Clarence  Stedman  said :  — "  Hearn  will  become  in  time  as  much  of  a  romantic personality  and  tradition  as  Poe  now  is." If  this  prophecy  is  to  be  fulfilled  'tis  desirable that  the  tradition  should  be  based  on  truth. The  Poe  legend  springs  in  the  main  from  the  im pression  conveyed  by  his  first  biographer,  Griswold, and  it  is  now  generally  accepted  that  Griswold's  un friendly  animus  so  distorted  the  facts  of  the  poet's life  as  to  give  of  the  man  an  idea  both  false  and  in jurious. A  tradition,  however,  once  set  on  foot  and  made viable,  dies  hard.  Our  poor  humanity  is  ever  willing to  fancy  a  biographer  more  impartial  and  accurate when  he  reveals  and  analyzes  faults,  than  when  he dwells  on  the  virtues  and  nobility  of  his  subject. Lombroso,  Nordau,  and  their  school,  have  inclined the  multitude  to  believe  every  man  of  genius  more or  less  morbid  and  abnormal,  and  when  the  ordinary "defects  of  the  qualities"  of  a  famous  man  are  inter preted  as  signs  of  degeneracy  the  public  is  prone  to feel  it  is  at  last  getting  "The  Real  John  Smith," "The  Real  Robert  Robertson."  As  if  there  were some  greater  veracity  in  faultiness  than  in  goodness, in  weakness  than  in  strength! 242352 vi  PREFACE In  the  preface  to  "The  Life  and  Letters  of  Laf- cadio  Hearn"  occasion  was  taken  to  say  —  "the intention  of  such  part  of  the  book  as  is  my  own  is to  give  a  history  of  the  circumstances  under  which  a great  man  developed  his  genius.  I  have  purposely ignored  all  such  episodes  as  seemed  impertinent  to this  end,  as  from  my  point  of  view  there  seems  a  sort of  gross  curiosity  in  raking  among  such  details  of  a man's  life  as  he  himself  would  wish  ignored.  These  I gladly  leave  to  those  who  enjoy  such  labours." Others,  since  that  paragraph  was  published,  have apparently  found  pleasure  in  this  squalid  industry, and  lest  the  public  should  build  upon  false  sugges tions  an  unveracious  legend  concerning  a  good  man I  have  considered  it  necessary  to  touch  upon  and explain  certain  events  in  Lafcadio  Hearn's  life.  Also to  restate  in  brief  the  facts  concerning  him.  It  is unfortunate  that  this  should  be  requisite,  but  the duty  of  those  who  were  really  acquainted  with Hearn  to  puncture  any  evilly  blown  bubbles  of  sug gestion  and  innuendo,  cannot  rightfully  be  ignored. 1.  First  as  to  his  birth  and  origin:  —  The  story  of these,  as  related  by  himself,  was  carefully  investi gated  at  the  time  of  the  publication  of  his  "Life  and Letters."  It  was  confirmed  in  every  detail  by  means of  family  papers  and  through  information  obtained directly  from  his  half-sisters,  his  brother  and  his cousins.  Without  undue  credulity  it  may  be  sup posed  that  he  himself  and  his  immediate  family knew  the  facts  better  than  some  whose  entire  per sonal  acquaintance  with  Lafcadio  Hearn  extended over  the  period  of  exactly  five  months. PREFACE  vii 2.  His  youth  and  early  influences:  —  I  have  been personally  acquainted  with  the  Hearns  for  many years.  They  are  people  of  birth  and  breeding,  and  up to  his  sixteenth  year — the  formative  period  of  life — Laf cadio  Hearn  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  wealth  and refinement.  That  he  quarrelled  with  his  guardian and  left  home  is  not  remarkable,  as  many  famous and  obscure  men  have  done  the  same  thing  in  the heat  and  inexperience  of  youth. 3.  As  to  his  sight:  —  The  testimony  of  his  school mates  and  family  is  that  it  was  good  until  his  six teenth  year,  when  he  injured  one  eye  in  playing  a game.    And  while  the  health  of  the  other  eye  was much  affected  by  the  strain  of  incessant  study  and work  and  he  was  obliged  to  use  a  powerful  glass when  reading,  yet  his  vision,  with  its  aid,  was  acute and  accurate  for  such  things  as  did  not  require  the close  concentration  demanded  by  print. Among  the  legends  is  a  great  deal  of  fanciful  non sense  wrapped  up  in  the  technical  verbiage  of  the specialist,  which  always  daunts  and  convinces  the ignorant.  But  as  a  fact  Lafcadio  Hearn's  eye troubles  were  not  the  result  of  disease,  and  no  more affected  his  character  and  writing  than  the  deafness of  one  ear  would  have  done. 4.  His  relations  with  women  have  been  treated with  equal  inaccuracy  and  malice  in  this  mass  of  ab surd  "Hearn  legends."   From  the  tone  of  many  of these  aforementioned  "legends"  and  the  press  com ments  one  would  suppose  that  any  irregularity  in the  relations  of  the  sexes  was  something  hitherto unheard  of.    To  put  it  simply,  no  doubt  Lafcadio viii  PREFACE Hearn  did  not  lead  the  life  of  a  Galahad  up  to  the time  of  his  marriage.  But  soon  as  he  had  the  smallest hope  of  being  able  to  support  a  family  he  married  a lady  of  rank  and  high  character,  and  was  a  devoted husband  and  father  to  the  day  of  his  death.  Pro fessor  Basil  Hall  Chamberlain,  whose  testimony will  hardly  be  questioned,  declares  the  Hearn  mar riage  to  have  been  singularly  pure  and  happy. 5.  There  has  been  much  whispering  of  terrible "scandals,"  but  when  analyzed  by  those  who  know the  facts  and  who  cling  to  some  shreds  of  common sense  these  scandals  resolve  themselves  into  this: When  Hearn  first  went  to  Cincinnati  his  poverty  was so  extreme  he  slept  for  a  time  in  an  abandoned  boiler in  a  vacant  lot.  After  he  secured  work  his  home  was a  garret  room  in  a  cheap  boarding-house.  It  was winter,  his  room  unwarmed,  and  his  hours,  owing  to the  nature  of  his  work,  were  irregular.  The  cook  in this  boarding-house  was  a  handsome,  kind-hearted mulatto  girl,  who  kept  his  dinner  warm,  and  allowed him  to  sit  by  her  fire  when  he  came  in  wet  and chilled.  He  was  not  yet  twenty;  he  was  fresh  from England,  where  the  racial  prejudices  of  America were  unknown  and  where  the  sentimentalities  of  the Abolition  party  about  "the  images  of  God  in  ebony" had  not  been  instilled  into  his  mind.  He  apparently drifted  into  some  connection  with  this  girl,  and  with characteristic  chivalry  felt  that  he  owed  her  legal rights  and  applied  for  a  license  to  marry  her.  This was  Hearn's  own  account  of  the  matter,  and  has been  confirmed  by  the  testimony  of  those  who  were best  fitted  to  know  whether  his  statement  was  true. PREFACE  is It  was  a  pathetic,  high-minded  piece  of  quixotism. Would  that  no  man  had  ever  been  less  tender  and honest  with  the  women  of  the  African  race! Hearn's  life  in  New  Orleans  has  been  referred  to  as base  and  gross,  but  the  only  specific  charge  brought is  that  he  was  allied  to  a  Voodoo  priestess.  I  happen to  know  that  this  charge  rests  on  the  fact  that  he was  ordered  to  see  her  for  the  purpose  of  writing  an article  about  her  and  that  he  met  her  exactly  once. When  examined,  most  of  these  whispered  scandals are  found  to  have  an  equally  valuable  and  accurate basis. Several  times  during  his  various  changes  of  lodg ings  in  New  Orleans  Hearn  occupied  rooms  rented  to him  by  coloured  people.  Such  lodgings  were  common enough  in  that  day,  and  were  no  more  unusual  or scandalous  than  are  lodgings  kept  by  Irish  or  Ger man  people  in  New  York.  The  same  was  true  of  the West  Indies,  and  in  such  lodgings  in  Martinique  he fell  ill  of  yellow  fever  and  was  nursed  with  great kindness  and  his  rent  allowed  to  remain  in  arrears until  he  was  able  to  repay  it,  though  he  always  de clared  that  no  money  could  discharge  the  debt  of gratitude.  These  are  the  facts  on  which  are  based the  charges  that  he  "lived  with  negroes." 6.  Certain  portions  of  these  legends  were  given currency  in  a  recent  book  about  Hearn,  the  author of  which  appears  to  have  accepted  them  without  due investigation,  or  to  have  lacked  the  means  of  verify ing  his  statements.  The  writer  is  perhaps  hardly  to be  held  responsible  for  his  rather  regrettable  igno rance  of  the  facts,  as  his  acquaintance  with  Hearn *  PREFACE was  very  short-lived.  It  began  through  a  some what  desultory  correspondence,  and  included  a  visit which  ended  in  a  serious  rupture.  The  author  of  the book  appears  to  nurse  the  impression  that  he  "gave Lafcadio  Hearn  a  soul."  Hearn,  however,  seems never  to  have  been  aware  of  this  debt,  or  else  to  have proved  ungrateful,  since  the  acquaintance  so  soon and  so  abruptly  ended  was  never  renewed. t  So  brief  a  friendship  would  naturally  render  it impossible  for  the  writer  of  the  book  to  acquire  a very  correct  idea  of  the  character  and  antecedents of  his  subject,  and  his  confusion  as  to  the  facts  may therefore  be  passed  over  with  proper  regret  and indulgence. To  sum  up  the  facts  of  Lafcadio  Hearn's  life  as contrasted  with  these  myths:  —  He  was  of  gentle birth  and  lived  amid  refined  surroundings  in  his early  years.  He  left  home  at  sixteen  and  after  many years  of  poverty  and  hard  work  raised  himself  to  the position  of  an  honoured  teacher  in  one  of  the  world's greatest  universities.  He  married  well  and  happily and  was  a  devoted  father  and  husband,  and  he  en riched  English  literature  with  valuable  and  perma nent  contributions. There  is  the  real  story  of  the  man's  life.  That  he had  some  faults  and  some  peculiarities  only  proves him  to  be  like  all  the  rest  of  us,  but  those  who  knew him  intimately  —  not  for  five  months  but  for  the greater  part  of  his  life  —  remember  Lafcadio  Hearn with  profound  affection  and  respect. CONTENTS INTRODUCTION .        .    xv LETTERS  TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN     .        .          1 LETTERS  TO  W.  B.  MASON 399 LETTERS  TO  MRS.  HEARN 439 INDEX      ,...-.•.  .453 ILLUSTRATIONS FOUR  GENERATIONS  (photogravure)          .        .      Frontispiece Robert  T.  Hearn,  Great-grandfather Daniel  J.  Hearn,  Grandfather Charles  Bush  Hearn,  Father  of Lafcadio  Hearn LAFCADIO  HEARN  AT  SIXTEEN  (photogravure)         .        .    xx CRIMEAN  WAR  MEDALS liii Received  for  gallantry  by  Surgeon  Major  Charles  B. Hearn ILLUSTRATION  FOR  "THE  THREE  FISHERS"  .        .  124 From  a  sketch  by  Hearn,  for  use  with  his  Japanese students THE  MOUNTAIN  OF  SKULLS 308 From  a  sketch  by  Hearn JAPAN .        .        .  432 From  a  sketch  by  Hearn INTRODUCTION INTRODUCTION WHEN  the  biography  of  Lafcadio  Hearn  was  planned —  shortly  after  his  death  —  such  a  wealth  of  his letters  was  accumulated,  and  these  so  fully  and  bril liantly  revealed  the  nature  of  the  writer,  that  the work  of  the  memorialist  was  reduced  to  little  more than  explaining  and  arranging  the  rich  material ready  to  hand. The  reception  by  the  public  of  this  self -told  me moir  set  him  at  once  in  the  foremost  ranks  of  the world's  great  letter- writers.  Since  its  appearance new  stores  of  his  correspondence  have  come  to  light, sufficient  to  justify  adding  a  third  volume  to  the  two previously  published. So  unflagging  was  Hearn's  zest,  so  instinctively did  he  turn  to  each  of  his  friends  a  different  phase  of his  mind,  that  these  additions  to  the  previous  collec tion  have  none  of  the  quality  of  those  "sweepings" too  often  put  forth  to  dim  a  writer's  fame  after  his best  has  been  garnered. The  bulk  of  these  newly  discovered  letters  was addressed  to  Professor  Basil  Hall  Chamberlain,  to whom,  more  than  to  any  of  his  correspondents,  he gave  his  best  and  richest  efforts.  And  in  them  is shown  perhaps  better  than  anywhere  else,  the  wide range  of  his  mental  excursions,  his  insatiable  intel lectual  curiosity,  the  dignity  and  beauty  of  his  char- xviii  INTRODUCTION acter,  the  gradual  deepening  and  purifying  with time  of  the  graver  aspects  of  his  thought.  Also  they demonstrate  how  inexhaustible  to  this  "literary monk"  was  the  delight  and  inspiration  of  intimate communion  and  spiritual  fellowship.  Their  mutual interests  in  all  things  Japanese  permitted  Hearn  to write  to  Professor  Chamberlain  with  full  assurance of  comprehension  and  sympathy.  It  was  unneces sary  to  interrupt  the  flow  of  his  thought  for  explana tions  to  one  so  familiar  with  the  environment  in which  he  moved  and  felt,  and  though  their  opinions and  convictions  varied  on  many  points,  Professor Chamberlain,  he  knew,  had  that  fine  mental  hospi tality  capable  of  welcoming  with  warm  pleasure tenets  foreign  to  his  own  trend  of  conclusions. The  greater  number  of  these  Chamberlain  letters were  sent  from  Kumamoto,  where  Hearn  was  teach ing  in  the  Government  school  and  was  becoming acquainted  —  much  to  his  own  disgust  —  with  the newer,  occidentalized  Japan.  He  was  revising  those first  delighted  impressions  received  in  old-world Izumo,  where  the  feudal  life  of  the  pre-Meiji  period still  lingered,  with  its  honourable  sweetness  and  sim plicities.  He  was  meeting  again  the  hardness  of modern  competitive  life,  from  which  he  had  escaped a  while  in  a  remote  province;  and  was  gradually forgetting  that  all  too  brief  faery  episode  in  which, for  the  only  time  in  his  life,  he  found  himself  at home  and  at  peace. One  of  the  intimate  charms  of  letters  lies  in  their freedom  from  any  "body  of  doctrine."  Through  all the  more  formal  literature  a  man  may  create  runs INTRODUCTION  xix instinctively,  and  of  necessity,  a  thread  of  consist ency.  Having  maintained  a  certain  thesis,  the  con sciousness  of  having  once  assumed  an  attitude,  or announced  an  opinion,  constrains  the  omission  of any  expression  of  a  contradiction  of  it.  Yet  the  very act  of  announcing  and  defending  a  position  exhausts the  impulse  momentarily,  and  a  reaction  inevitable ensues.  In  these  letters  this  apparent  inconsistency is  frankly  displayed.  Having  written  two  volumes of  his  first  impressions  and  delights  in  the  land  of his  adoption,  one  sees  the  enthusiast  stretch  himself after  the  long,  cramping  task,  and  exclaim  with whimsical  heartiness,  "D — n  the  Japanese!" How  little  he  ever  anticipated  publicity  for  these frank  outpourings  of  his  feelings  and  thoughts  is proved  by  just  such  outbursts.  And,  no  doubt  for that  very  reason,  it  has  been  through  these  fluent, unbridled  expressions  of  the  mutabilities  of  his moods  that  he  has  found  so  much  wider  and  more appreciative  an  audience  than  he  was  able  to  reach in  his  life-time.  Those  who  have  come  to  know  the richly  human  nature  of  the  man  have  turned  with new  appetite  to  his  serious,  purposeful  works. Great  letter-writers,  like  other  artists,  must  needs have  the  original  birth  gift;  but  this  gift,  to  ripen  to complete  fruition,  requires  certain  fostering  circum stances.  Lacking  these  compelling  forces,  possessors of  this  charming  art  let  it  languish  for  want  of  con stant  use.  Some  loneliness  of  character  or  of  cir cumstance  there  must  be  to  make  it  a  needed  re source.  Either  shyness  or  a  lack  of  the  power  of  oral expression  drives  the  letter-writer  to  his  pen  for  the xx  INTRODUCTION expression  of  his  intimate  self;  or  lack  of  sympa thetic  companionship  obliges  him  to  send  his  fancies far  afield  for  that  echo  without  which  his  thoughts seem  to  him  as  unresonant  as  "ditties  of  no  tone." Madame  de  Sevigne  and  Lord  Chesterfield  were both  reputed  stiff  and  dry  in  conversation.  Fitz- Gerald  was  exaggeratedly  diffident.  Lamb's  family sorrows  forced  him  to  turn  to  others  for  intimate intercourse;  and  the  same  was  true  of  Thackeray. Stevenson's  long  exile  made  his  pen  his  best  means of  fellowship. All  these  conditions  combined  to  make  of  Lafcadio Hearn  a  creator  of  famous  letters.  His  shyness  was extreme.  His  life,  from  his  nineteenth  year,  was  a sojourn  in  foreign  lands.  Without  family  ties  for twenty  years,  those  ties,  when  formed  in  middle  age, bound  him  to  aliens  in  race  and  tongue.  He  never mastered  Japanese  sufficiently  to  express  his  thoughts freely  and  completely  in  the  language  of  his  wife  and children.  Though,  as  with  most  of  the  great  letter- writers,  literature  was  his  profession,  the  writing  of books  is  a  formal  expression :  an  episode  in  which  the artist  walks  on  cothurns,  and  speaks  through  a  mask to  a  large,  dimly  realized  audience.  Intimate  com munication,  mental  companionship,  could  be  had only  by  letters.  Through  this  medium  only  could  he find  an  adequate  outlet  for  the  crowding  flood  of  his emotions,  observations,  and  reflections.  And  through this  vent  he  let  them  flow  with  astonishing  fulness and  intensity. For  one  who  wrote  with  such  conscientious  labour, such  almost  agonized  care,  the  number  and  richness INTRODUCTION  cd of  his  letters  is  the  more  surprising.  At  times  he wrote  to  some  one  of  his  correspondents  almost daily,  and  at  great  length.  After  a  day  of  teaching, or  of  many  hours  of  drudgery  at  uncongenial  jour nalism,  he  would  bend  himself  to  further  long  hours of  intense  toil  at  creative  work,  and  at  the  end  of  all throw  off  page  after  page  to  some  friend,  describing his  travels,  retailing  the  touching  or  amusing  inci dents  of  the  life  about  him,  or  discussing  the  books recently  read;  analyzing  the  condition  of  public affairs  (some  of  his  political  predictions  have  been curiously  verified),  the  trend  of  education,  the  char acters  of  his  associates.  Little  vignettes  of  men  he had  known  would  be  sketched  in  a  few  lines  of subtle  and  conclusive  portraiture.  Reminiscence  of past  impressions  and  experiences,  philosophic  specu lation,  daring  psychological  conjecture,  criticism, comment,  suggestion,  were  poured  out,  according  to his  mood,  without  stint  or  haste  —  as  only  the  born letter- writer  can  find  the  energy  and  desire  to  do. It  has  been  maliciously  suggested  that  Hearn "used  his  correspondent  as  a  method  of  exercising his  own  fancy,  as  a  gymnastics  in  putting  his  imagi nation  through  its  paces,  or  for  a  preliminary sketching  in  of  notes  to  be  of  possible  use  in  later serious  work."  What  is  plainly  evident  is  that  he wrote  in  the  "profuse  strains  of  unpremeditated art,"  and  as  he  wrote  there  was  foreshadowed  in these  flying  moments  many  of  the  points  of  serious interest  occupying  his  attention,  which  in  time fructified  in  his  published  work. Certainly  no  one  ever  so  completely  revealed xxii  INTRODUCTION every  quality  of  his  mind,  his  character,  his  modes of  thought,  his  opinions,  interests,  affections,  and convictions  in  a  correspondence  as  did  Lafcadio Hearn.  From  his  letters  it  would  be  possible  for  one who  had  never  known  him  to  entirely  reconstruct  an accurate  account  of  his  origin,  early  life,  adven tures,  tendencies,  and  the  gradual  growth  of* his mental  and  spiritual  life.  All  that  the  average  indi vidual  dissipates  in  spoken  words  is  here  indelibly recorded.  He  painted  his  own  portrait,  builded  his own  imperishable  monument.  The  very  fulness  and completeness  of  the  record  might,  however,  easily leave  him  the  prey  of  misinterpretation.  Moods  of discouragement,  of  listlessness,  of  bitterness,  of doubt,  of  resentment,  all  find  their  expression. Those  black  hours  of  self -chastisement,  of  acknow ledgement  of  failure  and  wrong,  through  which  all candid  souls  must  pass  when  contemplating  the height  of  their  generous  ideals  as  contrasted  with the  spiritual  achievements  realized,  —  which  with most  of  us  evaporate  in  silence,  —  were  by  Hearn set  down  in  black  and  white.  The  rebellion  of  youth against  the  old  careful,  dry  wisdom  of  the  world instead  of  escaping  in  the  froth  of  boy's  talk,  was crystallized  ,by  his  pen.  Juvenile,  unripe  criticism was  thus  saved.  The  ardours  and  passions,  the restlessness  under  middle-aged  pudencies  which young  men  boastfully  exchange,  with  hot  cheeks and  shining  eyes,  over  their  first  cigars,  were  dashed down  by  this  lonely  lad  at  midnight  in  solitary lodgings,  to  be  preserved  for  as  long  as  the  world remembers  his  name.  All  the  languors,  the  curiosi- INTRODUCTION  xxiii ties,  the  wild  flights  of  youthful  fancy,  all  the  fa tigues,  the  disenchantments,  the  bitternesses  of middle  age, — such  as  volatilize  with  others  in  care less  spoken  confidence,  —  were  given  permanent form  in  his  correspondence.  It  will  always  be  pos sible  for  the  stodgy  or  the  malicious  to  misconstrue these  intimate  self-revelations.  But  happily  along side  of  these  —  to  enlighten  the  wise  and  the  sym pathetic  —  are  recorded  as  well  the  humilities,  the reverence,  the  enthusiasms  of  youth;  the  constant growth  toward  nobility  and  strength  as  the  years fled.  And  as  time  passes  the  ever-flowing  deposi tion  shows  how  the  young  soul  sloughed  its  igno rances  and  weaknesses,  and  yearly  grew  calmer, larger,  wiser,  and  tenderer. It  is  very  probable  that  in  time  these  letters  will come  to  be  considered  the  greatest,  the  most  valua ble  work  of  Lafcadio  Hearn's  life.  Since  in  them  is recorded,  in  a  fashion  very  rare,  very  remarkable,  a Man.  They  will  be  valued  as  one  of  the  great  human documents,  one  of  the  great  human  portraits  of literature.  Greater  than  the  self-revealment  of  Rous seau's  "  Confessions,"  or  Amiel's  "Journal,"  because any  "Confession"  must  be  limited  by  a  certain  self- consciousness,  a  certain  sense  of  literary  form  and continuity.  Only  in  such  letters  —  expressing  the emotions  and  interests  of  the  moment,  thrown  off with  no  sense  of  continuity,  written  to  so  many  and various  correspondents,  and  covering  so  long  a period  of  time  —  could  have  been  so  artlessly  and completely  expressed  a  man's  inmost,  and  always changing  self.  They  are  more  interesting  too  than xxiv  INTRODUCTION the  self-revelations  of  either  Rousseau  or  Amiel, because  recording  a  so  much  more  lovable,  a  so much  stronger  character  ;  depicting  a  man,  despite his  marked  personality,  so  much  nearer  in  sympathy with  the  average  than  either  of  his  predecessors. No  parent  can  read  Hearn's  record  of  his  love  and anxious  care  for  his  son  without  emotion  —  the parental  emotion  that  neither  Amiel  nor  Rousseau ever  knew.  No  wife  can  become  familiar  with Hearn's  sacrifices  for  the  happiness  and  safety  of his  wife,  his  constant,  tender,  and  reverent  refer ences  to  her,  read  his  little  affectionate  daily  notes, when  absent,  to  "Mama  San,"  without  respect  and admiration.  No  woman  can  read  his  letters  to  a Japanese  friend  (pp.  415-422,  Vol.  II)  without  as tonishment  at  his  insight  into  the  hearts  of  women. His  letters  to  his  sister  —  unfortunately  absent from  this  collection  —  are  a  poignant  revelation  of his  long-expressed  yearning  for  the  ties  of  blood  — those  ties  worn  so  carelessly  by  the  general.  Though seemingly  recklessly  abandoned  by  his  mother  his every  reference  to  her  is  instinct  with  protective, forgiving  love. His  letters  to  his  friends,  both  men  and  women, display  a  thousand  charming  qualities :  —  modesty, affection,  sympathy,  gaiety,  humour,  and  an  unre flecting  richness  of  giving  of  his  mental  and  spirit ual  best,  never  stinted  by  the  indolence  or  aridity that  desiccates  so  much  of  human  intercourse. I  The  very  highest  notes  of  his  capacity  for  both good  and  error  will  probably  never  see  the  light. Such  complete  revelations  of  the  innermost  quali- INTRODUCTION XXV ties  of  a  human  soul  should,  perhaps,  always  be spared  the  cold  glare  of  printed  publicity.  Yet  these deep  lines  "bring  up"  the  self -pain  ted  portrait  into the  rounded  vivid  truth,  and  it  is  almost  possible  to regret  that  it  is  not  desirable  to  give  the  pages  in which  he  lays  bare  the  potentialities  of  renunciation and  courage  within  him,  or  to  print  the  vitriolic  re sentment  of  which  he  was  capable  under  a  sense  of injustice  and  wrong.  —  Both  were  very  character istic  of  his  temperament  —  the  capacity  to  sacrifice passion  for  an  ideal  of  beauty  and  truth  —  the power  of  concentrated  fury  at  offences  over  which the  ordinary  man  would  merely  shrug  an  ironic shoulder. It  is  one  of  the  quaintest  pranks  of  that  incor rigible  Jester,  Fate,  that  this  intimate  portrait  of Lafcadio  Hearn  should  have  unwittingly  been  drawn with  his  own  pen.  Nothing  could  have  been  further from  his  intention.  Publicity  was  abhorrent  to  him in  all  matters  relating  to  his  own  personality.  He would  have  liked  to  be  for  the  public  only  a  voice issuing  from  the  privacy  of  invisibility.  He  says somewhere,  "I  should  wish  to  be  merely  a  handful of  dust  in  a  little  earthen  pot,  hid  under  the  grass where  no  one  knows."  And  had  he  ever  dreamed that  his  letters  might  become  famous  they  would never  have  been  written.  It  would  have  seemed  in credible  to  him  that  he  could  become  a  subject  for myths;  that  his  own  voice  should  have  been  the  one to  arouse  the  critical  world  to  open  his  books,  and that  his  personality  should  so  appeal  to  other  men that  it  will  probably  remain  a  source  of  endless  con- xxvi  INTRODUCTION tention,  of  ever-fresh  interest,  as  the  vivid  person alities  always  do.  Those  strong  peculiarly  vital natures  for  which  death  has  no  sting  —  over  whom the  grave  has  no  victory;  in  even  whose  ashes  "live their  wonted  fires." It  has  been  asked  by  those,  not  subjected  to  the spell  of  his  personality,  in  what  consisted  this  com pelling  element?  And  what  did  he  give  to  the  world in  his  completed  work  which  constitutes  a  claim upon  its  serious  attention? To  endeavour  to  answer  these  quite  legitimate queries  is  the  purpose  of  this  introduction  to  the third  volume  of  his  letters. To  analyze  personality  is  always  a  difficult  task. It  is  a  savour  that  must  be  tasted,  a  perfume  inhaled, a  colour  seen  for  one's  self.  —  Neither  perfume, flavour,  nor  hue  can  be  adequately  conveyed  by words.  —  But  the  two  most  salient  qualities  of  Laf- cadio  Hearn's  personality  may  be  separated  from the  whole  gamut  of  notes  and  defined  as  artistic rectitude,  and  an  unusual  sensitiveness. From  the  first  his  calling  and  election  was  sure. Many  find  their  life's  real  purpose  by  accident. Their  craft  is  driven  by  baffling  airs  along  a  half dozen  courses  until  the  wind  of  destiny  fills  their sails  and  sets  them  towards  the  preordained  goal  of their  being,  but  Hearn  seems  never  to  have  suffered from  any  uncertainty  as  to  his  task  as  an  artificer  in words.  Even  his  queer,  helpless  little  endeavours  at business  were  only  undertaken  in  the  hope  of  buying leisure  for  his  real  vocation;  — he  says  in  one  place, — INTRODUCTION  xxvii "The  problem  of  mere  daily  existence  has  all  my life  stared  me  in  the  face  with  eyes  of  iron."  He was  hardly  more  than  a  boy  when  he  had  formed  an ideal  of  using  the  English  language  to  express  the warmth  and  colour  of  his  thoughts,  as  he  felt  the modern  masters  of  French  prose  had  done  in  their own  tongue.  Gautier,  Flaubert,  de  Musset,  Hugo, were  his  models.  The  Victorians,  with  their  large, careless,  unacademic  manner,  had  no  charm  for him.  His  desire  was  towards  the  ornate,  the  flori ated,  the  exotic,  but  he  wished  to  convey  his  sense of  it  by  means  exquisite,  highly  wrought,  and  per fectly  finished.  The  creators  of  the  French  Gothic had  the  same  spirit.  Images  monstrous,  bizarre, grotesque,  fascinated  their  imagination,  but  this was  from  no  instinct  of  morbidness;  they  had  the joy  of  the  artist  in  these  things;  shaping  them  per fectly,  delicately,  lovingly,  so  that  their  great  monu ments  had  their  large  majestic  lines  wreathed  with  a thousand  fantasies  strange,  terrible,  and  wholly beautiful.  Hearn  says,  by  the  way,  of  Gothic  archi tecture:  —  "It  is  the  only  architecture  that  is  really alive.  Victor  Hugo  perceived  one  phase  of  it;  —  not the  beautiful,  but  the  awful,  —  the  sense  it  gives one  of  its  being  the  skeleton  of  some  tremendous animal.  Certainly  within  it  is  all  bone  and  tendon, jointings,  articulations,  ribbings,  vertebrae,  —  pro cesses  fantastic  and  innumerable.  Without,  it  is  a hymn  whose  strophes  rise  and  burn  to  heaven  as flame,  —  it  is  a  conflagration  of  aspirement  in stone."  The  Japanese,  whom  he  was  to  know  so well,  had  also  this  sense  of  the  strange  and  grotesque xxviii  INTRODUCTION married  with  a  love  of  perfection  and  exquisiteness in  detail.  Pater,  speaking  of  this  love  of  the  roman tics  for  the  exotic,  the  grotesque,  says:  —  "If  the union  of  strangeness  and  beauty,  under  very  diffi cult  and  complex  conditions,  be  a  successful  one,  if the  union  be  entire,  then  the  resultant  beauty  is very  exquisite,  very  attractive.  With  a  passionate care  for  beauty,  the  romantic  spirit  refuses  to  have it  unless  the  condition  of  strangeness  first  be  ful filled.  Its  desire  is  for  a  beauty  born  of  unlikely elements,  by  a  profound  alchemy,  by  a  difficult initiation,  by  the  charm  which  wrings  it  even  out  of terrible  things." The  self -discipline  of  the  artist  who  begrudges  no pains  for  perfection,  has  grown  rare,  even  in  Japan. To  our  hurried  age,  which  clamours  for  immediate, ponderable  results,  such  patience  seems  wasteful and  absurd.  —  (Noguchi  speaks  of  his  "spendthrift habit  of  thought  and  art. ")  —  But  Lafcadio  Hearn appears  never  to  have  doubted  of  his  real  purpose. Throughout  all  his  self-revelations,  through  the turmoil  of  the  wavering  dreams  of  youth,  through discouragements,  despairs,  ill  health,  through  the lapse  of  years,  he  never  lost  the  vision  of  his  ideal  to do  whatever  he  did  perfectly.  That  he  could  count upon  no  recognition  in  his  life-time,  that  what  he had  laboured  upon  seemed  destined  to  be  forgotten and  ignored  could  not  alter  his  intent.  Another  man driven  in  like  manner  inexorably  by  the  Spirit  had cried,  "God  help  me,  I  can  do  no  other  !"  .  .  . This  concentration,  this  intensity,  this  willing  pas sionate  labour  to  an  end  that  brought  him  neither INTRODUCTION  xxix worldly  goods  (about  $500  a  year  was  the  average income  from  his  writings),  nor  in  his  life-time  more than  the  slightest  modicum  of  fame,  is  the  vertebra of  Lafcadio  Hearn's  character.  Upon  it  all  the  rest of  his  personality  is  built.  And  this  integration  of purpose  for  an  ideal  end  is  so  rare  that  the  person ality  of  which  it  is  a  dominant  factor  cannot  be ignored.  It  is  the  same  stuff  out  of  which  are  made great  scientists  and  great  saints.  To  those  who  can see  no  purpose  in  giving  one's  whole  life  to  attain artistic  excellence  in  the  expression  of  thought  and emotion  Lafcadio  Hearn's  personality  will  convey no  meaning,  in  them  it  will  awake  no  enthusiasm. All  such  feel  a  certain  restlessness  and  resentment  at the  emotion  this  quality  arouses  in  others.  But those  capable  of  being  touched  and  stirred  by  such  a nature  will  brush  away  the  "impertinences"  and find  inspiration  and  stimulus  in  the  personality  of Lafcadio  Hearn. His  sensitiveness  —  of  which  so  much  has  been said  —  was  an  essential  factor  of  his  artistic  con science.  What  he  felt  with  such  extraordinary  emo tion,  perceived  with  such  clearness  and  intensity, could  be  adequately  expressed  only  by  supreme  en deavour.  No  slovenly,  careless  methods  could  at  all convey  the  depth  and  subtilty  of  such  perceptions. He  was  abnormally  responsive  to  the  faintest wind  of  beauty. Mon  coeur  est  un  luth  suspendu, Sitot  qu'on  le  louche  il  resonne. But  those  lute  strings  of  his  heart,  keyed  to  an exquisite  pitch,  answered  to  the  breathings  of  life xxx  INTRODUCTION only  in  the  most  delicate  and  intricate  harmonies. No  slurring,  no  slackness  was  tolerable  to  him. Nothing  but  pure  tone  —  what  the  musicians  call the  just,  or  perfect  temperament  —  was  accepted. The  labour  expended  in  trying  a  phrase  over  and over  till  it  could  express  things  seemingly  inexpres sible,  was  almost  inconceivable  to  one  who  had  never seen  his  original  working  manuscripts. A  friend  wrote  to  him  to  express  the  peculiar pleasure  awakened  by  the  concluding  paragraph  of the  paper  on  dragon-flies  in  the  volume  called "Kotto." .  .  .  "Then  let  me  hope  that  the  state  to  which  I am  destined  will  not  be  worse  than  that  of  a  cicada or  of  a  dragon-fly:  —  climbing  the  cryptomerias  to clash  my  tiny  cymbals  in  the  sun,  or  haunting  the holy  silence  of  lotus  pools  with  a  soundless  flicker  of amethyst  and  gold."  He  replied  that  he  had  written and  rewritten  that  conclusion  seventeen  times  be fore  he  had  been  able  to  express  to  his  own  satisfac tion  the  impression  in  his  mind.  And  in  one  of  his letters  to  Professor  Chamberlain  he  says:  — "I  could  not  make  150  printed  12mo  pages  in less  than  four  months  under  very  favourable  cir cumstances  and  with  the  hardest  work.  Besides  I was  speaking  of  forced  composition.  Inspirational work,  emotional  work,  is  just  twenty  times  harder if  it  can  be  measured  at  all.  Too  much  importance cannot  be  attached  to  the  value  of  emotion,  —  the 'kernel,'  as  you  so  aptly  term  it.  But  this  comes only  as  a  feeling.  To  perfectly  disengage  it  (le  de- gager),  develop  it,  discover  its  meaning,  focus  it,  is INTRODUCTION  xxxi killing  work.  There  is  delight  in  looking  at  the  re sult,  but  that  is  obtained  only  by  actually  giving one's  blood  for  it."  .  .  . Noguchi  says  of  Hearn:  — "Writing  was  for  him  no  light  work,  he  wrote  with his  life  and  blood." How  steeped  he  became  in  words,  how  they  grew for  him  to  have  the  quality  of  actual  objects  with form  and  colour,  he  explains  in  one  of  his  letters  —  a letter  which,  by  the  way,  is  a  delightful  example  of his  gay  intoxication  with  an  idea.  A  verbal  inebria tion  more  often  exhibited  in  conversation  with  his intimates  towards  the  small  hours  of  the  night, when  the  fumes  of  words  mounted  to  his  brain,  and he  bewitched  his  hearers  with  the  bubbling  flow  of his  talk  —  his  shyness  momentarily  forgotten. .  .  .  For  me  words  have  colour,  form,  charac ter:  They  have  faces,  ports,  manners,  gesticula tions;  —  they  have  moods,  humours,  eccentricities: —  they  have  tints,  tones,  personalities.   That  they are  unintelligible  makes  no  difference  at  all.  Whether you  are  able  to  speak  to  a  stranger  or  not,  you  can't help  being  impressed  by  his  appearance  sometimes, —  by  his  dress,  —  by  his  air,  —  by  his  exotic  look. He  is  also  unintelligible,  but  not  a  whit  less  inter esting.  Nay  he  is  interesting  BECAUSE  he  is  unintel ligible.  —  I  won't  cite  other  writers  who  have  felt the   same  way  about   African,  Chinese,  Arabian, Hebrew,  Tartar,  Indian  and  Basque  words,  —  I mean  novelists  and  sketch-writers. To  such  it  has  been  justly  observed:  —  "The xxxii  INTRODUCTION readers  do  not  feel  as  you  do  about  words.  They can't  be  supposed  to  know  that  you  think  the  letter A  is  blush-crimson,  and  the  letter  E  pale  sky-blue. They  can't  be  supposed  to  know  that  you  think  KH wears  a  beard  and  a  turban;  that  the  initial  X  is  a mature  Greek  with  wrinkles;  —  or  that  *  —  NO — ' has  an  innocent,  lovable,  and  childlike  aspect." All  this  is  true  from  the  critic's  standpoint. But  from  ours,  —  the  standpoint  of  — —  the  Dreamer  of  Dreams To  whom  what  is  and  what  seems Is  often  one  and  the  same,  — to  us  the  idea  is  thus:  — Because  people  cannot  see  the  colour  of  words, the  tints  of  words,  the  secret  ghostly  motions  of words;  — Because  they  cannot  hear  the  whispering  of words,  the  rustling  of  the  procession  of  letters,  the dream-flutes  and  dream-drums  which  are  thinly  and weirdly-played  by  words;  — Because  they  cannot  perceive  the  pouting  of words,  the  frowning  and  fuming  of  words,  the weeping,  the  raging  and  racketing  and  rioting  of words;  — Because  they  are  insensible  to  the  phosphorescing of  words,  the  fragrance  of  words,  the  noisomeness  of words,  the  tenderness  or  hardness,  the  dryness  or juiciness  of  words,  —  the  interchange  of  values  in the  gold,  the  silver,  the  brass  and  the  copper  of words,  — Is  that  any  reason  why  we  should  not  try  to  make them  hear,  to  make  them  see,  to  make  them  feel?  — INTRODUCTION  xxxiii Surely  one  who  has  never  heard  Wagner,  cannot appreciate  Wagner  without  study.  Why  should  the people  not  be  forcibly  introduced  to  foreign  words, —  as  they  were  introduced  to  tea  and  coffee  and tobacco? Unto  which  the  friendly  reply  is,  —  "Because they  won't  buy  your  book,  and  you  won't  make  any money." And  I  say:  —  "Surely  I  have  never  yet  made,  and never  expect  to  make  any  money.  Neither  do  I  ex pect  to  write  ever  for  the  multitude.  I  write  for beloved  friends  who  can  see  colour  in  words,  can smell  the  perfume  in  syllables  in  blossom,  can  be shocked  with  the  fine  elfish  electricity  of  words. And  in  the  eternal  order  of  things,  words  will  even tually  have  their  rights  recognized  by  the  people." All  this  is  heresy.  But  a  bad  reason,  you  will grant,  is  better  than  —  &c. Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. All  of  his  published  works,  the  whole  of  his  great mass  of  letters  is  a  record  of  sensitiveness  of  percep tion  of  life,  of  ideas,  of  the  visible  and  invisible world. Maimed  in  his  vision  while  still  a  lad  almost  to the  point  of  blindness,  Hearn  struggled  the  rest  of his  years  with  myopia,  and  walked  always  in  terror of  imminent  darkness.  Yet  the  general  sense  left upon  the  mind  by  his  whole  body  of  work  is  of colour.  The  brain  behind  those  eyes  so  near  to  in competence  was  a  seeing  mind,  and  through  an  in- xxxiv  INTRODUCTION efficient  medium  he  perceived,  as  few  men  have done,  every  iridescence  of  his  surroundings.  Not  a shimmer  or  a  glory  escaped  him.  From  his  books might  be  gathered  a  delightful  anthology  of  the beauty  of  tint,  of  form,  of  shadow,  of  line.  No  love liness  was  too  subtile,  too  evanescent,  too  minute, to  be  recognized  by  those  dim  and  straining eyes. And  in  his  letters,  again  and  again,  some  fairness, so  fine  as  to  go  unperceived  by  the  stronger-vis- ioned,  is  commented  upon  with  pleasure.  His  per ception  of  the  delicate  groove  in  the  Japanese  eyelid, mentioned  in  one  of  the  letters  of  this  volume,  is  one of  those  feats  of  observation  which  so  often  startled his  better-sighted  but  duller-visioned  friends.  Again, note  his  "living  statues  of  gold,  with  blue  hair,  like the  Carib  half-breeds." One  with  the  patient  curiosity  to  follow  up  these revelations  of  a  sort  of  "second-sight,"  of  delicate intensity,  throughout  his  writings,  might  find  almost sufficient  testimony  to  prove  that  only  through  his myopic  eyes  could  one  learn  wholly  to  see  the  com plete  beauty  of  our  earth. Nor  was  it  alone  the  things  small  and  near  he  saw. What  Mrs.  Hearn  quaintly  calls  his  "nose-glass" was  in  constant  use  for  immediate  objects,  and  she comments  upon  the  extreme  quickness  of  his  ob servation.  One  glance  through  it  appeared  to  give him  a  thousand  details.  In  his  pocket  he  constantly carried  a  small,  but  quite  powerful  folding  telescope, which  also  made  him  intimate  with  the  distance. Through  it  he  marked  all  the  aerial  glories  of  tropic INTRODUCTION XXXV days,  all  the  "sweet  glamours,"  the  "translucence milky  and  soft"  of  Japan.  Pages  140-141  in  the  first volume  of  "Glimpses  of  Unfamiliar  Japan,"  show how  he  could  see  and  feel  a  landscape. .  .  .  "Roused  thus  by  these  earliest  sounds  of  the city's  wakening  life,  I  slide  open  my  little  Japanese paper  window  to  look  out  upon  the  morning  over  a soft  green  cloud  of  spring  foliage  rising  from  the river-bounded  garden  below.  Before  me,  tremu lously  mirroring  everything  upon  its  farther  side, glimmers  the  wide  glassy  mouth  of  the  Ohashigawa, opening  into  the  great  Shinji  lake,  which  spreads out  broadly  to  the  right  in  a  dim  grey  frame  of peaks.  Just  opposite  me  across  the  stream,  the blue-pointed  Japanese  dwellings  have  their  to  all closed;  they  are  still  shut  up  like  boxes  for  it  is  not yet  day. "But  oh,  the  charm  of  the  vision,  — those  first ghostly  love  colours  of  a  morning  steeped  in  mist soft  as  sleep  itself  resolved  into  a  visible  exhalation ! Long  reaches  of  faintly-tinted  vapour  cloud  the  far lake  verge,  —  long  nebulous  bands,  such  as  you  may have  seen  in  old  Japanese  picture-books,  and  must have  deemed  only  artistic  whimsicalities  unless  you had  previously  looked  upon  the  real  phenomena. All  the  bases  of  the  mountain  are  veiled  by  them, and  they  stretch  athwart  the  loftier  peaks  at  differ ent  heights  like  immeasurable  lengths  of  gauze  .  .  . so  that  the  lake  appears  larger  than  it  really  is,  and not  an  actual  lake,  but  a  beautiful  spectral  sea  of the  same  tint  as  the  dawn-sky  and  mixing  with  it, while  peak  tips  rise  like  islands  from  the  brume  .  .  . xxxvi  INTRODUCTION an  exquisite  chaos,  ever  changing  aspect  as  the delicate  fogs  rise,  slowly,  very  slowly. "  As  the  sun's  yellow  rim  comes  into  sight,  fine  thin lines  of  a  warmer  tone  —  spectral  violets  and  opal ines  —  shoot  across  the  flood,  treetops  take  tender fire,  and  the  unpainted  facades  of  high  edifices across  the  water  change  their  wood  colour  to  va poury  gold  through  the  delicious  haze. "Looking  sunward  up  the  long  Ohashigawa,  be yond  the  many-pillared  wooden  bridge,  one  high pooped  junk,  just  hoisting  sail,  seems  to  me  the most  fantastically  beautiful  craft  I  ever  saw,  —  a dream  of  Orient  seas,  so  idealized  by  the  vapour  is it;  the  ghost  of  a  junk,  but  a  ghost  that  catches  the light  as  clouds  do;  a  shape  of  gold  mist,  seemingly semi-diaphanous,  and  suspended  in  pale  blue  light." But  not  by  vision  alone  did  he  receive  his  multi tudinous  impressions.  His  writings  are  full  of  an almost  equally  surprising  sensibility  to  sounds  —  to voices  of  frogs,  of  birds,  of  insects,  of  animals,  of human  beings,  of  winds,  and  more  than  all  of  bells. In  many  places  he  speaks  of  these,  and  in  "Kwai- dan"  he  says:  — "...  In  the  boom  of  the  big  bell  there  is  a  tone which  wakens  feelings  so  strangely  far  away  from  all the  nineteenth-century  part  of  me,  that  the  faint blind  stirrings  of  them  make  me  afraid.  Never  do  I hear  the  billowing  peal  but  I  become  aware  of  a stirring  and  a  fluttering  in  the  abyssal  part  of  my ghost,  —  a  sensation  as  of  memories  struggling  to reach  the  light  beyond  the  obscuration  of  a  million deaths  and  births.  .  .  ." INTRODUCTION  xxxvii There  are  constant  records  in  his  writings  of odours  and  perfumes.  Of  smells  of  flowers  and  herbs, smells  of  fruits,  smells  of  flesh,  of  races,  of  incense, of  old  books,  of  all  the  thousand  intimations  seized upon  by  keen  and  delicate  olfactories.  And  he  pos sessed  an  equal  tactile  susceptibility  to  the  touch  of waters,  of  leaves,  of  air,  of  stuffs,  even  of  bodies;  — he  remarks  upon  the  coldness  of  the  skins  of  negroes and  other  tropic  peoples  as  compared  with  those  of races  of  the  temperate  zone,  though  the  blood  of  the former  has  a  permanently  higher  temperature. This  extraordinary  percipiency  of  all  the  senses means,  of  course,  that  the  mind  behind  them  is  of such  activity  as  to  constantly  demand  of  them  their highest  efforts,  and  by  their  help  "such  a  brain  can daily  receive  billions  of  impressions  that  common minds  cannot  receive  in  a  whole  life-time."  .  .  . Every  quality  must  have  its  defects,  and  the  pen alty  of  high  mental  and  nervous  organization  is  a greater  capacity  for  pain,  as  for  pleasure.  Every door  of  sense  and  perception  being  so  wide  open  it was  inevitable  that  the  dweller  within  should  be peculiarly  defenceless  against  the  harsh  or  inimical elements  of  existence.  The  natural,  inevitable  re sult  was  an  exaggerated  timidity  and  shyness,  a tendency  to  suspect  evil  intention  where  there  was merely  rough  good-nature,  or,  at  the  worst,  careless ness.  And  being  without  claws  and  talons  himself he  fled  in  horror  from  those  so  armed,  or  became the  helpless  prey  of  the  fanged  members  of  human society.  This  was  the  reason  he  so  dreaded  arid  dis trusted  the  Western  world  with  its  stern  ruthless xxxviii  INTRODUCTION m£lee  of  competitive  democracy.  This  was  why  he found  such  peace  and  safety,  and  a  new  power  of expansion  in  that  last  survival  of  the  old  feudal  life of  Japan  at  Izumo,  with  its  protected  and  ordered social  organization  from  which  the  struggle  for  life was  in  so  large  a  measure  eliminated,  and  the  fine amenities  of  daily  intercourse  were  raised  to  a  lovely art. Had  Hearn's  life  been  happy  and  fortunate  no doubt  this  extreme  of  sensitiveness  would  have gradually  adapted  itself  better  to  its  environment. But  the  cruel  experiences  of  his  youth  only  exacer bated  it,  until  he  found  himself  driven  to  seek  peace and  safety  in  solitude;  driven  to  evading  even  his friends.  Those  who  really  loved  him  understood  the necessity  of  his  being  what  he  was,  and  realized  that the  very  qualities  that  made  him  rare  and  valuable required  on  their  part  a  special  patience  and  deli cate  tenderness.  They  remembered  that  the  bubble which  mirrors  with  magic  veracity  and  prismatic beauty  a  whole  landscape  is  destroyed  by  a  rude or  careless  touch.  .  .  . Much  of  the  unhappiness  of  his  life  was  caused  by his  own  comprehension  of  his  lack  of  capacity  to  fit easily  into  the  social  organization,  for  his  affections were  as  ardent  and  keen  as  his  perceptions,  and  he cries  with  poignant  regret  and  yearning  in  one  of  his letters:  — .  .  .  "No  one  ever  lived  who  seemed  more  a creature  of  circumstance  than  I;  I  drift  with  various forces  in  the  line  of  least  resistance,  resolve  to  love nothing,  and  love  always  too  much  for  my  own INTRODUCTION  xxxix peace  of  mind,  —  places,  things,  and  persons, — and lo !  presto !  everything  is  swept  away,  and  becomes  a dream,  like  life  itself.  Perhaps  there  will  be  a  great awakening;  and  each  will  cease  to  be  an  Ego:  be come  an  All,  and  will  know  the  divinity  of  man  by seeing,  as  the  veil  falls,  himself  in  each  and  all." And  again  he  says:  — "Perhaps  the  destiny  of  all  is  to  be  molten  by that  mighty  Image-maker,  Death,  into  some  great, sweet,  passionless  unity." But  hopeless  of  any  happy  union  with  the  hurry ing,  indifferent,  rough-fibred  world,  in  which  he  was constantly  at  fault,  constantly  stumbling  and  being wounded,  he  hid  himself  more  and  more  from  it,  and built  himself  a  castle  of  silence  and  solitude  where no  one  was  admitted. Yone  Noguchi,  the  Japanese  poet,  in  his  "Appre ciation"  of  Hearn  has  understood  and  explained. He  says :  — "He  threw  the  world  and  people  out,  and  shut himself  in  his  own  sanctum,  as  you  have  to  close  the shojis  after  you  have  burned  incense  to  keep  its odour  ...  his  only  desire  was  to  be  left  alone  with his  dreams,  and  the  dreams  themselves  were  ghosts, under  whose  spell  he  wove  the  silvery  threads  of  the ideal,  and  wrote  the  books  with  the  strange  thrill which  no  one  else  could  ever  feel." Comparing  him  to  Akinari  TJyeda,  the  Japanese, who  also  sought  a  shrine  of  solitude,  Noguchi  says :  — "I  say  that  the  grey -coloured  region  of  solitude was  a  triumph  for  them,  not  a  defeat  by  any  means; they  found  life  in  silence,  and  a  ghost's  virtue  in xl  INTRODUCTION shadow  and  whisper.  They  slowly  walked  following after  a  beckoning  hand  of  the  oldest  incense,  half  a vision  and  half  a  reality;  they  placed  their  single- minded  confidence  on  the  dream-breast  of  the spirit,  and  sought  their  own  emancipation." It  is  because  the  personality  of  Lafcadio  Hearn was  pitched  upon  this  keen,  sustained,  and  pene trating  note  that  it  cannot  be  considered  with  in difference.  As  every  object  is  said  to  have  a  musical key,  to  which  it  will  vibrate  when  that  key  is  struck, so  every  nature  has  its  essential  timbre,  and  can  only answer  to  its  own  fundamental.  If  a  nature  be  out of  harmony  with  such  an  individuality  as  Hearn's no  explanation  will  bring  the  two  into  scale. To  answer  the  inquiry  as  to  what  the  writer  gave to  the  world  of  ideas,  as  apart  from  his  artistry  in style,  what  he  has  done  to  give  him  a  claim  to  the serious  respect  of  thinkers,  is  an  easier  task  than  to analyze  his  personality. First  of  all  may  be  offered  his  eighteen  volumes  as sufficient  reply.  But  eighteen  volumes  of  any  man's work  must  contain  portions  properly  negligible,  and comparatively  few  have  time  to  sift  and  weigh  it, and  draw  a  broad  conclusion  as  to  the  value  and permanence  of  so  large  a  body  of  achievement. The  first  and  perhaps  always  most  dominant quality  of  his  work  is  its  innate  beauty,  its  sensuous imagery.  Though  not  an  American,  Hearn  ranked as  an  American  writer,  and  formed  his  style  and learned  his  art  in  this  country.  And  it  is  precisely  in those  two  elements  that  American  literature  most INTRODUCTION  xli lacks  —  in  innate  beauty  and  sensuous  iniagery. Poe  alone,  of  all  our  native  writers,  has  had  that passion  for  assonance,  for  melodious  words  for  their own  sake,  for  velvety  undertones,  for  plangent phrases,  for  canorous  orismology.  American  writers have  almost  never  been  masters  in  the  technique  of their  art.  And  their  audience  has  scarcely  missed  it, being  more  interested  in  life  than  in  literature.  Stev enson  says  that  "A  taste  for  the  precise,  the  adroit, or  the  comely  in  the  use  of  words  comes  late."  But Hearn  had  always  a  passion  for  it.  He  sought  un- weariedly  not  only  for  le  mot  juste,  but  also  for  le mot  et  la  pensee  belle;  loved  an  alliteration ;  delighted in  onomatopoeic  phrases  —  such  as  in  "Chita:"  — .  .  .  "And  interweaving  with  it  all,  one  continu ous  shrilling  —  keen  as  the  steel  speech  of  a  saw  — the  stridulous  telegraphy  of  crickets." He  wrought  with  an  artist's  amorous  patience  to find  expression  for  the  splendours  of  the  pageants of  tropic  skies  —  "the  toppling  and  smouldering of  cloud-worlds  after  the  enormous  conflagrations of  sunsets, — incandescence  ruining  into  darkness; and  after  it  a  moving  and  climbing  of  stars  among the  blacknesses,  —  like  searching  lamps."  — He  sought  for  a  vocal  echo  of  the  prodigious Voices  of  the  winds  and  the  waters  —  "the  witch- call  of  Storms."  "Chita"  is  but  a  long  sonorous sea-hymn.  — He  endeavoured  to  reproduce  in  words  the  fire of  jewels,  the  clang  of  swords,  the  beauty  of  women, the  agonies  of  love  and  of  death;  bringing  to  our literature,  always  rather  dry  and  thin,  the  element xlii  INTRODUCTION it  lacked  of  passion,  of  ardour,  of  prodigality  of music  and  loveliness. American  literature  has  always  been  afraid  of the  sensuous;  has  suffered  nervous  discomfort  in the  presence  of  passion.  Its  Puritan  element  has never  been  quite  able  to  disassociate  sensuousness from  sensuality,  passion  from  sexual  license,  and there  is  a  tendency  among  some  of  Hearn's  critics to  pinch  their  lips,  shake  their  heads,  and  hint  at the  connection  between  the  two;  to  talk  of  abnor mality  and  "decadence," or  "sexual  preoccupation." No  charge  could  be  more  monstrously  unjust.  He has  written  ardently  of  the  beauty  of  women — as  in "The  Making  of  Tilottama,"  ( — it  may  be  sub mitted  that  there  is  nothing  innately  immoral  in woman's  beauty  — )  but  his  preoccupation  with  all visible  fairness  is  the  most  salient  character  of  his genius,  and  a  careful  study  of  his  books  and  of  his great  mass  of  letters  will  show  that  he  is  singularly free  from  all  grossness  —  not  once  in  any  word  of his,  written  or  printed,  is  found  the  leer  of  the  ape, the  repulsive  grin  of  the  satyr.  He  wrote  of  women with  even  less  passion  than  of  light,  of  sound,  of colour,  of  perfume.  And  he  always  wrote  of  them with  tenderness.  In  a  letter  to  Osman  Edwards he  says,  apropos  of  Loti's  "Madame  Chrysan- theme:"  — "There  is  not  much  heart  in  Loti;  but  there  is  a fine  brain;  and  there  is  a  nervous  system  so  extraor dinary  that  it  forces  imagination  back  to  the  con ditions  of  old  Greek  life,  when  men  had  senses  more perfect  than  now.  Very  possibly  this  Julian  Viaud INTRODUCTION  xliii has  in  his  veins  old  blood  of  Magna  Graecia.  No other  literary  man  living  sees  and  hears  and  smells and  thrills  so  finely  as  he;  we  are  in  presence  of  a being  of  immeasurably  superior  organization  — therefore  exceedingly  unhappy  in  this  world  of  the nineteenth  century.  I  doubt  whether  he  has  ever loved,  or  could  love  —  in  our  sense.  But  I  think  we must  study  him  as  a  creature  apart. "As  for  what  he  says  of  Japanese  women,  it  is perfectly,  impeccably  accurate  so  far  as  it  consists of  observations  of  sense.  Loti's  senses  can  never  err any  more  than  a  film  on  a  photographic  plate  with a  sensibility  of  one  hundred.  But  he  keeps  to  the surfaces;  his  life  is  of  surfaces.  Almost  in  the  way that  some  creatures  have  their  skeletons  outside  of themselves  instead  of  inside,  so  his  plexuses  of  feel ing  are.  —  What  the  finer  nature  of  the  Japanese woman  is,  no  man  has  told.  Those  who  know  can not  tell:  it  would  be  too  much  like  writing  of  the sweetness  of  one's  own  sister  or  mother.  One  must leave  it  in  sacred  silence  —  with  a  prayer  to  all  the gods." In  another  letter  to  Professor  Edwards  he  says :  — "This  reminds  me  of  Pierre  Louys  —  have  you not  noticed  the  tendency  to  cruelty  in  his  work?  I delight  in  normal  healthy  sensualism  —  or  sensu- ousness,  at  least,  but  that  is  always  ideal  in  its  emo tional  life  —  therefore  tender,  and  therefore  partly unselfish .  The  other  tendency  seems  (in  modern  times at  least)  toward  necrophily  —  Altruism  is  perhaps  a test  of  the  question  whether  anything  is  artistic  in the  true  sense  —  Does  a  book,  or  a  picture,  or  a xliv  INTRODUCTION statue,  or  music  fill  you  with  a  generous  desire  to sacrifice  self  for  the  sake  of  an  ideal,  a  principle  or a  person?  The  first  recognition  of  a  girl's  beauty does  this  for  the  average  healthy  young  man.  A work  of  art  ought  to  do  the  same  thing  —  help  to make  us  unselfish.  The  youth  wants  the  girl  of course,  but  he  is  willing  to  die  for  her  —  to  cut  off his  hand  for  her  sake.  Well,  a  work  of  art  ought  to stir  the  sensuous  life  in  us,  the  life  of  desire  in  a healthy  way,  but  ought  it  not  also  at  the  same  time to  make  us  feel  that  there  are  things  which  it  were beautiful  to  die  for?" It  is  not  in  this  manner — and  a  hundred  passages of  like  tone  might  be  quoted  —  that  the  sensualist writes  of  woman. As  always,  the  best  statement  about  his  own  at titude  toward  the  tendency  of  the  school  of  deca dence  has  been  made  by  himself  —  also  in  letters  to Professor  Edwards :  — "I  fear  I  am  a  hopelessly  insensible  man  to  the decadent  movement.  I  believe  that  Hugo  and  Bau delaire  and  the  matchless  Gautier  exhausted  the real  capacities  of  language  in  French  poetry  —  just as  Rossetti  and  Swinburne  have  done  in  English romantic  poetry,  and  that  no  amount  of  ingenious effort  will  produce  really  new  effects  until  the  lan guage  itself  becomes  vastly  enriched.  And  I  must confess  that  I  love  lucidity,  sharpness,  firm,  hard outline  —  the  style  of  the  'Emaux  et  Camees." But  vagueness  was  the  least  heinous  of  the  quali ties  which  aroused  his  antipathy.  He  expressed himself  as  "angry  and  disheartened"  with  "Poetes d'Aujourd'hui,"  and  thus  pronounced  anathema: — INTRODUCTION  xlv "The  new  poetry  is  simply  rotten!  —  morally  and otherwise.  I  am  not  prudish :  I  still  think  Gautier's 'Musee  Secret'  (in  the  'Souvenirs'  of  Emile  Ber- gerat)  the  finest  poem  of  an  artistic  kind  in  the French  or  in  any  other  language.  But  there  is  in it  a  splendid  something  entirely  absent  from  the new  poetry  —  the  joy  of  life.  There  is  no  joy  in  this new  world  —  and  scarcely  any  tenderness :  the  lan guage  is  the  language  of  art,  but  the  spirit  is  of  Hol bein  and  Gothic  ages  of  religious  madness.  I  do  not know  that  poetry  ought  to  be  joyous,  in  a  general way;  there  is  beauty  in  pain  and  sorrow.  Only,  — is  ugliness  or  pain,  without  beauty,  a  subject  worthy of  poetry?  (I  am  not  including  subjects  of  cosmic emotion  in  the  question.)  'lonica'  — a  rare  Eng lish  example  of  exquisite  grace  and  loveliness  in melancholy  —  contains  a  dozen  little  pieces,  any one  of  which  is  worth  all  the  pieces  in  'Poetes  d'Au- jourd'hui:'  I  think  it  illustrates  what  I  mean.  What has  neither  joy  nor  beauty,  nor  the  power  of  be stirring  any  great  quality  or  volume  of  emotion,  any cosmic  feeling  or  generous  feeling,  ought  not  such a  matter  to  be  excluded  from  poetry  proper?  .  .  . "I  re-read  every  year  the  best  of  Anatole  France. His  'Thais'  I  have  had  but  a  short  time;  yet  I  am never  tired  of  reading  it  over  and  over  by  fits  and starts.  So,  too,  with  the  'Rotisserie  de  la  Reine  Pe- dauque'  —  and  the  priceless  volumes  of  short  stories and  sketches  —  I  now  never  buy  a  book  that  I  can not  feel  sure  of  wanting  to  re-read.  That  is  a  test  of which  the  value  must  be  relative  —  must  depend upon  temperament;  but  I  doubt  if  there  be  a  better. xlvi  INTRODUCTION There  are  dangers,  I  suppose,  in  the  freedom  en joyed  by  French  letters.  But,  after  all,  I  imagine that  English  and  American  training  suppress  too successfully  the  life  of  the  senses.  Are  we  not  really more  barbarous  than  the  Latins  —  at  least  than Italians  and  French?  Surely  our  language  is  less perfect  than  theirs — though  perhaps  stronger  to  ex press  all  that  relates  to  force  and  profundity.  What Englishman  or  American  could  write  a  book  like 'Thais'  or  the  'Rotisserie  de  la  Reine  Pedauque'? And  yet  —  happily  be  it  said  —  no  Englishman  or American  could  or  would  write  such  a  thing  as  'Aph rodite'  or  the  'Bilitis'  of  Louys.  'Thais'  is  an  im mortal  book  —  an  ironical  psychological  study  be yond  all  parallel.  'Aphrodite'  and  'Bilitis'  are crimes.  I  feel  they  are.  (Why?  I  think  it  is  be cause  they  are  totally  unsuggestive,  and  written  by will.)  And  the  same  freedom  that  permits,  and  ought to  permit,  'Thais,'  when  unrestrained  by  the  real sense  of  higher  art,  produces  necessarily  'Bilitis'  or 'Aphrodite.'  There  is  the  ethical  difficulty.  Taine says  that  the  powerful  Northern  temperament  rend ers  it  impossible  for  Englishmen  to  dare  what  the Latin  can  do  with  ease,  safety,  and  grace.  Probably he  was  right.  But  what  would  he  have  said  to  the publication  of  'Bilitis'?" In  one  of  the  letters  in  this  volume  he  says,  —  and a  recent  episode  makes  it  curiously  apposite,  — "Why  do  we  feel  that  a  poet  like  William  Watson has  no  right  to  be  a  mocker,  to  say  cruel  things  to his  fellow  man?  We  feel  the  same  in  reading  Ten nyson's  terrible  satire  on  Bulwer-Lytton,  and  Brown- INTRODUCTION  xlvii ing's  brutal  anger  at  FitzGerald.  I  think  we  regard it  as  we  regard  an  obscene  poem  by  a  priest,  or  in other  words,  a  sort  of  sacrilege  to  self.  We  have  not learned  —  (as  I  think  we  shall  some  day)  —  to  con fess  aloud  that  the  highest  poetry  is  a  religion,  and its  world  priests  the  true  prophets  and  teachers. But  we  feel  it.  Therefore  we  are  shocked  and pained  when  these  betray  any  sign  of  those  paltry and  mean  passions  above  which  their  art  at  other times  lifts  us." And  to  another  friend  he  wrote,  —  speaking  of the  artist,  — "What  is  his  duty  in  the  external  order  of  things to  art  and  to  ethics?  Is  it  not  to  extract  the  gold from  the  ore,  —  the  rubies  and  emeralds  from  the rubble?  I  think  it  is.  What  I  would  pray  you  to  do is  to  put  a  lily  in  the  mouth  of  Hell.  Then  the  petals of  the  lily  will  change  into  pure  light,  like  those  of the  lotus  of  Amida  Buddha." ,  Osman  Edwards  says  of  him :  — "The  absence  of  tenderness  could  not  be  atoned for  by  any  verbal  dexterities  in  the  judgement  of Lafcadio  Hearn.  Throughout  his  own  books,  like inextricable  golden  threads,  the  twin  emotions  of joy  and  tenderness  lend  meaning  and  unity  to  the vaguest  and  driest  of  themes.  There  is  always  a hinted  kindness,  a  suggested  sympathy  in  explana tion  or  allusion,  which  links  his  study  of  impersonal facts  with  warm  humanity." As  his  character  cleared  and  crystallized  with years  his  love  of  beauty  deepened  through  the  vis- xlviii  INTRODUCTION ible  to  the  invisible.  Behind  the  outward  veil  he perceived  "the  inward  and  spiritual  grace/'  of which  the  envelope  was  but  the  radiant  simulacrum. He  perceived  moral  as  vividly  as  he  did  sensuous beauty,  and  his  works  are  in  large  part  tender  chron icles  of  sympathy  with  humble  virtues;  chronicles  of pity,  of  courage,  of  loyalty,  simplicity  and  kindness. Such  as  "A  Street  Singer,"  "The  Nun  of  the  Tem ple  of  Amida,"  "Les  Porteuses,"  and  many,  many more.  And  woven  all  about  these  compassionate tales  of  the  pains  and  sorrows,  of  the  goodness  and bravery  of  life  are  endless  limnings  of  bees  and  ants, of  frogs  and  birds,  of  butterflies  and  flowers,  of  lights and  shadows,  of  music  and  dreams  —  as  the  early Italian  painters  wound  around  their  pictures,  in mere  exuberance  of  creation,  those  lovely  garlands of  green  and  purple  grapes,  of  sun-burnt  pomegran ates,  of  roses  and  laurels,  of  lizards  and  peacocks. Because  of  all  these  loving  reproductions  of  little humble  beauties,  and  because  of  the  delicacy  of  his method  in  treating  of  them  there  is  a  frequently  ex pressed  impression  that  the  scope  of  his  interest  was limited  generally  to  small,  half -negligible  things.  That Lips  that  blow  through  bronze  can  breathe  through  silver is  always  hard  to  believe,  and  because  he  would  re write  seventeen  times  an  impression  of  the  jewelled play  of  colour  on  a  dragon-fly's  wing  one  may  deduce the  conclusion  that  he  was  therefore  incompetent to  deal  with  the  larger,  sterner  matters.  Out  of  so much  that  might  be  quoted  to  the  contrary  is  chosen this  extract  from  the  essay  on  "Dust:" INTRODUCTION  xlix .  .  .  "Remember,  man,  thou  art  but  dust  —  Ah! but  dust  remember  thou  hast  been  Sun,  and  Sun thou  shalt  become  again  —  Thou  hast  been  Light, Life,  Love;  —  and  into  all  these  by  ceaseless  cosmic magic  thou  shalt  many  times  be  turned  again !  For this  Cosmic  Apparition  is  more  than  evolution  al ternating  with  dissolution:  it  is  infinite  metemp sychosis;  it  is  perpetual  palingenesis. "Suns  yield  up  their  ghosts  of  flame;  but  out  of their  graves  new  suns  rush  into  being.  Corpses  of worlds  pass  all  to  some  solar  funeral  pyre;  but  out  of their  own  ashes  they  are  born  again. "This  earth  must  die:  her  seas  shall  be  Saharas. But  those  seas  once  existed  in  the  Sun;  and  their dead  tides,  revived  by  fire,  shall  pour  their  thunders upon  the  coasts  of  another  world.  Transmigration —  transmutation:  these  are  not  fables.  What  is impossible?  Not  the  dreams  of  alchemists  and  poets, dross  indeed  may  be  changed  to  gold,  the  jewel  to the  living  eye,  the  flower  into  flesh. "  What  is  impossible?  If  seas  can  pass  from  sun  to world,  from  world  to  sun  again,  what  of  the  dust  of dead  selves  —  dust  of  memory  and  thought.  Resur rection  there  is  —  resurrection  more  stupendous than  any  dreamed  of  by  Western  creeds  —  Dead hearts  will  live  again  as  surely  as  dead  suns  and moons  — " Which  demonstrates  that  his  lips  could    blow through  bronze  too. But  all  this, — his  delicate  fashionings  in  the  jewels and  ductile  gold  of  words,  his  passion  and  sensuous 1  INTRODUCTION imagery,  his  discernment  of  humble  goodness,  of the  pathos  and  beauty  of  so  many  unconsidered persons  and  things,  his  dreams  of  the  great  cosmic flux  of  the  universe,  —  are  not  his  only  claims  upon the  consideration  of  thinkers. Much  has  been  written  about  Japan,  varying  in value  and  point  of  view.  Loti's  "Madame  Chrysan- theme"  was  one  of  the  first  attempts  to  interpret  to the  West  the  qualities  and  characteristics  of  an  al most  unknown  people  which  aroused  any  general interest  and  attention.  It  was  however  a  record  of more  or  less  superficial  impressions,  important  be cause  of  being  the  work  of  an  artist  and  a  subtle impressionist.  Professor  Percival  Lowell's  "The Soul  of  the  Far  East"  struck  a  deeper  note  because the  author  was  a  scientist,  who  was  also  a  man  of imagination.  Despite  some  assertions  to  the  con trary  it  was  these  two  books  —  for  the  second  of which  Hearn  conceived  a  passionate  admiration  — and  some  conversations  with  a  friend  recently  re turned  from  Japan,  which  decided  his  removal  to that  country.  At  first  a  mere  expedition  in  search of  literary  material  was  planned.  He  had  no  glim mering  of  the  great  work  fate  had  set  him  to  do.  In fact  it  is  doubtful  whether  he  ever  fully  realized  the importance  of  what  he  had  done;  how  serious  was his  task,  and  how  adequately  he  accomplished  it. !»-  It  has  been  many  times  rather  cynically  pointed out  that  his  first  delight  and  enthusiasm  was  later cooled,  and  occasionally  was  subject  to  violent  re actions,  —  and  this  it  is  hinted  is  a  sign  of  want  of stability  and  judgement.  One  might  as  reasonably INTRODUCTION  li demand  that  a  lover  should  remain  always  at  the pitch  of  fervour  of  the  bridal  morn.   His  first  book —  "Glimpses  of  Unfamiliar  Japan"  —  is  a  record of  this  first  intoxication,  and  though  he  grew  some times  to  doubt  if  it  was  wholly  justified,  yet  he  al ways  differentiated  between  the  spirit  of  the  old feudal  Japan  which  still  lingered  in  Izumo,  and which  he  never  ceased  to  love,  and  Japan  playing at  jiujutsu  with  tKe  Occident,  grasping  at  the  wea pons  of  the  West  to  defend  herself  from  its  encroach ments,  and  conquering  her  enemy  by  yielding  to those  Western  tendencies  which  he  so  heartily  de tested.    Yone  Noguchi  says  of  this  early  work:  — "It  spoke  in  perfect  accord  with  the  sweet  glamour of  old  Japan,  where  the  sea  of  reality  and  the  sky  of vision  melted   into  one  blue  eternity," — and  in speaking  of  the  vanishing  in  Hearn  of  that  first "Horai"  (Vision  of  the  Intangible)  Noguchi  says, —  with  a  quaint  foreignness,  —  "His  Horai,  where the   shadows  of  splendour  strange  and  old  deep ened  under  the  sunlight,  sad  like    memory,   and the  milky  vision  hung  like  an  immense  spider-web, and  shivered  like  a  ghost,  and  the  sadness  and  joy of  the  soul  of  thousands  on  thousands  of  years  blended into  an  infinite  waste  of  song,  vanished  at  once when  he  left  old  Japan  in  Izumo  —  the  place  of  his love  first  and  last." Had  this  early  passion  of  enthusiasm  been  all,  we should  have  had  a  beautiful  vision  poetically  re corded,  and  no  more. It  is  difficult  now  to  recall  —  in  the  greater  diffu sion  of  knowledge  of  that  so  long  Hidden  Kingdom Hi  INTRODUCTION —  how  entirely  ignorant  of  everything  concerning Japan  were  even  well-educated  Westerners  in  1890. Nine  out  of  every  ten  vaguely  thought  of  it  as  a  sort of  an  outlying  province  of  China,  and  if  they  re flected  upon  the  matter  at  all,  wondered  why  Com modore  Perry  had  taken  the  trouble  to  force  a  lot  of little  half -savage  "yellow  monkeys"  to  open  their ports  to  trade.  Gilbert  and  Sullivan's  comic  opera "The  Mikado"  was  about  the  only  "document" with  which  the  multitude  was  at  all  familiar.  Loti's and  Lowell's  books  had  been  studied  only  by  those avid  of  the  exotic.  Miss  Bird's  travels  and  Profes sor  Chamberlain's  Japanese  studies  had  appealed mainly  to  the  explorer,  the  ethnologist,  and  the student  of  Oriental  art.  The  missionaries  had  dis seminated  the  impression  that  these  were  a  people almost  entirely  without  a  religion,  and  the  merchants trading  in  their  ports  declared  them  without  excep tion  liars  and  thieves.  There  were  some  more  in structed,  of  course.  The  artists  had  begun  to  study their  drawings,  ceramics,  and  carvings  with  the keenest  delight  and  interest,  and  travellers  reported the  country  full  of  enchantment,  but  the  impres sion  of  the  general  was  as  vague  and  mistaken  as  has been  indicated. "Glimpses  of  Unfamiliar  Japan"  was  the  first book  concerning  Japan  written  with  a  sympathetic endeavour  to  interpret,  from  their  own  point  of  view, those  unknown  people  to  the  Western  world;  was the  first  book  which  attempted  to  picture  with  inti mate  tenderness  the  remains  of  the  feudal  civiliza tion  so  recently  superseded,  without  understanding M 8 2  1 —  "     -is S  I M  a 1 WjjJrMJwfjS  HI INTRODUCTION  liii of  which  there  can  be  no  comprehension  of  the  race, and  the  forces  which  had  moulded  it.  The  book  had no  sensational  popularity,  but  its  sufficiently  nu merous  readers  laid  it  down  with  an  entirely  new  idea of  Japan  and  the  Japanese. The  "Glimpses"  was  printed  in  1895,  and  every year  of  the  following  ten  saw  issued  one  or  more  vol umes  —  twelve  in  all  —  devoted  in  the  main  to  the interpretation  of  Japan  to  the  West. Had  this  work  been  undertaken  with  a  definite design  its  character  would  have  probably  been  very unlike  the  form  it  instinctively  assumed,  but whether  it  would  have  been  more  valuable,  have been  so  great  an  achievement,  may  be  open  to doubt. It  was  built  up  almost  unconsciously;  bit  by  bit —  an  excursion  here,  a  study  there;  a  passing  im pression  recorded,  investigations  as  apparently  un related  as  "The  Eternal  Feminine"  —  as  seen  by the  Japanese  —  and  a  study  of  the  poems  on  frogs. It  was  made  up  of  apparently  disconnected  pictures of  the  life  of  the  people,  their  superstitions,  their witchcraft,  their  dogs,  the  children's  games,  the education  of  the  young,  their  manners,  their  crimes, their  agriculture,  —  seemingly  a  mass  of  uncorre- lated  fragments  having  no  plan  or  purpose  until  the whole  was  at  last  summed  up  in  "Japan:  An  Attempt at  an  Interpretation."  Then  it  was  to  be  seen  that these  results  of  fourteen  years  of  seemingly  desul tory  labour  had  become  perhaps  the  completest record  ever  made  by  one  man  alone  of  the  life  of  a race  and  a  people.  The  whole  stood  out  a  rounded liv  INTRODUCTION and  complete  figure;  became  a  reproduction  of  a civilization  as  remote  from  us  as  the  life  of  the Greeks  three  thousand  years  ago.  It  is,  no  doubt, hardly  yet  understood  how  important  so  complete a  presentation  of  this  race  is  to  the  sum  of  our  know ledge.  What  Japan  may  portend  is  as  yet  but  dimly adumbrated.  For  this  civilization,  unlike  all  others, has  voluntarily  grafted  upon  its  main  trunk  the knowledge  and  power  worked  out  through  ages  of blood  and  struggle  by  other  peoples.  And  the  graft has  flourished  beyond  credibility,  nourished  by  the strong  sap  of  a  folk  who  had  stored  up  an  enormous vitality  in  peaceful  seclusion,  while  the  evolution  of that  borrowed  mechanical  and  scientific  knowledge was  being  achieved  at  tremendous  cost  by  the  races from  which  it  was  adopted. To  analyze  the  completeness  and  profundity  of Lafcadio  Hearn's  study  of  Japan  would  require more  space  than  is  here  available.  He  was  the  first to  divine  the  granitic  quality  at  the  core  of  the  Jap anese  people,  while  as  yet  the  outside  world  saw only  the  silken  envelope  of  their  manners.  In  the paper  on  "Japanese  Civilization"  in  "Kokoro" (written  fifteen  years  since)  he  discerned  what  he described  as  the  fluidity  of  that  civilization,  and  its consequent  ability  to  achieve  great  results  with small  expenditure  for  tools  and  means.  An  acumen since  abundantly  demonstrated.  And  of  these  peo ple,  whom  ignorant  missionaries  had  described  as practically  without  religion,  he  showed  that  they, more  than  any  of  the  Occidental  peoples,  had  been moulded  and  shaped  almost  wholly  by  their  creeds. INTRODUCTION  Iv The  strange  contradictions  to  be  found  in  the Western  civilization  have  been  largely  the  result  of the  fact  that  its  religion  for  the  last  two  thousand years  has  been  an  imported,  an  adopted  creed;  not sprung  from  the  genius  of  the  European  race,  and therefore  always  a  garment  in  which  the  wearers have  moved  not  entirely  at  their  ease.  A  people's religion  being  that  people's  attempt  to  explain  to themselves  the  phenomena  of  the  world  in  which they  find  themselves,  and  a  code  of  moral  laws suited  to  the  needs  of  their  special  existence,  Hearn set  himself  ardently  against  all  attempts  to  impose foreign  creeds  upon  Japan,  which  he  perceived  had worked  out  for  herself  a  cult  peculiarly  adapted  to the  character  of  her  consciousness. Few  Europeans  have  been  so  fitted  to  compre hend  the  fundamental  meaning  of  the  Japanese  cult as  Hearn. Every  thinker  appears  to  have  some  one  master thought;  some  dominant  prepossession  that  for  him colours  all  life,  which  is  the  key  word  of  the  lan guage  of  his  mind.  Professor  Chamberlain  says  that no  one  could  understand  Lafcadio  Hearn  who  did not  take  into  account  his  belief  in  Ghosts.  Na turally  Professor  Chamberlain  does  not  mean  the gibbering,  clanking  spooks  of  Anne  Radcliffe,  nor the  banjo-playing,  squeaking,  clammy-handed  ma terializations  of  the  spiritualists'  cabinet.  But  the word  "ghosts"  appears  a  thousand  times  in  Hearn's books,  in  endless  association  with  all  his  thoughts. Already,  when  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  he  begins to  talk  of  heredity, —of  "the  Race-Ghost."  Be- Ivi  INTRODUCTION gins  puzzling  over  those  blind  instincts  and  tenden cies,  those  strange  impulses,  desires,  and  memories that  well  up  from  the  unknown  deeps  within  us  and startle  by  their  lack  of  relation  with  our  outward consciousness.  Already  he  begins  to  ponder  over what  the  psychologists  now  attempt  to  define  as  the "subliminal  self." As  long  ago  as  1882  we  find  him  saying:  — "Why  these  longings  for  lands  in  which  we  shall never  be?  —  why  this  desire  for  that  azure  in  which we  cannot  soar?  —  Whence  our  mysterious  love  for the  tumultuous  deep  into  whose  emerald  secrets  we may  never  peer?  .  .  .  Can  it  be  that  through  count less  epochs  of  the  immemorial  phylogenesis  of  man, —  through    all   those   myriad    changes    suggested by  the  prenatal  evolution  of  the  human  heart,  — through  all  the  slow  marvellous  transitions  from  fish to  mammal,  —  there  have  actually  persisted  im pulses,  desires,  sensations,  whereof  the  enigma  may be  fully  interpreted  by  some  new  science  only,  a future  science  of  psychical  dys  teleology?  ..." Because  of  this  prepossession  —  at  that  time  far less  common  to  the  Occidental  mind  than  it  is  to-day —  he  found  himself  at  once  in  sympathy  with  the dreams  of  Buddha,  with  the  ancestral  worship  of the  Shinto  faith.  To  understand  him  at  all  it  must be  understood  that  Lafcadio  Hearn  was  a  mystic  — not  a  mystic  in  the  ordinary  pietistic  acceptance, but  one  seeking  forever  to  discern  the  permanent behind  the  impermanent;  the  noumena  behind  the phenomena.   Straining  to  touch  the  ultimate  sig nificance  of  the  visible;  to  know  the  essence  of  that INTRODUCTION  Ivii phantasm  of  beauty  by  which  his  soul  was  so  be witched;  to  lay  hold  upon  the  secret  cord  upon which  all  being  is  strung. Perhaps  all  mysticism  has  its  origin  in  just  such acute  hypersensitiveness  of  the  perceptions  as  was his.  Phenomena  impact  upon  such  senses  so  acutely as  to  suggest  more  than  the  merely  obvious;  it  hints to  them  of  forces  more  tremendous  than  the  form and  demonstration  of  the  phenomena. In  the  prescientific  period  such  Sensitives  shrank from  this  impact  into  the  protection  of  asceticism  — the  natural  armour  against  too  vivid  feeling  —  and sought  intellectual  satisfaction  in  conceptions  of  that prodigious  force  as  the  emanations  of  some  divine super-man  whose  personality  absorbed  and  blotted out  their  own.  A  deity  to  whose  will  and  whose dominance  they  yielded  their  minds  and  hearts with  a  passionate  loyalty  of  self-abandonment. Hearn  came  too  late  for  this  anthropomorphic vision  to  satisfy  his  intelligence.  Scientific  know ledge  of  the  real  size  of  the  universe  had  made  it  im possible  for  his  imagination  to  cast  upon  the  deeps of  space  any  enlarged  shadow  of  humanity  as  the source  of  nature;  any  vast  eidolon  of  man  as  the fount  from  which  the  universe  had  sprung.  His imagination  was  too  bold  to  need  a  personification as  a  necessary  form  for  this  force.  He  could  think  of it  as  without  individuality.  The  child  can  hardly conceive  of  thunder  other  than  as  the  voice  or  move ment  of  a  mighty  being,  but  the  man  recognizes  it  as merely  enormous  vibrations  following  inevitable laws  of  diacoustics.  So  this  modern  mystic  sought Iviii  INTRODUCTION for  his  noumenon  in  a  conception  of  evolution,  in  a dream  of  a  prodigious  systole  and  diastole  of  the universe  through  infinite  metempsychosis. Because  of  this  character  of  his  mind  he  found  in Herbert  Spencer — who  was  in  this  sense  the  Arch- Mystic  of  science  —  the  terminology  of  his  imagin ings.  Because  of  this  Spencer's  theories  remained always  to  him  the  ultimate  revelation  of  truth,  and he  resented  any  doubts  of  the  philosopher's  postu lates. Hearn's  attitude  to  women,  so  misinterpreted  by vulgar  minds,  had  its  origin  in  this  mystic  sense  of her  being  the  channel  of  heredity.  In  a  sense  of  the tenderness  of  eternal  motherhood  in  her  smile,  of the  transmission  of  a  million  caresses  in  her  fairness —  a  fairness  which  had  blossomed  through  the  nur turing  warmth  of  endless  aspiration  toward  beauty and  love. It  may  be  suggested,  too,  that  his  delight  in  all the  little  humble  forms  of  life  was  a  part  of  this quality,  shared  by  other  mystics,  such  as  he  of Assisi,  who  found  his  universal  intimations  of  di vinity  in  even  his  "Little  Brothers,"  the  birds;  in even  the  stones  to  whom  he  preached  salvation. Because  of  this  trend  of  his  thinking  the  genius  of the  Oriental  faiths  was  sympathetic  to  Hearn.  His belief  in  the  eternal  flux  of  life,  the  ever  reincarnated spirit,  which  to  his  Western  contemporaries  had seemed  the  merest  fantasy  of  a  dreamer,  was  in  the East  a  matter  of  course,  a  conviction  self-evident and  needing  no  defence.  The  Orient's  cosmic  in tuitions,  evolved  through  a  hundred  centuries  of INTRODUCTION  lix infinite  spiritual  travail  —  those  prodigious  intui tions  of  the  essential  oneness  of  the  universe,  of  the enormous  circle  and  unbroken  continuity  of  life  — which  we  are  vaguely  beginning  to  perceive,  and stumblingly  endeavouring  to  find  terminology  for, his  mind  leaped  forward  to  grasp  and  define. ,  He  says:  — "Merely  by  reason  of  illusion  and  folly  do  we shrink  from  the  notion  of  self-instability.  For  what is  our  individuality?  Most  certainly  it  is  not  in dividuality  at  all:  it  is  multiplicity  incalculable. What  is  the  human  body?  A  form  built  up  out  of billions  of  living  entities,  an  impermanent  agglom eration  of  individuals  called  cells.  And  the  human soul?  —  a  composite  of  quintillions  of  souls  —  we are  each  and  all  infinite  compounds  of  fragments  of anterior  lives  —  and  the  universal  process  that  con tinually  dissolves  and  continually  constructs  per sonality  has  always  been  going  on,  and  is  even  at this  moment  going  on  in  every  one  of  us.  What being  ever  had  a  totally  new  feeling,  an  absolutely new  idea?  All  our  emotions  and  thoughts  and wishes,  however  changing  and  growing  through  the varying  seasons  of  life,  are  only  compositions  and recompositions  of  the  sensations  and  ideas  and  de sires  of  other  folk,  mostly  of  dead  people,  —  millions and  billions  of  dead  people  —  I  an  individual,  —  an individual  soul !  Nay,  I  am  a  population  —  a  popu lation  unthinkable  for  multitude,  even  by  groups  of a  thousand  millions!  Generations  of  generations  I am,  seons  of  seons!  Countless  times  the  concourse now  making  me  has  been  scattered,  and  mixed  with Ix  INTRODUCTION other  scatterings.    Of  what  concern  then  the  next disintegration? "Perhaps  after  trillions  of  ages  of  burning  in different  dynasties  of  suns,  the  best  of  me  may  come together  again."  .  .  . We  shall  wait  long,  I  fear,  before  the  sidereal winds,  blowing  the  dust  of  worlds  round  and  round the  long  roads  of  the  universe,  shall  bring  together again  the  atoms  that  made  this  man.  This  shy, wild,  beautiful  spirit  that  was  Lafcadio  Hearn;  with the  race-ghost  of  the  Greek  in  him  urging  him  al ways  toward  the  quest  of  beauty  and  truth  —  min gled  with  the  strain  of  those  mysterious  nomads, the  gypsies,  that  made  of  him  a  wanderer  and  an exile,  forever  seeking  some  vague  goal,  some  dream, some  longing  never  to  be  attained. Remembering  what  his  restless,  passionate,  un happy  life  was,  rather  than  to  accept  this  doctrine of  eternal  flux  and  change,  this  endless  wheel  of being,  one  would  be  wishful  for  him  of  that  desire of  his  countryman,  Cleon,  the  Greek,  — Wishing  thee  wholly  where  Zeus  lives  the  most Within  the  eventual  element  of  calm. LETTERS  TO BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN THE  JAPANESE  LETTERS  OF LAFCADIO  HEARN LETTERS  TO   BASIL   HALL   CHAMBERLAIN YOKOHAMA.  April  4,  1890.  ] DEAR  PROFESSOR, —  I  know  that  you  are  a  very busy  man;  and  deem  it  best  to  send  my  personal  let ter  of  introduction  by  mail,  and  to  ask  that  you  will kindly  let  me  hear  from  you  in  regard  to  the  time most  convenient  to  you  for  my  visit. I  am  more  anxious  than  I  could  tell  you  to  make  a good  book  upon  Japan;  and  the  Messrs.  Harper  are very  desirous  to  publish  such  material  as  I  may  be able  to  give  them.  But  otherwise  they  are  not  aid ing  the  venture;  and  the  risks  are  all  my  own. If  it  be  possible  for  me  to  obtain  some  employment in  Japan,  —  such  as  English  tutor  in  a  private  fam ily,  or  any  position  I  might  prove  capable  of  filling satisfactorily,  —  I  will  have  no  fear  of  failing  in  my undertaking.  I  think  that  until  one  can  learn  at least  the  spoken  language  of  a  people,  and  something of  their  emotional  nature,  one  cannot  write  truth fully  concerning  them.  In  the  West  Indies,  I  was able  to  give  two  years'  study  to  the  dialects  and 4  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN folk-lore  of  the  French  Colonies,  —  and  so  could  pro duce  a  book  which  I  think  would  interest  you.  But I  have  been  already  long  familiar  with  the  general character  of  the  old  colonial  life.  In  Japan  I  could not  hope  to  do  justice  to  those  phases  of  life  I  wish to  study,  without  several  years'  sojourn. I  believe  you  have  read  and  spoken  kindly  of  my little  volume,  "Some  Chinese  Ghosts."  To  one  long familiar  with  the  life  of  the  Orient,  probably  the book  will  seem  full  of  misconceptions;  but  I  think you  will  understand  from  its  workmanship  that  I labour  sincerely,  in  the  artistic  sense,  and  may  be capable  of  better  things  when  I  can  obtain  larger knowledge  of  those  topics  on  which  I  have  hitherto only  been  able  to  write  as  an  amateur. If  you  can  possibly  help  me  in  this  regard,  my dear  Professor,  I  think  I  will  be  able  to  more  than realize  any  expectations  of  the  Messrs.  Harper  & Brothers.  Only  those  who  belong  to  literature  as  you do,  know  the  weight  of  the  obstacles  to  sincere  work that  an  artist  without  ample  means  must  struggle with,  or  the  gratitude  earned  by  those  who  aid  him with  opportunities. I  believe  Mr.  Ichizo  Hattori  belongs  to  the  Uni versity.  I  met  him  at  New  Orleans,  where  he  had charge  of  a  very  interesting  Educational  Exhibit  at the  Exposition,  about  which  I  wrote  several  articles for  Harper's  periodicals.  I  think  he  will  have  a kindly  remembrance  of  me. With  best  regards,  believe  me, Very  sincerely, LAFCADIO  HEAEN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  5 YOKOHAMA,  April  6,  1890. DEAR  MR.  CHAMBERLAIN, — Your  kindest  letter brought  me  a  good  deal  of  encouragement  and  plea sure.  I  am  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  tell  you,  however, that  (although  the  British  Consul  of  New  York  re fused  to  believe  it  until  he  could  obtain  the  personal affirmation  of  the  Editor  of  Harper  s  Magazine)  I am  not  an  American  citizen;  and  my  passport,  is sued  at  New  York,  establishes  my  English  citizen ship  in  Japan. However,  I  trust  this  will  not  prove  an  insur mountable  obstacle.  I  would  be  more  than  glad  of being  able,  in  exchange  for  any  service  I  could  ren der  in  a  Japanese  family,  for  example,  to  have  a small  room  in  which  I  could  write,  and  such  board  as they  might  choose  to  give  —  without  salary.  I  shall be  able  to  earn  a  fair  income  from  Harper  s  Maga zine,  if  I  can  simply  assure  living  expenses. I  have  a  copy  of  my  last  book,  just  published, which  I  will  bring  you  when  I  have  the  pleasure  of an  interview.  It  will  give  a  better  idea  than  I  can otherwise  express  of  what  I  should  like  to  attempt in  Japan. The  little  I  have  already  seen  of  this  marvellous country  so  far  surpasses  anticipation  that  I  am  al most  afraid  to  see  more  for  the  moment :  impressions so  multitudinous  and  so  sharply  novel  come  to  me every  day  that  the  mind  refuses  to  digest  them. Everything  seems  enchanted  now.  .  .  . Believe  me, Very  gratefully  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 6        LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN TOKYO,  April  9,  1890. DEAR  PROFESSOR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  am  writing again,  not  with  the  idea  of  causing  you  any  addi tional  trouble,  but  rather  with  the  hope  of  facilitat ing  matters.  An  English  teacher  whom  I  met  here, has  given  me  some  information  about  Japanese schools;  and  from  what  I  could  learn  through  him, I  think  I  should  be  very  glad  to  serve  as  English teacher  in  a  public  school  for  several  years,  if  desir able.  I  should  not  be  at  all  particular  as  to  what part  of  Japan  I  might  be  sent,  nor  for  how  long  a period  my  services  might  be  required. I  think  it  best  to  state  my  position  even  before hearing  from  you,  —  in  case  of  there  being  any  va cancies  which  I  could  occupy  in  the  country.  If  I have  the  chance,  I  think  I  shall  be  able  to  make  my self  valuable.  The  opportunity  to  teach  means  the opportunity  to  learn  and  observe;  and  this  seems more  important  to  me  every  day,  as  I  am  beginning to  understand  the  difficulty  of  comprehending  Jap anese  life,  even  in  any  number  of  years,  without some  knowledge  of  their  language.  Your  "Hand book  of  Colloquial  Japanese"  has  not  encouraged me :  I  had  no  idea  before  seeing  it  what  a  task  I  had undertaken. Sincerely, With  best  regards, LAFCADIO  HEARN. April  11,  1890. DEAR  PROFESSOR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  ...  The school  in  Kyushu  seems  a  pleasant  prospect,  — ; TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  7 being,  I  suppose,  in  a  remote  place;  and  if  the  salary be  sufficient  to  exist  upon,  I  would  prefer  it  to  any thing  in  Tokyo  but  for  the  necessity  of  waiting  so many  months.  This  I  fear  I  could  not  afford  to  do. I  have  heard  of  an  immediate  opening  in  a  private school  in  Tokyo;  but  the  salary  is  only  50  yen.  So I  am  not  sure  yet  which  way  I  shall  move;  but  I am  quite  sure  that  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  settle  down to  work,  and  study  Japanese  —  thanks  to  your  sym pathetic  kindly  efforts. I  enclose  to  you  the  Creole  Grammar  you  wished to  see.  It  is  the  best  of  the  Martinique  grammars of  its  kind;  but,  nevertheless,  far  from  perfect.  The Grammar  of  the  Mauritian  Creole,  by  Baissac, is  better  arranged;  that  of  the  Guyane  Creole,  by Saint  Quentin,  is  also  very  satisfactory.  There is  a  grammar  of  the  Trinidad  patois  by  a  coloured man  named  Thomas,  full  of  errors  in  etymology, but  otherwise  very  curious  and  not  without  value. The  Louisiana  patois  has  been  written  of  in  a  less elaborate  way  by  Alfred  Mercier.  I  can  obtain his  study  for  you,  should  you  care  to  look  at  it. There  are  many  books  —  catechisms,  etc.,  in  various Creole  dialects.  The  "Kreolische  Studies"  of  Dr. (I  cannot  for  the  moment  remember  the name)  of  Vienna,  is  an  immense  series  of  studies  on a  great  variety  of  colonial  dialects,  including,  I  be lieve,  the  Batavian  and  the  Boer  "Creoles";  but these  would  not,  I  think,  come  under  a  Creole's  defi nition  of  Creole. If  I  can  tell  you  anything  you  would  like  to  know about  the  Martinique  patois,  —  the  only  one  I  am 8  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEAKN able  to  speak  a  little,  — I  will  be  glad  of  being  so able  to  interest  you. Very  truly  and  gratefully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. October  6,  1890. DEAR  MR.  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  was  extremely pleased  this  morning  to  hear  from  you  that  you  had received  the  books  all  right,  and  that  they  were  new to  you.  I  was  terribly  afraid  I  had  sent  you  some thing  you  would  not  care  about.  I  am  also  pleased to  hear  you  received  the  copy  of  "  Youma"  for  Mrs. Napier,  whose  kind  words  about  my  work  I  am  very grateful  for.  .  .  . I  have  discovered  that  at  Rakuzan,  which  is about  one  ri  north  of  here,  there  is  a  pottery  called Rakuzan-yaki,  where  some  remarkable  work  is turned  out.  I  saw  the  Three  Apes  of  Koshin,  Lord of  Highroads,  for  example,  exquisitely  modelled  in  a clay  about  the  colour  of  this  paper.  The  designs  of artistic  objects  made  there  impressed  me  very much.  The  Governor  of  Izumo,  Mr.  Koteda,  who invited  me  to  his  house,  showed  me  many  beautiful things  which  had  been  made  in  Izumo  of  old,  deli cious  laquer-work.  This  is  no  longer  made  so  won derfully,  but  there  are  artists  in  Izumo.  I  found out  one  in  quite  a  curious  way.  In  a  temple-court, among  several  statues  of  Jizo,  I  saw  one  in  which  the God  was  represented,  as  he  ought  to  be  always,  like a  beautiful  Japanese  boy,  and  I  enquired  of  the priest  who  had  made  it.  He  gave  the  address  of  a carpenter.  I  found  the  carpenter  was  a  famous  wood- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  9 carver,  Arakawa  Jinosuke.   We  have  become  great friends. I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you  that  another  celebrated place  near  Matsue  is  Oba,  about  2  ri  south  from  the city  south,  where  Nominosukune,  father  of  wres tling  and  wrestlers,  has  his  tomb,  —  and,  I  think,  a shrine.  (The  weather  has  been  so  frightful  I  could not  go  to  see  it.)  Now  Nominosukune  is  said  to  have been  a  native  of  Kizuki,  and  a  member  of  that Senke  family  to  which  the  "Ikigami"  belongs. With  best  regards  and  kindest  wishes  for  your health,  believe  me  always, Yours  faithfully, ,,c    :v-   .  LAFCADIO  HEARN. MATSUE,  May  22,  1891. DEAR  PROFESSOR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  ...  Just at  this  instant  your  letter  enclosing  Mr.  Lowell's comes  to  me.  As  Mr.  Lowell's  letter  touches  some remarks  in  my  own,  I  conclude  he  is  in  Japan,  — which  is  very  delightful,  as  I  trust  to  see  him  one  of these  days.  It  gave  me  no  small  pleasure  to  hear  a kindly  word  of  praise  from  him.  I  am  not  quite  sure whether  the  little  song  to  which  he  refers  ("Petits amoureux  aux  plumes,"  etc.)  is  Beranger's:  I  think it  is,  for  it  rings  of  the  soul  of  the  man;  —  it  came into  Martinique  with  Paul  Bert's  text-books,  and the  radical  secularization  of  the  schools. What  I  try  to  say  and  think  in  opposition  to  the terrible  inference  of  the  Soul  of  the  Far  East,  is,  I know,  contrary  to  my  own  philosophy  (vide  Her bert  Spencer,  "  First  Principles,"  Ch.  "Dissolution," 10  LETTERS  OF  LAPCADIO  HEARN /par.  178).  The  effect  of  European  civilization  has been  "a  change  from  integrated  motions  to  disinte grated  motions."  But  the  introduction  of  Chinese civilization  must  have  had  a  somewhat  similar  ef fect;  —  and  if  Japan  can  do  with  Western  civiliza tion  what  she  did  with  Japanese,  she  would  seem to  afford,  not  the  example  of  a  general  law,  but  a magnificent  exception  thereunto.  To  do  it,  would require  a  prodigious  vitality,  of  course,  a  vitality incompatible  with  the  highest  intellectual  condition of  a  people,  perhaps.  I  am  constantly  more  and more  impressed  with  the  unspeculative  character  of the  Japanese,  —  so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  per ceive  their  mental  tendencies.  They  do  not  seem  to find  pleasure  in  the  suggestions  of  philosophy:  — they  read  Herbert  Spencer  without  a  suspicion  of the  tremendous  ghostly  fact  behind  his  whole  sys tem;  and  I  have  not  yet  met  any  one  among  them who  finds  pleasure  in  the  study  of  relations  of  things. But,  everything  considered,  there  is  a  charm  about Japanese  life  and  thought,  about  their  way  of  tak ing  life  and  enjoying  it,  so  deliciously  natural,  that only  to  be  in  its  atmosphere  a  while  is  like  a  revela tion  of  something  we  Westerners  never  suspected. What  is  this?  Mr.  Lowell  can  perhaps  tell  very charmingly.  His  observation  in  "Noto"  that  the Japanese  are  the  happiest  people  in  the  world,  is superlatively  true.  It  is  the  old  Greek  soul  again, /'To  escape  out  of  Western  civilization  into  Japanese^ life  is  like  escaping  from  a  pressure  of  ten  atmo spheres  into  a  perfectly  normal  medium.  I  must  also confess  that  the  very  absence  of  the  Individuality, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  11 essentially  characteristic  of  the  Occident  is  one  oK the  charms  of  Japanese  social  life  for  me:  here  the  \ individual  does  not  strive  to  expand  his  own  indi-  ) viduality  at  the  expense  of  that  of  every  one  else. According  to  a  French  thinker,  that  is  the  great  law of  modern  life  abroad.  Here  each  can  live  as  quietly in  the  circle  of  himself  as  upon  a  lotos-blossom  in  the Gohuraku:  the  orbs  of  existence  do  not  clash  and squeeze  each  other  out  of  shape.    Now  would  not this  be  also  the  condition  of  life  in  a  perfected  hu manity? I  travelled  through  Japan  westward  to  Noto  with Mr.  Lowell,  step  by  step,  —  feeling  all  the  plea sures,  vexations,  and  dangers  of  the  trip  as  acutely as  if  I  had  been  accompanying  him  in  body;  sym pathizing  with  every  sensation,  but  finding  thef greatest  pleasure  in  those  delightful  little  thoughts, which  sprinkle  the  whole  work  through,  —  snatches of  intimate  conversation.  They  also,  I  thought, made  the  particular  and  unrivalled  charm  of  "Cho- son."  Such  books  of  travel  could  not  have  been written  by  any  one  a  generation  ago;  they  reflect the  thought  of  another  era, — men  now  think thoughts  they  never  dared  to  think  before. If  Mr.  Lowell  comes  to  Izumo  I  will  show  him  a belt  of  glass  let  into  my  shojis,  so  as  to  give  one  the idea,  when  sitting  down,  of  "being  strangely  out-of- doors;"  and  when  standing  up,  of  "being  uncom fortably  indoors."  There  is  no  canned  milk  here; but  there  are  also  scarcely  any  articles  of  European diet.  I  have  even  been  wicked  enough  to  discourage the  local  manufacture  of  bread,  by  absolutely  re- 12  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN fusing  to  buy  it,  to  the  extreme  astonishment  of  the baker.  But  there  is  superb  lake  scenery,  which would  leave  memories  behind  much  better  than  the awful  recollection  of  the  Onigajo. Well,  I  have  written  enough  to  strain  your  pa tience,  for  I  know  your  time  is  more  precious  than mine. For  the  moment,  good-bye,  with  best  regards  to Mr.  Lowell,  and  believe  me, Ever  faithfully  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. MIONOSEKI,  August  27,  1891. DEAR  PROFESSOR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Mionoseki| is  about  the  very  most  Japanesey  town  I  was  ever  in./ The  streets  are  so  narrow  that  I  could  jump  from  the second  story  of  my  hotel  into  the  second  story  of  the opposite  building.  But  the  vistas  are  delightfully picturesque.  The  town  curves  along  the  verge  of  a semicircular  bay,  with  a  demi-line  of  curiously  corru gated  volcanic  hills  behind  it,  —  so  that  the  streets are  squeezed  between  this  semicircle  of  hills  and  the water,  —  which  is  deep  close  to  shore,  so  that  ves sels  can  move  close  to  the  houses.  I  take  a  swim  in the  bay  each  morning,  stepping  out  from  the  back door  of  the  hotel  from  a  stone  wharf  into  the  sea. Sakai,  however,  is  still  better  for  swimming.  The water  at  the  door  of  the  hotel  in  Sakai  was  sixteen feet  deep  and  as  clear  as  plateglass.  At  Sakai  it  was a  sort  of  fjord  between  Izumo  and  Hoki,  very  long and  narrow,  like  a  river  mouth,  but  very  deep,  so that  large  vessels  can  come  in.  At  Mionoseki  the  bay TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  13 is  nearly  the  shape  of  a  clamshell.  The  manufacture of  pretty  bamboo  baskets  of  all  conceivable  designs, and  other  bamboo  ware,  is  the  meibutsu. The  Miojinja  disappointed  me.  It  looks  nearly as  fine  as  the  exterior  of  the  Hinomisaki  shrines,  but interiorly  does  not  bear  the  shadow  of  a  comparison with  them.  The  grounds  are  however  dignified,  and in  the  centre  of  the  main  court  I  saw  a  bronze  lava tory,  — like  the  molten  sea  of  Exodus,  —  which  must have  cost  many  thousands  of  dollars.  The  mamori were  not  interesting.  However  this  is  the  great  place for  mamori.  The  Koto-shiro-nushi-no-kami  of  Mio- noseki  is  the  Great  Deity  of  the  hyakusho-no-jin.  He protects  their  crops.  Here  are  most  of  those  charms made  which  feather  those  "arrows  of  prayers,"  I previously  described  to  you,  and  which  the  country folk  buy  myriads  of  to  stick  all  over  their  fields.  \ I  am  going  to  send  you  a  specimen.  Here  also  are sold  magical  rice-seeds.  Whatever  crop  you  wish to  grow,  this  rice-seed  will  produce  it.  Only  sow the  rice  and  pray.  There  will  arise  barley,  wheat, maize,  watermelons,  or  cabbages,  according  to  the heart's  desire. The  picturesqueness  of  the  place  enchants  me. But  the  popular  bathing  resort  half  a  mile  off  — Kaisuiyoku — is  abominable.  Why  do  the  Japanese deliberately  pick  out  bathing  resorts  where  the  bot tom  is  all  jagged  rocks  and  stones  ?  —  as  at  Oiso  ? And  why,  oh  why  do  they  prefer  such  damnable places  to  smooth  velvety  beaches  of  sand  ?  Is  it  only because  of  their  rare  artistic  perception  of  the  beauty of  stones  ?  T  have  been  a  convert  to  this  religion  of 14  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN stones ;  —  but  stones  under  water,  unseen,  sharp- edged,  brutal,  only  remind  one  of  the  shores  of  the Lake  of  Blood  in  the  Buddhist  Kakemonos. More  and  more  watching  the  happy  life  of  these people,  I  doubt  whether  our  own  civilization  is  mor-y ally  all  we  believe  it  is.  I  cannbt  help  thinking  that what  Kaempf  er  so  long  ago  said  about  the  Japanese holds  good  to-day, — that  "they  far  outdo  the Christians."  And  perhaps  our  moralists,  with  their Semitic  ideas  about  original  sin,  are  responsible  for a  very  serious  misrepresentation  when  they  allege that  because  the  Japanese  ideas  of  sexual  morals  are different  from  our  own,  they  are  really  much  worse. Judging  from  what  I  have  witnessed  "behind  the* scenes  "  of  city  life  abroad,  they  are  much  better  on the  whole  in  practice,  though  not  perhaps  in  theory. Christianity  while  professing  to  be  a  religion  of  love, has  always  seemed  to  me  in  history  and  practice  a religion  of  hate,  with  its  jealous  and  revengeful deity,  its  long  record  of  religious  wars  and  inquisi tions,  and  its  mutual  reproaches  between  sects  of being  under  the  curse  of  eternal  perdition.  No  such feeling  of  religious  hate  seems  to  me  possible  to  exist in  Japan.  As  the  Romans  persecuted  only  religion^ which  proved  hostile  to  their  government,  so  Japan seems  to  have  never  hated  any  faith  which  did  not war  upon  national  integrity  and  morals. What  is  really  the  main  object  of  life  ?  or  what should  be  one's  main  purpose  in  life  ?  To  succeed  in money-making  by  imposing  on  others,  or  to  waste one's  existence  to  win  empty  praise  when  one  gets old,  or  to  simply  cultivate  one's  self  as  far  as  possible TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  15 for  the  better,  and  enjoy  this  existence  all  one  can? The  last  seems  to  me  much  the  more  rational  and moral,  and  it  seems  to  be  somewhat  Japanese.  Then what  a  very  charming  influence  upon  life  has  this creed  of  preexistence  and  transmigration, — with  its promises  for  future  births,  and  its  fearlessness  about journeying  to  the  Meido,  whither  one  travels  with just  a  little  tear  or  two  only,  as  if  bound  for  a  long trip  abroad,  simply  a  voyage  to  the  West  or  South, somewhat  longer  than  usual. The  effect  of  proselytism  in  Izumo  appears  to  me very  unfavourable.  The  converts  are  few;  but  they retrograde  morally  and  mentally.  Two  boys  con verted  here  some  years  ago,  became  insane.  Al though  I  think  such  denunciations  are  cruel  and  use less  in  most  cases,  I  could  not  feel  sorry  that  the leading  Shinto  magazine  spoke  of  these  cases  as  visi tations  of  the  wrath  of  the  Kami:  —  they  will  ren der  it  more  difficult  to  attempt  proselytism  upon weak-minded  or  nervous  boys. But  these  are  mere  individual  notions.  Perhaps it  is  not  intended  in  the  eternal  order  of  things  that any  people  in  the  world  shall  continue  to  remain honest,  and  simple-hearted,  and  ingenuous,  and happy.  Perhaps  the  law  of  progress  means  increase of  misery  and  wretched  development  of  selfishnesses and  jealousies  and  oppression  of  the  many  for  the benefit  of  the  few.  Perhaps  Schopenhauer  is  right, perhaps  everything  is  irresistibly  tending  to  that condition,  supposed,  I  think,  by  Renan,  when  the universal  apprehension  of  the  variety  of  existence should  beget  the  universal  will  to  cease  to  exist,  at  a 16  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN time  when  the  mere  volition  should  suffice  to  pro duce  instantaneously  the  desired  result. Ever  faithfully  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  The  God  of  Mionoseki  is  also  the  great  God of  sailors  here.  They  pray  to  him  for  fair  weather. There  are  no  hens  or  chickens  here,  for  the  reasons already  given  in  a  former,  letter;  but  there  are ducks,  and  ducks'  eggs. September  4,  1891. DEAR  PROFESSOR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  ...  I  think I  wrote  you  before  that  the  fox  superstition  in  Izumo has  special  peculiarities,  and  is  strong  enough  to  af fect  the  price  of  real  estate  to  a  very  large  amount. You  know  the  translation  by  James  of  the  "Dis course  upon  Infinite  Vision."  Now  the  most  telling point  of  the  whole  thing  to  me  was  the  priest's appeal  to  his  hearers'  superstition  about  the  fox  to prove  his  metaphysical  argument,  and  the  immedi ate  success  of  that  appeal.  Even  among  the  mod- ernly  educated  here,  the  belief  in  the  three  kinds  of foxes  prevails  to  a  large  extent.  Just  as  a  student once  wrote  for  me  in  an  English  comparison:  —  "It is  hard  to  say  if  these  stories  of  foxes  are  true.  But  it is  hard  to  say  that  they  are  not  true.9' What  you  say  about  Mr.  Lowell's  being  probably less  intimate  with  the  common  people  than  I  now am,  is,  I  think,  true.  Certainly  so  large  a  personality as  his  would  find  it  extremely  difficult  —  probably painful  —  to  adopt  Japanese  life  without  reserves, its  costumes,  its  diet,  its  life  upon  the  floor,  its  inter- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  17 minable  small  etiquette,  its  everlasting  round  of interviews  with  people  who  have  nothing  to  say  but a  few  happy  words,  its  Matsuri  customs  and  house hold  formalities.  He  has  what  the  French  would  call une  envergure  trop  vaste  pour  ga;  and  for  so  penetrat ing  and  finely  trained  an  intellect,  the  necessary sacrifice  of  one's  original  self  would  be  mere  waste. Still,  I  think  it  is  only  by  this  way,  in  the  course  of years,  that  I  can  get  at  the  Kokoro  of  the  common people,  —  which  is  my  whole  aim,  —  the  religious and  emotional  home  life.  What  I  have  seen  of  the educated  modernized  Japanese  does  not  strike  me  as worth  studying  for  literary  purposes.  They  seem  to me  like  a  soft  reflection  of  Latin  types,  without  the Latin  force  and  brilliancy  and  passion  —  somewhat as  in  dreams  the  memory  of  people  we  have  known become  smilingly  aerial  and  imponderable. Your  illustration  about  homeopathy  is  superb,  — a  little  severe,  but  I  think  it  is  impossible  to  state the  whole  weak  side  of  anything  without  some  forci ble  severity.  But  the  ultimate  tendency  would  thus be  toward  a  second  Ryubu-Shinto,  —  would  it  not? I  must  confess  I  would  sacrifice  much,  if  I  had  any-  \ thing  worth  sacrificing,  to  see  a  pure  strong  revival of  Buddhism.  But  the  Buddhists  seem  to  have  no  / great  men  now,  no  forces:  —  no  possibility  of  an other  Nichiren,  is  there?  I  fear  it  cannot  come:  this hoped-for  revival,  through  native  sources  alone;  the Buddhist  scholars  are  lukewarm  souls — mere  book worms.  But  it  might  come  through  the  influence  of the  Western  higher  philosophy,  indirectly.  To  make the  Japanese  people  simply  irreligious,  would  de- 18  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN stroy  everything  beautiful  in  their  life,  and  nothing seems  to  me  so  admirably  suited  to  that  gentle  life as  the  faith  of  Buddhism.  The  sight  of  a  superb Japanese  iron-clad  at  Mionoseki  the  other  day,  filled me  with  regret.  That  splendid  monster  appeared  as an  omen  of  some  future  so  much  more  dismal  and artificial  than  the  present.  .  .  . September  10,  1891. DEAR  PROFESSOR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  have  re turned  from  Kakaura  and  the  neighbouring  caves —  one  of  which  is  (by  reason  of  its  legends  largely) the  weirdest  place  I  ever  saw.  .  .  . Women  boatmen  took  us  to  Kaka.  After  leaving the  tiny  bay  of  Mitsu-ura,  the  boat  follows  the  coast to  the  right.  An  awful,  black,  iron-bound  coast, where  the  surf  is  never  still,  —  eccentric,  jagged, ravined,  upheaved,  breached,  turned  upside  down  in places;  strata-lines  at  all  conceivable  angles  from /  to  \  ,  and  vice  versa.  After  about  two  hours' rowing,  reached  a  pretty  bay,  quite  large,  in  a corner  of  which  is  Kaka.  Passed  the  bay  and  made for  the  caves.  There  are  two,  the  old  and  the  new. The  new  is  the  further.  We  went  there  first.  A superb  sea-cave,  or  caves;  for  there  are  three  open ings.  The  water  is  deep  and  clear.  One  of  the  wo men  took  a  stone  and  rapped  on  the  bow  as  we entered.  I  wanted  to  take  a  swim,  but  was  assured the  Kami  would  be  displeased.  It  would  be  "certain death."  These  caves,  although  sacred  to  the  Kami, contain  a  rock  from  which  milk  is  said  to  drip  for  the ghosts  of  Jizo's  pets  to  drink.  From  here  we  made TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  19 our  way  back  to  the  alleged  "older  cave."  Here  was the  weirdness.  This  cave  is  doubled  and  has  a  floor of  solid  rock.  Thousands  upon  thousands  of  stone- piles  cover  it,  heaped  up  at  night,  't  is  said,  by  the ghosts  of  little  children  coming  to  worship  the statues  of  Jizo.  I  saw  tiny  footprints  a  few  inches long  in  the  sand,  said  to  be  the  prints  of  the  feet  of the  little  ghosts.  Shinto  and  Buddhism  join  hands here.  There  are  several  statues  of  Jizo,  before  each of  which  is  a  small  torii  and  a  pair  of  gohei. Thence  to  Kakaura,  a  delicious  sleepy  little port.  The  prettiest,  gentlest,  sweetest  population  I ever  saw.  All  the  boys  looked  like  Jizo  and  all  the girls  like  Kwannon.  I  would  like  to  buy  Kakaura  and put  it  in  my  toko. I  think  Jizo  is  far  the  most  interesting  and  popu lar  deity  in  Japan.  All  the  tenderest  poetry  of  Bud dhism  is  his  aureole.  Never  have  I  travelled  on  a road  or  passed  a  hamlet  where  he  was  not.  Even  in Kitzuki  he  prevails.  I  have  written  hundreds  of pages  already  about  him.  I  imagine  that  he  will  be the  last  of  the  Buddhist  divinities  to  pass  into  the Nirvana  of  oblivion,  supposing  that  Buddhism itself  must  pass  away. But  I  am  sorry  that  I  cannot  send  you  any  mam- ori.  There  is  no  temple  or  to  or  anything  near  the caves,  —  only  the  awful  goblin  coast  and  the  awful sea,  Hotoke-no-umi.  There  are  also  plenty  of sharks. Just  as  in  the  West  Indies,  so  in  Japan  I  find  that there  are  extraordinary  physical  differences  between the  populations  of  villages  only  a  few  miles  apart. 20  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Some  physical  type  becomes  dominant  when  the population  is  isolated  by  absence  of  good  roads,  by mountains,  by  those  local  conditions  which  deter mine  the  fate  of  communities. Very  truly, -   LAFCADIO  HEARN. February  12,  1892. DEAR  FRIEND  CHAMBERLAIN, — What  a  delight  it was  to  get  your  charming  Manila  letter;  and  how I  envied  you:  —  not  only  those  things  which  you liked,  but  also  even  those  things  which  you  did  not like;  the  rich,  divine,  moist,  life-sapping  and  life-giv ing  heat  of  the  tropics,  and  the  exquisite  romance of  rummaging  in  old  monastic  libraries;  —  and  (but will  you  please  forgive  me  for  saying  so?)  the  Span ish  dance-music.  There  is  an  estudiantina  serenade, played  only  upon  mandolines  and  flutes,  which  I used  to  hear  on  tropical  nights,  but  of  which  I  never learned  the  name;  and  sometimes  I  dream  of  it, and  wake  up  with  such  regret  that  I  dare  not  sleep again;  until  I  tire  myself  out  reading  or  writing.  I wonder  why.  Is  it  the  melody  only,  —  sweet  as  a cooing  of  doves, — or  is  it  the  vision  of  palms  under the  southern  cross,  and  thoughts  of  purple  sea,  and odors  of  orange  and  lemon  flowers?  I  can't  quite decide;  perhaps  if  you  heard  a  Spanish  melody  in London,  or  (dare  I  say  it?)  a  Japanese  geisha-song, the  memories  evoked  by  it  might  seem  so  pleasant that  you  would  forgive  the  notes.  The  reason  I can't  decide,  however,  is  that  the  rhythm  of  an African  drum-bamboula  skilfully  played,  delights TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  31 me  in  a  kindred  way;  and  of  course  that  is  not music,  though  it  is  certainly  capable  of  expressing certain  animal  emotions; — excitements  and  frenzies that  are  contagious.  And  you  will  be  horrified  to hear  that  I  cannot  delight  in  Wagner  and  intellec tual  music,  not  having  any  cultivated  musical  sense. I  am  told  it  must  be  acquired  slowly,  by  study  and opportunity.  As  I  have  said  so  much,  I  want  to  say something  more.  I  cannot  like  the  professional music  of  the  Japanese, — that  is,  vocal, — as  I  like the  chants  of  the  peasantry,  the  occasional  queer bursts  of  quaverings  and  long  weird  plaintive  tones breaking  here  and  there  into  fractions  of  notes. Some  of  these  seem  to  me  very  pretty,  and  savagely natural,  like  the  chant  of  a  semi,  or  a  wild  bird. . . . From  what  you  tell  me  about  Manila,  I  conceive the  social  life  must  be  much  like  that  of  the  Latin West  Indies;  the  same  dining  hours,  the  same amusements,  the  same  incapacity  for  intellectual pursuits  forced  by  the  tropical  climate.  I  could  only work  in  such  heat  from  5  A.  M.  till  11 ;  for  the  rest  of the  day,  to  work  was  to  risk  one's  life.  But  that  is not  the  worst.  The  worst  is  the  development  of  mor bid  nervous  sensibility  to  material  impressions,  and absolute  loss  of  thinking  power,  accompanied  by numbing  or  clouding  of  memory.  (And  yet  —  I  love the  tropics.)  As  for  the  half-breeds  of  Manila,  if they  made  no  impression,  no  strong  physical  impres sion  of  attractiveness,  I  would  doubt  if  the  race would  compare  with  the  West  Indian  half-breeds  in physique.  The  ungainliness  of  the  pure  whites  would, I  think,  be  the  result  of  the  same  convent  training 22  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN which  makes  Creole  women  so  clumsy  at  a  certain time  of  life.  By  the  way,  the  use  of  the  word  "con vent,"  you  call  attention  to,  is,  I  think,  a  very  old one  in  Latin  countries,  in  the  signification  of  mon astery.  I  think  you  will  find  the  word  so  used  in nearly  all  the  old  traditions  of  the  Middle  Ages, — such  as  the  legends  of  Francis  of  Assisi,  and  our poets  follow  suit;  —  for  instance,  Longfellow  in "The  Golden  Legend,"  and  the  "Legend  Beautiful," and  Rossetti,  Tennyson,  etc.  The  distinction  be tween  "convent"  as  a  nunnery,  and  "monastery" is,  I  think,  only  a  popular  English  one.  The  former word  signifies  really  the  house  of  a  religious  order of  either  sex. I  have  never  read  Valera,  —  indeed,  until  you wrote  about  him,  I  had  imagined  the  name  to  be  a French  pseudonym  for  one  who  wanted  to  call  at tention  to  his  stories  of  Spanish  life.  (You  know  he is  much  read  in  the  French  version, — at  least  I often  saw  notices  of  his  books  in  French  papers;  but I  thought  they  were  books  by  a  Frenchman.)  But, speaking  of  books,  if  you  have  not  read  Rudyard Kipling  at  his  best,  I  think  you  will  have  a  treat  in "Life's  Handicap,"  especially.  There  is  a  prodigious compressed  force  in  the  man's  style  that  reminds  me at  times  of  the  style  of  the  Norse  writers,  like  Bjorn- son.  A  great  test  of  a  book  is,  "Can  you  read  it twice  ?  "  Certainly  one  cannot  read  Zola  twice,  — perhaps  not  even  Maupassant,  though  so  wondrous a  story-teller  is  Maupassant.  But  you  can  read  the short  stories  of  "Life's  Handicap"  several  times over,  always  with  the  same  charm.  I  can  also  recom- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  23 mend  "  Wee  Willie  Winkie,"  "The  Gadsbys,"  "  Sol diers  Three,"  "  Under  the  Deodars,"  "Plain  Tales from  the  Hills,"  "The  Light  that  Failed."  The Macmillan  editions  are  much  fuller  and  finer  than the  Indian  prints. Though  it  pleased  me  so  much  to  hear  that  Japan seemed  more  beautiful  as  you  recede  further  from it  ( —  and,  indeed,  all  that  I  love  in  the  tropics  is Nature  and  that  in  man  which  reflects  tropical  Na ture's  fine  side),  —  still,  did  not  Spanish  politeness suggest  to  you  with  new  sudden  force  the  faint resemblance  of  the  Japanese  to  the  Latins?  It  will be,  however,  in  England,  I  fancy,  that  you  will  en joy  Japan  best  from  a  distance.  There  the  con trasts  will  focus  most  sharply. My  next  Japanese  volume  (No.  2)  must  consist, if  possible,  of  story-matter,  or  sketches  construct ively  resembling  stories.  But  I  am  in  despair  about conversational  work.  In  a  story,  the  foreign  idiom, however  queer,  must  remain  the  foreign  idiom  in English;  otherwise  one  simply  makes  Japanese  talk and  think  English.  Even  Mr.  Dening,  who  ought  to know  artistically  better,  does  this.  Hepburn's  Dic tionary  makes  no  attempt  at  etymology,  —  only an  English  rendering  is  given.  What  tremendous work,  however,  to  give  the  morphology  of  Japanese words.  Yet  how  essential  to  a  clear  comprehension of  their  artistic  use  by  any  one,  not  a  scholar.  .  .  . With  best  regards  and  earnest  wishes  for  a  plea sant  English  summer,  believe  me, Ever  faithfully  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 24       LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN December  9,  1892. DEAR  PROFESSOR,  —  How  glad  it  made  me  to  see your  writing  again !  —  and  to  find  myself  so  kindly remembered. How  supremely  we  are  at  one  on  the  subject  of Gothic  architecture.  It  is  in  his  judgment  of  it  that I  think  Taine's  great  artistic  weakness  lies.  He  fol lows  Brunelleschi;  —  considers  durability,  architec tural  interproportion  and  balancing, — shows  aston ishing  insensibility  to  meaning.  Perhaps  because  he is  no  poet.  It  is  the  only  architecture  that  is  really alive.  Victor  Hugo  perceived  one  phase  of  it;  —  not the  beautiful,  but  the  awful,  —  the  sense  it  gives  one of  being  in  the  skeleton  of  some  tremendous  animal. Certainly  within  it  is  all  bone  and  tendon,  jointings, articulations,  ribbings,  vertebrae,  —  processes  fan tastic  and  innumerable.  Without  it  is  a  hymn  whose strophes  rise  and  burn  to  heaven  as  flame,  —  it  is  a conflagration  of  aspirement  in  stone.  How  I  wish  I could  have  seen  Cologne.  That  is  one  of  my  hopes and  dreams.  The  style  is  severe;  but  what  must  be the  impression  of  a  choir  160  feet  high,  and  towers over  500.  I  am  all  pagan;  but  Greek  architecture, I  feel,  is  only  stone.  Gothic  is  soul,  —  or  better Spirit,  using  the  sharp-angled  flame-word. Your  letter  from  Manila  bewitched  me.  I  shall hope  and  scheme  to  go  there  some  day,  —  at  least for  a  winter.  How  I  should  enjoy  the  native  life,  I don't  know;  the  Malay,  or  Tagal,  seems  rather  im penetrable;  but  as  to  the  colonial  life  I  think  I  could make  some  literary  finds.  .  .  . I  have  been  interested  in  the  worship  of  Needles, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  25 to  which  Mochi  are  offered,  and  in  the  discovery  of a  curious  Izumo  household  ceremony  anciently  prac tised  before  every  Kamidama  on  a  certain  Matsuri for  the  expulsion  of  foreigners  from  Japan,  —  and in  the  history  of  the  Goblin  of  the  Snow,  —  and  in the  discovery  of  a  belief  in  9  (nine)  souls.  Why  nine? And  Mason  will  tell  you  about  my  notes  on  prayers for  the  Souls  of  animals,  and  other  matters. Meanwhile  I  have  read  Batchelor's  book  on  the Ainu  which  suggested  the  following  observations: (l)  I  suspect  a  connection  between  the  Japanese gohei  and  the  Ainu  inao. (2)  I  feel  almost  certain  that  Batchelor  is  wrong and  Miss  Bird  right  about  the  religion  of  the  Ainu. The  law  of  religious  evolution,  now  clearly  laid  down, seems  to  me  to  preclude  the  possibility  of  a  natural monotheistic  conception  on  the  part  of  a  primitive race.  The  Ainu  may  now  profess  a  belief  in  one  God, "Creator  of  heaven  and  earth;"  but  is  that  belief not  a  modern  imported  one?  I  feel  sure  almost  that it  is. About  myself,  I  am  all  right  for  Kumamoto  for another  year,  I  suppose,  —  perhaps  as  long  as  I  like. .  .  .  I'll  write  more  about  my  own  affairs  another time. Yours  ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. KUMAMOTO,  December  12,  1892. DEAR  PROFESSOR,  —  "In  summer  the  heat  is  so hot  that  we  can  accomplish  nothing;  and  in  winter the  cold  is  simply  impossible  to  bear." 26  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN The  above  extract  from  a  composition  I  have  just corrected,  expresses  correctly  the  local  opinion  of this  climate,  —  all  of  which  is  introductory  to  a  con fession.  You  may  recollect  my  former  confession about  returning  to  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt.  (And  I have  never  been  able  to  go  back  to  Japanese  diet, except  while  travelling.)  But  I  did  without  fire  for two  winters;  for  a  hibachi  is  not  fire,  you  know;  it  is only  a  ghost,  or  a  pipe-light,  —  and  a  Kotatsu requires  a  prolonged  discipline  of  the  spinal  muscles, which  I  lack.  And  this  winter,  in  spite  of  my  love and  enthusiasm  for  things  Japanese,  I  find  myself obliged  to  hire  many  carpenters  to  fix  my  study,  — putting  in  glass  shoji,  and  erecting  a  stove.  Because the  cold  "is  simply  impossible  to  bear."  And  I have  changed  my  residence  to  "Tsuboi,  Nishihori- bata  35,"  —  obtaining  a  pretty  house,  with  a  pretty garden,  —  surrounded  by  cemeteries  and  images  of Gods. I  wonder  if  you  ever  heard  of  a  strange  old  super stition  that  a  miko,  or  even  the  wife  of  a  Kannushi, cannot  rest  in  the  grave,  but  is  eaten  by  a  goblin wolf  after  death.  The  goblin  comes  to  the  grave  and howls,  and  the  corpse  then  rises  up  to  be  devoured, just  as  Southey's  Old  Woman  of  Berkeley  gets  up when  the  devil  calls.  It  is  a  superstition  of  the  Izumo peasantry.  Please  don't  mention  my  name  in  con nection  with  it  if  you  happen  to  speak  of  it  to  any body  else.  I  can't  afford  to  write  about  many  things in  connection  with  rustic  Shinto,  which  is  a  totally different  thing  from  the  majestic  and  dignified Izumo  Taisha.  The  peasant's  Kannushi  does  queer TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  27 things;  —  primitive  things,  —  extraordinary  things. But  why  should  the  peasants  have  so  ghastly  a  fancy about  a  faith  which  they  respect  most  profoundly otherwise.  The  origin  of  such  a  hideous  story  cannot be  in  Shinto  itself,  which  has  always  respected  wo man.  And  it  cannot  be  naturally  in  Buddhism  which vindicates  the  holiness  of  womanhood  so  magnifi cently  in  the  Saddharma  Pundarika,  —  a  passage finer  by  far  than  that  of  Christ  and  the  adulteress, not  in  its  humanity,  but  in  its  spirituality.  Perhaps there  survives  an  older  belief  than  any  form  of either  religion  we  know  of,  attaching  an  idea  of  evil to  the  assumption  of  any  sacerdotal  function  by women,  —  an  idea  going  back  to  that  remoter  age in  which  a  priestess  could  exist  only  as  a  witch? What  do  you  think? I  hope  Mason  has  preserved  for  you  the  pretty lines  of  Rudyard  Kipling  about  the  Daibutsu  at Kamakura.  I  enjoy  him,  —  not  the  poetry  of  the effort,  but  the  prose  of  it.  It  is  delicious.  Alas!  I had  written  my  commonplace  stuff  about  the  Dai butsu  long  ago;  —  long  before.  Would  I  could  atone for  it  now !  But  then  Kipling  is  a  giant  in  all  things compared  to  me.  Read  the  Queen's  words  on  pp. 250-1-2  of  the  "Naulahka."  I  think  they  will  bring tears.  Immense  force  without  the  least  appearance of  an  attempt  or  wish  to  effect.  I  despair  when  I read  that  man's  work. "Calm  as  a  deep  still  water,"  says  an  ancient Sutra  of  the  Teacher.  And  there  at  Kamakura  He  is even  so  —  deep,  still,  and  luminous  as  the  ether.  . . . To  lie  about  the  beautiful  is  to  lie  about  the  Infinite 28  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Goodness  and  the  heart  of  Life,  —  and  there  is  for giveness  never  for  that  sin. But  I  won't  tire  you  any  more  now. Good-bye. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. KUMAMOTO,  December  21,  1892. DEAR  PROFESSOR,  —  "I  take  my  pen  in  hand"  to write  of  my  new  home,  and  matters  in  connection therewith.  The  house  is  pretty,  and  it  has  a  land scape  garden,  —  not  so  quaintly  beautiful  as  that  in Matsue,  but  quite  nice  with  artificial  hills,  pines trimmed  strata-fashion,  and  an  amazing  multitude of  stones.  There  are  glass  bells  tinkling  at  the  eaves; and  there  are  monkeys  painted  in  the  watercloset. Fancy  a  real  monkey  in  a  watercloset.  This  alone strikes  me  as  an  incongruous  and  unpleasantly  sug gestive  decoration.  The  stove  works  well,  and  I could  make  you  comfortable  in  my  glass-box  of  a study. But  in  order  to  go  to  Nishihoribata,  we  had  to move  in  a  northerly  direction,  thereby  offending Kojin,  who  hates  the  north,  and  all  who  move  that way.  (Oh,  Kojin,  —  if  you  knew  how  far  south I  should  like  to  go,  we  would  be  wonderful  friends.) Kojin  seems  to  have  no  image;  in  Izumo  he  is  always a  tree.  He  is  no  relative  to  Koshin,  and  old  girl's dolls  and  boy's  dolls  are  given  to  him  instead  of being  thrown  out.  But  the  origin  of  him  I  can't make  out.  I  thought  he  was  Shinto,  but  he  stands  in Buddhist  courtyards.  Well,  in  order  to  placate  him TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  29 we  had  to  have  rites  performed  by  a  Buddhist  priest. The  prayers  were  not  addressed  to  Kojin  at  all,  but to  Shoten.  Who  is  Shoten,  I  can't  make  out,  further than  that 't  is  Shoten  who  is  to  preserve  us  from  the wrath  of  Kojin.  Mamori  were  given  to  us;  and  I  ate some  rice  blessed  by  the  Bonsan.  This  is,  perhaps, to  keep  Kojin  from  disturbing  my  inwards.  (May the  Tathagata  pardon  me  for  speaking  thus  plainly about  gods  whom  I  cannot  understand.)  The  line  of demarcation  between  Shinto  and  Buddhist  deities  is as  difficult  to  define  as  that  between  the  vegetable and  animal  world,  or  between  certain  contested varieties  of  the  human  race;  and  the  more  I  find  out, the  less  sure  I  am  of  anything  about  them. A  paragraph  in  the  Mail  about  Daikoku  reminds me  of  something  I  wanted  to  tell  you  long  ago.  That the  Rat  should  figure  as  a  retainer  of  Daikoku,  and in  the  neighbourhood  of  his  rice-bales,  naturally seemed  queer  to  many  familiar  with  the  picture  on the  bank-bills.  But  in  Izumo  where  Daikoku  is Oho-kumi-nushi-no-kami,  the  mystery  is  not.  There the  rat  is  the  Mouse  of  the  Kojiki  (page  73)  who whispered,  —  "The  inside  is  hollow,  hollow."  In your  note  on  the  same  page  I  find  that  the  word might  be  translated  either  "rat"  or  "mouse."  This story  is  among  the  people.  I  got  it  from  no  priestly authority,  —  and  it  seems  to  explain  the  relation ship  perfectly  well. And  I  wish  you  a  merry  Christmas,  a  happy  New Year,  and  good  health  and  good  luck. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 30  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN P.  S.  Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  be  hungry  for  a sensation?  I  suppose  not,  because  you  are  in  the habit  of  receiving  them  daily.  But  I  can't  get  any here,  in  winter  especially.  I  can  only  grind,  grind  all the  time.  Perhaps  I  have  exhausted  capacity  for sensation  in  a  Japanese  city.  Things  which  used  to seem  to  me  wonderful  now  produce  no  effect  at  all. I  must  try  to  make  occasional  voyages  to  the  tropics. KUMAMOTO,  January  14,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  delightful  lines  came this  morning,  and  I  waited  only  till  after  class  to have  this  chance  of  chatting  about  something  very close  to  my  heart.  I  have  just  sent  away  an  article about  it,  —  under  the  rather  misleading  title,  "The Japanese  Smile." Your  lines  about  Lowell  almost  put  him  into  my room,  and  I  think  I  can  hear  him  talk.  Now  for some  presumption.  He  is  so  much  larger  a  man  than I,  that  I  would  feel  it  presumption  to  differ  with  him on  any  point  if  I  did  not  remember  that  in  the psychological  world  a  man  may  grow  too  tall  to  see anything  near  him  clearly.  Now  first  for  my  pre sent  position.  Of  course  no  thinker  can  ignore Lowell's  book.  The  idea  is  too  powerful,  too  scienti fic,  and  too  well  sustained  not  to  demand  the  utmost respect  and  study.  I  have  given  both.  The  result  is that  I  must  fully  accept  his  idea  as  a  discovery.  The point  on  which  I  struggled  longest  was  Spencer's statement  that  the  "highest  individuation  must coincide  with  the  greatest  mutual  dependence,"  — TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  31 that  evolutional  progress  is  "at  once  toward  the greatest  separateness  and  the  greatest  union."  This point  was  hard  for  me  to  accept  because,  in  view  of other  studies  I  made,  hard  for  me  to  understand. Now  understanding  it,  taking  it  as  a  conviction  into my  mind,  nothing  remains  but  to  accept  Lowell's view. But  still  we  are  not  at  one.  This  is  because  his standpoint  of  pure  science  is  too  high  to  allow  of that  intimacy  which  means  soul  sympathy.  I  have tried  to  study  from  the  bottom  what  he  has  ob served  from  the  top.  Now,  to  me,  the  most  beau tiful,  the  most  significant,  the  most  attractive  point of  Japanese  character,  is  revealed  by  the  very  ab sence  of  that  personality  to  which  Mr.  Lowell's  book points  as  an  Oriental  phenomenon.  I  do  not  mean the  fact  in  itself,  but  that  which  it  signifies.  What  it signifies  was  very,  very  hard  for  me  to  understand. I  could  not  understand  some  points  until  after  a weary  study  of  the  Chinese  classics.  Others  I  under stood,  by  guess,  from  passages  in  the  Kojiki,  —  in old  poems,  —  in  Buddhist  texts.  Most  of  what  I understand,  however,  I  learned  from  mixing  in  the life  of  the  people,  observing,  watching,  questioning, wondering.  Of  course  even  now  my  knowledge  is trifling.  Still,  it  teaches  me  this:  — (1)  That  the  lack  of  personality  is  to  a  great extent  voluntary,  and  that  this  fact  is  confirmed  by the  appearance  of  personality,  strongly  and  dis agreeably  marked,  where  the  social  and  educational conditions  are  new,  and  encourage  selfishness. *  (2)  That  every  action  of  Japanese  life  in  the  old 32  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Japan,  from  prince  to  peasant,  was  religiously regulated  by  the  spirit  of  self -repression  for  the  sake of  the  family,  the  community,  the  nation,  —  and that  the  so-called  impersonality  signifies  the  ancient moral  tendency  to  self-sacrifice  for  duty's  sake. And  this,  here  badly  expressed,  confirms  my  often avowed  belief  that  on  the  moral  side  the  old  Japan ese  civilization  was  as  far  in  advance  of  the  Western, as  it  was  materially  behind  it.  This  advance  was gained  at  some  considerable  sacrifice  to  character and  mental  evolution.  But  the  loss  does  not  signify that  the  moral  policy  was  wrong.  It  signifies  only that  it  was  too  much  in  the  direction  of  mutual dependence.  It  was  the  highest  possible  morality from  any  high  religious  standpoint,  —  Christian  or pagan,  —  the  sacrifice  of  self  for  others.  But  it  was in  advance  of  the  time.  The  indications  are  that  the highly  selfish  and  cunning,  as  well  as  the  unselfish and  frank  qualities  of  man  are  necessary  to  the  pre servation  of  society  and  its  development;  and  that in  a  civilization  based  upon  the  Occidental  plan,  the former  qualities  are  still  much  more  valuable  to  a community  than  the  latter.  But  an  ideally  perfect state  would  be  the  Oriental  form  of  Confucian  gov ernment,  with  Japanese  morals,  unstiffened  by  ultra conservatism,  stimulating  the  development  of  the higher  emotions  and  repressing  the  ignoble  self  only. It  is  just  to  such  a  state  that  we  hope  to  attain  in  the unknown  future.  I  think  we  have  thrown  Japan morally  backward  a  thousand  years;  she  is  going  to adopt  our  vices  (which  are  much  too  large  for  her).  I agree  with  Percival  Lowell,  but  I  also  agree  with TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  33 Viscount  Torio  (a  wonderful  thinker),  and  I  venture the  opinion  that  both  views  are  reconcilable.  It does  not  follow  because  we  have  cultivated  mental and  physical  force  to  the  highest  pitch  so  far  known, that  our  methods  of  cultivation  are  natural  and right,  or  that  we  may  not  have  ultimately  to  aban don  all  our  present  notions  about  the  highest  pro gress  and  the  highest  morality.  Personally  I  think we  are  dead  wrong,  but  that 's  another  matter. And  now,  begging  pardon  for  so  long  a  howl  about abstracts,  —  let  me  talk  about  my  book.  I  have written  to  the  firm  asking  them  to  make  it  still  larger. What  insolence!  But  I  offered  to  sacrifice  all  com missions,  payments,  and  even  remuneration  for articles.  To  me  the  all  important  point  is  to  get  out a  thoroughly  sympathetic  book,  without  morbid ness,  just  enough  fun  to  keep  in  tone  with  modern thought.  I  hope  I  shall  succeed.  If  not,  I  must  try another  publisher,  rather  than  cut  down  the  book. But  I  don't  want  another  publisher.  They  are  the Macmillans  of  America,  beautiful  printers,  and essentially  a  literature  firm.  If  I  had  Lowell's  genius and  Lowell's  independence,  how  happy  I  should  be. He  can  go  where  he  likes,  see  what  he  likes,  write what  he  likes  and  make  beautiful  books.  I  am  heav ily  handicapped  even  in  competing  with  writers  as much  below  Lowell  as  he  is  above  me. I  like  a  rainy  day,  too,  with  a  purring  stove  in the  room,  and  some  writing  to  do.  My  best  wishes ever. LAFCADIO  HEARN. 34        LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN KUMAMOTO,  January  15,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Heart's  thanks  for  kindly words  of  sympathy  just  received.  If  the  publishers prove  intractable,  any  MS.  you  would  like  I  will offer  for  use  in  the  manner  suggested.  I  had  thought of  some  day  becoming  a  member  of  the  Society;  but I  wanted  to  wait  until  my  book  appeared,  —  which would  give  me  a  better  claim  than  I  have  now.  I may  try  during  this  year  what  I  can  do  with  Eng lish  publishers  for  Japanese  sketches.  The  American literary  magazines  pay  too  little;  and  the  illustrated magazines  cut  a  man's  work  up  on  the  Procrustean system  to  hit  the  public  with  exactly  a  certain  num ber  of  words.  I'll  never  get  rich  with  publishers, unless  I  become  awfully  old  as  well  as  famous  in literature,  and  able  to  make  my  own  terms. We ' ve  had  no  snow  here,  —  never  any  to  speak of.  But  the  weather  is  fitful  enough.  By  the  way,  I forgot  in  my  last  to  chat  about  Mr.  Lowell's  "im personality"  and  "personality"  as  an  abstract quantity.  I  think  as  a  quality,  personality  cannot  be said  to  exist  at  all  in  the  transcendental  sense.  I don't  believe  in  that  sense  of  it.  The  impression  cer tain  men  can  produce  upon  others  by  their  nerve presence  is  not,  and  cannot  be  proved  to  be,  due  to anything  magnetic  or  hypermagnetic  inside  of them,  —  but  to  the  recognition  by  others  of  force  of aggressive  will  and  other  traits,  uncommonly  de veloped  ;  —  they  cause,  in  other  words,  a  certain sense  of  caution  and  danger.  A  blind  man  could  not thus  be  impressed  by  a  new  advent  to  any  extent, unless  his  hearing  had  developed  a  sensitiveness  to TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  35 voice-tones  as  subtle  as  sight  itself.  In  other  words the  impression  produced  by  character  upon  us,  can be  altogether  explained  by  instinctive  knowledge  of our  own  potential  relations  to  that  organization through  inherited  memory,  or,  more  scientifically, race  experience.  There's  nothing  else  in  it,  psychic or  odic.  It  is  only  the  question  of  knowing  by  sight what  dog  will  bite  on  slight  provocation.  Don't  you think  so?  Individuality  alone  is  a  real  fact. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. January  17,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I'm  writing  just  because I  feel  lonesome;  is  n't  that  selfish?  However,  if  I  can amuse  you  at  all,  you  will  forgive  me.  You  have been  away  a  whole  year,  —  so  perhaps  you  would like  to  hear  some  impressions  of  mine  during  that time.  Here  goes. The  illusions  are  forever  over;  but  the  memory  of many  pleasant  things  remains.  I  know  much  more about  the  Japanese  than  I  did  a  year  ago;  and  still  I am  far  from  understanding  them  well.  Even  my own  little  wife  is  somewhat  mysterious  still  to  me, though  always  in  a  lovable  way.  Of  course  a  man and  woman  know  each  other's  hearts;  but  outside  of personal  knowledge,  there  are  race-tendencies  diffi cult  to  understand.  Let  me  tell  one.  In  Oki  we  fell in  love  with  a  little  Samurai  boy,  who  was  having  a hard  time  of  it,  and  we  took  him  with  us.  He  is  now like  an  adopted  son,  —  goes  to  school  and  all  that. Well,  I  wished  at  first  to  pet  him  a  little,  but  I  found 36  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN that  was  not  in  accordance  with  custom,  and  that even  the  boy  did  not  understand  it.  At  home,  I therefore  scarcely  spoke  to  him  at  all;  he  remained under  the  control  of  the  women  of  the  house.  They treated  him  kindly,  —  though  I  thought  coldly.  The relationship  I  could  not  quite  understand.  He  was never  praised,  and  rarely  scolded.  A  perfect  code  of etiquette  was  established  between  him  and  all  the other  persons  in  the  house,  according  to  degree  and rank.  He  seemed  extremely  cold-mannered,  and perhaps  not  even  grateful,  that  was,  so  far  as  I could  see.  Nothing  seemed  to  move  his  young  pla cidity,  whether  happy  or  unhappy  his  mien  was exactly  that  of  a  stone  Jizo.  One  day  he  let  fall  a little  cup  and  broke  it.  According  to  custom,  no  one noticed  the  mistake,  for  fear  of  giving  him  pain. Suddenly  I  saw  tears  streaming  down  his  face.  The muscles  of  the  face  remained  quite  smilingly  placid as  usual,  but  even  the  will  could  not  control  tears. They  came  freely.  Then  everybody  laughed,  and said  kind  things  to  him,  till  he  began  to  laugh  too. Yet  that  delicate  sensitiveness  no  one  like  me  could have  guessed  the  existence  of. But  what  followed  surprised  me  more.  As  I  said he  had  been  (in  my  idea)  distantly  treated.  One day  he  did  not  return  from  school  for  three  hours after  the  usual  time.  Then  to  my  great  surprise  the women  began  to  cry,  —  to  cry  passionately.  I  had never  been  able  to  imagine  alarm  for  the  boy  could have  affected  them  so.  And  the  servants  ran  over town  in  real,  not  pretended,  anxiety  to  find  him.  He had  been  taken  to  a  teacher's  house  for  something TO  BASEL  HALL  CHAMBERLIAN  37 relating  to  school  matters.  As  soon  as  his  voice  was heard  at  the  door,  everything  was  quiet,  cold,  and amiably  polite  again.  And  I  marvelled  exceedingly. Sensitiveness  exists  in  the  Japanese  to  an  extent never  supposed  by  the  foreigners  who  treat  them harshly  at  the  open  ports.  In  Izumo  I  knew  a  case of  a  maid  servant  who  received  a  slight  rebuke  with  a smile,  and  then  quietly  went  out  and  hung  herself.  I have  notes  of  many  curious  suicides  of  a  similar  sort. And  yet  the  Japanese  master  is  never  brutal  or cruel.  How  Japanese  can  serve  a  certain  class  of foreigners  at  all,  I  can't  understand.  Possibly  they do  not  think  of  them  (the  foreigners)  as  being  exactly human  beings,  —  but  rather  Oni,  or  at  best  Tengu. Well,  here  is  another  thing.  My  cook  wears  a smiling,  healthy,  rather  pleasing  face.  He  is  a  good- looking  young  man.  Whenever  I  used  to  think  of him  I  thought  of  the  smile,  I  saw  a  mask  before  me merry  as  one  of  those  little  masks  of  Oho-kumi- nushi-no-kami  they  sell  at  Mionoseki.  One  day  I looked  through  a  little  hole  in  the  shoji,  and  saw  him alone.  The  face  was  not  the  same  face.  It  was  thin and  drawn  and  showed  queer  lines  worn  by  old  hard ship.  I  thought,  "  He  will  look  just  like  that  when  he is  dead."  I  went  in,  and  the  man  was  all  changed, — young  and  happy  again,  —  nor  have  I  ever  seen  that look  of  trouble  in  his  face  since.  But  I  know  when  he is  alone  he  wears  it.  He  never  shows  his  real  face  to me;  he  wears  the  mask  of  happiness  as  an  etiquette. *  Do  you  remember  that  awful  Parisian  statue,  a statue  of  which  I  forget  the  name,  though  the  name might  be,  Society?  A  beautiful  white  woman  bends 38  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN smiling  above  you  in  stone.  A  witchery  is  that  smile of  hers.  After  admiring  her  a  while  face  to  face,  you turn  about  her,  to  see  more  of  the  artist's  work. And  then,  lo  and  behold!  the  face  you  looked  upon turns  out  not  to  be  a  face  at  all;  it  was  a  Masque; you  now  see  the  real  head  thrown  back/_in  a  distor tion  of  unutterable  pain.  I  think  such  an  Oriental statue  might  also  be  made.  This  Orient  knows  not our  deeper  pains,  nor  can  it  even  rise  to  our  larger joys;  but  it  has  its  pains.  Its  life  is  not  so  sunny  as might  be  fancied  from  its  happy  aspect.  Under  the smile  of  its  toiling  millions  there  is  suffering  bravely hidden  and  unselfishly  borne;  and  a  lower  intel lectual  range  is  counterbalanced  by  a  childish  sensi tiveness  to  make  the  suffering  balance  evenly  in  the eternal  order  of  things. Therefore  I  love  the  people  very  much,  more  and more  the  more  I  know  them. Conversely  I  detest  with  unspeakable  detestation the  frank  selfishness,  the  apathetic  vanity,  the  shal low  vulgar  scepticism  of  the  New  Japan,  the  New Japan  that  prates  its  contempt  about  Tempo  times, and  ridicules  the  dear  old  men  of  the  pre-meiji  era, and  that  never  smiles,  having  a  heart  as  hollow  and bitter  as  a  dried  lemon. And  with  this,  I  say  good-night. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. v *..        *  January  19,  1893. ,  DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  ...  I  know  your  own sentiments  about  free  opinion,  but  there  are  social TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  39 questions.  In  my  preface  I  have  taken  the  ground that  Japan  has  nothing  to  gain  by  Christianity.  If you  think  that  is  all  right  as  a  private  opinion,  I  '11 let  it  stand.  If  you  think  my  heterodoxy  could reflect  in  any  way  unfavourably  upon  the  mention of  yourself  in  the  work,  I'll  strike  out,  or  modify the  preface.  Still,  I  really  think  just  what  I  say; the  Japanese  are  better  than  the  Christians,  and Christianity  only  seems  to  corrupt  their  morals.  I have  n't  gone  that  far  in  the  book;  but  I  am  quite sure  my  opinions,  so  far  as  present  things  go,  are not  much  out  of  the  truth.  *; Fiske  and  others  cling  to  the  name  Christianity with  the  desperation  of  drowning  men;  it  is  only  a name.  Our  Western  faith  is  far  higher  than  the thing  called  Christianity.  Our  ethics  have  out grown  it,  and  burst  their  clothing  of  dogma.  Our social  evils  are  unaffected  by  it,  except  for  the worse.  We  had  to  give  up  the  legends  of  Genesis, the  various  traditions  of  Scriptural  authorship,  the belief  in  miracles,  the  belief  in  inspiration,  the  belief in  vicarious  sacrifice,  the  belief  in  the  divinity  of Christ,  the  belief  in  hell  and  heaven,  the  belief  in  the Father,  —  the  belief  in  everything  but  the  Holy Ghost.  That  is  advanced  Unitarianism,  I  believe. I  'm  afraid,  like  Ruskin,  of  the  Holy  Ghost;  the Lord  and  Giver  of  Life,  —  that  we  don't  know  any thing  about,  except  as  He  "wells  up  in  conscious ness."  But  what  is  left  of  Christianity?  {Why,  n°- thing  whatever  essentially  of  Christ.)  And  just  as surely  as  everything  else  has  gone,  so  surely  the  very name  must  go  at  last.  To  the  thinkers  of  a  higher 40  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN and  more  rational  faith  in  the  future,  the  very  name —  recalling  so  much  that  is  horrible  in  human history — will  be  discarded  because  of  its  exclusive- ness,  its  narrowness,  and  its  memories  of  blood  and fire.  (There's  heresy  for  you!) I  should  find  living  away  from  all  Europeans rather  hard,  if  it  were  not  for  the  little  world  I  have made  around  me.  Some  of  it  lingers  in  Matsue;  but there  are  nearly  twelve  here  to  whom  I  am  Life  and Food  and  other  things.  However  intolerable  any thing  else  is,  at  home  I  enter  into  my  little  smiling world  of  old  ways  and  thoughts  and  courtesies;  — where  all  is  soft  and  gentle  as  something  seen  in sleep.  It  is  so  soft,  so  intangibly  gentle  and  lovable and  artless,  that  sometimes  it  seems  a  dream  only; and  then  a  fear  comes  that  it  might  vanish  away.  It has  become  Me.  When  I  am  pleased,  it  laughs ;  when I  don't  feel  jolly,  everything  is  silent.  Thus,  light  and vapoury  as  its  force  seems,  it  is  a  moral  force,  per petually  appealing  to  conscience.  I  cannot  imagine what  I  should  do  away  from  it.  It  is  better  to  enter some  old  Buddhist  cemetery  here,  than  moulder anywhere  else.  For  one  may  at  least  vaguely  hope the  realization  of  the  old  Buddhist  saying:  "The relation  of  father  and  child  is  but  one  life  only;  yet that  of  husband  and  wife  is  for  two,  and  that  of master  and  servant  for  three."  You  know  the  verse, of  course. Very  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  41 January  23,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  With  a  penetration  pe culiarly  your  own,  you  have  probed  my  weak  point (one  which  your  criticism  makes  me  feel  aware  of  for the  first  time  strongly) .  Yes;  I  have  got  out  of  touch with  Europe  altogether,  and  think  of  America  when I  make  comparisons.  At  nineteen  years  of  age,  after my  people  had  been  reduced  from  riches  to  poverty by  an  adventurer,  —  and  before  I  had  seen  anything of  the  world  except  in  a  year  of  London  among  the common  folk, — I  was  dropped  moneyless  on  the  pave ment  of  an  American  city  to  begin  life.  Had  a  rough time.  Often  slept  in  the  street,  etc.,  worked  as  a  ser vant,  waiter,  printer,  proof-reader,  hack-writer,  grad ually  pulled  myself  up.  I  never  gave  up  my  English citizenship.  But  I  had  eighteen  years  of  American life, — and  so  got  out  of  touch  with  Europe.  For  the same  reason,  I  had  to  work  at  literature  through American  vehicles.  That  is  no  matter,  however,  be cause  it  has  only  been  within  the  last  few  years  that  I learned  to  master  my  instrument  a  little,  —  language. My  first  work  was  awfully  florid.  I  have  a  novel, "Chita,"  written  in  1886,  though  not  published  for two  or  three  years  later,  which  I  am  now  ashamed of.  Self-control  was  the  hardest  thing  to  learn. Now  I  have  got  on  far  enough  not  to  be  afraid  to offer  work  to  an  English  publisher.  Your  offer  of  an introduction  is  of  the  highest  importance  possible. As  for  the  book  I  think  there  is  no  doubt  the  pub lishers  will  yield.  But  I  would  like  to  try  my  next luck  with  an  English  firm,  very  much.  .  .  . You  tell  me  about  your  difficulty  in  literary  com- 42  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN position,  —  perhaps  I  can  make  suggestion.  I  do  not know  your  method,  and  everybody  has  his  own. But  I  think  I  know  your  difficulty,  —  that  it  is  also my  own  in  Japan.  Composition  becomes  difficult only  when  it  becomes  work, — that  is  literary  labour without  a  strong  inspirational  impulse  or  an  emo tional  feeling  behind  it.  Now,  in  Japan,  after  the first  experiences  are  over,  —  I  can't  imagine  any body  having  either  an  inspiration  or  a  strong  emo tion.  The  atmosphere  is  soporific,  grey,  without electricity.  Therefore  work  has  to  be  forced.  I  never write  without  painfully  forcing  myself  to  do  it. Now  there  are  two  ways  of  forced  work.  The  first is  to  force  thought  by  concentration.  This  is  fa tiguing  beyond  all  expression,  —  and  I  think  injur ious.  I  can't  do  it.  The  second  way  is  to  force  the work  only,  and  let  the  thought  develop  itself.  This  is much  less  fatiguing,  and  gives  far  better  results,  — sometimes  surprising  results  that  are  mistaken  for inspiration. I  go  to  work  in  this  way.  The  subject  is  before me;  I  can't  bother  even  thinking  about  it.  That would  tire  me  too  much.  I  simply  arrange  the  notes, and  write  down  whatever  part  of  the  subject  most pleases  me  first.  I  write  hurriedly  without  care. Then  I  put  the  MS.  aside  for  the  day,  and  do  some thing  else  more  agreeable.  Next  day  I  read  over  the pages  written,  correct,  and  write  them  all  over  again. In  the  course  of  doing  this,  quite  mechanically  new thoughts  come  up,  errors  make  themselves  felt,  im provements  are  suggested.  I  stop.  Next  day,  I  re write  the  third  time.  This  is  the  test  time.  The TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  43 result  is  a  great  improvement  usually, — but  not  per fection.  I  then  take  clean  paper,  and  begin  to  make the  final  copy.  Usually  this  has  to  be  done  twice.  In the  course  of  four  to  five  rewritings,  the  whole thought  reshapes  itself,  and  the  whole  style  is  changed and  fixed.  The  work  has  done  itself,  developed, grown;  it  would  have  been  very  different  had  I trusted  to  the  first  thought.  But  I  let  the  thought define  and  crystallize  itself. Perhaps  you  will  say  this  is  too  much  trouble.  I used  to  think  so.  But  the  result  is  amazing.  The  av erage  is  five  perfect  pages  a  day,  with  about  two  or three  hours  work.  By  the  other  method  one  or  two pages  a  day  are  extremely  difficult  to  write.  Indeed I  do  not  think  I  could  write  one  perfect  page  a  day, by  thinking  out  everything  as  I  write.  The  mental strain  is  too  much.  The  fancy  is  like  a  horse  that goes  well  without  whip  or  spur,  and  refuses  duty  if either  are  used.  By  petting  it  and  leaving  it  free,  it surpasses  desire.  I  know  when  the  page  is  fixed  by a  sort  of  focussing  it  takes,  —  when  the  first  im pression  has  returned  after  all  corrections  more  for cibly  than  at  first  felt,  and  in  half  the  space  first occupied.  Perhaps  you  have  done  all  this  in  prose, as  you  must  have  done  it  in  other  work;  but  if  you have  not,  you  will  be  astonished  at  the  relief  it gives.  My  whole  book  was  written  thus.  Of  course it  looks  like  big  labour  to  rewrite  every  page  half  a dozen  times.  But  in  reality  it  is  the  least  possible labour.  To  those  with  whom  writing  is  almost  an automatic  exertion,  the  absolute  fatigue  is  no  more than  that  of  writing  a  letter.  The  rest  of  the  work 44  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN does  itself,  without  your  effort.  It  is  like  spiritualism. Just  move  the  pen,  and  the  ghosts  do  the  wording, etc.  I  am  writing  this  only  as  a  letter  to  you.  It makes  so  many  pages.  If  I  were  writing  it  for  print, I  would  rewrite  at  least  five  times,  —  with  the  re sult  of  putting  the  same  thoughts  much  more  forci bly  in  half  the  space.  Then  again,  I  keep  the  thing going  like  a  conjurer's  balls.  The  first  day's  five  pp. are  recopied  the  second,  and  another  five  written;  — the  third  day  the  first  five  are  again  recopied,  and another  five  written.  There  is  always  matter  ahead, though,  I  never  recopy  more  than  the  first  five,  at one  time.  When  these  are  finished,  then  I  begin  the second  five.  The  average  is  five  per  day,  150  pp.  per month.  Another  important  thing  is  to  take  the most  agreeable  part  of  the  subject  first.  Order  is  of no  earthly  consequence,  but  a  great  hindrance. The  success  of  this  part  gives  encouragement,  and curiously  develops  the  idea  of  the  relative  parts. Well,  perhaps,  I  have  been  telling  you  something you  know  more  about  than  I;  but  comparing  notes is  always  good,  and  often  a  help.  And  now  for  an other  subject. There  is  a  queer  custom  in  Izumo  which  may  in terest  you.  When  a  wedding  takes  place  in  the house  of  an  unpopular  man  in  the  country,  the  young men  of  the  village  carry  a  roadside  statue  of  Jizo into  the  Zashiki,  and  announce  the  coming  of  the God.  (This  is  especially  done  with  an  avaricious farmer,  or  a  stingy  family.)  Food  and  wine  are  de manded  for  the  God.  The  members  of  the  family must  come  in,  salute  the  Deity,  and  give  all  the  Sake TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  45 and  food  demanded  while  any  remains  in  the house.  It  is  dangerous  to  refuse;  the  young  peasants would  probably  wreck  the  house.  After  this,  the statue  is  carried  back  again  to  its  place.  The  visit  of Jizo  is  much  dreaded.  It  is  never  made  to  persons who  are  liked.  In  the  cities  this  is  not  done,  but stones  are  thrown  into  the  house  in  heaps.  Such  an action  is  an  expression  of  public  opinion  almost  as strong  as  that  of  our  Western  charivari. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. .  .  .  English  self -suppression  is  certainly  a  mar vellous  quality.  Yet  it  is  something  so  different from  this  Eastern  self-control.  Its  pent-up  vital force  moreover  finds  vent  in  many  ways  unknown  to the  Orient,  and  foreign  to  its  character.  And  lastly; is  it  not  considerably  one-sided?  Is  it  not  confined to  the  outer  repression  of  everything  suggesting weakness  or  affection,  —  not  to  the  masking  of other  feelings?  Think  of  Heine's  Englishman,  with a  black  halo  of  spleen  cutting  against  the  sunny Italian  sky !  But,  jest  aside,  see  the  Faces  of  London (I  remember  them  still)  or  the  Faces  of  any  English crowd.  There  is  such  pain  and  passion  there.  Again, the  extraordinary  mobility  and  development  of  the facial  muscles,  shows  something  totally  different  to the  Buddhist  jihi-calm  of  these  Japanese  masks.  If we  could  draw  a  line  at  all  I  would  say  it  lies  here:  — We  suppress  the  amiable  facial  expression,  and  ex pose  the  aggressive  and  the  sorrowful  and  the  pain ful  feelings;  —  while  the  Japanese  cultivate  the 46  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN former,  even  as  a  mask,  and  suppress,  in  physiog nomical  play,  everything  representing  the  latter. Of  course  the  peculiar  nakedness  of  the  American face  greatly  exaggerates  the  harder  side  of  physi ognomy,  as  we  know  it  in  Europe.  America  is  the country  of  terrible  faces:  Fourier  ought  to  have  lived in  it  before  writing  his  chapter  on  the  physiognomy of  the  civilizes.  One  other  thing  in  the  way  of  op- posites,  I  think,  is  that  we  suppress  certain  forms  of action  more  than  their  expression  by  physiognomy; while  the  Japanese  repress  the  facial  exhibition more  than  the  action  which  would  be  the  ultimate possible  result  of  the  feeling  in  question.  A  Western man  would  (unless  belonging  to  a  very  artificial  class of  society)  be  apt  to  look  serious  before  killing  him self.  But  even  the  average  Japanese  would  smile more  pleasantly,  and  act  more  kindly  than  usual, just  before  cutting  his  throat  or  lying  down  in  front of  a  railway  train.  Hard  and  fast  lines,  however,  are difficult  to  draw.  Nothing  is  so  hazardous  as  to  at tempt  to  make  any  general  statement, — and  yet no  temptation  is  stronger. Ever  with  best  wishes, LAFCADIO  HEARN. February  4,  1893.    ' DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  ™/~  .  it  is  the  Setsubun; and  we  have  cast  out  the  devils.  I  have  had  various little  ceremonies  performed  upon  me  to  keep  me  well and  happy  under  the  protection  of  the  Gods  for  the year.  The  other  day  we  presented  a  lantern  to  Fudo- San.  When  I  get  ever  so  little  sick,  all  sorts  of  pretty TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  47 prayers  are  offered  up  to  the  Gods  for  me;  and  little vows  of  self-denial  are  made.  I  protested  a  year  ago against  some  of  the  vows.  I  had  been  really  sick, and  my  father-in-law  (he  is  a  charming  old  man) vowed  to  live  upon  some  totally  unsubstantial  diet for  a  year,  if  I  got  well.  I  made  such  a  pretence  of anger  about  that,  that  the  vow  was  changed  for  a more  rational  one,  —  a  present  to  the  Gods;  but  in all  ordinary  matters,  I  like  these  simple  little  acts  of faith  and  piety  and  encourage  them,  and  reverence the  Gods.  So  that  my  foreign  names  appear  upon many  wooden  tablets  at  various  queer  old  shrines. You  ask  about  Matsue  foreigners.  If  it  is  nothing very  special  I  think  I  can  get  you  whatever  informa tion  you  want.  .  .  . .  .  .  Just  now  I  can't  remember  the  names  of  the beasts  who  were  there  before  B — ,  —  but  the  story is  not  spoiled  for  that.  They  aimed  especially  at converting  Samurai  girls, —  because  these  were  edu cated,  and  supposed  to  still  possess  some  small  in fluence.  They  were  also  very  poverty-stricken,  — desperate,  starving;  struggling  between  death  and dishonour,  —  for  Samurai  girls  had  high  notions  of chastity.  What  the  missionaries  wanted  were  native local  prosely  tizers.  They  induced  one  girl  by  promises of  employment  to  become  a  preacher  for  them. They  paid  her  three  yen  a  month.  Of  course  in  be coming  a  convert,  she  became  a  social  pariah.  Her people  cast  her  off;  common  folk  despised  her.  She was  an  innocent  sort  of  a  girl,  —  talked  simply and  feebly,  —  betrayed  in  her  very  manner  the necessity  and  the  compulsion.  The  people  paid  no 48  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEAKN attention  to  her.  The  missionaries  dropped  her  as  a useless  instrument.  Then  no  one  would  give  her work  or  help.  She  became  a  prostitute.  But  even  as a  prostitute,  her  connection  with  proselytism  had rendered  her  disreputable.  So  she  was  sold  to  an Osaka  brothel. After  what  you  say  about  your  own  latitudinari- anism,  I  am  not  afraid  of  my  preface;  it  will  not  be offensive  to  you  in  the  least.  I  hold  with  Lecky  on the  church  in  the  Middle  Ages,  —  socially  it  was  a cementing  force,  —  intellectually  a  curse  to  hu manity,  perhaps,  but  even  this  may  yet  prove  to have  been  a  necessary  evil.  The  intrinsic  merits claimed  for  it,  I  can't  help  thinking  really  to  have been  outside  of  it,  —  older  than  it,  —  superior  to  it. The  germ  of  the  eternal  truth  is  the  same  in  all faiths,  —  the  same  flame  dimly  burning  within  re ceptacles  of  forms  beyond  memory  for  multitude. To  abuse  the  receptacles,  the  wrappings,  the  cover ings,  of  one  light  more  than  of  another  would  perhaps be  irrational  in  itself,  —  if  one  did  not  feel  that,  as dissolution  is  as  necessary  to  advance  as  integration, there  are  ripe  times  and  green  times.  When  one  sees dogmas  used  for  wickedness  of  all  sorts,  and  all  the good  men  outside  of  them,  one  thinks  it  time  to  say even  outrageous  things. By  the  way,  what  you  say  about  Rome  awakes  a chord.  You  know,  I  suppose,  that  my  relatives  tried once  to  make  a  priest  of  me.  My  father  was  an Episcopalian;  but  after  his  death  in  India,  I  fell  into the  hands  of  relatives  who  sent  me  to  a  Jesuit  Col lege.  By  the  Jesuit  standard,  I  was  a  fiend  incarnate, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  49 and  treated  accordingly.  How  I  hated  them.  My impotent  resentment  used  to  relieve  itself  in  the imagination  of  massacres  and  horrible  tortures.  I hate  them  and  have  nightmares  about  them  still. And  yet  at  times,  there  comes  to  me  a  half  wish  to  be a  monk.  This  is  all  a  romance,  —  the  romance  of the  ideal  monastery,  with  gothic  ogives,  libraries  of vellums  illumined  by  the  stained-glass  windows,  etc., and  rest  from  struggle.  But  the  reality  is  Brown ing's  "Soliloquy  of  the  Spanish  Cloister."  Still, there  is  a  world  of  romance  in  old  Romanism. Don't  you  think  the  Greek  church  (my  mother's) has  a  better  chance  of  life?  Russia  seems  to  me  the Coming  Race.  I  think  there  will  be  some  day  a Russian  Mass  sung  in  Saint  Peter's.  And  that  Cos sack  soldiers  will  wait,  at  Stamboul,  in  the  reconse crated  basilica  of  Justinian,  for  the  apparition  of that  phantom  priest  destined  to  finish  the  mass  in terrupted  by  the  swords  of  the  Janizaries  of  Ma homet  2nd. (Next  time,  I'll  say  something  about  Spencer. To-night  I  must  say  good-bye.) Ever  most  truly, LAPCADIO  HEARN. KUMAMOTO,  February  S,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — Well,  I  have  read  "Le Disciple."  My  first  impression  of  the  book  was  an unfair  one ; — I  was  annoyed  by  the  writer's  posing  as a  philosopher  and  moralist,  and  by  his  superficialism in  the  former  role,  —  as  well  as  by  the  extraordinary morbidness  of  the  book.  Even  now  I  strongly  sus- 50  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN pect  Bourget  has  not  studied  modern  philosophy, but  rather  morbid  pathology,  —  neurological  ex periments,  obscene  and  otherwise,  at  the  Salpe- triere,  —  something  also  perhaps  of  hypnotism. But  after  thinking  over  the  matter,  I  must  confess art  in  the  book,  must  recognize  the  possibility  of  the types,  and  must  acknowledge  discovering  in  it  the same  purpose  characterizing  "Cruelle  Enigme,"  and "Un  Crime  d'Amour;"  revelation  of  faith  and  truth through  consequences  of  inflicting  suffering,  —  or, perhaps  better,  Nature  enforcing  recognition  through the  results  of  attempts  to  outrage  and  blaspheme her.  Besides  I  have  met  and  known  M.  Greslon,  — a  young  professor  of  philosophy  at  a  Colonial  Col lege,  who  used  to  analyze  his  own  sensations  for  my benefit,  dissect  the  feelings  of  the  poor  half-breed  girl he  lived  with  and  whom  he  assured  me  he  hated,  and set  down  in  a  secret  journal  all  her  words,  thoughts, etc.  (as  well  as  those  of  his  unsuspecting  male friends).  He  died  of  yellow  fever;  —  we  examined his  papers,  read  a  part,  stared  foolishly  at  each other,  and  burned  the  whole.  I  think  he  is  better dead,  —  but  having  known  him,  I  can't  deny  the possibility  of  Robert  Greslon.  He  has  lived;  there fore  he  lives.  He  is  a  peculiarly  modern  French product. There  are  certainly,  however,  weak  points  in  the book  from  a  philosophical  point  of  view,  —  which cannot  be  said,  perhaps,  of  "Crime  d'Amour,"  or "Cruelle  Enigme."  The  author's  imagination  about the  old  materialist  doing  for  the  evolution  of  senti ment  what  Darwin  did  for  the  evolution  of  species, i  TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  51 is  weak.  (The  comparison  cannot  hold;  for  Darwin did  not  discover  the  evolution  of  species  at  all,  — but  only  certain  natural  laws  relating  to  it.)  The fact  is  that  the  evolution  of  sentiments  has  been very  elaborately  traced  out  by  modern  psychology, and  that  so  far  from  narrowing  our  comprehension of  the  value  of  what  is  beautiful  in  human  nature, has  enormously  expanded  it.  I  am  not  prepared  to deny  that  a  mere  study  of  the  conclusions  of  scien tific  investigation  in  this  line  (without  a  profound knowledge  of  the  tremendous  and  eternal  facts  be hind  them),  may  not  lead  to  very  evil  shallow  no tions.  A  study  of  ultimate  facts  is  absolutely  neces sary,  and  there  is  a  vast  class  of  persons  which  never attempt  that  study.  (Bourget  certainly  seems  to  be one.)  The  question  of  animal  origins  of  sentiment can  appear  materialistic  and  shocking  only  to  an ignorant  mind.  When  we  learn  that  the  origin  of  our pleasure  in  the  sense  of  colour  (now  transformed into  pure  sestheticism),  may  be  sought  for  in  the first  development  and  utilization  of  the  sense  for  the discovery  of  food;  —  or  when  we  are  told  that  our pleasure  in  odours  has  a  like  origin;  —  or  when  we find  that  the  history  of  maternal  love  begins  with the  apparition  of  milk-secretion  in  the  mammalia, etc.,  etc.,  —  how  much  nearer  to  the  great  mystery of  things  does  that  bring  us?  On  the  contrary  the horizon  recedes.  What  is  Life,  Feeling,  Will  —  ?  No man  not  insane  can  pretend  to  say.  But  the  more we  learn  the  more  the  awe  of  the  mystery.  And taking  for  example  the  sweetest  thing  in  the  world, — a  perfect  woman-soul,  —  how  infinitely  more  pre- 52  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN cious  it  seems  to  us  as  the  sum  of  all  the  goodness  of a  chain  of  lives  reaching  back  through  a  million years  into  "God"  or  "The  Unknowable,"  than  as the  spontaneous  creation  of  a  theological  deity. Then,  again,  there  is  the  suggestion  in  Bourget that  education  can  transform  character,  —  in  the individual.  This  seems  to  me  the  weak  point  of  the book.  It  is  opposed  to  modern  philosophy  alto gether;  it  would  be  ridiculed  by  any  country  school master  in  New  England.  A  character  like  the  Gres- lon  of  Bourget,  or  the  Greslon  I  knew,  is  not  made by  education,  but  simply  defined.  As  truly  as  "a silk  purse  cannot  be  made  out  of  a  sow's  ear, "  just so  truly  the  converse.  As  surely  as  there  are  in herited  forms  of  vice,  just  so  surely  are  there  ances tral  moralities.  Nay,  the  latter  is  the  rule,  the former  the  exception.  The  poor  people,  en  masse, are  moral;  —  the  goodness  of  ten  thousand  years  is in  the  marrow  of  their  bones.  No  system  of  educa tion  possible  in  modern  society  can  make  a  naturally good  man  into  a  real  scoundrel.  Education  can  only give  definition  to  preexisting  tendencies. To  this  it  may  be  answered  that  there  are  charac ters  in  which  the  tendencies  to  good  and  the  tenden cies  to  evil  are  so  nicely  balanced,  that  an  error  in education  might  throw  them  out  of  equipoise.  This supposition  is,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  based  on  a theological  superstition,  —  unconsciously.  As  a  fact there  is  no  such  delicate  equipoise  possible  in  nature. Each  being  represents  a  sum  of  tendencies  inherited out  of  the  unknown,  —  the  course  of  a  stream  of life  whose  flow  must  be  decided  partly  indeed  by TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  53 conditions,  but  even  more  so  by  its  own  intrinsic volume  and  power.  As  well  talk  of  turning  a  river with  a  pebble  as  of  transmuting  a  character  by  edu cation.  If  character  is  psychically  a  sum  of  inherited tendencies,  it  is  physiologically  a  plexus  of  nerve tissue.  In  both  its  phases  it  may  be  changed,  or at  least  modified,  in  the  course  of  generations,  by additions  and  subtractions  and  influences  of  infinite complexity;  but  never  in  a  single  life.  "Can  the Ethiopian  change?"  etc.  Who  so  well  aware  of  this fact  as  the  Jesuits?  Out  of  ten  thousand  students they  choose,  finding  perhaps  ten  fit  for  their  work. And  what  an  unnatural  presentation  is  that  of  a veteran  philosopher  resting  upon  the  assumption that  right  and  wrong  have  no  abstract  existence. That  might  do  for  an  uneducated  scepticism  ("work- ingman's  atheism"),  —  scarcely  for  anybody  with capacity  to  read  and  think.  Certainly  vice  and  vir tue  exist  only  relatively  to  human  society  (and  ani mal  societies  also) ;  but  their  concrete  importance  is nowise  lessened  by  the  knowledge  of  their  limitation as  social  facts.  One  may  hold  vice  beneficial,  like Mandeville,  or  the  reverse;  but  a  simple  denial  of good  and  evil  as  facts  would  be  exactly  similar  to  a denial  of  pleasure  and  pain  as  real  sensations.  In deed  I  think  that  to  modern  philosophy  vice  has taken  a  new  and  terrible  magnitude,  and  virtue  an awful  beauty.  As  sums  of  human  experience  with good  and  evil,  or  with  pain  and  pleasure,  how incomparably  vast  they  seem.  What  is  a  crime, declared  crime  only  by  a  local  code  or  a  sectarian dogma,  compared  with  crime  recognized  as  crime 54        LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN against  the  whole  consensus  of  all  human  moral experience! Here  I  may  say  something  Bourget  has  defined  in my  head,  —  I  doubt  the  spirituality  of  the  Latin races.  They  seem  to  me  essentially  materialistic. The  emotional  life  of  them  seems  to  be  in  the  nerves, even  their  most  exquisite  sensations.  Taine  has well  shown  how  debauchery  and  vice  are  contrary to  the  Northern  nature  in  a  sort,  —  how  the  English instinctively  recognize  they  can't  be  immoral  with out  becoming  brutal.  On  the  other  hand  the  French seem  unable  to  become  philosophical  without  be coming  grossly  materialistic.  They  talk  forever  of "abimes;"  yet  which  of  them  dive  to  the  profundi ties  or  soar  to  the  heights  reached  by  the  Genius  of the  North?  Imagine  a  French  Goethe:  or  a  Spanish Richter:  or  an  Italian  Emerson  or  Carlyle.  Com pare  even  their  realism  with  Northern  realism,  — say  Kipling  with  Maupassant.  Find  anything  re sembling  what  Clifford  calls  a  "cosmic  emotion"  in their  positivism.  Even  Renan  is  a  Breton,  —  not  a Latin.  Fancy  a  Frenchman  writing  anything  with  a sustained  ghostly  charm  of  intellect  in  it  like  "The Soul  of  the  far  East."  The  nearest  approach  to  soul in  French  books  is  an  extreme  sensual  refinement,  — a  vibrant  sense  of  nature  in  relation  to  the  body; and  this  quality,  —  (easily  mistaken  for  something higher)  vanishes  with  youth,  and  the  dulling  of  the nerves,  —  and  there  remains  the  ashes  of  the  com monplace. Then  what  force  in  a  Scandinavian  or  Russian novel,  compared  with  a  Latin  one.  For  morbid  pa- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  55 thology  Bourget  is  a  child  to  Dostoievsky;  —  for another  sort  of  story,  compare  Tolstoi's  "Cossacks" with  the  best  work  of  Merimee, — say  "Carmen" or  "Colomba."  I  rather  think  it  desirable  that  Eu rope  should  "become  Cossack."  We  are  growing  too nervous  and  tired  and  enervated  in  the  West;  —  a general  infusion  of  barbarian  blood  would  greatly assist,  and  improve  literature.  Our  morbid  English man  is  Mallock.  I  read  and  detest  him;  his  work  is symptomatic.  If  you  have  no  liking  for  him,  give the  book  to  some  friend  who  may.  By  the  way,  do you  know  Sacher-Masoch?  I  have  sent  for  his  nov els.  If  you  have  not  read  "La  Mere  de  Dieu,"  you will  have  a  treat.  I  think  he  is  a  Jew;  and  I  am  very fond  of  the  Jewish  novelists.  The  best  are  Slavs,  — or  at  least  from  the  Slavic  side  of  Austria.  .  .  . I  am  charmed  by  your  delightful  suggestion  of faith  in  future  possibilities  beyond  scientific  recog nition,  —  though  too  much  of  a  Spencer  lover  to think  of  Spencer  as  dogmatic.  We  know  that  mem ory  is  inherited,  —  only  in  the  process  of  transmis sion  it  now  becomes  transmitted  into  instinct  and impulse,  —  into  vague  unaccountable  shrinkings and  aspirations,  loves  and  fears.  But  why  should  we hold  it  must  always  be  so.  As  the  spectroscope  re veals  the  existence  of  colour-scales  invisible  to  our imperfect  vision,  there  may  well  be  psychic  facts undreamed  of  yet  awaiting  discovery.  The  time may  come  when  the  fable  of  the  Bodhisattva's  mem ory  will  prove  a  common  truth,  —  when  with  each advance  in  development  there  will  lighten  up  recol lections  of  past  existence,  and  one  can  say,  —  "What 56  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN a  fool  I  was  to  do  that  thing  five  thousand  years ago."  Remembrance  of  all  the  past  in  all  its  details might  be  horribly  unpleasant,  but  also  incalculably useful.  And  I  can  imagine  (illegitimately,  perhaps, but  still  imagine)  a  condition  of  developmental  ac tivity  in  which  time  and  space  would  have  no  rela tive  existence,  —  and  a  thousand  years  be  as  a  day. There  is  one  grim  fact  about  our  new  philosophy. We  know  that  we  are  approaching  slowly  a  degree of  equilibration  which  means  happiness ;  but  we  also know  that  the  dissolution  of  a  solar  system  is  as  cer tain  as  its  integration.  Everything  evolves  only  to dissolve,  —  so  far  as  known  facts  teach  us.  After all,  we  have  reached  no  further  than  the  unscientific but  strangely  inspired  thinkers  of  India,  with  their ancient  theory  of  cycles.  Buddhism  and  Spencer, before  the  Ultimate,  stand  upon  the  same  ground. And  I  think  of  your  wise  saying  about  taking  one's faith  ready  made.  Assuredly  it  seems  the  most  ra tional,  and  beyond  doubt  it  is  the  prudent  course  for those  who  can  devote  their  minds  to  more  momen tous  and  useful  things.  Then  I  would  say  for  me Buddhism. Mason  said  a  delightful  thing  in  his  last  letter  to me,  about  the  effect  of  Japanese  art  in  teaching  him to  see  and  feel  the  beauty  of  snow.  I  have  had  the same  experience.  European  art  does  not  seem  to  me to  have  ever  caught  the  Soul  of  Snow  as  the  Japanese art  has,  —  with  its  fantasticalities,  its  wizardisms. And  the  Japanese  fancy  has  its  "Snow- women" too  —  its  white  spectres  and  goblins,  which  do  no harm  and  say  nothing,  only  frighten  and  make  one TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  57 feel  cold.  I  can  see  the  beauty  of  snow  now,  but still  it  makes  me  shiver.  I  think  the  Yukionna  some times  when  I  am  asleep,  passes  her  white  arm  through a  crack  of  the  amado  into  my  sleeping  room,  and  in spite  of  the  fire,  touches  my  heart  and  laughs.  Then I  wake  up,  and  pull  the  futons  closer,  and  think  of palm  trees,  and  parrots,  and  mangoes,  and  the  blue of  the  tropical  water.  What  a  delight  it  would  be  to follow  the  birds  south  every  autumn.  —  But  I  for got,  you  dislike  heat,  and  blazing  sun,  and  perspi ration.  Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  What  you  said  about  railroads  and  Christ is  admirable.  I  am  beginning  to  doubt  very  strongly the  ultimate  value  of  our  boasted  material  progress, —  to  doubt  "civilization"  as  a  human  benefit. I  promise  not  to  write  so  long  a  letter  again. Really,  I  am  ashamed  of  thus  intruding  on  your time,  you  must  be  bored  if  you  read  all  this. February  6,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  letter  about  the method  of  composition  has  come,  —  far  more  lucid than  my  rather  vague  epistle  on  the  same  subject, which  I  now  find  requires  some  further  explanation. Of  course  I  did  not  mean  printed  pages,  —  only  MS. pp.  like  this:  I  could  not  make  150  good  printed 12mo  pages  in  less  than  four  months  under  very  fa vourable  circumstances  and  with  the  hardest  work. Besides,  I  was  speaking  of  forced  composition.  In spirational  work,  emotional  work,  is  just  twenty 58  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN times  harder,  if  it  can  be  measured  at  all.  Too  much importance  cannot  be  attached  to  the  value  of  an emotion,  —  the  "kernel,"  as  you  so  aptly  term  it. But  this  comes  only  as  a  feeling.  To  perfectly  disen gage  it  (le  degager),  develop  it,  discover  its  whole meaning,  focus  it,  is  killing  work.  There  is  delight  in looking  at  the  result;  but  that  is  obtained  only  by actually  giving  one's  blood  for  it.  I  am  talking  now, perhaps,  as  if  I  were  a  big  instead  of  a  very  small writer;  but  the  truth  is  that  the  cost  is  greater  in proportion  to  the  smallness  of  original  power.  I  have had  to  rewrite  pages  fifty  times.  It  is  like  a  groping for  something  you  know  is  inside  the  stuff,  but  the exact  shape  of  which  you  don't  know.  That  is,  I think,  also  the  explanation  of  the  sculptor's  saying that  the  figure  was  already  in  the  marble;  the  art was  only  to  "disengage  it." Didactic  work  is  one  of  the  hardest,  of  course. Nothing  is  harder  to  write  than  a  primer.  Simpli city  combined  with  force  is  required;  and  that  com bination  requires  immense  power.  (There  I  rever ence  Huxley,  for  example.)  And  as  you  excellently observe,  the  effect  of  the  work  is  in  direct  ratio  to the  pains  taken  to  produce  it  by  a  master  hand. This  takes  no  small  time  to  learn.  What  apparent ease  in  writing  really  means  I  regret  to  say  that  I only  learned  a  few  years  ago;  if  I  had  learned  sooner, it  would  have  done  me  much  good. Otherwise  your  method  is  in  all  points  like  mine. I  have  to  do  much  excision  of  "verys,"  "thats"  and "whiches,"  —  to  murder  adjectives  and  adverbs,  — to  modify  verbs.  Every  important  word  seems  to TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  59 me  to  have  three  qualities:  form,  sound,  and  colour. After  the  first  and  last  have  been  considered,  follows the  question  of  the  rhythm  of  the  sentence.  This  I think  may  approach  blank  verse,  at  the  termination of  paragraphs,  if  a  strong  emotion  be  expressed.  It may  be  smooth  as  oil  if  the  effect  to  be  produced  is smooth,  —  or  rough,  —  or  violent  as  may  be.  But all  this  is  never  done  by  rule,  —  only  by  instinctive feeling,  half  unconsciously.  In  the  body  of  a  para graph  too  much  flow  and  rhythm  seems  to  hurt  the effect.  Full  force  is  best  reserved  for  the  casting- throw  of  the  whole  thought  or  emotion.  I  should like  now  to  go  through  many  paragraphs  written years  ago,  and  sober  them  down. Print,  of  course,  is.  the  great  test.  Colour  only comes  out  in  proof, — never  in  MS.  I  can't  get  any thing  perfect  in  MS.  A  friend  is  invaluable.  You  are very  lucky  to  have  Mason.  I  have  nobody  in  Japan  to read  to,  or  to  ask  advice  of;  and  I  feel  the  void  very much.  Why  a  man  of  such  delicate  taste  as  Mason does  not  himself  write  charming  books,  I  don't know.  Perhaps  you  could  make  him  try. Then  I  keep  note-books.  I  have  no  memory  to speak  of,  since  my  experiences  with  tropical  fevers and  other  sickness.  I  note  down  every  sensation  or idea,  as  you  say  au  vol.  And  I  have  classified  note books,  —  with  indexes;  must  show  you  some  one  of these  days. k  Now  I  am  just  going  to  "lie  fallow"  for  six months.  Indeed  I  can  do  nothing  else;  for  there  is nothing  to  see,  hear,  or  feel  in  Kyushu,  I  think.  And I  want  to  learn  something  thoroughly,  so  as  to  try  to 60  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEAEN write  stories  or  sketches  of  a  better  sort.  I  want  sen sations  too.  But  out  of  Japanese  life  I  fear  no  strong sensation  will  ever  again  come  to  me.  I  feel  fizzed out.  "Mon  dme  a  perdu  ses  ailes." Faithfully  ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. Wonder  if  you  will  have  patience  to  read  the  long scrawling  scraggy  letter  I  sent  yesterday.  You  must not  think  I  mean  to  be  so  verbose  often. February  18,  1893. Dear  Chamberlain,  —  ...  Let  me  pray  and  beg and  entreat  and  supplicate  you  to  read  Loti's  "Ro man  d'un  Spahi."  It  will  give  you  a  better  opinion of  him.  I  regret  I  have  no  copy  to  send  you.  Other wise  I  feel  inclined  to  agree  with  you  about  his  later books,  his  "  Fantome  d'Orient,"  etc.  However,  I  am sure  you  must  have  liked  "Reve;"  if  you  did  not,  I can  only  explain  the  fact  by  the  supposition  that  its tropical  charm  appeals  to  nothing  in  your  personal experience  as  it  does,  almost  poignantly,  to  some thing  in  mine.  I  know  the  strange  equatorial  twi light,  —  the  petite  rue  triste,  triste,  —  the  planter's interior  with  the  banana  shadow  trembling  in  a square  of  sunlight  on  the  bare  floor,  —  the  furniture, —  the  hat,  —  the  young  woman  with  the  great  sad eyes.  Nay,  I  know  the  cemetery.  And  when  I  read that  story  first,  it  made  me  very  thoughtful  for  a long  time,  so  that  for  a  week  I  did  not  like  to  talk;  I wanted  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of  the  ghostly  pain. Then  don't  you  think  there  was  a  touch  of  weird TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  61 pathos  in  Viande  de  Boucherie?  it  affected  me  very much.  The  Japanese  tale  is  made  unnecessarily  re pulsive;  —  still,  I  liked  that  trembling  in  the  leaves; when  the  spirits  of  the  ancestors  come  to  take  the poor  soul  unto  themselves,  —  and  the  suggestion that  the  miserable  little  corpse  will  live  again  in  the blossoming  of  the  azaleas  and  marvellous  flowers; purified  by  the  all-tender  soul  of  Nature,  and  re stored  into  her  eternal  youth. But  I  fear  Loti's  nerves  are  played  out.  His  work has  become  morbid  of  late.  Only  in  exotic  subjects he  excels  all  others  living,  I  think.  His  pictures  of the  Pacific,  of  Senegal,  of  South  America  and  the Mediterranean  bewitch  me  beyond  all  utterance.  I don't  agree  with  James,  that  his  great  work  is  in "Mon  Frere  Yves,"  and  in  "Pecheur  d'Islande." Indeed  I  don't  think  James  really  read  those  other works.  To  me  Loti  seems  for  a  space  to  have  looked into  Nature's  whole  splendid  burning  f  ulgurant  soul, and  to  have  written  under  her  very  deepest  and strongest  inspiration.  He  was  young.  Then  the colour  and  the  light  faded,  and  only  the  worn-out blase  nerves  remained;  and  the  poet  became,  —  a little  morbid  modern  affected  Frenchman. Loti  used  to  write  to  me  a  little,  —  not  very familiarly,  and  I  have  his  photograph.  It  is  rather disappointing  in  some  respects,  he  looks  more  like  a fop  than  a  great  poet.  But  since  he  became  a  mem ber  of  the  Academy,  he  answers  letters  only  through his  Secretary,  — "  Monsieur, M.  Pierre  Loti  vous  remercie,"  etc.,  — 62  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN which  is  simply  disgusting.  Again  the  translation  of his  worst  books  must  accentuate  his  error  in  depart ing  from  the  path  in  which  Nature  herself  taught him  to  excel.  Perhaps  she  is  punishing  him  for  not loving  her  enough,  —  with  his  heart  instead  of  his nerves. Never  mind,  I'll  have  a  treat  for  you  in  Sacher- Masoch. "Returning  to  Sir  Walter,"  etc.,  reminds  me  of my  own  recent  experience.  I  used  to  adore  Tenny son's  "Idyls  of  the  King."  But  to-day  what  artificial, strained,  over-delicate  conservatory  work  they seem,  after  a  fresh  perusal  of  naif  Sir  Malory's "Morte  d'Arthur,"  which  is  all  pure  human  nature. After  for  years  studying  poetical  prose,  I  am  forced now  to  study  simplicity.  After  attempting  my  ut most  at  ornamentation,  I  am  converted  by  my  own mistakes.  The  great  point  is  to  touch  with  simple words.  And  I  feel  my  style  is  not  yet  fixed,  —  too artificial.  By  another  year  of  study  or  two,  I  think  I shall  be  able  to  do  better. The  winter  here  has  been  snowless  and  beautifully clear  for  the  majority  of  days.  Wherefore  I  ought  to be  happy,  and  would  be  if  I  had  a  friend  like  Nishida here.  Also  I  find  I  am  morally  better  by  reason  of the  stove  and  a  warm  room.  My  folks  say  I  have never  said  a  cross  word  since  I  had  a  warm  room. Heat  thus  appears  as  a  moral  force.  Just  think  how holy  I  should  be  could  I  live  forever  under  the equator. Ever  most  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  63 Nishida  and  others  admire  your  Japanese  writing, not  as  yours  merely,  but  in  itself.  I  won't  tell  you the  prettiest  things  he  said  about  it;  but  I  can't  see the  fine  differences  between  your  Japanese  writing and  that  of  others,  except  the  differences  caused  by the  use  of  a  pen  of  a  peculiar  kind.  But  Nishida  said if  I  studied  Japanese  writing  for  ten  years,  —  even then  I  would  not  know  good  writing  if  I  saw  it. Heigho ! My  chat  about  Loti  has  defined  something  else  in my  mind.  (I  feel  more  and  more  convinced  that Frenchmen  think  only  with  their  nerves,  —  and  too much  with  the  pudic  nerve  especially.)  There  was Gautier,  —  wondrous  artist  (I  translated  and  pub lished  his  Contes  and  Nouvelles  when  I  was  too young  to  do  the  work  well);  and  that  magician  of language  never  appealed  to  anything  behind  the senses.  His  most  perfect  poem —  "  Musee  Secret, " perhaps  the  most  perfect  poem  in  the  French  lan guage —  was  marvellous;  —  a  Greek  god  could  not have  done  better;  the  thoughts,  the  words,  the  com parisons,  the  allusions,  the  melody  are  simply  divine. But  .  .  .  the  subject?  (It  is  published  in  Bergerat's "  Souvenirs  de  Theophile  Gautier.")  Such  work  daz zles  and  makes  the  senses  reel  with  its  sensuous  splen dour,  —  yet  when  I  turn  to  the  simple  little  poem  con taining  the  verse  (I  know  not  the  author's  name),  — Nos  clairons  sonnaient  "En  avant," Elle  a  pleure,  pleure,  pleure;    — J'ai  march  e,  —  et  je  marche  tou jours,  — Et  jamais  je  ne  reviendrai,  — there  I  feel  the  Eternal  Heart  beating,  which  lives 64  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN beyond  space  and  time.  Or  take  again  a  comparison of  North  and  South:  — Nombril,  je  t'aime,  astre  du  ventre, Oeil  blanc  dans  le  marbre  sculpte, Et  que  1'Amour  a  mis  au  centre Du  sanctuaire  ou  seul  il  entre, Comme  un  cachet  de  volupte. (GAUTIER.) This  is  very,  very  fine  use  of  language  of  course,  but the  simple  — She  is  more  beautiful  than  Day  — of  Tennyson  is  worth  a  million  of  it.  Of  course  these comparisons  are  absurdly  extreme;  but  I  think  they are  characteristic.  Put  the  best  poem  by  the  rather spiritual  Hugo  beside  Heine's  "  Pilgrimage  to  Kev- laar."  We  have  French-English  poets,  however. Swinburne's  music  is  indeed  wonderful,  but  I  'd rather  read  the  old  ballad  about  the  harper  who Could  harp  the  fish  out  of  the  sea Or  bluid  out  of  a  stane, Or  milk  out  of  a  maiden's  breast That  never  bairns  had  nane. I  hope  for  the  Russian  invasion  of  the  West. When  the  Russians  have,  after  the  conquest, reached  the  point  of  writing  poems  like  Gautier's "Nombril,"  and  the  other,  it  will  then  be  time  for the  Chinese  to  conquer  the  world. L.  H. February  24,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  "Dona  Luz,"  which  I  have nearly  finished,  has  been  producing  a  curious  phe nomenon  in  my  mind.  I  told  you  I  had  forgotten TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  65 most  of  my  Spanish,  after  ten  years  out  of  touch with  everything  Spanish.  Beginning  "Dona  Luz,"  I was  surprised  to  find  how  obscure  everything seemed;  but  as  a  portion  of  each  sentence  remained clear,  I  determined  to  go  on  and  see  what  the  effect would  be.  On  the  third  day  I  was  astonished,  — because  nearly  everything  came  back  to  me  again; and  even  the  parts  at  first  obscure  lighted  up  sud denly  as  with  a  flash.  And  now  I  find  myself  able even  to  think  a  little  in  Spanish  again.  But  that was  only  one  side  of  the  experience. With  this  resurrection  of  the  memory  of  Spanish, recurred  to  me,  with  vividness  extraordinary,  two episodes  of  my  early  Spanish  studies,  —  long  for gotten,  —  especially  the  memory  of  a  certain  blue- washed  balconied  room  in  an  old  Creole  house  over looking  bananas,  and  one  enormous  fig  tree.  The two  episodes  may  perhaps  amuse  you,  —  since  you say  you  can  really  sometimes  find  recreation  in  my scribbling. My  first  teacher  was  an  old  man  with  a  long  face, like  Alva,  and  a  long  beard.  He  had  two  gypsy- looking  daughters,  —  really  attractive  senoritas, and  two  swarthy  sinister-looking  sons.  A  peculiar ity  of  the  whole  family  was  that  I  never  saw  any  of them  smile.  One  day  the  old  man  and  I  had  some sharp  words.  He  had  borrowed  from  me  a  consid erable  sum  of  money,  which  he  failed  to  return.  On my  using  some  indignant  language,  he  threatened me  with  his  sons.  Now  I  had  seen  his  sons,  —  so  I put  a  revolver  in  each  pocket  whenever  I  went  out. But  I  learned  a  few  days  later  that  my  revolvers 66  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN would  have  been  of  no  service.  For  one  of  the  sons, having  a  slight  difference  of  opinion  with  a  planter, blew  out  the  man's  brains  with  a  double-barrelled shot-gun  near  my  house.  A  revolver  is  useless against  buckshot.  I  thought  myself  lucky,  and  re signed  myself  to  the  loss. Then  I  obtained  a  milder  teacher,  —  a  Mexican youth,  with  a  very  curious  Indian  face.  He  spoke only  the  tropical  Spanish,  —  which  has  no  thay  or difficult  erray;  but  that  was  just  what  I  wanted. We  became  companeros.  But  somebody  found  out his  name,  and  translated  it.  This  proved  disastrous. For  his  name  was  Jose  de  Jesus  y  Preciado.  It  was translated  into  "precious  Jesus"  by  some  rascally young  Americans;  and  poor  Jose  was  accused  of being  a  peripatetic  blasphemy.  Wherefore  he  was obliged  to  return  to  the  land  of  Ixtacihuatl,  — where  such  names  are  in  the  odour  of  sanctity,  and I  saw  him  no  more.  So  much  for  the  Episodes.  As for  "  Dona  Luz,"  I  don't  know  what  to  compare  the art  of  it  to.  It  has  a  sort  of  quiet,  intimate,  yet  un forgettable  charm.  I  thought  of  Goldsmith,  and  I thought  of  Sandeau,  —  but  Valera  is  essentially  and inimitably  Spanish.  I  am  going  to  read  all  the  Span ish  I  can  for  the  next  year  or  so;  —  especially  as  I hope  to  spend  a  winter  one  of  these  days  in  Manila, or  some  little  city  of  the  Philippines.  For  my  pur pose  I  fancy  the  smaller  and  more  remote  the  town the  better. I  have  little  news,  except  a  discovery  about  Inari. After  all  there  are  stone  foxes,  —  if  not  in  Kuma- moto,  at  least  very  near  to  it,  at  the  little  village TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  67 of  Takahashi-machi,  2  ri  from  Kumamoto.  But these  foxes  are  mythological  hybrids;  they  are  half Karashishi  and  half  foxes,  —  and  the  Karashishi element  predominates  strongly.  Even  their  atti tude  is  rampant.  Well,  what  is  most  curious  is  that they  are  not  Shinto,  but  Namu-miyo-ho-renge-kyo, and  incense  is  burnt,  and  Buddhist  prayers  said  be fore  them.  In  Izumo  it  is  not  uncommon  to  find a  Jizo  or  other  Buddhist  deity  captured  by  Shinto; but  a  fox-deity  captured  by  the  Nichiren-shu  is certainly  new  to  me. Faithfully  ever, ......  LAFCADIO  HEARN. April  5,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  suppose  it  is  no  use  to tell  you  that  I  felt  lonesome  after  your  visit,  and selfishly  vexed  that  you  could  stay  only  for  those few  hours.  Well,  you  see!  —  in  spite  of  our  agree ment  upon  the  futility  of  hurry-scurry  and  frantic effort  as  means  to  happiness,  you  committed  hurry- scurry; —  we  can't  help  ourselves  always.  And, Thackeray-wise,  I  thought  of  all  the  fine  things  I wanted  to  say  after  you  were  gone.  I  wanted  to show  you  a  doll,  that  was  the  philosophical  toy  of an  Emperor,  —  and  two  ink  stones  of  Bateiseki,  — and  an  extraordinary  text,  —  and.  .  .  .  But  I  was so  inwardly  worried  by  the  mere  thought  of  your going  away  so  soon,  that  I  forgot  them.  It  is  really immoral  only  to  stay  such  a  short  time;  it  is  a  para lyzing  of  wishes  and  intentions.  Still,  I  would  not have  missed  it  for  anything.  It  knitted  closer,  or 68  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN rather  re-knitted  my  old  tie  of  gratitude  and  friend ship;  and  in  spite  of  our  best  endeavours  such  ties will  slacken  a  little  if  friends  never  see  each  other. For  we  cannot  be  altogether  ourselves  on  paper. I  sent  the  bulk  of  the  ofuda  and  mamori  by  ex press,  the  package  was  too  large  for  parcel-post.  But I  kept  back  many  things  I  knew  you  had.  Also  I kept  back  two  mamori  you  have  not,  —  two  that  I don't  like  to  surrender  altogether  on  account  of associations,  but  which  I  can  send  you  for  use  when ever  you  want  them.  Or,  to  speak  more  frankly,  my folks  begged  me  not  to  send  away  those  two,  which we  got  under  peculiar  circumstances  while  travelling. .  .  .  The  day  after  you  left  it  ...  snowed!  I thought  of  you,  and  felt  uneasy;  for  you  had  a  cold, and  the  change  must  have  been  terrible  a  few  hun dred  miles  north.  What  an  unmerciful  winter. To  return  to  older  topics,  an  idea  is  growing  upon me  about  the  utility  of  superstition  as  compared with  the  utility  of  religion.  Indeed  the  latter  is  but an  elaboration  of  the  former,  and  both  have  truth at  the  bottom  of  them.  Superstition  in  Japan  has  a sort  of  shorthand  value  in  explaining  eternal  and valuable  things.  To  preach  to  people  (who  know nothing)  about  sociological  morality,  —  or  the  rela tion  of  cleanliness  to  health,  —  or  other  things  of that  kind,  —  would  certainly  be  waste  of  breath. A  superstition  serves  the  purpose  infinitely  better. But  I  think  the  superstition  is  in  many  cases  de veloped  after  the  practice  begins.  Some  practices must  have  originated  simply  in  the  will  of  political or  religious  rulers.  After  the  force  of  their  com- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  69 mand  had  spent  itself,  it  was  continued  and  revived by  new  beliefs.  The  beliefs  that  to  drop  nail  parings in  a  hibachi  will  cause  madness;  that  not  to  shave the  hair  and  eyebrows  of  Samurai  children  will cause  them  to  have  misfortune  in  war;  that  to  lay futon  unevenly  will  cause  a  quarrel  between  hus band  and  wife;  that  to  make  the  Shoji  of  a  room  over lap  to  the  left  instead  of  to  the  right  is  to  invite misfortune;  that  to  leave  a  room  unswept  is  an  in vitation  to  Bimbogami;  that  to  touch  a  pillow with  the  foot  is  displeasing  to  the  gods;  that  to  tread upon  or  crumple  either  written  or  printed  paper,  or writing  of  any  kind,  is  wickedness,  —  all  these  and a  hundred  others  are  so  closely  related  to  practical truths  of  a  much  larger  character  than  themselves, that  one  feels  a  new  respect  for  superstition  in analyzing  them.  Is  n't  it  the  same  with  much  of  our Western  religion?  Why,  it  was  only  the  other  day that  the  proposition  for  the  teaching  of  sociological morality  was  made  for  the  first  time  in  America;  in other  words,  it  is  only  at  the  present  day  that  we  are able,  in  our  very  highest  educational  institutions,  to rationalize  morals  and  scientifically  illustrate  the relation  of  actions  to  consequences.  Hell  and  dam nation,  angels  and  devils  and  myths,  have  certainly had  incomparable  value  as  shorthand  religious moral  teachings.  Fancy  trying  to  get  into  a  peas ant's  head  the  whole  reason  why  adultery,  incest, or  murder  are  punished  as  crimes. I  hope  if  we  are  to  have  another  winter  like  this, that  you  will  be  able  to  spend  it  in  a  warm  country, — a  tropical  country.  Dr.  Haga  has  nearly  cured  me, 70  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN but  the  climate  helps  him.  Tokyo  is  so  changeable. How  you  would  enjoy  a  West  Indian  winter!  For six  months  it  is  heaven;  after  that  you  begin  to  feel the  drain  on  the  system.  But  six  months  is  a  won derful  tonic.  If  ever  I  get  rich  enough  I  have  three ambitions  to  fulfil:  —  (1)  A  winter  in  Manila; (2)  A  winter  in  Pondicherry;  (3)  A  winter  in  Java. These  will  perhaps  be  the  luxuries  of  my  old  age, if  I  have  any. Ever  with  sincerest  regards, LAFCADIO  HEARN. April  10,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  kindest  letter  from Moji  made  me  very  glad;  —  also  took  away  some uneasiness,  for  it  hinted  your  intention  of  shortly getting  home,  which  I  really  think  is  best.  I  have not  been  feeling  comfortable  about  that  cold  of yours;  and  prolonged  further  travelling,  in  fitful weather,  might  I  think  make  it  worse,  —  espe cially  if  you  are  out  of  the  reach  of  recuperative solid  food.  Sometimes  I  have  been  quite  miserable while  travelling  for  want  of  even  good  Japanese  food, which  I  had  to  make  up  for  by  sake.  I  hope  this will  find  you  already  at  home,  before  a  big  pink fragrant  roast  of  beef,  with  a  bottle  of  claret  beside you,  and  your  cold  quite  well.  Since  I  wrote  last  the Spring  has  really  come;  my  trees  are  turning  pink under  the  green.  And  to-morrow  or  next  day  I  ex pect  to  hear  my  fate  from  Boston;  the  only  doubt now  seems  to  be  the  question  of  quantity,  for  which I  made  a  stout  fight. f      TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  71 My  little  wife  was  more  than  pleased  by  your kind  words  of  thanks.  You  surprised  my  house,  by the  way.  To  hear  an  Englishman  speak  English  was not  a  new  experience,  of  course;  but  to  hear  an Englishman  "speak  better  Japanese  than  a  Japa nese"  and  so  as  "to  make  Japanese  blush  for  their Japanese"  was  an  astonishment.  I  translate  these little  compliments  verbatim,  because  they  were straight  from  the  heart,  and  cannot  seem  to  you  to have  been  uttered  with  any  idea  of  flattery, — for they  were  too  innocent  to  think  of  that. I  sent  you  the  "  Naulahka  "  to  amuse  you  the next  wet  day,  and  my  Gougaristic  first-novel.  The ofuda  went  by  express.  I  have  been  thinking  over things.  I  have  some  curious  legends  about  many  of the  ofuda  which  might  come  in  useful  some  day. For  instance  there  is  a  family  in  Matsue  which  has for  its  mon  an  ofuda  of  Ise.  Why?  The  story  is  that once  a  servant  of  the  family  went  to  Ise  in  despite of  the  master's  order  to  remain  in  the  house.  When he  came  back  the  Samurai  flew  into  a  rage  and  killed him.  Then  the  murderer  felt  sorry,  and  buried  the body  in  the  garden,  —  or  bamboo-patch.  The  day after  the  servant  came  back  again,  and  apologized for  his  absence  at  Ise.  You  can  guess  the  rest  of  the legend.  When  the  grave  was  opened  there  was  no dead  body  there,  —  only  an  ofuda  cut  in  two  as  if by  a  sword-slash. Well,  I  have  various  legends  of  this  kind.  I  think I  can  get  from  Matsue  ofuda  relating  to  other  tra ditions.  I  don't  believe  in  "writing  up"  to  illus trations  in  most  cases;  but  in  this  particular  sort 72  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN of  study  it  is  well  worth  while.  There  are  the  beau tiful  or  curious  legends  of  Hinomisaki,  of  the  Mat- sudaira  Inari,  of  the  Tenjin  ofuda,  of  weird  Zenkoji (where  I  want  to  go  next  summer);  and  there  are songs,  and  there  are  proverbs.  To  use  all  will  be impossible.  But  to  use  the  strangest  and  most  im aginative  by  selection  would  have  a  startling  effect. A  specially  interesting  department  would  be  related to  the  ofuda  and  mamori  of  children  or  of  Chil dren's  Gods,  —  with  Jizo  in  a  hundred  forms  at  the head.  All  this  for  future  pleasant  lazy  days.  I  won't impose  on  your  eyes  any  more  this  time,  but  will say  good-bye  (till  next  American  mail  comes). With  best  regards,  and  kindliest  remembrances from  us  all  here, Ever  most  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. April  13,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — Talk  of  the  "pendulum ! " How  my  letters  must  amuse  you  between  times! (I  say  amuse,  knowing  your  patience.)  They  reflect iny  own  perturbations  of  spirit.  But  they  are  cer tainly  a  record  of  illusion  and  disillusion.  Now  only is  it  time,  according  to  Amiel,  whom  you  quoted in  your  book,  that  I  ought  to  be  able  to  treat  the subject  of  Japan  at  all  sensibly.  But  Amiel,  like  our friend  Mason,  did  not  write  at  all;  he  only  made notes.  He  waited,  like  Mason,  till  the  illusion passed.  And  had  I  so  waited,  I  believe  I  could never  have  written  at  all.  Happily  I  will  have  at least  two  indulgent  readers. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  73 To-day  there  was  a  ceremony  which  partly  recon ciled  me  to  these  people.  There  is  a  dear  old  Tempo man  in  the  school,  —  famous  in  the  history  of  the Revolution.  His  name  is  Akizuki.  To-day  was  his seventieth  birthday.  He  teaches  Chinese  to  the boys.  Well,  all  the  students  and  all  the  teachers subscribed  to  a  feast  in  his  honour,  and  made speeches  and  did  very  pretty  things.  The  boys  got an  oil-portrait  of  him  painted,  and  took  it  with  them to  the  banqueting  hall.  All  this  was  nice.  But  soon there  will  be  no  more  of  these  lovable  old  men,  — nothing  but  addle-pated  young  sports  with  billy cocks  and  cigarettes  and  billiards  on  the  brain. That  they  can  honour  beautiful  old  age  at  least shows  that  they  are  not  quite  dead  yet  to  themselves; but  I  fear  the  process  of  ossification  is  very  rapid. There  will  be  no  hearts  after  a  time  (among  the men);  Waterbury  watches  will  be  substituted  in stead.  These  will  be  cheap  and  cold,  but  will  keep up  a  tolerably  regular  ticking. I  was  looking  at  your  article  on  fans  in  "Things Japanese"  yesterday,  and  noticed  that  you  say  all subjects  are  treated  on  fans,  "except  perhaps  reli gion."  The  "perhaps"  saves  the  statement;  but last  summer  I  saw  many  religious  subjects  on  fans, —  torii,  miya,  matsuri,  etc.,  and  quite  a  number of  fans  decorated  with  the  chubby  figure  of  Fuku- suke.  But  the  important  point  I  would  suggest is  that  religious  fans  actually  form  a  very  strik ing  class  by  themselves.  Nearly  all  the  temples give  away  fans  decorated  with  pictures  of  the  holy place.  These,  I  think,  would  be  worth  a  special 74  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN mention  in  any  work  on  ofuda  and  other  sacred curiosities. •  We  were  talking  about  education  the  other  day. I  have  been  thinking  that  the  deficiencies  of  edu cational  systems  will  have  in  the  future  to  be  met with  by  means  which  it  is  now  impossible  even  to imagine.  Perhaps  one  would  be  the  abolition  of schools,  —  as  too  mechanical  and  wasteful  of  time. (Herbert  Spencer,  I  believe,  never  went  to  school at  all.)  But  here  is  the  difficulty,  —  always  grow ing,  —  which  the  future  must  face.  According  to the  present  system,  one-fourth  of  life  at  least  must be  devoted  simply  to  preparation.  Another  fourth must  be  given  to  the  struggle  to  live  and  maintain a  family.  At  least  half  of  life  must  go  to  the  mere effort  of  preparing  for  life.  This,  I  know,  is  com monplace.  But  all  the  sciences,  enormously  expand ing  and  subdividing  into  branches,  are  outgrowing the  institutions  established  to  teach  them,  and  must continue  to  outgrow  them  with  ever-increasing  ra pidity.  (Who,  for  example,  can  now  pretend  to  be a  good  general  physician?  one  must  take  a  branch, and  make  it  a  life  study.)£The  enforcement  of  spe cialization  into  even  rudimentary  educational  sys tems  could  only  meet  the  difficulty  for  a  certain time; — it  is  one  that  never  can  be  buried.  And  al ready  the  result  of  much  high  education  is  only  a smattering  of  much  with  a  knowledge  of  nothing,  — for  the  average  student.  Our  brains  eat  up  our  lives and  the  life  of  the  world,  —  and  yet  are  starved  or fed  with  ornamental  bric-a-brac.  Progress  is  leading us  to  a  future  in  which  it  will  require  half  a  century TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  75 to  merely  prepare  a  brain  for  work;  and  unless  the Elixir  of  Life  be  discovered,  what  is  the  use?  "In- kyo"  would  scarcely  be  possible  in  the  West.  The parents  (except  among  the  really  wealthy)  die  long before  their  children  are  able  to  do  anything^!  can't escape  the  conviction  that  an  enormous  part  of  what we  now  imagine  to  be  education  must  be  pitched overboard  to  lighten  the  shipj  And  we  shall  never, never  have  any  more  time  to  enjoy  the  world. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.—  "Ah!" (1)  Statistically  it  has  been  admirably  shown that  education  does  not  decrease  criminality.   The superstition  of  the  West  has  been  that  the  lower classes  should  be  educated  to  keep  them  from  being dangerous.    But  education  has  made  them  much more  dangerous  than  they  ever  were  before. (2)  Buckle  pointed  out  years  ago  that  on  the other  hand,  the  extremely  high  culture  of  a  supe rior  class,  so  far  from  enabling  it  to  elevate  the  class beneath  it,  actually  exiles  it  from  all  other  classes,  — as  in  Germany  where  even  the  language  of  the  sci entific  classes  had  become  totally  unintelligible  to all  others.   Since  Buckle's  time,  the  same  might  be said  of  the  highly  cultivated  classes  of  other  coun tries,  —  their  thoughts,  their  words,  their  books are  hieroglyphics  to  the  multitude. (3)  A  world  of  extraordinary  possible  results  can be  imagined  from  the  future  aggravation  of  both states  of  things. (4)  The    government    of    the    ancient    Orient, 76  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN "founded upon  benevolence,"  resolved  the  difficulty unconsciously  in  a  much  better  way.  The  educa tion  of  the  people  shall  be  moral  only,  —  shall  be the  teaching  of  eternal  truths,  —  the  relations  of the  family,  the  duties  of  children  and  subjects.  And he  who  says  anything  new  shall  be  put  to  death. Also  he  who  invents  inventions  shall  be  killed.  Both laws  I  find  in  the  sacred  books  of  China.  They  are good  laws,  from  one  point  of  view.  And  after  all  the matter  is  brought  back  to  a  celebrated  maxim  of Spencer's  — That  the  object  of  all  education  should  be  sim ply  to  make  good  fathers  and  mothers. Here  the  ancient  Orient  agrees  with  Mr.  Herbert Spencer. But  how  can  people  be  educated  to  become  good fathers  and  mothers,  if  the  largest  part  of  life  must be  devoted  merely  to  learning  that  which  is  of  no practical  use,  —  and  if  for  the  really  learned  mar riage  becomes  more  difficult  with  every  generation. The  imposition  of  Chinese  laws  upon  the  West for  a  time  might  not  be  so  very  bad. "Let  him  who  says  anything  new,  or  him  who shall  invent  anything  new,  be  put  to  death." I  send  a  couple  of  Masoch's  volumes  of  stories for  you  and  Mason  to  while  away  dull  moments with. April  17,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — .  .  .  I  find  out  it  is  not the  custom  here  to  call  on  the  Director.  And  I  have never  spoken  to  him  yet.  But  he  is  evidently  a  dis- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  77 ciplinarian.  Since  he  came,  things  have  become more  exact.  The  clock  that  used  always  to  strike twelve  when  it  was  only  eleven,  has  been  corrected; tablets  covered  with  Chinese  characters  proclaim rigid  enactments  and  boundaries;  and  the  students who  assembled  to  hear  long  speeches  were  dismissed with  a  few  words  of  Lacedemonian  brevity  and  con ciseness,  almost  as  soon  as  they  formed  ranks.  The new  Director  is  a  fine  man,  —  looks  like  a  handsome Jew,  —  walks  with  a  long  stride  like  an  ostrich.  I should  like  to  know  the  mystery  of  him. Why  am  I  writing  this  letter?  Well,  just  because a  new  idea  came  to  me  somewhat  definitely.  The Japanese  problem  is  such  a  huge  one,  that  I  am  ven turesome  enough  to  believe  you  have  time  to  listen to  any  ideas  about  it  not  already  worn  out.  The idea  I  refer  to  was  given  me  by  the  sight  of  the  Amer ican  newspaper  of  which  I  used  to  be  literary  editor. It  comes  to  me  filled  with  columns  headed  "Fem inine  Gossip,"  "New  Fashions,"  "Woman  in  Art," "Clara  Belle's  Letter  about  Small  Feet,"  etc.,  all accompanied  by  small  outline  woodcuts,  represent ing  wonderful  women  in  wonderful  dresses.  The original  poetry  is  all  about  love  and  despair.  The stories  are  tales  about  enamoured  swains  and  cruel beauties.  The  whole  thing  is  now  nauseating  to  me, —  yet  I  used  to  think  it  rather  refined  compared with  other  papers.  At  all  events  it  is  a  type  of  sev eral  hundred.  As  a  type  it  is  suggestive. "Teacher,"  cry  my  students,  "why  are  English novels  all  about  love  and  marriage?  That  seems  to us  very  strange."  They  say  "strange."  They  think 78  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN "indecent."  ThenI  try  to  explain:  —  "My  dear  lads, the  world  of  the  West  is  not  as  the  world  of  the  East. In  the  West,  Society  is  not,  as  you  know,  constituted upon  the  same  plan.  A  man  must  make  his  own family;  the  family  does  not  make  him.  What  you do  not  know,  is  that  for  the  average  educated  man without  money,  life  is  a  bitter  and  terrible  fight,  — a  battle  in  which  no  quarter  is  given.  And  what  is the  simplest  and  most  natural  thing  of  all  in  Japan, — to  get  married,  — is  in  the  West  extremely  difficult and  dangerous.  Yet  all  a  man's  life  turns  upon  that effort.  Without  a  wife  he  has  no  home.  He  seeks success,  in  order  to  be  rich  enough  to  get  married. Success  in  life  means  success  in  marriage.  And  the obstacles  are  many  and  wonderful."  .  .  .  (I  explain.) "Therefore  English  novels  treat  of  love  and  mar riage  above  all  things;  because  these  mean  every thing  in  life  for  the  English  middle  classes  at  least; and  the  middle  classes  like  these  books,  and  make the  men  rich  who  write  them  well,  because  they sympathize  with  the  imaginary  sufferings  of  the lovers.  Which  you  don't,  —  because  you  can't,  — and  I  guess  you're  just  about  right  on  that  score." But  I  know  my  explanation  is  very  partial.  Still, without  endangering  my  reputation,  I  can't  go  into further  particulars.  The  further  particulars  might be  furnished  by  the  American  newspaper  already referred  to,  —  as  a  type  of  newspaper.  England  has countless  kindred  papers.  But  the  supreme  art  of the  business  is  French,  —  the  Charivari,  the  Figaro, the  Petit  Journal  pour  Hire,  etc.  / What  do  they  tell  us?  I  think  it  is  this :  That  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  79 Western  Civilization  is  steeped  in  an  atmosphere  of artificially  created  .  .  .  passionalism.  That  all  art and  all  literature  open  to  common  comprehension are  directed  to  the  Eternal  Feminine.  That  our pleasures,  the  theatre,  the  opera,  the  marvels  of sculpture  and  painting,  the  new  musical  faculty,  — all  are  shapen  with  a  view  to  the  stimulation  of  sex ual  idealism.  Nay,  the  luxury  of  it,  —  the  volup tuousness,  —  betrays  itself  in  the  smallest  details of  business  or  invention,  —  from  the  portrait  of an  actress  or  ballet-dancer  on  a  package  of  cigar ettes,  to  the  frescoes  of  a  Government  building; from  a  child's  toy,  to  the  bronze  lamp  upheld  by  a splendid  nude  at  the  foot  of  a  palace  stairway.  If the  God  of  the  West  is  Money,  it  is  only  because money  is  the  Pandarus  that  holds  Cressida's  key. In  education,  indeed,  our  object  is  to  delay  puberty and  its  emotions  as  long  as  possible,  —  so  as  to  store up  force  in  the  individual.  We  lie,  dupe,  conceal, play  hypocrite  for  a  good  purpose.  But  when  the children  become  men  and  women,  they  are  sud denly  plunged  into  an  atmosphere  full  of  the  Eter nal  Feminine,  and  for  the  rest  of  life  they  can  escape it  only  by  fleeing  to  some  less  civilized  country. Of  the  evils  thus  produced,  nothing  need  be  here said.  They  are  only  the  accidents;  —  they  don't explain  matters. ••  Now  your  Japanese  thinks  it  indecent  even  to talk  about  his  wife,  and  at  least  impolite  to  talk about  his  children.  This  does  n't  mean  he  is  with out  affection  at  all.  The  affection  is  all  right,  —  but the  mere  mention  of  it,  he  thinks,  suggests  other 80  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN matters,  —  unfortunate  necessities  of  existence.  He introduces  his  wife  to  a  European,  simply  because he  has  heard  it  is  the  strange  and  barbarous  Western custom  to  do  such  things;  but  otherwise  his  women live  in  shadow,  by  themselves.  They  are  used  to it,  —  would  be  unhappy  or  awkward  if  pulled  out of  it.  He  does  not  mention  his  marriage,  except  to a  few  intimates  invited  to  the  wedding;  and  still more  rarely  the  birth  of  his  child,  —  for  obvious reasons.  An  English  novel  (of  the  Trollope  sort) would  seem  to  him  a  monstrous  morbid  piece  of nonsense.  A  Parisian  ballet  would  seem  to  him  worse than  ever  any  Methodist  minister  deemed  it.  And he  would  hold  at  sight  any  Japanese  Joro  more  mod est  than  the  Society  belle  who  shows  her  shoulders above  the  lace-fringe  of  an  evening  dress.  His  at mosphere  is  cool  and  without  illusion.  His  artists succeed  best  with  nature  and  least  with  man.  We are  all  opposite.  Which  is  the  best  condition  for future  intellectual  expansion? (I  am  only  hazarding  all  this.)  At  present  the  con dition  of  passional  thought  in  the  West  does  seem  to me  morbid,  exasperating.  But  I  think  it  does  more than  evil.  It  is  a  creative  force  in  the  highest  sense. I  think  so.  The  process  is  slow,  and  accompanied with  ugly  accidents.  But  the  results  will  perhaps be  vast.  All  this  woman-worship  and  sex- worship is  tending  to  develop  to  a  high  degree  certain  moral qualities.  As  the  pleasure  of  colour  has  been  devel oped  out  of  perceptions  created  by  appetite,  so  out of  vague  sense  of  physical  charm  a  sense  of  spiritual charm  is  being  evolved.  The  result  must  be  rather TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  81 elevating  and  refining  at  last,  than  gross  and  selfish. It  seems  the  latter  to  one  who  looks,  —  say  at  that American  newspaper.  But  just  as  uncultivated minds  like  the  force  of  raw  bright  colors,  and  care nothing  for  delicate  tints,  —  so  imperfectly  culti vated  minds  need  strong  coarse  impulses  to  bestir them  in  emotional  directions.  I  think  the  general direction  is  one  of  gentleness,  nervous  sympathy, generosity.  There  is  surely  a  vast  reserve  of  tender ness  in  even  our  roughest  Western  natures,  that comes  out  only  in  the  shocks  of  life,  as  fire  from  flint. By  tenderness  I  don't  mean  simple  woman-loving, sexual  inclination,  but  something  higher  developed out  of  that  more  primitive  loving,  etc.,  —  sensibility, comprehension,  readiness  to  do  for  the  weak  on  im pulse.  I  can't  see  this  in  the  Orient,  —  except  among the  women.  Did  you  not  say  that  the  Japanese woman  preserved  the  purity  and  grace  of  the  native tongue?  Well,  I  think  she  has  preserved  also  the whole  capacity  of  the  race  for  goodness,  —  all locked  up  within  her.  .  .  . And  here  my  pessimistic  epistle  shall  close. Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  — The  main  point  I  wish  to  suggest  is  this,  — that  in  order  to  understand  Japan,  the  sexual  ques tion  must  be  very  carefully  considered,  as  a  factor in  forming  psychological  differences.  This  subject is  too  large  for  me;  but  a  man  like  Lowell  might  do much  with  it.  I  am  afraid  to  try.  Lowell  has  once alluded  to  it;  but  I  don't  think  it  is  a  mere  side  issue. 83  ,  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN April  17,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  am  beginning  to  think I  was  a  great  fool  to  write  a  book  about  Japan  at  all. My  best  consolation  is  that  every  year  other  peo ple  write  books  about  Japan  on  the  strength  of  a trip  only;  —  and  that  excuse  is  very  bad.  A  friend, who  never  minces  matters,  speaks  to  me  thus :  — "You  think  you  were  very  kindly  treated  in Izumo?" "Oh,  yes!" "And  that  you  have  not  been  kindly  treated  in Kumamoto.  Very  well,  —  that  is  natural.  But  do you  know  why  you  were  kindly  treated  in  Izumo?" "Well,  I  should  like  to  get  your  opinion." "Simply  because  you  were  a  new  thing,  —  there fore  a  wonderful  and  a  strange  thing.  Everybody wanted  to  see  you;  you  were  a  curiosity;  —  so  they invited  you  everywhere,  tried  to  please  you,  showed you  everything.  That  was  their  way  of  gratifying their  curiosity.  They  did  it  as  politely  as  they  could, so  as  to  leave  a  pleasant  impression.  Also,  they  are very  simple  people  there,  and  thought  you  much wiser  and  greater  than  you  really  are.  So  they  asked your  opinion  about  things,  and  published  your  opin ions  in  the  paper,  —  did  n't  they?" "Yes." "Well,  that  was  all  simply  because  you  seemed to  them  a  wonderful  and  curious  person.  But  in Kumamoto  you  are  not  a  wonderful  or  curious  per son.  The  public  are  accustomed  to  foreigners  of  va rious  kinds,  and  the  Kumamoto  folk  live  in  the  routes of  travel.  As  for  the  teachers,  all  are  Tokyo  men,  — TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  83 perfectly  familiar  with  foreigners.  You  cannot  ap pear  to  them  in  any  new  role  that  would  interest them.  You  are  not  interesting  to  them  at  all;  and they  are  not  simple,  foolish  people,  like  the  Izumo folk.  Also  they  are  not  agonizingly  polite.  It  is  an old  Kyushu  tradition  not  to  be;  it  is  thought  to  be weak,  flabby,  unmanly.  You  won't  find  these  peo ple  bowing  and  scraping  to  you." "That  is  true." "They  don't  even  do  it  to  each  other.  They  stand off  from  each  other.  They  don't  think  foreigners any  better  than  themselves.  And  you  will  find  it the  same  if  you  go  to  any  other  civilized  part  of  Ja pan.  In  a  place  like  Izumo,  out  of  the  line  of  rail roads,  you  are  interesting  to  the  ignorant  folk  be cause  you  are  a  foreigner." "Hm." "Yes;  but  in  other  parts  of  Japan  you  are  uninter esting  for  the  very  same  reason.  To  educated  Jap anese  you  cannot  be  interesting.  You  cannot  talk to  them;  you  don't  understand  their  ways,  —  don't belong  to  their  life.  You  are  not  a  show,  or  a  nov elty;  you  are  only  a  teacher,  —  with  nothing  re markable  to  recommend  you  to  strangers.  But  you are  not  less  well  treated,  —  perhaps  much  better treated,  than  you  would  be  elsewhere  in  civilized Japan. " "But  why  didn't  you  tell  me  all  this  before?" "Simply  because  I  did  not  want  to  spoil  your pleasure.  You  were  very  happy,  were  n't  you?  But you  would  not  have  been  so  happy  if  I  had  told  you before.  I  tell  you  so  now  simply  as  a  sort  of  conso- 84.  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN lation.  It  was  better  for  you  not  to  know  in  Izumo. It  is  better  for  you  to  know  in  Kumamoto." "Yes,  but  my  book  is  all  wrong." "Why  all  wrong?  Doesn't  it  express  a  real  ef fect;  —  the  effect  of  the  efforts  of  people  to  please you?  And  they  were  really  sincere  in  that, — though not  exactly  because  they  thought  you  all  that  you imagined  they  thought  you.  If  you  described  your own  feelings,  the  book  will  be  in  that  sense  true. But  if  you  write  about  Japanese  character,  of  course you  will  be  mistaken.  You  do  not  know  it.  Indeed I  do  not  believe  you  could  ever  learn  it.  It  seems to  me  natural  that  you  should  not.  It  would  seem to  me  a  miracle  that  you  should." This  is  the  sum  and  substance  of  information  that takes  the  starch  out  of  me,  but  is  really  very  con soling.  It  is  always  consoling  to  stand  upon  solid ground,  even  if  the  prospect  is  not  delightful,  after a  voyage  in  seas  of  delusions  and  mysteries. The  educational  question  is  growing  upon  me. The  other  day  a  young  man,  —  the  cleverest  in  his class,  wrote  me  these  words:  — "When  I  think  of  my  child-studies,  my  first  days at  school,  I  can  hardly  avoid  despair.  Embarrass ments  have  come;  — I  feel  my  bodily  energy  slipping away;  my  diligent  spirit  is  gone;  my  brain  seems  dull, feeble,  and  unrenewable.  [He  means  worn  out,  but there  is  a  pathetic  force  of  expression  in  the  mistake.] And  the  more  I  am  dismayed,  the  worse  I  become  in all  things.  I  feel  a  destruction  gathering  over  me. But  who  made  all  this  so?  I  think  it  was  my  negli gence; — that  I  have  no  one  to  blame  but  myself." TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  85 All  this  seems  to  be  very  pathetic.  A  young  brain is  wearing  out  from  overwork;  and  the  student  ac cuses  himself  of  not  studying  hard  enough,  —  to tally  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  he  is  quietly  killing himself.  Some  day  I  expect  to  call  his  name,  and get  no  answer.  It  is  not  the  first  call,  nor  the  tenth. But  it  is  the  first  time  I  have  seen  the  feelings  of  the struggle  so  simply  expressed,  with  such  amazing artlessness. The  delicate  souls  pass  away;  the  rough  stay  on and  triumph.  As  Spencer  says,  "the  first  requisite to  any  success,  is  to  be  a  good  animal."  Students have  the  superstition  that  strong  will  is  enough. They  ought  to  be  taught  better,  for  simple  human ity's  sake. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. April  19,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Really  I  never  want any  better  consolation  for  blues  than  a  letter  from you,  and  the  occasional  indulgence  of  my  own  feel ings  in  a  letter.  This  latter  indulgence  I  think  ex cusable  only  because  truly  reactions  are  an  inevi table  part  of  life  in  the  Orient,  and  have  therefore something  more  than  a  purely  personal  meaning. But  the  mental  blues  are  gone,  and  instead  of them  conies  a  blaze  of  blue  light,  true  summer  color, into  the  room  where  the  stove  was.  For  the  winter partition  and  the  stove  itself  have  been  removed, and  the  room  is  open  to  the  sky  and  to  a  burst  of blossom-splendor  from  the  garden.  I  had  no  idea 88  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN what  wealth  of  flowers  I  had,  there  are  fully  forty kinds.  Also  the  grass  of  my  garden  has  changed from  yellow  to  soft  green.  —  Oh!  do  you  remember the  awful  dead-yellow  of  those  stagey,  humpy,  pokey hills  in  Suizenji  garden,  —  that  looked  just  as  if they  had  been  sheered  out  of  dead  wood,  and  painted with  yellow  ochre??  I  suppose  even  they  are  green now;  but  I  am  much  too  afraid  of  them  to  go  and see. I  fear  I  can't  get  so  far  away  from  Kumamoto  as you  kindly  suggest.  There  will  be  batches  of  proofs coming  every  ten  days,  and  such  a  trip,  to  be  en joyed  at  all,  would  take  much  more  time.  The  ten days  would  barely  give  me  one  half  hour's  chat  with you  at  Miyanoshita;  and  that  would  only  make  me hungry  for  more.  The  most  I  expect  to  attempt  will be  a  short  run  to  Nagasaki.  Of  all  this  I  am  not indeed  quite  sure;  but  the  mail  will  soon  enlighten me. I  am  sending  another  batch  of  novels  to  Mason; you  will  have  time  to  read  them  at  Miyanoshita anyhow,  later  on.  Tell  him  to  read  "La  Pecheuse d'Ames"  last.  I  fear  you  will  not  like  it  for  two  rea sons: —  it  is  bloody,  and  the  incidents  seem  improb able.  Bloody  it  certainly  is,  and  in  places  too  theat rical; — yet  in  a  country  which  produced  such  a  sect as  the  Skopsi  (is  n't  that  the  name?)  what  might not  be  possible? I  read  Anstey's  "  Giant's  Robe,"  the  other  day, having  bought  the  book  because  of  a  reference  to  it in  one  of  Kipling's  tales.  It  is  clever,  in  a  way;  but it  is  not  real  art,  I  think.  Seems  to  me  the  English TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  87 public  are  easily  satisfied;  give  them  a  new  plot, and  the  rest  does  n't  matter.  The  success  of  "  Called Back"  seems  to  be  a  disgrace  to  public  taste. Another  thing  I  read  was  Dickins's  "Loyal League."  I  was  perfectly  astounded  by  some  of  his notes.  He  calls  Kwannon  "the  Buddie  (!)  Venus." Is  n't  that  enough  to  make  one  shriek?  The  im pression  of  the  whole  story  is  very  unpleasant  as  he tells  it;  for  that  reason,  I  prefer  Mitford's  version. But  whether  the  Japanese  original  is  also  so  emo tionally  hard  and  coarse  as  Dickins  makes  it,  I  am in  doubt. After  having  been  for  three  years  shaved  in  re ligious  silence  by  a  being  with  a  face  like  Buddha, I  felt  (the  other  day)  a  sort  of  regret  for  the  Ameri can  barber  who  parts  his  hair  in  the  middle,  and insists  on  telling  you  all  about  his  girl.  I  used  to think  him  a  frightful  plague.  But  now  the  memory of  him  becomes  almost  .  .  .  no,  positively  grateful. I  have  been  trying  to  think  exactly  what  I  was doing  just  at  the  time  you  came  to  Japan;  and  I  re member  now  that  I  was  writing  a  story  for  a  weekly family  paper  which  never  paid  anybody.  The  story was  a  serial.  The  idea  was  about  a  man  manufactured by  chemistry,  —  an  indestructible  man,  who  ate nothing  but  diamond  dust  and  steel  filings.  I  car ried  that  man  through  various  chapters  of  modern life,  —  made  him  sit  down  with  impunity  upon  cir cular  saws,  and  pass  through  all  sorts  of  conflagra tions,  battles,  and  dynamite  explosions.  After  which I  was  puzzled  what  to  do  with  him.  He  could  not be  killed;  yet  it  was  necessary  to  make  him  disap- 88  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN pear.  Wherefore,  I  had  him  swallowed  up  by  an earthquake.  Little  did  I  know  at  that  time  what  an earthquake  was.  I  wanted  to  know.  But  now  I  have a  really  disgusting  fear  of  earthquakes. Yes,  work  is  the  greatest  happiness,  voluntary pleasant  work,  with  the  certainty  of  creating  sym pathy.  I  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  be  able  to  do  any more  of  it.  I  have  begun  many  things,  but  can't finish  them;  the  question  always  comes  up,  —  "But would  he,  or  she,  have  such  sensations  or  thoughts?  " And  the  answer  is  generally  "No."  Therefore  my hope  of  "effects"  is  always  withered  up.  An  editor of  a  magazine  offered  me  some  time  ago  almost  any terms  for  "A  Japanese  novel  of  three  hundred  pages or  so."  A  Japanese  novel?  ?  ?  If  I  could  only  write one  little  baby  sketch,  and  write  the  truth  about the  inside  of  an  Oriental  brain.  But  I  can't.  I  won der  if  Lowell  could.  His  intuition  is  infinitely  finer. This  thing,  however,  seems  to  me  something  that intuition  cannot  give.  A  general  theory  will  not  do here.  If  there  were  absolute  fatalism,  stolidity,  in sensibility,  —  one  could  do  —  anything.  But  every thing  I  first  suspect  the  absence  of,  always  turns out  at  a  later  day  to  exist,  only  in  a  peculiar  way, like  a  blue  moon,  or  a  tree  with  scarlet  leaves.  So I  don't  know  what  to  do.  I  am  in  literary  despair. Perhaps  I  had  better  resign  myself  to  write  of  dead suns,  —  old  memories  of  queer  places  where  the  rule of  thinking  was  at  least  Aryan. The  old  man's  festival  the  other  day  was  rather a  nice  affair.  Many  Chinese  poems  were  composed in  his  honour.  Then  a  poem  which  he  himself  com- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  89 posed  was  solemnly  sung.  Next  day  a  servant brought  to  me  a  porcelain  wine-cup,  in  which  was lined  in  golden  text  the  old  man's  Chinese  poem. (I  had  sent  a  gift  of  wine  to  the  feast.)  But  I  know not  at  all  the  emotions  of  the  occasion,  —  nor  will I  even  know  in  heaven,  since  my  soul  or  souls  must wander  back  to  its  or  their  own  kindred.  Buddha would  never  let  me  into  his  Paradise,  because  I  can't understand. I  wish  you  and  I  together  could  travel  to  Izumo some  day.  It  rejoices  me  much  to  hear  you  are  get ting  strong.  But  you  can't  take  too  much  care  of your  throat,  in  this  horrid  weather.  It  may  be  per fectly  frank  in  the  Tokaido  region;  but  I  can  swear it  is  almost  as  treacherous  as  Atlantic  weather  here. One  hour  the  hills  are  sharp  as  amethyst  crystals  in a  cloudless  sky,  —  the  next,  they  are  invisible;  and there  is  furious  wind  and  rain. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. April  28,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — ...  I  had  a  treat  for you,  but  as  you  have  no  time  to  read,  I'll  send  it  to Mason  instead.  "Le  Roman  d'un  Enfant."  It seems  to  me  very  nearly  the  best  thing  Loti  has written,  and  will  give  you  a  better  opinion  of  him. Indeed  I  think  it  is  a  sacred  book  in  its  way. Your  criticism  on  my  letter  is  penetrating.  But in  the  interval  an  audacious  idea  has  been  taking visible  shape  in  my  mind,  —  definitely,  strongly,  — upsetting  all  my  other  ideas  about  the  future  of 90  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN West  and  East.  Perhaps  I  may  venture  to  bring  it out  some  day.  But  it  will  be  a  hard  piece  of  work,  — as  I  must  give  scientific  records  for  every  point  taken. It  is  this:  — That  the  larger  brained  and  nervously more  complex  races  of  the  West  must  give  way  at last  to  the  races  of  the  East,  —  and  that  Buddhism in  some  form  will  exist  after  Christianity  and  Chris tian  civilizations  have  vanished.  The  argument must  be  based  first  of  all  upon  the  enormous  cost of  individuation  to  the  West,  compared  with  the future  cost  of  equally  efficient  (for  sociological  pur poses)  individuation  to  —  say  the  Chinese.  Vast races  of  highly  complex  creatures  have  already  dis appeared  from  the  world  simply  because  of  the  enor mous  costliness  of  their  structures.  The  evolution of  machinery  furnishes  certain  parallels  for  study  in the  question  of  economy  of  force  and  economy  of expenditure.  Then  there  will  be  artificial  condi tions  to  consider,  as  set  in  antagonism  to  purely  nat ural  but  equally  efficient  conditions.  Of  course  the question  of  the  survival  of  races  is  that  of  the  sur vival  of  the  fittest.  But  are  we,  as  you  suggest  ask- ingly,  are  we  the  fittest?  The  fittest  life  is  that capable  of  meeting  all  exterior  influences  inimical to  it  by  interior  adjustments  of  its  own  powers.  Are we  most  able  to  do  that?  I  think  we  are  now,  — but  only  because  we  avail  ourselves  of  artificial  means to  oppose  to  natural  forces.  We  do  this  by  intellec tual  cunning.  But  that  intellectual  power  is  obtained by  us  only  at  so  vast  a  cost,  that  it  can  only  belong to  a  very  few.  Given  the  same  powers  to  the  select of  a  race  to  whom  the  cost  of  being  and  thinking TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  91 has  been  made  by  nature  and  habit  infinitely  less,  — and  what  will  we  be  in  the  competition?  Less  than nothing.  The  forces  of  national  expansion  are  ag gressive  forces  and  very  costly  ones.  But  they  do not  represent  the  highest  of  our  powers.  The  high est  of  our  powers  are  of  no  use  or  meaning  in  self preservation  and  race  contest.  And  the  aggressive powers  in  our  races  are  the  most  easily  imitated  and acquired  by  those  nations  we  call  inferior  and  bar barous.  But  that's  enough  to  bore  you  with.  I  only suggest  an  outline  of  what  I  mean.  In  that  case Japan  ought  to  tie  her  future  to  China,  when  cir cumstances  render  that  possible.  Buddha  will  be safe  anyhow. Good-bye,  with  sincerest  wishes  that  you  take the  best  possible  care  of  yourself  for  a  while, Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. May  2,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  First  let  me  thank  you and  Mason  for  that  delightful  telegram,  —  a  shake- hands  over  a  thousand  miles;  it  was  extremely  kind and  pretty  of  you. I  have  just  got  your  letter  about  the  globe  trot ter.  I  know  the  horrid  person  only  too  well;  —  I  sym pathize  with  you.  There  is  only  one  way  to  do  with such  animals  when  one  is  obliged  to  be  with  them. Each  and  all  know  something,  of  course,  which  en ables  them  to  travel ;  —  you  can  make  them  talk  about themselves,  about  "grub,"  about.  .  .  .  But  I  beg pardon,  really  that  would  not  do  for  a  respectable 93  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN gentleman  to  talk  about.  What  I  meant  to  say  was the  way  I  have  to  do  with  them.  I  know  the  animal; I  know  its  machinery;  I  hint  to  it  of  things  unholy, —  and  at  once  it  gets  wound  up,  unrolls,  and  utters its  heart's  music.  I  do  this  because  I  can't  talk  to it.  I  make  it  talk  to  itself  until  it  gets  tired  and  goes away.  And  sometimes,  though  not  always,  there  is literary  material  to  be  extracted  from  its  artless  vul garity  and  its  sense  of  greatness. What  you  say  about  letters  that  coulent  de  source I  feel  strong  sympathy  with  for  two  reasons.  In  the first  place  letters  not  spontaneous  give  one  the  no tion  that  the  writer  feels  a  certain  distrust  in  aban doning  his  thoughts  to  paper,  and  consequently  has not  towards  his  friend  that  perfect  feeling  which casts  out  fear.  The  second  is  that  the  receiver  is  also forced  into  a  certain  constraint  and  artificialness  in  his replies;  — then  the  matter  becomes  a  mere  drudgery. Of  course  there  are  other  cases,  —  such  as  the  very curious  one  you  suggest,  which  I  take  to  be  ruled by  a  sort  of  aesthetic  formality,  —  the  reluctance of  the  artist  to  be  for  a  moment  inartistic,  like  Theo- phile  Gautier  answering  a  reproach  about  not  writ ing  by  the  phrase:  "Ask  a  carpenter  to  plane  a  few planks  for  fun."  (I  have  not  heard  of  Lowell  at  all as  yet,  except  through  the  reference  you  make  to  a visit  from  him;  consequently  I  suppose  he  changed his  mind  about  Kumamoto.) I  said  in  my  last  that  your  criticism  about  one of  my  suggestions  was  penetrating.  It  proves  so more  than  I  fancied.  The  disintegration  of  the  fam ily  must  continually  increase,  must  it  not?  under TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  93 the  continual  stimulus  of  this  universal  Western passion.  Then  there  must  ensue  a  continually  aug menting  contempt  for  old  age  and  its  wisdom  in  the things  of  life,  —  and  a  universal  irreverence  for  all things  truly  worthy  of  reverence.  The  ultimate  re sults  seem  to  point  to  social  disintegration.  But  I am  not  a  trained  thinker,  and  not  a  scientist.  I  fear one  needs  to  be  both  in  order  to  treat  this  extraor dinary  sexual  and  social  question.  I  can  only  dare to  attempt  suggestions;  it  requires  a  power  like  Low ell's  to  synthetize  all  the  huge  mass  of  facts,  and dash  a  cosmic  idea  out  of  them. I  cannot  help  thinking  this  idea  of  throwing  open Japan  to  mixed  residence  is  sheer  wickedness.  To do  so  would  be,  I  sincerely  believe,  a  monstrous  crime. Pride  and  conceit  are  steering  the  Japanese  that way.  They  over-estimate  their  force.  They  are enormously  strong  while  they  remain  conservative. But  to  introduce  into  the  vitals  of  their  nationality the  most  active  possible  elements  of  dissolution seems  to  me  suicidal.  I  trust  the  race  instinct  will prevent  it.  Otherwise  Lowell's  prediction  will  prove, perhaps,  true,  —  that  the  race  will  vanish  from  the earth.  Of  what  importance  to  refuse  the  sale  of land  to  foreigners,  and  yet  leave  them  free  to  make other  investments  large  enough  to  involve  a  pos sibility  of  international  quarrel.  The  admission  of foreigners  to  Japan  is  only  the  other  side  of  the  ques tion  of  the  admission  of  Chinese  to  America.  The Chinaman  is  dreaded  because  of  his  power  to  under- live  the  white;  —  the  white  is  equally  to  be  dreaded because  of  his  ability  to  over-live  the  Oriental.  One 94  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN race  can  squeeze  out  the  other;  the  other  crushes and  absorbs.    But  what  can  prevent  the  danger? certainly  not  the  howl  of  one  small  writer  like  me. Those  wonderful  Russo-Jewish  novels  I  hoped  to make  you  read  have  come.   I  am  enraged  to  think you  have  no  time  to  read.  Of  course  it's  no  use  to send  them  now.   Only  tell  me  when  you  get  hungry for  something  strange,  powerful,  and  unexpected. Ever  with  best  wishes, LAFCADIO  HEARN. May  12,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  In  the  dead  vast  and middle  of  last  night  there  came  a  telegram  from Lowell,  saying  that  he  had  sent  a  letter  sixteen  days ago,  and  to  enquire  therefor.  I  enquired  as  soon  as possible,  sending  my  little  boy  to  the  P.  O.  When he  had  delivered  his  message,  instead  of  replying, the  P.  O.  asked:  — "What  is  your  name?" "Kumagae  Nasayoshi." "Naruhodo!  And  you  are  in  the  house  of  the Sensei?" "Yes." "Naruhodo!  And  of  course  you  speak  much English?" "No." "Naruhodo!    But  you  are  not  of  Kumamoto?" "No." "Naruhodo!  You  are  from  the  West?" "Izumo." TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  93 "Ya!  The  people  of  Shimane  are  curious  people. There  is  one  in  our  P.  0.;  you  know  him." "No,  I  do  not." "Naruhodo!  The  people  of  Shimane  say  'fu- bachi,  f utatsu,  fugashi';  they  say  'jiji;  ji-roku';  — they  say  'sanji'  for  'sanjui.'  Ah  yes!" "But  the  letter?" "  The  Sensei  received  a  telegram." "Yes." "The  letter  was  sent  —  when?" "Sixteen  days  ago." "  Naruhodo !  Then  it  could  not  possibly  have  come to  Kumamoto.  To  come  to  Kumamoto  and  not  be quickly  delivered  is,  for  a  letter,  exceedingly  diffi cult.  We  know  all  about  the  letters  of  the  Sensei;  we count  them.  Exceedingly  very  many  there  are.  He gets  letters  daily.  To-day,  as  you  know,  he  got  one?  " "Yes." "Then  the  reason  of  the  not  seeing  of  the  letter the  Sensei  desires  is  not  difficult  to  understand. " "It  is  difficult." "Oh,  not.  It  is  not  difficult.  The  reason  is  sim ply  that  the  letter  never  came  to  Kumamoto." "Ah!" "For  having  once  come  to  Kumamoto  it  should have  immediately  been  delivered." "Ah!" "But  since  it  did  not  come,  it  could  not  have  been delivered." "Thanks." "And  therefore,  not  having  been  delivered,  the Sensei  did  not  receive  it." 96        LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEAEN "Thanks." "What  have  I  done,  etc." To  dispute  the  premises  would  have  been  quite useless,  —  so  accepting  the  conclusion  I  prepared an  elaborate  telegram.  The  address  upon  Mr.  Low ell's  telegram  was  simply  "Rokumeikwan."  Masa trotted  off  again  to  the  heart  of  the  town.  The  tele graph  man  disputed  the  address.  Such  an  address would  not  suffice,  —  would  give  at  the  other  end of  the  line  enormous  tribulation.  For  to  send  a  tele gram  to  Rokumeikwan  was  like  unto  sending  a  tele gram  to  Tokyo,  —  to  Japan,  —  to  the  whole  Orient, —  to  the  whole  of  this  vale  of  tears.  And  I  suppose it  best  to  address  you  on  the  subject,  as  you  have  an address  of  a  sharply  defined  character.  I  think  you told  me  that  Lowell,  like  many  another  literary  man, dislikes  writing  letters.  I  am  especially  sorry  there fore  for  the  mystery  of  the  letter  in  question;  it  is discouraging  and  demoralizing,  and  would  justify him  in  swearing  by  the  eight  hundred  myriads  of the  Gods  never  to  write  another  letter  again  for  the rest  of  his  life. I  have  your  kind  letter  about  "Chita,"  etc.  That you  could  read  the  book  at  all,  is  some  encourage ment,  —  that  is,  persuades  me  that  at  some  far- distant  time,  by  toning  down  the  thing,  some  of  it might  be  preserved  in  a  new  edition.  But  I  feel  it  is terribly  overdone.  You  are  right,  too,  about  Miss Bacon's  severe  and  rather  dry  style.  It  has  power, and  it  never  tires,  if  the  subject  be  of  interest.  A poetical  style  is  only  justifiable  in  the  treatment  of rare,  exotic  subjects.  Those  are  the  subjects  I  most TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  97 love,  however ;  —  how  I  envy  my  cousins  in  India,  who will  never  write  a  line  in  their  lives.  I  would  give ten  years  of  life  for  one  year  in  India;  — I  can't  ever hope  to  get  it.  But  a  host  of  small  relations,  to whom  it  is  a  mere  source  of  living,  cannot  only  get any  number  of  years  in  India,  but  can  blaspheme the  Gods  at  being  obliged  to  live  in  such  a  blasted country. What  an  education  the  Orient  is!  How  it  opens a  man's  eyes  and  mind  about  his  own  country,  about conventionalisms  of  a  hundred  sorts,  —  about  false ideals  and  idealisms,  —  about  ethical  questions. But  it  is  a  bitter  life.  I  am  ashamed  to  say,  I  feel worn  out.  Ancestral  habit  and  impulse  are  too strong  in  me.  I  never  understood  how  profoundly a  man  can  be  isolated  even  in  the  midst  of  an  ami able  population.  I  get  letters  from  relations  in  Eng land  that  make  my  soul  turn,  not  sky-blue,  but  in digo.  I  must  be  able  to  travel  again  some  day,  — to  alternate  Oriental  life  with  something  else.  And I  am  not  without  hope  that  will  prove  some  day possible. I  wonder  if  I  am  right  in  thinking  the  Tempo men  larger  brained  than  the  present  University men.  Somehow  or  other,  the  most  highly  educated Japanese  strike  me  as  pitiably  small  when  it  comes to  thinking  about  any  subject  whatever;  — they  talk like  boys  of  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age.  They have  no  grasp  of  questions; — no  conception  of  rela tions.  It  is  impossible  to  talk  with  them  at  all.  Now the  old  men  whom  I  have  met  were  of  a  larger  breed. They  thought  in  a  narrow  circle,  —  but  fully,  and 98  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN originally,  and  well,  so  far  as  I  could  divine  from interpretation.  They  gave  me  ideas.  The  class  I  am now  in  contact  with  have  no  ideas.  Under  such studies  as  they  have  made,  their  brains  seemed  to have  shrivelled  up  like  kernels  in  roasted  nuts.  When they  try  to  talk  there  is  only  a  dry  rattle.  Perpet ual  questions  about  things  that  a  new-born  babe ought  to  know;  and  withal  a  conceit  as  high  as  the moon;  —  an  ineradicable  belief  that  they  have  mas tered  all  the  knowledge  of  the  nineteenth  century,  — and  that  a  foreigner  is  a  sort  of  stupid  servant  to  be used,  but  never  to  be  treated  as  a  real  human  being. The  other  day  I  wrote  a  long  article  about  Jap anese  students,  intending  to  send  it  to  the  Mail,  a plea  for  them;  but  reading  it  over  I  came  to  the conclusion  I  did  not  know  enough  about  the  sub ject  of  educational  organization.  Everything  is  kept concealed  as  much  as  possible  from  a  foreign  teacher. Some  day  when  I  get  more  information,  I  may  try to  develop  the  theme  in  another  way.  I  think  the present  system  is  dead  wrong;  —  I  think  so  by  its results.  The  boys  are  overworked.  The  standard is  low;  the  years  are  wasted.  But  who  would  thank me  for  proving  it? We  had  a  curious  contradiction  in  official  theo ries  the  other  day.  One  minister  tells  the  Governors if  there  be  trouble  in  their  provinces  they  are  re sponsible.  The  other  minister  tells  students  if  they are  dissatisfied  the  fault  is  their  own.  That  the  per petual  change  of  governors  and  teachers  and  di rectors,  —  the  general  flux  of  national  disintegra tion,  —  must  lead  to  large  troubles,  never  seems  to TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  99 occur  to  these  great  statesmen.  They  are  pitiably small;  to  judge  by  their  idea  of  applying  law  to  re sults  instead  of  remedies  to  deeply  seated  and  ever- increasing  causes.  For  the  first  time  I  feel  like saying,  "D — n  Japan!"  After  all,  the  loss  of  her  na tionality  might  not  be  the  worst  fate  for  her.  What a  blue  letter.  I  am  ashamed. LAFCADIO  HEARN. May  30,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — Your  criticism  about  my idea  of  a  volume  of  stories  delights  me. But  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  comic  side.  I  want the  best  of  anything  I  can  get  in  that  direction.  I want  it,  however,  under  reservations. In  the  "Glimpses  of  Unfamiliar  Japan,"  I  think you  will  find  something  more  than  pathos.  I  think you  may  have  found  something  more  than  the  minor key  even  in  the  West  Indian  Sketches.  But  —  be sides  the  fact  that  I  know  the  narrow  limitations of  my  own  power,  I  have  an  artistic  theory  about comedy. For  sincere  work  I  think  comedy  should  always be  very  close  to  tears,  —  as  it  is  in  real  life.  Shadow and  sun  make  the  picture.  The  strongest  possible pathos  is  created  by  the  use  of  comedy  in  the  proper time  and  place. But  it  is  very  hard  to  do  this.  Those  who  have been  able  to  do  it  well  are  the  giants.  Take  Heine's work;  what  is  the  nervous  power  of  it;  surely,  aside from  mere  verbal  art  and  fancy,  it  is  in  this  very thing.  He  amuses,  caresses,  brings  tears;  then  with 100  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN a  lightning  flash  of  sarcasm  he  illuminates  the  bit ter  gulfs.  Or  the  mockery  first,  and  then  the  pathos. I  don't  think  the  Elizabethan  writers  knew  this  art; they  had  to  introduce  fools  and  mad  people  to  off set  tragedy.  It  seems  to  me  an  art  yet  undeveloped. Most  men  can  work  safely  only  in  one  direction,  — having  but  one  faculty  powerfully  developed.  Heine had  two;  —  but  he  was  only  half  alive  in  his  best years.  I  think  myself  a  book  all  in  one  key  is  weak. I  should  like  to  venture  at  work  in  two.  But  I  am small.  I  am  groping  and  don't  know.  All  I  can  say is, — Any  and  every  suggestion  I  can  get  during  the next  two  years  will  be  gold  and  diamonds. The  little  follies,  the  childish  errors,  the  blunders and  mistakes  of  life,  do  not  however  make  me  laugh. I  cannot  laugh  at  the  real,  — unless  it's  offensive. Rather  all  these  things  seem  to  me  infinitely  pa thetic;  the  comedy  of  them  is  the  tragedy  played  by human  children  before  the  Unknown.  In  an  ar tistic  sketch,  I  think  the  comedy  ought  not  to  pro voke  more  than  a  smile.  But  hard  and  fast  rules  are out  of  the  question.  And  what  would  the  Japanese say?  : They  don't  understand.  I  once  ventured  a jest  in  Izumo  about  the  ancient  Gods,  —  in  the presence  of  one  who  did  not  believe.  It  was  an  in nocent  jest,  too,  —  not  derogatory  to  the  Gods. But,  — well,  I  never  tried  it  again;  not  even  when I  heard  much  racier  jests  made  by  the  same  per son. I  am  not  good,  I  fear,  like  you.  I  do  not  always give  gentle  answers,  which  is  a  sign  of  strength,  but nasty  ones,  which  is  a  sign  of  weakness.  However, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  101 I  have  lately  effected  a  compromise  with  myself. I  think  this  way:  —  "Assuredly,  the  people  who  ask you  so  impertinently  to  do  things  for  money,  con ceive  that  money  is  an  all-fired  great  consideration with  you,  —  because  it  is  with  them.  To  undeceive them  would  injure  their  feelings,  —  stab  them  in the  only  place  where  they  have  any  feelings.  Where fore  it  were  more  Christian  to  answer  them  accord ing  to  their  kind.  An  answer  of  this  sort  cannot  sat isfy  them  altogether,  but  it  will  teach  them  respect for  you." Therefore  when  I  am  asked,  for  example,  to  write letters  for  a  particular  sort  of  patronizing  newspa per,  "I  am  very  grateful,  dear  Sir,  for  your  kindly appreciation  of  my  work,  and  for  your  courteous offer.  In  answer  to  your  question  about  terms,  I may  say,  that,  although  now  unusually  occupied,  I hope  to  find  time  to  write  you  a  few  letters  on  the following  conditions:  One  thousand  dollars  in  gold per  letter,  —  to  be  paid  in  each  case  in  advance,  — by  draft  on  London,  —  and  copyright  of  letters  to be  secured  in  the  name  of  my  publishers,  at  your expense,  —  which,  of  course,  will  be  trifling.  Trust ing,  my  dear  sir,  etc." Now,  if  they  really  agree  to  the  terms,  they  would be  worth  the  while.  If  they  don't,  it  is  all  the  same, —  except  that  they  will  see  even  an  author  loves money,  and  esteems  himself  at  the  right  value.  Of course,  that  is  only  me.  You  ought  to  charge  enor mous  rates,  and  you  might  get  them.  Some  years ago  in  New  York,  when  there  was  no  Russian  Sec retary,  a  Russian  document  had  to  be  translated 102  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN in  a  hurry.  There  was  only  one  man  in  New  York then  who  could  do  the  work,  and  the  man  knew  it. The  legend  is  that  he  charged  $10,000  and  got  it. If  you  write  a  perfumery  ad.  in  Chinese  for  those people  you  ought  to  charge  enough  to  elevate  the price  of  the  perfume  bottles  150  p.  c.  ?  ?  ?  The  fun of  all  this  is  that  I,  who  write  it,  can't  get  any  big prices  for  anything  yet.  By  dint  of  pretended  scorn, perhaps  some  day  I  shall  get  a  gold  mine  all  to  my self. Best  wishes  ever  and  thanks, LAFCADIO  HEARN. June  1,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — An  idea  has  been  growing upon  me,  which  you  will  perhaps  think  crazy,  —  but it  may  be  at  least  worth  mentioning.  It  is  this :  — Does  it  follow  that  because  the  Japanese  mind  — (shaped  by  ancestral  habits  of  imagination  and thought  totally  different  from  our  own)  —  remains insensible  to  much  we  esteem,  that  it  is  in  this  re spect  altogether  undeveloped? Of  course  I  grant  the  musical  question,  and  all that.  But  —  may  not  our  sensibility  to  certain classes  of  impressions  be  morbid?  Might  not  mor bid  sensibility  be  a  racial  as  well  as  an  individual outcome  of  high  pressure  civilization? For  instance,  much  we  deem  heroic,  they  con sider  merely  a  matter  of  course.  I  am  not  prepared now  to  illustrate  the  matter  much  further:  —  it  is only  a  suggestion. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  103 Funny  things  have  been  happening  here.  Two natives  sold  some  ground  to  a  Romish  mission ary.  He  obtained  it  only  after  great  difficulty,  and after  having  been  roughly  refused  by  many  very poor  citizens,  although  the  price  offered  was  quite big.  The  papers  published  with  high  praise  the names  of  those  who  refused,  among  others,  that of  my  former  landlord  who  ironically  offered  his ground  at  ten  thousand  yen  per  square  foot.  Then the  papers  turned  their  attention  to  the  sellers.  The one  was  a  doctor,  the  other  a  photographer.  They were  put  into  print  as  worse  than  beasts.  The  pa pers  traced  up  their  private  history.  The  doctor  had been  a  fraud,  —  married  a  widow  for  money  and swindled  her.  With  the  money  he  had  started  prac tice.  But  he  was  a  charlatan;  and  only  dogs  en tered  his  house.  Dogs  slept  in  his  office;  and  no  pa tients  went  thither.  Daily  other  revelations  about him  are  being  published.  To-day  is  the  fifth  day. There  were  nearly  eight  columns  of  the  matter  in one  of  the  dailies.  But  four  dailies  are  at  the work. As  for  the  photographer,  he  is  declared  to  be  poor shakes.  In  his  gallery  there  is  always  dust  and  si lence;  and  the  place  is  festooned  with  the  webs  of spiders  immemorially  old.  He  is  also  tasting  the bitterness  of  life. The  missionary  started  in,  of  course,  by  giving money  to  children.  Some  children  refused  it  with scorn.  The  papers  published  their  names.  And  a merchant,  reading  the  same  in  some  distant  city, sent  to  one  of  the  children,  — a  little  girl,  —  a  pretty 104  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN silk  handkerchief,  and  a  letter  full  of  commenda tions  and  of  good  advice. And  I  rather  like  all  this.  The  men  who  sell  their ground  to  missionaries  or  sell  their  religion,  are  usu ally  bad  or  weak  and  worthless  characters.  That is  evident  enough,  —  as  they  are  acting  against  the Japanese  conscience  and  against  what  they  know to  be  national  opinion.  But  why  all  this  rage  against the  Bateren?  Is  he  any  worse  than  the  other  for eigners?  What  is  the  distinction  made  by  the  Jap anese  mind?  And  why  do  the  papers  elsewhere say  nothing  about  sales  of  land  to  Protestant  mis sionaries?  Of  course  the  thing  is,  strictly  speaking, illegal ;  besides  which  it  is,  from  the  Japanese  point, morally  wrong.  But  why  strain  at  the  gnat  and swallow  the  camel? A  queer  Buddhist  idea  was  given  to  me  the  other day.  (I  would  like  to  find  out  more  about  it;  but  I must  wait  to  get  out  of  Kyushu  in  order  to  attempt Buddhist  work.)  The  idea  is  this:  —  Do  not  be  angry or  indulge  secretly  any  wicked  thought!  Why?  be cause  the  anger  or  the  wicked  thought,  though  se cret  and  followed  by  no  action,  may  go  out  into  the universe  as  an  unseen  influence  and  therein  cause  evil. In  other  words,  a  man  might  be  responsible  for  a murder  committed  at  a  great  distance  by  one  whom he  does  not  even  know.  W7eak,  unbalanced  minds, trembling  between  crime  and  conscience,  may  be decided  suddenly  to  evil  by  the  straw  weight  of  an unseen  influence. I  never  heard  this  before.  It  is  certainly  worth following  up.  I  don't  wish  to  give  it  away,  —  ex- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  105 cept  to  you.  Now  the  fact  is,  that  the  more  I  think about  it,  the  more  it  seems  to  me  that  —  it  may be  true.  Don't  think  me  quite  mad,  but  believe me, Ever  faithfully  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. June  5,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Thanks  for  strictures and  suggestions.  I  changed  the  text  as  you  desired, except  in  the  case  of  the  word  Kuruma.  That  has been  fully  explained  in  preceding  articles.  (By  the way,  I  never  heard  a  Japanese  use  the  word  jin- rikisha.)  My  observations  about  the  sailors  were based  upon  police  reports  in  the  Japan  Mail.  I  killed the  word  gwaikokujin;  as  you  said,  it  is  an  ugly  word. I  revised,  indeed,  the  whole  paper. Recognizing  the  ugliness  of  words,  however,  you must  also  recognize  their  physiognomical  beauty. I  see  you  and  the  Editor  of  the  Atlantic  are  at  one, however,  in  condemning  my  use  of  Japanese  words. Now,  I  can't  entirely  agree  with  either  of  you.  As to  the  practical  side  of  the  question,  I  do.  But  as to  the  artistic,  the  romantic  side,  I  don't.  For  me words  have  colour,  form,  character;  they  have  faces, ports,  manners,  gesticulations;  they  have  moods, humours,  eccentricities ;  —  they  have  tints,  tones,  per sonalities.  That  they  are  unintelligible  makes  no difference  at  all.  Whether  you  are  able  to  speak  to a  stranger  or  not,  you  can't  help  being  impressed by  his  appearance  sometimes,  —  by  his  dress,  —  by his  air,  —  by  his  exotic  look.  He  is  also  unintelli- 106  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN gible,  but  not  a  whit  less  interesting.  Nay!  he  is interesting  BECAUSE  he  is  unintelligible.  I  won't cite  other  writers  who  have  felt  the  same  way  about African,  Chinese,  Arabian,  Hebrew,  Tartar,  Indian, and  Basque  words,  —  I  mean  novelists  and  sketch writers. To  such  it  has  been  justly  observed : —  "  The  readers do  not  feel  as  you  do  about  words.  They  can't  be supposed  to  know  that  you  think  the  letter  A  is  blush- crimson,  and  the  letter  E  pale  sky-blue.  They  can't be  supposed  to  know  that  you  think  KH  wears  a beard  and  a  turban;  that  initial  X  is  a  mature  Greek with  wrinkles;  —  or  that  '  — no  — '  has  an  inno cent,  lovable,  and  childlike  aspect."  All  this  is  true from  the  critic's  standpoint. But  from  ours,  the  standpoint  of  — The  dreamer  of  dreams To  whom  what  is  and  what  seems Is  often  one  and  the  same,  — To  us  the  idea  is  thus :  — "Because  people  cannot  see  the  colour  of  words, the  tints  of  words,  the  secret  ghostly  motions  of words:  — "Because  they  cannot  hear  the  whispering  of words,  the  rustling  of  the  procession  of  letters,  the dream-flutes  and  dream-drums  which  are  thinly  and weirdly  played  by  words:  — "Because  they  cannot  perceive  the  pouting  of words,  the  frowning  and  fuming  of  words,  the  weep ing,  the  raging  and  racketing  and  rioting  of  words :  — "Because  they  are  insensible  to  the  phospho rescing  of  words,  the  f  ragrance_of  words,  the  noisome- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  107 ness  of  words,  the  tenderness  or  hardness,  the  dry- ness  or  juiciness  of  words,  —  the  interchange  of values  in  the  gold,  the  silver,  the  brass  and  the  cop per  of  words :  — "Is  that  any  reason  why  we  should  not  try  to make  them  hear,  to  make  them  see,  to  make  them feel?  Surely  one  who  has  never  heard  Wagner,  can not  appreciate  Wagner  without  study!  Why  should the  people  not  be  forcibly  introduced  to  foreign words,  as  they  were  introduced  to  tea  and  coffee  and tobacco?" Unto  which,  the  friendly  reply  is,  —  "  Because they  won't  buy  your  book,  and  you  won't  make  any money." And  I  say:  —  "Surely  I  have  never  yet  made,  and never  expect  to  make  any  money.  Neither  do  I  ex pect  to  write  ever  for  the  multitude.  I  write  for beloved  friends  who  can  see  colour  in  words,  can smell  the  perfume  of  syllables  in  blossom,  can  be shocked  with  the  fine  elfish  electricity  of  words.  And in  the  eternal  order  of  things,  words  will  eventually have  their  rights  recognized  by  the  people." All  this  is  heresy.  But  a  bad  reason,  you  will grant,  is  better  than  —  etc. Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  You  have  heard  of  Com posite  Photographs,  and  know  their  value.  Here is  a  composite  composition,  —  the  closing  examina tion  theme.  I  have  made  no  changes,  —  only  taken sentences  from  various  compositions. 108  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN The  Story  of  Tithonus. "Tithonus  was  a  youth  very  handsome  and  polite. "Aurora  was  the  rosy-fingered  Goddess  of  the Dawn,  —  a  very  fine  young  lady  with  rosy  fingers. "She  was  used  to  got  up  in  the  earlier  morning every  day,  and  she  was  very  studious. "  She  follen  in  love  to  Tithonus,  and  by  her  chariot taked  him  up  to  the  sky. "One  day  she  ask  to  him  that,  —  'Sir,  I  can  give you  all  thing  you  want.'  Then  he  ask  to  her  that,  — 'Please  give  me  the  eternal  life.' "Hoping  to  enjoy  the  eternal  life  of  her  husband, Aurora  ask  to  Zeus,  Father  of  all  the  Gods; "And  soon  the  eternal  life  was  bestow  on  Tithonus. "But  Aurora  forget  to  request  for  the  eternal youth;  therefore  Tithonus  have  the  only  eternal  life. "Gods  have  the  eternality  of  youth  as  well  as  life. "Tithonus  came  to  become  thirty  of  fourty  years of  age. "He  became  every  day  more  old. "He  become  TOTALLY  old. "And  felt  the  miseration  of  his  life. "He  became  grieving  and  very  confusing  for  weak ness  of  the  old. "Whenever  he  saw  down  from  the  seat  of  the  sky a  burial  in  mankind,  he  desire  to  die. "He  became  old  till  only  the  bones  and  skins  had remained,  — like  a  wet  paper  was  put  over  the  wood. "Aurora  asked  to  Zeus  to  give  her  husband  only one  escapement  of  his  torment  by  to  die,  —  but  in vain. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  109 "Now  Tithonus  begged  to  the  God  to  make  him enable  to  die;  but  he  was  repulsed,  —  on  that  the God  could  not  ever  change  his  words. "To  the  last  desire  he  begged  the  God  to  make him  a  glasshopper  and  to  hop  on  the  ground. "So  for  pity  the  God  changed  him  into  a  glass- hopper,  which  could  hop  about  our  world. "And  he  is  hop  about  the  ground  even  now,  and bears  the  dry  looking. "O  from  a  man  becomed  the  husband  of  the  God dess,  and  then  to  be  changed  into  a  vile  worm! "This  should  teach  us  well  to  ask  never  the  in consistent  things." June  10,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Certainly  the  nasty  ar ticle  of  C.  S.  is  discouraging,  —  not  in  itself,  but  as a  type  of  much  that  is  both  written  and  unwritten. The  supremely  difficult  task  of  the  higher  literature is  to  teach  the  public  that  idealism  is  not  mere  dis torted  fancy,  imagination,  rose-coloured  spectacles, —  but  that  it  is  penetrative,  perceptive,  reflective of  eternal  things.   To  educate  public  sensibility  up to  the  point  of  comprehending  great  work,  requires the  time  of  at  least  a  generation,  —  so  that  the  true artist  is  but  half  understood  in  his  life,  unless  he  be quite  small.    The  enemies  of  the  human  race  are those  who  cry  out  that  the  work  of  the  artist  is  a lie,  and  who  clamour  for  ugliness,  brutality,  stench, —  all  that  is  capable  of  appealing  to  their  own  coarse nerves  and  vulgar  brains.    They  can  do  more  mis chief  in  one  hour,  than  an  artist  can  do  good  in  a  life time.    And  the  railroads,  the  steamers,  the  mon- 110  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN strous  industrial  and  commercial  expansion  of  our time,  has  placed  every  fair  thing  on  earth  within the  reach  of  the  vulgarian,  the  snob,  the  blackguard. The  artistic  future  seems  to  me  very  dark.  Should there  be  no  thorough  change  or  transformation  of social  conditions,  —  surely  the  feet  must  continue forever  above  the  head. ,  Much  has  been  said  against  the  over-sugared  work of  Arnold;  and  quite  as  much,  I  think,  might  be  said against  Loti's  tremendous  pictures  of  Kyoto.  Yet, although  such  work,  from  its  want  of  the  supreme artistic  quality,  self-restraint,  rather  assists  than combats  the  mere  brutality  of  such  scrawlers  as C.  S.,  —  still  those  men  see  below  the  surface,  touch truth,  discern  eternal  beauty  where  it  really  lives, and  are  in  harmony  with  the  sympathies  and  pur poses  of  art's  Religion.  It  does  not  matter,  in  one sense,  that  they  would  offer  to  persuade  us  that their  ore  is  pure  metal;  their  error  is  on  the  side  of the  highest  truth.  Kipling's  little  sketch  of  Kama- kura  is  truer  art;  perfectly  controlled,  subtle,  didac tic.  But  I  wonder  if  the  mass  of  his  readers  can  feel the  delicacy  of  him.  I  fear  they  mostly  seek  the story  only.  And  for  one  who  can  feel  the  beauty  of that  sketch  of  the  Daibutsu,  there  will  be  a  thou sand  to  clap  C.  S.  on  the  back  as  "a  Christian  and an  Englishman."  Surely  it  is  uphill  work  now  more than  ever  before  to  try  to  teach  people  to  see  truth and  to  feel  beauty. You  were  a  true  artist  in  your  last  letter.  Those musical  terms  describing  colour —  ("the  deep  bass" of  a  certain  green,  etc.)  greatly  delighted  me.  You are  often  thus  artistic  in  your  letters.  In  your  books TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  111 you  are  severe.  I  suppose  a  scholar  must  refuse  to indulge  himself  in  colour  and  melody;  his  work  is  so much  a  work  of  compression,  systematization,  and solidity.  Symonds  —  though  so  great  a  scholar  — used  to  be  pitched  into  in  the  most  absurd  way,  be cause  he  wrote  like  a  poet.  The  critics  seem  to  have an  idea  that  a  philologist,  an  Orientalist,  a  historian, etc.,  has  no  right  to  indulge  in  a  lighter  vein.  If he  does,  they  suspect  his  real  work,  —  like  that  of Michelet,  —  like  that  of  Taine.  All  of  which  is  a sort  of  instinctive  selfishness,  perhaps,  —  the  world crying  to  its  teachers:  "We  only  want  to  learn;  if you  study  ornament,  you  won't  have  time  to  teach us  enough."  But  I  often  think  what  charming  light things  you  could  write,  if  you  tried. I  am  still  doing  nothing  in  the  writing  line.  I  am reading  all  I  can.  Have  just  finished  Boswell,  again; read  Tennyson  again,  Byron,  Scott,  bits  of  Words worth,  Milton,  Shelley,  —  all  of  Moliere,  —  with lighter  stuff  sandwiched  in.  When  I  am  ready  to  do something,  my  style  will  be  more  flexible,  I  hope. By  the  way,  have  you  read  "  La  Cite  Antique,"  by Fustel  de  Coulanges?  I  suppose  you  have.  I  am reading  it  for  the  second  time,  studying  the  curious parallels  between  the  ancient  Indo-Aryan  family, home-worship,  and  beliefs,  and  those  of  Japan.  In some  matters  the  parallel  is  wonderful. Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  —  If  ever  I  get  into  a  good  place  for  it,  I  must begin  Buddhist  studies.  I  have  a  splendid  idea  for a  popular  book  on  the  subject. '112  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN June  14,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  letters  of  the  10th and  llth  are  before  me,  —  two  of  the  most  delight ful  letters  I  ever  received.  I  shall  always  treasure them  up.  You  will  have  found  in  a  letter  already sent  you  that  your  idea  about  the  value  of  musical terms  to  describe  colour  "  enthused  "  me  at  once.  And nevertheless  you  were  not  the  first  to  hint  of  it.  Some four  months  ago  I  bought,  with  great  expectations aroused  by  the  title,  —  Symonds's  "In  the  Key  of Blue."  I  was  utterly  disappointed.  The  essay  which gives  its  name  to  the  book,  and  several  other  essays in  which  attempts  are  made  to  describe  by  colour words  and  musical  words,  are  dead  unintelligible failures.  Though  I  reverence  almost  religiously  the man  who  could  have  written  that  blazing  splendid chapter  on  Sappho  in  the  "Studies  of  the  Greek Poets,"  I  felt  that  I  could  name  at  least  twenty writers,  —  small  ones,  —  who  could  double-dis count  his  effort  in  the  Key  of  Blue.  But  you  imme diately  illustrated  the  values  for  me.  When  you wrote  of  "the  deep  bass"  of  that  green  I  could  see, feel,  smell,  taste,  and  chew  the  leaf;  it  was  rather bitter  in  taste,  and  dense,  and  faintly  odorous  with an  odour.  But  I  must  not  attempt  to  write  about odours.  I  have  been  thinking  of  soprano,  alto,  con tralto,  tenor,  and  baritone  colours.  There  is  one  trou ble;  that  either  to  apply  or  to  appreciate  a  more elaborate  musical  terminology  to  colour,  both  writer and  reader  should  have  musical  knowledge.  I  think Symonds's  failure  is  largely,  though  not  entirely, due  to  his  attempt  to  use  "Symphonies"  or  I  might TO  BASIL^HALL^  CHAMBERLAIN  113 say  "symphonic  musical  terms."  One  not  even  pos sessing  a  musical  ear  can  feel  such  a  piece  as  Gau- tier's  "  Symphonic  en  Blanc  Majeur,"  but  in  Sy- monds's  "Symphonies  of  Gray  and  Blue,"  etc.,  no one  can  discover  any  united  effect.  You  can't  see  the thing  as  a  whole;  and  just  as  soon  as  you  have  de fined  one  of  the  images,  all  the  rest  blurs  immedi ately,  like  a  photograph  fading  out. Long  ago  I  said  that  words  are  like  lizards  in  their power  of  changing  colour  with  position.  But  they change  much  more  than  colour, — tonic  value  and force  and  psychology  as  well.  Take,  for  instance, this  one  line  from  Andrew  Lang's  glorious  prose translation  of  Homer,  describing  the  wrath  of  Apollo when  he  drew  the  loud-clanging  bow,  —  "And  the PYRES  of  the  dead  burnt  continually  in  multitude." Herewith  the  solitary  exceptions  of  the  curious  word "pyre,"  every  word  in  the  sentence  is  in  itself  ab solutely  commonplace.  (Of  course  "dead"  is  eye less  and  cold;  but  only  in  one  of  its  meanings.)  But as  Lang  distributes  them,  Homer  himself  could  not have  been  more  strong,  musical,  mighty.  One  can see  the  vast  bickering,  and  the  fire-tongues  lapping the  night. And  yet,  —  and  yet,  —  and  yet  (oh,  what  a  here tic  I  am !)  I  can't  agree  with  you  that  the  question of  the  use  of  foreign  words  is  a  simple  one.  I  don't think  it  can  be  decided  for  or  against  by  the  reader's knowledge  of  the  language  used.  I  am,  indeed,  con vinced  that  the  question  does  NOT  end  there.  It goes  a  little  further,  overlaps  the  boundary,  —  flows over  into  indefinable  lands  of  yet  unknown  extent. 114  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN f:  In  short,  I  think  you  forget  Lewis  Carroll.  Now so  long  as  we  can  enjoy  "The  Hunting  of  the  Snark," or  the  tale  of  "The  Jabberwock  with  Eye  of  Flame," —  burbling  as  he  comes,  —  we  cannot,  I  feel  sure, stop  at  the  line  you  would  lay  down.  To  be  sure these  books  of  Carroll's  have  been  offered  to  the world  as  nonsense  books,  —  just  like  the  nonsense rhymes  about  the  "teary,  scary  bear,"  and  "wicey, nicey  apple  pies."  But  they  are  NOT  nonsense books.  They  contain  a  profound  psychological teaching.  Better  nonsense  has  been,  is  being  writ ten  every  year  by  the  ton.  It  is  not  nonsense  that has  made  the  supreme  excellence  and  success  of these  books,  with  their  infinitely  subtle  charm;  it is  superlative  truth.  The  effect  of  words  (among other  things)  upon  the  mind,  —  quite  irrespective of  meaning,  —  is  shown.  As  for  other  matters,  — did  you  ever  jump  out  of  bed,  and  try  to  write down  at  once,  a  wonderful  poem  or  sentence  com posed  during  sleep?  I  have,  not  once,  but  many times.  The  result  is  very  strange.  There  are  words there  which  never  existed  in  any  language.  The poem  is  really  very  fine;  —  but  it  won't  do  to  pub lish  just  now  (except  in  a  nonsense  book),  because no  publisher  would  consider  it  anything  but  the  pro duction  of  a  raging  lunatic. The  extracts  from  Erse  or  Gaelic,  and  other strange  tongues  which  you  cite  against  this  view, did  at  first  hit  me  hard.  But  on  reflection,  I  recov ered  my  first  position  again.  The  weak  point  of that  argument  to  me  is  this,  —  that  the  texts  are not  fair  representations  of  possibilities.  The  un- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  115 known  words  are  sinister,  ugly,  or  absolutely  col ourless.  (Indeed  I  can't  even  guess  what  language one  extract  was  made  from;  it  looked  like  Peruvian?) In  other  words,  you  have  selected  only  the  harsh, grim,  unsightly  words  which  appeal  to  nothing  al ready  existing  in  the  sesthetic  or  musical  sense.  But suppose  you  had  selected  many  vowelled  liquid Polynesian  words,  —  or  certain  windy  words  from the  Finnish,  —  would  the  effect  be  equally  dead? I  don't  think  it  would.  I  know  absolutely  no thing  of  philology.  I  am  a  supreme  ignoramus  on that  science.  But  let  me  try  to  appeal  to  you  with an  example.  In  Loti's  "Roman  d'un  Spahi,"  in  that wonderful,  magical  chapter  describing  the  mighty burst  of  the  African  spring,  and  all  nature  in  riot  of desire,  and  the  savage  dances  under  the  great  moon, —  there  occur  these  words,  perpetually  recurring like  a  refrain:  —  "Anabilis  Fobil;  — faramata  hi.9' What  do  they  mean?  I  don't  know;  —  perhaps  you do,  because  you  know  philology  and  many  tongues. But  it  is  safe  to  say  the  general  reader  does  not know.  Loti  says  he  cannot  tell;  the  words  "would burn  the  paper."  Yet  read  that  marvellous  chapter; and  then  I  will  defy  you  to  say  those  words  have  no effect  upon  you.  They  will  have  a  strong  one,  — partly  musical,  partly  savage. Besides,  in  our  own  songs,  there  are  many  re frains  having  no  sense,  —  not  even  the  sense  of onomatopoeia.  But  they  are  always  sung,  for  the sound,  the  rhyme.  Surely  a  word  may  appeal  to the  imagination,  must  do  so,  if  it  appeals  to  the  ear. Now  the  trouble  with  the  examples  you  cited  is  also 116  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN a  musical  trouble.  They  don't  (except  in  the  case of  the  Gaelic)  appeal  to  my  ear  at  all;  if  they  did, they  would  have  some  effect.  The  effect  of  the  Gaelic is  rough  and  thick  only,  —  because  I  don't  know the  meaning.  But  I  know  the  accent,  and  I  can hear  the  voices,  as  I  heard  them  in  my  childhood. I  would  suggest  this  amendment  to  your  resolu tion: —  That  no  words  of  an  unknown  foreign  lan guage  should  be  introduced  into  artistic  work,  except such  as  may,  because  of  their  sound,  etc.,  have  a  striking effect  on  the  imagination.  This  would,  however,  ex clude  most  Japanese  words  and  words  of  many  other languages,  would  n't  it?  because  the  sound  cannot even  be  imagined  by  the  reader  in  most  cases. You  recommend  me  to  write  an  article  on  words some  day.  I  would  like  to,  —  from  my  own  limited point  of  knowledge  only;  ignorance  of  philology would  here  be  a  great  drawback.  But  it  would  be infinitely  painful,  laborious  work.  Because  really the  art  of  placing  words  is  with  most  of  us  instinc tive.  It  would  be  analyzing  one's  own  sensations and  tendencies  of  imagination;  it  would  be  nearly as  hard  as  to  write  another  "Alice  in  Wonderland." Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. June  15,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — Do  you  remember  Kings- ley's  impressive  description  in  "Hereward" — of the  coming  of  the  Vikings:  — "And  nearer  and  nearer  came  the  OAR-ROLL. like  thunder  working  up  from  the  northeast,'5  etc.? TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  117 In  that  description  he  gives  the  chorus  of  their chant,  expressing  "  the  revelry  of  slaughter : "  "  Yuch- hey-saa-saa-saa."  Introduced  as  he  introduces  it, it  produces  a  great  effect,  —  though  nobody  seems to  know  what  it  means.  (I  asked  a  delightful  friend of  mine,  —  a  sort  of  gypsified  painter  who  spoke half  the  dialects  of  Europe;  and  he  assured  me  that in  a  part  of  North  Germany,  that  old  Viking  chorus is  still  sung,  as  a  refrain,  I  believe  he  said,  of  drink ing-songs.  But  he  did  not  know  what  it  meant.) Perhaps  it  means  nothing.  But  it  sounds  like  sword- work. One  more:  — It  was  at  Mionoseki  that  I  went  out  in  an  ancient boat,  moved  with  oars  of  extraordinary  shape,  to visit  a  man-of-war.  As  the  men  rowed,  —  all  stand ing,  —  they  sung,  weirdly,  —  the  boat  song  of  that old  coast.  (I  afterwards  heard  it  in  Oki.) Ara-ho,  no  san  osa-a, Ira-ho,  en-ya-a-a. Ghi!  Ghi! At  each  Ghi,  the  stroke  is  given.  The  song  is  very weird,  —  beginning  with  a  high  wail,  and  sinking down  almost  to  a  whisper,  —  after  which  the  ghi is  hissed  through  the  teeth.  That  day  we  rowed  out of  the  Past  into  the  latest  mechanical  Present  and back  again,  —  through  a  thousand  years  each  time. Always  the  same  weird  song.  I  asked  everywhere for  a  meaning  to  it.  There  is  none.  Now  why  can not  I  put  it  into  the  book,  —  with  its  "Ghi!  ghi!"? Happy,  happy,  thrice  happy  the  traveller  who  is able  to  write  music  by  ear.  Oh,  if  I  could  only  give 118  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN you  musical  copies  of  the  extraordinary  peasant songs  I  have  heard,  —  strange,  melancholy,  pene trating  things,  that  seemed  to  be  of  the  earth,  of the  land,  —  the  cry  of  the  ancient  soil  itself,  or  of its  ancient  soul! Yes;  I  read  the  Mayet  case.  A  reaction  against the  missionaries  I  should  be  glad  of;  —  but  I  fear  it would  be  carried  to  other  and  less  rational  extremes. By  the  way,  I  am  told  the  bateren  here  was  a  Rus sian.  I  think  that  had  something  to  do  with  the violence  of  hate.  Japan  is  instinctively  afraid  of Russia.  She  ought  to  see  that  her  natural  friend and  ally  is  China.  From  China  —  in  China  —  she has  much  to  gain,  nothing  to  fear;  from  Russia  no thing  to  gain  and  much  to  fear,  under  certain  pos sible  conditions.  The  cost  of  the  reaction  against us  is  cheap,  however,  if  it  has  revived  Japanese  art. And  I  have  an  idea  about  some  of  the  modern  Jap anese  art  I  have  seen.  I  am  not  of  those  who  can persuade  themselves  anything  is  more  intrinsically valuable  because  it  is  old.  I  think  that  I  have  seen Japanese  drawing  just  as  fine  as  that  of  Hokusai, Kunisada,  etc.,  made  only  a  couple  of  years  ago, and  merely  by  way  of  cheap  popular  illustration. Nay,  I  even  think  much  of  the  drawing  now  being done  is  better  than  the  average  of  the  old  drawing. Of  course  we  miss  two  things,  —  the  ancient  fancy and  the  ancient  colour.  But  these  may  be  revived and  transformed.  I  have  some  very  old  pictures, and  some  quite  new  ones;  and  I  like  the  new  ones  in some  respects  even  better.  Japanese  art  means  to Japan  much  more  than  she  yet  understands;  it  means TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  119 wealth,  prosperity,  beauty,  everything.  I  don't think  we  can  judge  what  she  is  doing  so  much  by the  work  of  her  great  men,  as  by  the  work  of  her common,  cheap  draughtsmen  and  decorators.  And it  is  good,  — very  good. ...  I  shall  not  die  happy  unless  I  can  spend  some time  again  in  a  French,  and  much  time  in  a  Spanish colony.  I  think  Manila  is  possible  for  me.  I  could take  a  six  months'  rest  there  from  work.  I  suppose it  cannot  be  so  expensive  as  Havana.  After  all,  it is  only  among  the  Latins  that  the  charm  of  life  still lingers  in  our  Western  civilization.  Our  industrial covetousness  and  restlessness,  building  cities  up  to heaven,  blackening  the  face  of  the  world  with  fac tory  ashes,  and  the  face  of  the  sky  with  pea-soup fogs,  is  killing  everything  of  sweetness  and  light. If  Daikoku-San  would  only  make  me  rich  enough, I  will  promise  never  to  go  further  than  Java  or  some such  place,  —  and  will  build  him  a  torii  of  bronze. By  the  way,  did  I  not  tell  you  the  story  of  the  man who  cheated  the  Gods?  For  he  promised  them  a  torii of  good  metal,  and  gave  them  a  torii  constructed  of three  needles.  ^ Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  Two  important  subjects  I  had  forgotten : — f  Speaking  of  reaction,  I  have  found  it  a  good  deal reflected  even  in  the  compositions  of  my  students (this,  of  course  entre  nous).  I  have  always  had  their confidence,  even  when  I  could  get  nothing  else; and  they  write  their  thoughts.  They  frankly  ex press  their  dislike  of  foreigners;  —  they  wish  to  see 120  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN them  swept  from  the  country,  driven  from  the  coun try.  In  Izumo  (where  I  got  some  of  the  ancient charm-songs  for  driving  foreigners  away),  the  feel ing  was  not  so  strong,  perhaps.  To-day  it  seems very  strong.  Many  compositions  express  a  desire for  war.  Many  others  lament  the  slavery  of  the country  to  foreigners.  Many  recall  the  case  of Hawaii,  which  the  Japanese  were  quick  to  notice; others  cite  the  case  of  India,  —  "subject  to  brutal foreigners."  All  this  is  boys'  work.  Yes,  but  boys like  these,  mostly  in  the  neighbourhood  of  twenty  — form  their  opinions  from  general  opinions.  Indi vidual,  spontaneous  opinions  are  rare  among  them. I  can  never  even  get  them  to  express  an  original opinion,  to  suggest  a  subject  for  conversation.  I have  to  help  them  to  think.  Assuredly  their  thoughts are  made  for  them;  —  and  mean  something.  Japan is  going  to  retaliate  for  all  the  supercilious  consider ation  she  has  received.  I  think  we  are  secretly  de spised  or  hated,  or  both.  Certainly  despised  as hirelings,  and  hated  as  superiors.  This  by  the  new Japan,  of  course.  The  politeness  which  is  "benevo lence  in  small  things"  is  yet  among  the  people.  I have  seen  none  of  it  among  the  educated  here.  As for  myself,  I  am  trusted  and  tolerated,  —  nothing more.  If  I  speak,  I  am  saluted.  If  I  ask  a  question, I  am  politely  snubbed  or  evaded.  I  have  been  made to  understand,  without  being  actually  told  as  much, not  to  ask  any  questions.  Of  course  with  the  stu dents  I  am  like  an  elder  brother;  there  is  no  trouble there.  And  I  do  not  try  to  check  their  feeling  about foreigners.  I  rather  encourage  it.  I  encourage  it TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  121 because  it  is  patriotic,  because  it  is  just,  because it  indicates  national  recuperation.  What  I  always discourage  are  such  remarks  as  "Japan  is  only  a little  country,"  etc.,  "ignorant  people  worship  idols." All  such  notions  I  combat,  and  strongly  criticise. I  teach  them  respect  for  their  own  faiths,  for  the beliefs  of  the  common  people,  and  for  their  own country.  I  am  practically  a  traitor  to  England (eh?)  and  a  renegade.  But  in  the  eternal  order  of things,  I  know  I  am  right. The  other  subject  is  about  Buddhism.  It  seems to  me  the  Japanese  are  awaking  to  the  knowledge of  a  fact  which  ought  to  have  long  ago  been  as  plain to  them  as  the  nose  on  the  face  of  a  Tengu,  — namely that  the  contemptuous  attitude  of  the  government toward  Buddhism  has  produced  infinite  moral harm;  and  that  with  education  and  a  corrupt  priest hood,  Japan  must  soon  have  no  religion  at  all.  If I  am  not  mistaken,  there  are  signs  that  an  effort  will be  made  to  aid  Buddhism  educationally.  The  re generation  of  Buddhism  would  be,  I  think,  the  sav ing  of  much  that  is  Japanese.  Do  you  know  Torio? How  I  wish  you  and  he  could  talk  about  what  is and  what  ought  to  be. Well,  I  ought  to  apologize  for  writing  so  much. But  I  think  you  may  be  interested  in  all  things. June  19,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  ...  About  the  books. Yes,  I  will  make  out  a  list  later  on,  and  send  at  the same  time  what  will  cover  the  cost.  In  this  per haps  I  will  not  include  Carlyle  at  all;  for  since  I 122  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN wrote  last  I  have  been  thinking  that  I  need  other books  much  more,  —  possibly  fewer,  too,  in  number. But  I  won't  send  any  list  till  you  are  feeling  quite well,  and  settled  again  in  Tokyo  for  a  few  months. In  the  meantime  I  will  be  grateful  for  a  loan  of Oliver  Cromwell. Assuredly  Carlyle  is  no  sweet  pill  to  swallow; and  he  never  guides  you  anywhere.  He  is  hard  read ing;  one  feels  as  if  travelling  over  broken  rocks  and boulders  hidden  by  scrub.  But  there  are  lightning flashes  in  that  apocalyptic  style  of  his  which  reveal infinite  things.  I  read  only  for  the  flashes.  Even then,  only  a  little  at  a  time,  every  day.  Did  you ever  know  the  agony  of  trying  to  read  Sartor  Resartus for  pleasure? .  .  .  And  here  is  something  else  entre  nous.  I  am going,  in  spite  of  considerable  self-mistrust,  to  at tempt  a  philosophical  article  on  L'eternel  feminin  — in  the  West,  as  elucidated  by  the  East.  Ex  Oriente Lux!  This  idea  has  encouraged  me  to  the  attempt; and  I  am  therefore  very  careful  of  the  idea,  —  like one  having  made  a  discovery.  While  cogitating  it occurred  to  me  that  certain  peculiarities  of  the  art of  both  hemispheres  can  only  be  explained  by  the absence  or  presence  of  the  dominant  sexual  idea. Not  only  must  the  Japanese  remain  quite  blind  to all  in  our  literature,  art,  etc.,  created  by  that  idea; but  we  ourselves  must  suffer  aesthetically  by  the necessarily  one-sided  character  of  our  own  art,  — or  aesthetic  development.  I  shall  have  to  work  it out  before  August,  if  possible. I  am  also  writing  out  a  few  extraordinary  child TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  123 stories,  which  I  think  I  might  get  Japanese  illus trations  for  some  day. Is  the  tale  of  the  old  woman  who  drank  so  much of  the  Fountain  of  Youth  that  she  drank  herself back  into  babyhood,  unwritten?  Or  is  it  Japanese  ? It  has  a  savour  to  me  of  Western  fancy;  but  I  am not  sure. A  funny  story  for  you.  At  Kumamoto,  they  are vulgar  folk  —  all  the  women  play  the  samisen.  In stead  of  calling  in  geisha,  the  poorer  folk  make  their own  music.  Near  us  a  family  yesterday  proceeded, after  necessary  delays,  to  celebrate  the  birth  of  a child.  The  wife  played  the  samisen,  the  mother-in- law  the  drum,  and  the  father  danced  to  please  the guests. As  all  this  was  quite  extraordinary  to  Izumo  peo ple,  my  folks  went  to  look  at  it.  It  was  night,  and the  gates  were  closed.  A  new  servant  alone  was  left to  guard  the  front  part  of  the  house,  while  I  guarded the  rear.  But  the  man  thought  he  might  also  go  to see  just  for  a  moment.  He  went  to  what  he  believed to  be  the  gate  of  the  street,  opened  it,  and  found himself  in  absolute  darkness.  There  was  neither moon  nor  stars.  He  returned,  said  a  prayer  to  the Gods,  and  tried  the  gate  again.  Black  as  a  coal! Then  he  came  back  and  waited. When  the  family  returned  he  naively  asked,  "Was there  any  light  in  the  street  when  you  went?" "Plenty  of  light!"  all  said;  "lamps  and  a  big  moon." "So!"  exclaimed  the  servant  triumphantly,  "I knew  it  was  a  fox  I " Now  the  truth  of  the  matter  was  that  he  had 124  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN opened  the  gate  of  the  wood  house,  mistaking  it  for the  smaller  street  gate,  which  it  very  much  resem bles,  —  and  finding  himself  in  the  dark  he  was  con vinced  that  a  fox  was  trying  to  deceive  him.  We all  laughed;  but  he  said:  "It  would  not  have  been the  first  time  that  a  fox  put  his  hand  before  my eyes." My  old  kurumaya  has  fox  stories  enough,  but none  of  his  own  experience.  He  brought  to  the  house, however,  a  young  kurumaya  who  told  us  that  one evening  a  military  officer  engaged  him  to  take  him to  a  house  near  the  Hanaokayama.  He  took  him there.  The  officer  went  into  the  house,  —  a  superb residence,  —  bidding  him  wait.  He  waited  until 3  A.  M.  Then  he  suddenly  saw  there  was  no  house, and  that  his  kuruma  was  gone.  He  got  no  money, and  only  found  his  kuruma  two  days  later,  —  in a  gorge"  Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. June  25,  1893. ^  DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — .  .  .  You  have  smashed me,  I  confess,  on  the  question  of  quoting  foreign words  of  unknown  meaning.  Certainly  I  have  no further  argument  to  offer.  I  only  venture  to  faintly suggest  that  sometimes,  —  sometimes,  —  in  ex traordinary  cases,  I  still  think  there  might  be  an artistic  use  of  such  words.  Kipling  ventures  it  in his  ballads  (I  don't  mean  the  Ditties,  —  they  are, of  course,  only  for  the  Anglo-Indian). With  'er  arm  upon  my  shoulder,  an*  er  cheek  agin  my  cheek, We  useter  watch  the  steamers  an'  the  HATHIS  pilin'  teak,  — *  • v-      ^ fti       ** 4)  O •  j. a M 1 1 «      1 W      | I? i! -f     -J S| fc      £ §  I ^i   i  v  h ^         o i    o.  js II 14.^ TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  125 Elephints  a-pilin*  teak In  the  sludgy,  squdgy  creek, Where  the  silence  'ung  that  'eavy  you  was  'arf  afraid  to  speak! On  the  road  to  Mandalay. But  I  won't  say  any  more  now.  I  fear  I  could  not make  many  changes  in  the  text  of  the  book;  but  I will  be  more  careful  in  future,  and  if  I  write  any more  Japanese  stories  I  shall  keep  Japanese  words out  of  them  as  much  as  I  can. For  me,  all  is  dead  blank  again.  I'm  paralyzed for  lack  of  certainties.  After  writing  one  hundred pages  of  MS.  (about)  on  the  Eternal  Feminine,  I suddenly  find  myself  checked  by  doubts  of  a  very serious  kind.  I  read  your  "Classical  Poetry"  over again  to-day;  and  I  find  so  many  sweet  thoughts  in those  poems  that  I  fear  my  argument  about  the absence  of  the  love-element  from  Japanese  romance (except  as  the  love  of  dancing  girls,  etc.)  must  be  all wrong.  But  if  I  am  all  wrong,  why  do  the  Japanese hate  our  English  society  novel  as  indecent?  Why are  they  utterly  disgusted  with  our  raving  about kisses  and  embraces?  You  see  my  argument  was going  to  be  a  glorious  one.  I  had  reasoned  out  that we  can  only  see  Nature  as  Masculine  and  Feminine (chiefly  feminine)  while  the  Japanese  see  Nature  as Neuter,  which  we  can't  do  at  all.  And  the  influ ence  of  all  this  on  art  and  thought.  But  I  can't  work out  my  ideas  half  so  soon  as  I  hoped.  I  must  take  up something  else  in  the  meantime.  .  .  . H  I  am  sorry  you  did  not  like  Sacher-Masoch ;  for  I love  him.  But  I  must  respect  the  combined  criti cism  of  yourself  and  Mason,  as  having  weight.  It  is possible  I  may  have  placed  too  much  value  on  the 126  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN books.  But  if  you  like  Tolstoi  (especially  "The  Cos sacks");  Tourgueneff's  short  stories;  Dostoievsky; Gogol,  —  I  don't  see  why  you  don't  like  my  Austro- Hungarian  Jew.  Mason  does  n't  like  these  stories either.  But  why?  I  don't  like  Howell's  books  be cause  I  detest  the  kind  of  people  he  writes  about. Perhaps  you  and  Mason  don't  like  S.  Masoch's people.  But  I  can't  understand  how  you  don't  like "The  Mother  of  God."  Perhaps  you  will  like  Loti's book  better.  You  remember  what  I  wrote  you  long ago  about  my  belief  that  his  genius  must  expire  with that  natural  blunting  of  the  nerves  which  comes with  the  passing  of  youth.  He  says  so  himself  touch- ingly  in  his  little  preface  —  "deja  autour  de  moi, tombe  une  sorte  de  nuit." Faithfully  ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. June  27,  1893.    * DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  ...  I  trust  your thoughts  about  yourself,  as  a  worker,  are  only  tem porary,  —  the  result  of  a  lassitude  quite  natural after  travelling  eighty  or  ninety  thousand  miles.  I do  not  believe  you  will  continue  to  feel  so.  But  I  do believe  that  it  will  be  best  for  you  to  take  all  the rest,  and  pleasure,  and  indulgence  you  can  for  at least  six  months.  Such,  indeed,  is  the  natural  law after  long  travelling.  And  the  work  gains  by  it  after. In  the  West  Indian  heat,  memory  and  everything failed  me  sometimes;  and  I  said  to  my  friend: —  "I can't  write;  I  almost  wish  I  was  dead."  For  I  felt very  blue.  He  (a  physician  and  author)  said:  — TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  127 "Don't  try  to.  Go  to  the  country  and  read  novels and  bathe.  We  all  feel  that  way  here;  it  is  only Nature's  warning  in  the  tropics  to  take  rest,  —  to have  some  fun."  I  found  he  was  right,  and  I  never strained  again.  Of  course  it  follows  to  reason  that when  the  physical  vitality  runs  low,  the  mental power  for  consecutive  effort  must  become  feeble;  the reserve  of  both  forces  is  the  same.  The  nerve  bat teries  must  be  left  to  fill  themselves  slowly;  and  the filling  often  takes  a  long  time.  Once,  in  my  case,  it took  years  to  recharge.  But  I  don't  think  age  has anything  to  do  with  it.  I  am  certainly  much stronger  now  than  I  was  at  thirty.  The  only  differ ence  is  that  it  takes  us  longer  to  recuperate  at  every successive  decade.  By  the  way,  to-day  I  am  forty- three.  How  many  more  years  for  literary  work  ?  I hope  at  least  twenty;  — I  want  only  the  material. And  you  will  certainly  feel  the  same  way,  if  you  take this  small  gadabout's  advice  to  forget  all  work  for six  months,  or  at  least  three.  Besides  I  would  in dulge  myself  if  I  were  you.  A  good  digestion  means that  everything  is  possible.  "Avec  ga,  on  se  refait toujours"  said  a  French  adviser  once.  If  I  were  you I  would  give  that  digestion  plenty  of  work  with claret  and  beef  and  puddings  and  pies  and  liqueurs. And  I  would  smoke  cigars;  and  I  would  drink brandy.  And  I  would  not  allow  myself  even  to think  of  work  till  the  surplus  of  returning  strength —  and  nothing  else  —  made  work  absolutely  neces sary  to  happiness.  Of  course,  all  this  is  mere  repeti tion  of  my  own  experience,  —  and  perhaps  to  you, mere  verbiage.  But  I  can't  help  suspecting  that  you 128  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN do  not  allow  yourself  all  the  mere  bodily  gratifica tion  that  you  might  allow  yourself  with  good  results. I  think  so  because  you  told  me  that,  although  when I  dined  with  you,  you  lived  superbly,  that  when alone  it  is  your  habit  to  eat  very  little.  So  with  all scholars,  perhaps.  But  I  wish  you  would  cultivate the  physical  only,  for  a  time.  Perhaps  no  doctor ever  told  you  this ;  but  it  is  a  curious  fact  in  my  own experience,  —  a  man  can  scientifically  triple  the assimilating  capacity  of  his  stomach.  And  that means  tripling  the  storage  of  physical  force  within himself.  I  could  tell  you  extraordinary  things  but  I fear  to  bore  you;  and  indeed  I  would  not  have  said all  this  but  for  my  anxiety  at  hearing  that  you  feel vitally  low.  Wherefore  I  talked  of  Nature,  the  great est  nurse,  who  brought  me  back  to  strength  twice after  the  doctors  declared  me  doomed,  and  I  was able  to  eat  only  one  raw  egg  a  day. *•-.  I  read  part  of  your  last  letter  with  remorse.  I  am now  all  at  one  with  you  on  the  subject  of  Buddhism; and  my  first  enthusiasm  for  Shinto,  I  fear,  was wrong.  I  thought  I  saw  in  Shinto,  the  soul  of  Japan ese  Loyalty,  —  self-sacrifice,  etc.  I  wrote  enthusias tically  about  it;  — I  fear  you  will  justly  condemn my  views.  Perhaps  I  shall  be  able  to  modify  some of  them  in  proof.  Yes,  Buddhism  makes  an  appeal to  the  human  heart,  and  Shinto  only  to  tradition and  race  feeling. There  is,  however,  a  power,  —  a  mighty  power,  in that,  too.  I  can't  remember  now  where  I  read  a wonderful  story  about  a  Polish  brigade  under  fire during  the  Franco-Prussian  War.  The  French  bat- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  129 teries  are  directed  upon  it;  the  fire  of  the  mitrail leuses  is  atrocious.  The  Polish  brigade  stands  still under  the  infernal  hail,  cursed  by  its  German  officers for  the  least  murmur,  —  "  Silence !  you  Polish  hogs ! " —  while  the  ground  is  being  strewn  with  blood  and brains  and  entrails.  Hundreds  fall;  thousands!  and the  order  is  always,  "Close  up,  you  Polish  hogs!" Just  one  instant  with  the  bayonet,  —  one  chance  to retaliate,  to  die  like  men!  But  the  iron  order  is to  wait.  Men  sob  with  rage.  "Silence,  you  Polish beasts!"  And  then,  at  last,  old  Steinmetz,  smoking his  pipe  in  the  carnage,  gives  a  signal,  —  the  signal. The  bugles  ring  out  with  the  force  of  Roland's  last blast  at  Roncesvalles,  the  air  forbidden  ever  to  be sung  or  heard  at  other  times  —  the  national  air (you  know  it)  — "No!  Poland  is  not  dead!"  And withfthat  crash  of  brass  all  that  lives  of  the  brigade is  hurled  at  the  French  batteries.  Mechanical power,  if  absolutely  irresistible,  might  fling  back such  a  charge,  but  no  human  power.  For  old  Stein metz,  smoking  his  pipe,  had  made  Schopenhauer- esquely,  the  mightiest  appeal  to  those  "Polish brutes"  that  man,  God,  or  devil  could  make,  the appeal  to  the  ghost  of  the  Race.  The  dead  heard it;  and  they  came  back  that  day, — the  dead  of a  thousand  years. And  then  you  know  the  tremendous  story  of  the Cuirassiers  at  Reichshoffen,  —  dying  to  a  man  to cover  the  retreat;  each  regiment  charging  in  turn over  the  torn  bodies  of  those  who  had  formed  the first  regiment.  That  was  a  grand  failure  and  a  grand sacrifice.  But  what  is  not  a  failure  is  the  annual 130  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN ceremony,  when,  in  the  great  camp,  the  roll-call  of the  dead  is  called,  and  every  buried  Cuirassier  an swers  "Present!"  — through  the  mouth  of  the  liv ing,  because  the  grand  dead  never  die. Now  old  Steinmetz  smoking  his  pipe,  waiting  for the  right  moment;  the  French  people,  keeping  alive the  memory  of  the  heroism  of  Reichshoffen,  —  both have  the  same  thought,  —  the  thought  that  moved Carlyle  to  say  that  not  pleasure  and  happiness,  but pain  and  misery  and  death  are  the  greatest  attrac tions  to  men's  souls,  —  that  which  they  seek  in  pre ference  to  all  else.  (Carlyle  puts  it  crookedly;  but there  is  a  thought  there.)  The  race  feeling  is  the most  powerful  of  all  impulses;  stir  it  deeply,  —  and to  the  living  the  value  of  life  and  fame  and  love and  all  else  disappear  like  smoke;  and  the  dead  be come  the  masters;  and  the  living  only  the  instru ments.  Now,  do  you  not  think  something  of  the magic  by  which  that  feeling  can  be  stirred,  is  pos sessed  by  Shinto?  If  it  is,  then  Shinto  is  mighty. If  not,  then  Shinto  is  like  a  sacred  awabi-shell, empty  and  full  of  holes. But  my  letter  is  too  long.  To-morrow  I  will  write you  about  the  o-fuda  book,  and  other  things. LAFCADIO  HEARN. July  7,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  suppose  my  letter about  eating  must  have  seemed  very  simple  to  you; but  it  was  prompted  by  ideas  which  your  answer confirms.  I  had  a  very  charming  friend,  Charles Gayarre,  the  Louisiana  historian,  —  a  scholar  of  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  131 old  Regime,  who  wrote  French  in  the  style  of  Cha teaubriand;  he  used  to  eat  so  carefully  that  every thing  was  weighed  for  him.  But  his  trouble  was  in regard  to  digestion.  When  you  told  me  you  had  no trouble  of  that  sort,  I  at  once  suggested  the  oppo site  policy,  —  because  it  succeeded  twice  in  my  own case,  and  for  another  reason.  It  seems  to  me  that  we conquer  anything  which  takes  a  chronic  form  only by  a  surplus  of  physical  force  in  ourselves;  and  how a  man  can  get  such  a  surplus  while  he  eats  like  a butterfly,  I  can't  imagine.  I  mean  I  can't  under stand  the  scientific  principle  behind  the  treatment you  follow.  So,  being  anxious,  perhaps  I  said  some "simple"  things. The  examinations  are  upon  me;  — the  heat  alone is  pleasing,  —  it  has  become  almost  West  Indian ;  — the  outlook  is  very  dull  and  discomforting.  I  want to  be  working,  and  I  have  no  material;  for  I  never got  anything  in  Kumamoto,  and  I  have  done  all  I could  with  my  Izumo  notes.  I  read;  but  reading  is tiresome,  —  seems  to  me  almost  wicked ;  —  I  think of  Kipling's  lines,  — One  minute's  work  to  thee  denied Stands  all  Eternity's  offence. Yet  I  shall  certainly  never  get  any  material  here; though  my  interests  are  here.  Interest  and  literary duty  have  become  antagonistic.  What  shall  I  do? is  my  perpetual  plaint.  A  thought  that  eats  into  my brain  like  an  acid.  Have  I  come  to  a  standstill?  I would  gladly  pay  a  salary  to  somebody  to  teach  me Buddhism,  —  the  living  Buddhism.  Then  I  could 182       LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN I write  something.  But  to  have  no  fiftpressions,  n# pleasures,  is  certainly  hell,  —  the  Kwakto  Jigoku variety.  There  is  no  religion  here,  —  no  poetry,  — no  courtesy,  —  no  myths,  —  no  traditions,  —  no superstitions.  Beastly  modernization! The  idea  of  which  we  spoke  together  is  also  grow ing  upon  me,  —  that  thorough  social  disorganiza tion  is  going  to  beget  revolution.  The  spirit  of  in subordination,  hostility  to  foreigners,  disrespect  to traditions,  contempt  for  religion,  and  national  van ity,  —  grows  with  prodigious  rapidity  just  in  pro portion  as  the  modernization  becomes  more  thor ough.  The  educated  Japanese  complains  at  being obliged  to  conceal  his  scepticism  about  the  divinity of  the  Emperor.  But  when  the  peasant  becomes equally  sceptical  he  won't  pay  his  taxes.  I  can't  see anything  for  Japan  now  but  revolution  or  a  military domination;  the  latter  would,  I  think,  be  the  best. No;  the  country  is  certainly  going  to  lose  all  its charm,  —  all  its  Japanesiness;  it  is  going  to  become all  industrially  vulgar  and  industrially  common place.  And  I  feel  tired  of  it.  In  short,  the  pendulum has  swung  the  wrong  way  recently. But  this  is  n't  the  sort  of  thing  to  amuse  you. What  I  want  to  give  you  is  a  specimen  of  an  exam ination  composition  on  the  Story  of  the  Three Caskets  ("Merchant  of  Venice"),  which  I  gave  for a  subject  to  my  third  year  class. "Once  upon  a  time  there  was  in  Italy  a  man  who was  a  very  rich  and  most  venerable. "He  has  a  daughter,  very  beauty — the  bride  of the  all  village. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  133 "  She  has  this  fate  when  her  father  has  die,  — then  all  his  furniture  was  to  fall  on  her. "So  every  men  wanted  to  marriage  to  her. "The  father  become  old  and  sicked  into  his  bed, —  and  could  n't  get  up  once  more,  —  and  he  fore- seed  that  sick  is  the  last  sick  on  his  life. "So  he  called  his  remarkable  girle  to  his  bed,  and said,  —  '  I  cannot  get  off  of  death,  and  I  want  a  suc cessor  to  my  house  — ' (I  skip  the  instruction  about  the  three  caskets, and  the  description  of  the  princes  of  Morocco  and of  Arragon.) "This  Prince  chosened  the  casket  of  gold,  and  find inside  the  skeleton  of  the  old  man,  —  which  won dered  him  unfortunately. "The  other  Prince  choosened  the  casket  of  silver, and  find  a  Fool-Man  inside,  and  in  sollow  runned away."  .  .  . Having  much  more  of  this  sort  of  thing  to  correct, I  must  close.  No  news  from  America  yet.  I  want  to get  to  Nagasaki  next  week  if  I  can.  Perhaps  I  shall be  able  to  get  some  impressions  there,  and  to  write you  some  letters,  pleasant  letters. LAFCADIO  HEARN. July  14,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  analysis  of  Loti  is quite  delightful;  and  what  was  more  so  was  the announcement  that  parts  of  the  book  had  pleased you,  —  as  I  thought  they  would.  Loti's  style  is,  of course,  eccentric;  but  I  am  not  sufficiently  versed  in the  rules  to  answer  the  question  about  his  curious 134  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN phrases.  He  is  not,  of  course,  classic;  and  in  his  best work,  which  you  have  not  yet  seen,  he  violates  all classic  traditions.  I  must  try  to  find  you  "Le  Roman d'un  Spahi;"  "Fleurs  d'Ennui;"  and  "Le  Manage de  Loti;"  these  were  written  before  his  nerves  be came  dull.  There  is  also  in  the  "Propos  d'Exil" some  sketches  of  East  Africa  that  are  not  less  artistic than  the  pictures  of  West  Africa  in  the  Spahi-book. As  for  his  moral  side,  you  will  find  him  much  worse than  in  "Madame  Chrysantheme."  Yet  there  is wonderful  beauty  in  his  account  of  a  night  spent with  an  Arabian  fille,  —  "  Une  sauterelle  du  desert.'9 The  melancholy  element  is  also  much  stronger  in these  earlier  books;  but  it  there  seems  natural,  — as  the  splendour  and  pitilessness  of  tropic  Nature, ignoring  man,  naturally  causes  melancholy.  Vast- ness  of  plain  and  cloudless  sky;  mountains  and Amazonian  floods,  of  course,  make  us  feel  our  own impermanency,  and  the  awful  youth  of  the  world. I  am  glad  you  have  not  read  much  of  Gautier's verse;  because  there  will  be  a  glorious  revelation  for you.  His  choicest  work  is  all  in  the  "Emaux  et Camees," —  a  little  book  you  can  read  in  one  morn ing,  but  having  read,  will  re-read  a  thousand  times. The  "  Symphonic  "  is  in  it,  —  and  perhaps  fifty  other brief  pieces,  nearly  all  in  quatrains.  I  think  it  the most  perfect  verse  that  was  ever  made  in  this  world; it  is  just  what  its  title  implies,  —  jewelry  of  words, the  art  of  a  mighty  lapidary.  There  you  will  see  the syllables  "that  shine  like  phosphorus  when  rubbed." There  are  many  beautiful  things  in  Gautier's  other volumes  of  poetry,  but  scarcely  anything  to  compare TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  135 with  the  "fimaux  et  Camees."  Certainly  Victor Hugo  never  even  approached  Gautier  in  this  special kind  of  verse.  And  if  you  have  not  read  Gautier's "Contes  et  Nouvelles"  (two  vols.)  you  will  have another  surprise.  I  translated  and  published  some; Andrew  Lang  did  the  same  thing  after  me,  but  in finitely  better  (I  believe  he  abused  my  translation  in his  preface).  My  favourites  are  "Arria  Marcella ;" "La  Morte  Amoureuse;"  "Le  Pied  de  Momie;" "Une  Nuit  de  Cleopatre."  But  you  will  find  won derful  things  besides.  Of  course  you  have  read "  Mademoiselle  de  Maupin," —  that  miracle  of  sen suous  art.  I  was  very  fond  of  all  the  Romantic School;  next  to  Gautier  as  a  prose-writer,  I  was  be witched  most,  I  think,  by  De  Nerval's  "Voyage  en Orient,"  with  its  tremendous  legend  of  Solomon  and the  Queen  of  Sheba;  and,  though  shocked,  I  felt a  surprise  of  pleasure  in  the  wonderful  insanities  of Baudelaire.  Of  Flaubert  I  only  liked  what  most people  dislike,  —  "La  Tentation  de  Saint  Antoine," — besides  the  wonderful "  Trois  Contes."  "Madame Bovary"  is  pure  realism;  and  I  hate  pure  realism.  I still  believe  in  the  Romantic  School.  Loti  partly belongs  to  it.  The  realistic  school  seems  to  me played  out,  since  Maupassant  went  mad;  and  the abominations  (how  clever  they  are,  nevertheless!) of  Richepin  ("Les  Blasphemes,"  "La  Mer")  will not  kill  that  quality  of  romantic  verse  of  which  they were  an  unintentional  caricature.  Among  the  se verer  writers  of  the  romantic  school  (Gautier  called them  presbyopes)  I  love  Merimee  in  all  his  work,  — historical,  etc.,  as  well  as  romantic.  He  alone  has 136  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN something  of  an  English  quality,  beautifully  shown, I  think,  in  his  studies  of  Russian  history;  "Les  Faux Demetrius,"  and  "Les  Cosaques  d'Autrefois." Somehow  or  other,  Daudet  and  Zola  and  Bourget do  not  seem  to  me  to  have  the  enduring  qualities  of those  older  writers.  They  seem  rather  varieties of  the  Goncourt  breed;  therefore  all  visibly  artificial. They  cannot  write  from  an  overflowing  imagination and  a  big  heart,  —  like  Hugo,  Gautier,  Merimee, De  Nerval;  they  write  from  notebooks,  and  dabble in  philosophy  and  medicine.  If  I  can  find  at  Naga saki  anything  good  that  I  think  you  would  like, I  will  get  it. For  I  'm  off,  in  a  day  or  two.  My  next  letter  will be  from  Nagasaki.  I  don't  think  you  could  bear  the heat  in  Kumamoto  now;  I  like  it,  except  at  night, when  there  are  no  windows  to  open,  and  the  mos quitoes  are  very  atrocious. Mason  has  written  me  a  delightful  letter,  but  says I  must  n't  write  to  him  again  for  a  time,  as  he  is going  away  to  Yezo. By  the  way,  he  never  sent  me  the  Oliver  Crom well,  —  or  at  least,  I  never  got  it.  It  makes  no  dif ference,  as  I  shall  be  away;  but  I  mention  the  fact merely  for  fear  the  book  might  have  been  sent  and not  delivered,  —  like  Lowell's  letter. Ever  most  truly,       LAFCADIO  HEARN. July  16,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  ...  Oh !  I  love  Heine. Yes,  I  saw  the  marvellous  translations  in  Black- woody —  among  others  "The  Pilgrimage  to  Kev- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  137 laar"  which  will  haunt  me  as  long  as  I  live.  I  have read  Bowring's  translations  of  course;  they  are rough.  I  read  the  translations  by  Emma  Lazarus (a  pretty  little  Jewess  who  died  in  1885,  I  think); some  were  delicious,  —  especially  the  ghostly  pieces "Don  Ramiro,"  etc.,  and  that  awful  satire  in  which the  young  lady  who  had  been  abusing  the  Jews  in  a frantic  way,  allows  herself  to  be  seduced  by  a  noble knight,  who  thereupon  informs  her  that  he  is  the son  of  the  most  famous  and  most  learned  Israel  of Saragossa.  I  also  read  the  French  prose-versions  of Heine,  —  superintended  by  himself.  Indeed  I-  liked the  prose-versions  better  than  anything  except  the translations  in  Blackwood.  I  never  understood  the beauty  of  "Faust"  till  I  had  read  Hay  ward's  prose- translation.  The  verse  of  Taylor  and  others  seemed to  mask  the  meaning  for  me. I  am  trying  again  to  work  at  my  theory  of  the Eternal  Feminine  in  its  influence  on  Western  aes thetic  thought,  but  I  have  no  heart  in  the  work  for the  present.  I  shall  wait  for  a  happy  reaction  to develop  the  ideas  more.  What  can  one  do  in  a  city, without  temples,  art,  or  courtesy?  Still  Kumamoto is  better  for  me  than  Tokyo  could  be,  or  Kanazawa; the  people  know  me,  and  I  have  much  leisure  and rest,  and  the  climate  is  warm.  Perhaps  I  can  find a  student  sometime  who  has  studied  Buddhism,  and employ  him  for  a  year  or  two.  But  nothing  is  so  dif ficult  as  for  a  foreigner  to  find  an  honest  Japanese helper.  Even  my  little  boy  turned  out  badly,  and I  had  to  send  him  away,  after  he  had  given  us  all a  world  of  trouble. 138  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN What  a  moral  disintegration  seems  to  have  come upon  the  country.  Here  are  fishermen  at  war, farmers  at  war,  politicians  killing  each  other,  stu dents  fighting,  a  general  increase  of  crime,  etc. Japan  won't  be  the  best  place  in  the  world  after another  generation.         ^  , Lver  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. July  16,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — I  have  to  write  a  line  more to  ask  you — at  your  own  convenience  —  to  tell  me whether  the  Japanese  word  mayoi,  in  the  sense  of  the fascination  of  woman,  can  have  any  Buddhist  affin ity  with  the  Sanscrit  may  a  "illusion."  I  hope  it  has; but  nothing  is  so  insane  in  these  days  as  to  hazard an  etymology  without  being  "everlastingly  sure." I  send  a  photo  of  Pierre  Loti, — taken,  I  think,  about eight  or  nine  years  ago.  It  is  not  the  sort  of  face  to encourage  affection;  but  it  is  very,  very  Latin,  — keen,  fine,  and  hard.  I  don't  see  much  heart  there, but  there  is  intense  life,  and  great  sureness  of  self. The  well  has  been  cleaned.  And  there  have  been rites  paid  to  the  God  of  Wells.  Do  you  know  that  in all  the  wells  little  fishes  are  kept,  —  to  purify  the water?  —  funa?  Those  in  my  well  are  rather  large. I  suppose  the  custom  is  founded  upon  centuries  of experience.  In  learning  about  the  fish, — regarded as  the  servants  of  the  Well  God,  —  I  also  learned  the meaning  of  the  old  phrase  funazamurai,  —  so  often repeated  in  the  Chinshingura. Ever  with  best  regards, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  139 July  22,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  predicted  a  letter  from Nagasaki;  but  the  prediction  I  found  too  difficult  to fulfil.  In  fact  I  fled  away  from  Nagasaki,  —  and propose  to  relate  to  you  the  history  of  my  adven tures,  or  some  of  them. I  left  Kumamoto  on  the  morning  of  the  20th, alone,  en  route  for  Nagasaki  via  Hyakkwan.  From Kumamoto  to  Hyakkwan  is  about  one  and  one-half hours  by  jinrickisha.  A  dirty  little  country  village in  a  sea  of  rice  fields,  is  Hyakkwan.  The  people  are simple  and  good.  I  found  one  of  my  students  there studying  Chinese.  Then  I  took  a  boat  for  the steamer.  The  boat  was  a  broken-nosed  boat. The  boat  left  the  creek  and  wriggled  over  a  sea, still  as  the  silent  sea  of  Coleridge's  poem,  unto  the distance  of  four  ri.  It  was  tiresome.  Then  it  stopped and  waited;  and  for  more  than  an  hour,  I  watched the  water  surface  sinuously  moving  with  a  queer motion  as  of  reticulated  stuffs  being  pulled  in  oppo site  directions,  network  of  ripples  above  network  of ripples.  There  was  nothing  else  to  watch.  At  last  I saw  an  inverted  comma  on  the  edge  of  the  sky.  It came  nearer.  Finally  I  heard  a  scream  of  steam  that filled  my  soul  with  joy.  But  it  turned  out  to  be  the wrong  steamer.  I  waited  one  more  hour  in  that boat,  and  the  right  steamer  appeared. Except  the  Oki  steamer  I  never  became  familiar with  such  an  instrument  of  torture.  Her  name  was the  Taiko  Maru.  She  was  built  only  for  kimono  or yukata,  and  for  the  squatting  position.  The  heat was  that  of  the  drying  room  of  a  steam-laundry. 140  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN There  was  nothing  to  drink  but  tea.  I  slept  on  the tatami,  comfortably,  with  my  head  on  a  pillow  of leather  paper  stamped  with  the  curious  figure  of  an elephant-headed  Karashishi .  Had  I  donned  Japanese clothes  instead  of  a  duck  suit,  I  would  have  been  com fortable.  But  as  I  was  going  to  a  European  hotel, I  dressed  according  to  the  code,  —  for  which  I  was very  sorry  later  on. We  reached  Nagasaki  at  3  A.  M.,  the  blackest  hour. A  coolie  promised  to  take  me  to  the  hotel,  but  took me  a  mile  away  from  it  and  then  said  he  did  not know  where  it  was.  I  took  my  baggage  from  him,  and found  a  belated  kurumaya  to  take  me  to  the  hotel. It  was  locked  up.  I  put  my  shoulder  against  the  gate, and  it  opened  and  I  went  up  steps  between  heights of  clipped  shrubbery  and  ranks  of  flower  pots  filled with  ornamental  plants  into  a  piazza,  full  of  rock ing-chairs  and  lamps  and  silence.  There  I  waited for  sunrise.  Sunrise  over  the  bay  was  really  lovely; —  I  saw  strips  of  gold,  like  those  of  the  old  ballads. And  at  last  the  house  woke  up  and  I  got  a  room. But  it  was  too  hot  to  stay  in  the  hotel.  A  dead heat,  worse  than  any  tropical  heat  I  ever  felt,  and getting  worse  as  the  sun  rose.  I  hired  a  kuruma  and rushed  about.  I  saw  the  beautiful  city  in  the  most beautiful  light  possible;  I  climbed  the  hills;  I  vis ited  the  new  metal  torii.  Let  me  assure  you  that it  is  very  ugly,  —  that  torii;  it  is  the  ugliest  I  ever saw  in  Japan.  It  is  monstrously  shaped,  —  looks top-heavy,  —  has  no  grace,  and  is  of  a  sooty  stove- colour.  Whoever  made  the  design  ought  to  be  killed with  the  edge  of  the  sword. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  141 Then  I  got  breakfast  and  went  out  again.  The sum  of  my  impressions  was  that  Nagasaki  is  the prettiest  seaport  I  ever  saw,  —  full  of  picturesque- ness  and  quaintness,  —  made  for  artists  to  etch  and for  photographers  to  photograph.  But  I  could  not buy  anything  I  wanted,  or  find  anything  I  wished to  find  in  a  Western  line.  Very  few  foreigners, — and  no  books,  —  nothing  to  pick  up,  —  no  supplies to  be  had  except  in  large  quantities. As  the  day  grew  hotter,  I  began  to  grieve  exceed ingly  that  I  had  put  on  a  duck  suit,  and  had  gone to  the  Belle vue  Hotel.  Comfort  inside  of  Western clothes  and  Western  architecture  in  such  heat  was out  of  the  question.  Not  even  in  Venezuela,  in  the hottest  hours  of  the  afternoon,  did  I  ever  feel  such heat.  In  the  hotel  I  heard  the  guests  say  they  could not  sleep  for  the  heat.  There  was  nothing  for  it  ex cept  iced  drinks  at  twenty-five  cents.  I  drank  about four  yen  worth,  and  was  angry  with  all  the  world, because  I  could  not  strip  or  be  comfortable.  By  six o'clock  I  determined  to  flee  away.  The  heat  was hell,  —  and  though  I  like  heat,  the  combination  of heat  and  stupid  convention  is  something  beyond my  power  of  endurance.  If  I  had  to  wear  European clothes  and  live  in  a  European  house  in  such  heat for  one  week,  I  should  go  crazy  or  die.  I  resolved  to flee  away  from  Nagasaki  at  once. In  a  Japanese  hotel  one  can  always  be  comfortable and  naked.  In  a  Japanese  hotel  everything  you want  to  buy  is  found  for  you.  In  a  Japanese  hotel arrangements  are  made  to  take  you  anywhere  you want  to  go.  In  a  Japanese  hotel  they  buy  your 142  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN tickets  for  you,  and  accompany  you  to  the  steamer or  railroad.  But  in  the  beastly  Western  hotels,  no body  will  even  answer  a  question.  There  is  nobody to  ask,  except  depraved  Japanese  servants  who understand  no  language  when  asked  to  take  any trouble.  I  got  a  kuruma  and  went  to  a  Japanese steamship  company,  and  begged  them,  in  my  bad Japanese,  to  get  me  outside  of  Nagasaki  as  quick  as possible.  To  my  surprise  they  understood  and  sym pathized  with  me,  and  promised  to  send  for  me  at 3  A.  M.  I  waited  in  the  hotel  till  the  heat  became  so atrocious  that  even  the  mosquitoes  had  not  strength to  bite,  —  then  I  tried  to  go  out.  But  men  wear ing  shirt-tails  asked  me  if  I  "wanna  nice  gil,"  —  so I  went  back  again,  and  sat  in  the  stifling  veranda until  3  A.  M.  Then  the  Japanese  Company  sent  a man  and  a  sampan  for  me,  and  took  me  away.  And I  blessed  them  therefor. Got  out  of  the  harbor  by  half-past  three,  on  the Kinrin  Maru  (an  old  acquaintance),  with  a  ticket for  Misumi.  From  Misumi  I  was  told  a  small steamer  would  take  me  to  Hyakkwan.  Got  to  Mi sumi  at  9  A.  M.  But  there  was  no  small  steamer  that day. At  Misumi  there  is  a  hotel,  the  Urashimaya,  built and  furnished  in  Western  style,  —  as  much  superior to  the  Nagasaki  hotel  as  the  sun  is  superior  to  a farthing  candle.  Also  a  very  beautiful  woman,  — graceful  as  a  dragon-fly,  —  with  a  voice  like  the tinkling  of  a  crystal  wind-bell,  took  care  of  me,  hired kurumaya,  gave  me  a  splendid  breakfast,  and charged  me  for  all  the  entertainment  only  forty  sen. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  143 She  understood  my  Japanese,  and  talked  to  me,  and I  felt  like  a  soul  suddenly  reborn  in  the  heart  of  a luminous  lotos-flower  in  the  garden  of  Paradise. Also  all  the  maidens  of  the  hotel  seemed  to  me tennin,  —  since  I  had  just  escaped  from  the  most frightful  place  of  sojourn  that  exists  in  this  world. And  summer  mists  bathed  sea  and  hills  and  all distant  things,  —  a  world  of  divinely  soft  blue,  the blue  of  iridescent  mother-of-pearl.  There  were  a few  white  clouds  dreaming  in  the  sky;  and  they threw  long  white  trembling  lights  on  the  water. And  I  dreamed  of  Urashima.  The  small  soul  of  me drifted  out  over  that  summer  sea,  —  steeped  all  in the  blue  light,  —  and  in  the  fairy  boat  there  was a  maiden  standing,  more  beautiful  than  the  blue light  itself,  and  softer,  and  sweeter;  and  she  said  to me  in  a  voice  that  seemed  to  come  from  a  thousand summers  back,  —  "Now  we  will  go  to  my  father's palace,  the  Dragon  Palace  under  the  waves  of  the South."  But  I  said,  "No;  I  must  go  home  to  Kuma- moto;  —  I  have  telegraphed,  you  see."  "Then  you will  pay  the  kurumaya  only  seventy-five  sen,"  she made  answer,  — "  and  you  can  come  back  again  when you  wish,  because  you  will  not  open  the  box."  And in  this  day-dream  there  came  to  me  the  interpreta tion  of  the  divine  old  story;  and  I  learned  the  mys tery  of  it  and  the  meaning.  I  put  the  box  into  my heart  of  hearts,  and  went  away. Hours  I  watched  the  blue  world,  and  wondered  at the  loveliness  of  it,  and  thought  of  the  old  Gods and  their  ways,  —  though  along  the  road  ran  a  line of  telegraph  poles.  And  upon  all  the  telegraph  top 144  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN wires  sat  rows  of  little  white-breasted  birds.  I  saw they  always  sat  with  their  heads  toward  the  road. They  watched  us  passing  without  fear.  I  counted hundreds.  Not  one  sat  with  its  tail  to  the  road,  — not  even  one.  All  seemed  waiting  for  something.  I kept  on  counting  them  till  I  fell  asleep  in  the  ku- ruma,  —  and  floated  away  somewhere  in  a  phantom- boat;  and  the  daughter  of  the  Dragon-King  stood over  me  and  smiled  and  said,  —  "You  will  pay  the kurumaya  only  seventy-five  sen."  .  .  . Drums  awoke  me,  —  peasants  in  all  the  villages invoking  the  rain.  No  rain;  only  white  clouds,  — ghosts  of  clouds  that  died  a  thousand  summers  ago, —  or  perhaps  that  summer  mist  that  escaped  from Urashima's  box.  (Really  he  was  foolish  to  open  the box.  I  remember  opening  such  a  box  long,  long  ago. Therefore  my  soul  became  old.)  Always  the  birds  in rows  on  the  telegraph  wires,  and  not  even  one  with its  tail  turned  to  the  road.  There  were  picturesque scenes.  Nagahama  village  was  pretty.  It  possesses a  great  spring  at  the  foot  of  a  hill.  There  boys  and girls  were  bathing  together.  I  stopped  to  look  at them.  A  young  girl  lifted  a  bucket  of  cold  water  to give  the  runner  to  drink,  and  her  light  dress  opening with  the  effort  showed  the  ripeness  of  a  youth  sweet as  fruit  before  it  has  become  too  soft.  Always  beat ing  of  drums  at  every  village  for  rain. The  kurumaya  deserts  me.  Is  succeeded  by  a fraud.  I  discharge  the  fraud  in  the  middle  of  rice fields  and  tramp  on  alone,  carrying  my  own  baggage. Kumamoto  is  still  three  and  one  half  ri  distant.  The little  birds  watch  me  from  the  telegraph  wires.  Ex- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  145 traordinary  semi  —  quite  different  from  those  of Izumo  —  cry  piteously  and  utter  plaintive  squeals when  seized  by  little  boys.  Of  course  it  is  like squealing  with  one's  feet  instead  of  with  one's mouth.  But  being  directed  by  will,  and  for  the  pur pose  of  exciting  compassion,  the  squeal  is  equally pathetic. Then  I  find  a  good  kurumaya  and  proceed.  I  get home  as  the  shadows  lengthen.  The  sun  has  flayed my  hands,  and  I  have  eaten  nothing  since  nine o'clock,  and  I  have  not  been  in  bed  for  three  days, and  I  have  not  a  dry  thread  on  me.  But  I  am  home again,  and  therefore  supremely  happy.  Nagasaki exists  for  me  only  as  an  evil  dream  of  a  hotel  in  hell, —  with  the  seven  deadly  Sins  for  waiters.  Certainly I  shall  never  see  it  again.  It  is  the  hardest  place  to go  to,  or  to  escape  from,  in  the  whole  world.  When I  was  in  it  Kumamoto  seemed  to  me  displaced  by magic  to  the  distance  of  100,000  miles,  beyond  long successions  of  typhoons  and  mountain  ranges.  I  am again  in  a  yukata,  —  upon  tatami,  —  in  real  Japan. Of  my  trip  I  have  nevertheless  some  pleasant  recol lections, — and  a  pretty  fan,  representing  mountains and  summer-sea,  and  bearing  the  name  "Urashi- maya."  At  sight  of  it  the  vision  and  the  dream  re turn.  I  will  often  see  them  again;  for  the  box  will never  be  opened.  But  I  was  obliged  to  disobey  the daughter  of  the  Dragon-God  in  one  thing;  I  paid the  kurumaya, —  three  kurumaya, —  one  yen  and twenty-five  sen.  Had  they  only  known  they  could have  made  me  pay  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  yen. "How  much,"  my  wife  asks  me,  "would  you 146,  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN accept  on  condition  of  spending  a  week  more  in  the Bellevue  Hotel,  Nagasaki?" "Surely,"  I  answer,  "no  sum  earthly.  Only  the promise  of  perpetual  youth  in  the  palace  of  the Dragon-God  for  a  thousand  years,  or  a  transporta tion  to  the  Paradise  of  Amida  Buddha." Ever  with  best  regards, LAFCADIO  HEARN. August  16,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — I  have  been  a  little  neg lectful,  because  of  my  reverie  about  Urashima, called  "The  Dream  of  a  Summer  Day,"  which  I  am now  sending  to  Boston.  Many,  many  thanks  for your  kindness  in  having  the  text  looked  up  for  me. And  do  you  know,  the  beauty  of  that  word  Elysium greatly  grew  as  I  contemplated  Horai,  and  felt  that it  could  never  be  made  to  convey  any  idea  to  an English  reader,  and  that  only  the  Greek  word  could render  the  idea  of  ghostly  happiness  properly?  .  .  . The  great  plague  of  summer  nights  here  is  insects. So  came  the  goblins  about  Saint  Anthony.  Two curious  beetles,  one  of  which  is  shaped  hexagonally, are  especially  tormenting,  —  as  they  produce  when alarmed  the  most  atrocious  conceivable  smell.  On the  other  hand,  the  singing  insects  are  wonderful. A  cricket  called  "junta"  is  very  musical  here,  more than  in  Izumo,  —  and  really  seems  to  talk.  Other creatures  at  night  sing  like  birds.  One  of  these  is cooked  and  eaten  by  geisha  to  make  their  voices sweet.  Ever  most  sincerely, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  147 DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  have  just  got  your  let ter,  and  a  copy  of  the  Advertiser  which  makes  me glad  that  I  changed  the  sentence  about  the  sailors in  proofs.  I  have  a  great  mind  to  subscribe  for  the Advertiser,  and  stop  reading  the  Mail;  —  I  am  so sick  of  all  the  stuff  about  missionaries  and  Christ ianity.  Why  can't  a  newspaper  have  mercy  on people  who  don't  care  to  have  religious  stuff  forever thrust  under  their  noses?  I  see  the  missionaries  are still  telling  the  people  they  are  savages,  and  idol aters,  etc.,  and  have  been  making  a  row  at  Bakkan, among  other  places.  There's  no  truth  ever  told about  these  matters;  what  the  missionaries  really  do is  never  published. I  wonder  if  the  Archduke's  Indian  servant  is  a Sikh.  Travellers  write  that  the  Sikh  policemen  and troopers  look  like  demigods  or  kings;  and  some  illus trations  in  the  London  News  gave  me  the  same notion. It  rejoiced  me  to  hear  of  your  living  in  the  Japan ese  wing,  and  in  yukata.  I  am  sure  it  is  the  very best  thing  you  could  do  for  health  in  this  hot  season. Foreign  dress  soaks  through  almost  immediately, and  then  becomes  a  wet  wrap  which,  breathed  on  by a  cold  wind,  chills  the  lungs  at  once.  I  have  been wearing  considerably  less  than  a  yukata  lately  dur ing  the  hottest  part  of  the  day;  but  when  I  go  out in  a  white  suit  I  wonder  how  any  Japanese  can don  yofuku  in  July  and  August.  No  matter  how thin,  a  tight-fitting  dress  is  a  torture  in  this  heat  to anybody  accustomed  to  the  kimono. I  had  a  long  letter  from  the  editor  of  the  Atlantic. 148  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN He  wants  sketches  of  real  Japanese  life  (sketches showing  emotional  character):  doesn't  care  for religious  or  philosophical  sketches.  He  wants,  in short,  exactly  what  I  want,  but  what  is  very  dif ficult  to  find.  The  fixed  policy  in  Kumamoto  has been  to  conceal  everything  from  me,  and  although there  is  an  approach  to  kindness  in  other  directions, this  policy  is  not  likely  to  change  much.  I  must devise  some  means  of  defeating  it. Reading  over  some  part  of  "  Things  Japanese"  the other  day,  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  be  able  to speak  of  something  not  known  to  you  about  the household  bath.  Of  course  it  is  only  a  suggestion. It  is  true,  as  you  say,  that  all  the  members  of  a household,  in  hierarchical  order,  use  the  same water.  But  the  simple  statement  of  this  fact  might create  a  wrong  idea  in  European  minds.  The  rule  in such  cases  is  worth  recording.  It  is  that  each  person washes  outside  the  bath,  and  thoroughly  rinses  the whole  body  outside  the  bath,  with  hot  water  from a  kanadari  or  other  vessel,  before  entering  into  the tub  proper.  Consequently,  in  a  household  where this  rule  is  observed,  the  servant  girl  who  bathes last,  will  find  the  water  nearly  as  clear  as  the  Inkyo who  bathes  first.  All  the  real  washing  is  not  done  in the  bath  at  all.  And  in  some  bathing-places,  I  have seen  this  rule  strictly  observed  by  hundreds  of  peo ple,  —  as  at  Kitzuki.  Of  course  among  the  poorer classes  there  is  less  nicety. I  have  been  studying  De  Quincey,  Whittier,  and the  old  ballads  to  pass  the  time  (all  sent  me  from Boston).  How  our  tastes  change  with  years.  Half TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  149 of  De  Quincey's  charm  has  forever  vanished  for  me; and  I  perceive  qualities  which  repel  as  much  as  qual ities  which  attract.  Whittier  charms  me  much  more now,  —  though,  of  course,  he  was  no  scholar,  nor even  a  really  great  poet.  And  what  most  puzzles  me is  the  intense  sympathy  he  forces  me  to  feel  for religious  emotions  I  do  not  share,  and  for  a  simple faith  which  I  know  to  be  a  delusion,  to  be  philo sophically  all  wrong.  It  is  like  hearing  a  great  con gregation  singing  "Nearer,  my  God,  to  thee."  No one  can  hear  it  without  feeling  his  heart  swell,  — whether  he  believes  in  a  soul  or  not.  Such  is  Whit- tier's  simple  music,  —  and  yet  still  sweeter,  because for  the  dear  old  man,  no  sect  ever  really  existed,  and his  Christ  was  no  Jew,  but  only  a  phantom  Christ (representing  the  wish  of  the  world  to  believe  that goodness  is  divine,  and  that  everything  wrong  in  this life  will  be  righted).  Without  some  such  beliefs  life would  be  very  hard,  surely,  for  those  incapable  of eVlL  Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  Edith  Thomas  is  a  poet  I  want  to  introduce to  you  some  day,  if  you  do  not  know  her  well.  She will  be  a  surprise  and  a  pleasure. ,  P.  S.  2.  I  agree  with  you  about  the  power  of  that sketch  you  like  in  Kipling's  last.  Kipling  only  has seized  that  astonishing  fact,  and  pulled  it  into  the light,  about  the  doing  of  the  world's  work  by  boys, —  "Kingly  boys"  he  rightly  called  them  in  his verse.  I  doubt  if  any  other  country  but  England 150  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN produces  them;  and  in  any  event  no  other  country could  find  employment  for  them.  They  are  the results  of  the  same  school  system  that  made  a  Clive. Much  as  may  be  said  against  the  English  education al  system,  —  its  brutality,  its  hardness,  —  the  pro duct  furnishes  an  iron  fact  in  reply,  not  to  be  re moved.  Race,  of  course,  is  a  consideration;  but  no other  race  could  have  such  a  system.  It  is  a  train ing  from  childhood  in  self-mastery  as  a  means  to  the mastery  of  men;  —  so  that  a  boy  of  nineteen  can, in  a  serious  emergency,  run  the  great  Indian  empire. While  the  prime  necessity  of  life  is  intelligent  fight ing  capacity,  such  training  is  as  valuable  as  it  is wonderful.  It  does  not,  however,  produce  the  great minds  as  a  rule,  —  does  it?  They  require  a  gentler medium.  I  am  not  altogether  in  sympathy  with  the worship  of  Force  in  our  century,  —  are  you?  But though  surely  not  the  highest  subject  of  contempla tion,  it  offers  spectacles  of  splendour  worthy  of  all  art. Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. August  23,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — We've  been  having  ty phoon  weather  down  here  too,  —  with  sudden changes  of  atmospheric  pressure  which  stupefy  one in  the  middle  of  the  day.  This  morning,  for  in stance,  I  was  full  of  poetry,  —  trying  to  write  a tropical  story.  I  was  getting  along  gloriously,  when the  barometer  suddenly  descended  and  crushed  all my  fancies  as  a  butterfly  is  crushed  by  laying  a  ten- pound  weight  on  it.  I  suppose  all  writers  who  ever TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  151 lived  must  have  had  severe  struggles  with  the atmosphere.  In  the  tropics,  you  know,  only  certain hours  in  the  morning  allow  of  work. That  reminds  me  of  Bates.  You  will  find  him  a little  less  delightful  than  Wallace,  but  still  delightful. And  pray  notice  especially  the  beautiful  emotional passage  at  the  close,  —  and  his  meditations  about returning  to  civilization  from  Para.  What  disap points  me  a  little  both  in  Wallace  and  Bates  is  their indifference  to  those  large  and  awful  aspects  of Nature  which  Humboldt  could  feel.  They  are  not poets;  they  are  not  sensitive  to  what  would  be  for you  or  me  perpetual  exaltation;  their  science  keeps them  wholly  on  the  watch  for  the  microscopically wonderful. I  ordered  about  five  months  ago  Symonds's "Renascence,"  but  never  got  it,  —  and  never  will from  the  same  house,  as  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to buy  nothing  more  from  K.  &  W.  You  will  find  the work  somewhat  prolix,  but  of  rare  interest  neverthe less.  The  man  who  has  best  succeeded,  however,  in putting  some  phases  of  mediaeval  Italy  before  us in  artistic  guise  is,  I  think,  Yriarte.  You  have  seen his  wonderful  works  on  Florence,  Rimini,  Venice, and  the  touching  monograph  on  Francesca.  The trouble  is,  of  course,  that  these  books  represent  only chapters,  and  that  they  are  as  expensive  as  they  are beautiful.  Oh!  to  live  in  Paris,  just  for  the  sake  of books ! His  Austrian  Highness  made  the  Nagasaki  folk very  angry.  He  went  incog  to  the  shops,  while  the big  residents  were  waiting  for  him  at  the  landing.  So 152  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN they  thought  he  was  only  a  naval  officer,  and  let  him make  very  cheap  bargains.   Great  was  the  wrath  on finding  out  who  the  customer  was.  .  .  . Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. August  28,  1893.    ' DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  don't  wish  to  perse cute  you  with  letters;  but  this  is  the  close  of  the leisure  season,  and  I  want  to  make  the  most  of  it, —  and  I  forgot  some  things. Here  is  one :  —  At  the  Nagasaki  Hotel  I  saw  two large  bookcases.  I  looked  into  them  through  the locked  glass,  and  saw  a  glorious  half -Republican, half -poetical,  choice  of  books.  All  Voltaire,  I  think, —  and    Diderot,  —  and    Taine,  —  and    Renan,  — and  Michelet,  —  and  Baudelaire,  —  and  Flaubert, —  and  Maxime  du  Camp, —  and  a  splendid  Balzac, —  and  almost  everything  I  could  wish  for.  A  mind kindred  to  my  own  had  formed  that  library.    Two large  bookcases; — all  the  books  in  clumsy  colonial bindings.     A  Japanese  boy,  to  whom  I  had  been a  little   kind,   and   who   appeared    to   be   terrified when  he  spoke  to  me  (he  always  looked  about  to see  if  the  other  Japanese  were  watching  him,  —  for they  used  to  abuse  him  whenever  he  spoke  to  me), asked  me  if  I  would  not  like  him  to  get  the  key,  — so  I  could  read.  As  I  had  little  time  before  me,  I  said no.   At  2.30  A.  M.  —  the  landlady  first  spoke  to  me. She  had  been  called  out  of  bed  by  anger,  —  because a  Russian  lodger  had  not  only  gone  away  without telling  her,  but  had  sent  three  young  tittering  girls TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  153 to  occupy  his  room  during  his  absence.  In  her  desire for  sympathy  she  told  me  that  although  the  Russes sont  les  amis  de  la  France,  — Us  ne  sont  pas  les  amis de  la  France  jusqu'a  ce  point  la  !  I  sympathized,  and she  told  me  she  had  lost  her  husband  only  four  days before.  I  spoke  of  the  books.  She  said:  "Oh,  yes, my  husband  was  very  instructed !  —  he  collected  all those  books.  We  were  long  in  the  silk  business;  then we  had  a  French  newspaper,  L'Echo  du  Japon.  My husband's  sickness  forced  us  to  come  here.  I  am  now alone  and  must  be  tres  severe."  She  spoke  charm ingly,  with  grace  and  intelligence,  —  a  fine  keen woman  of  the  world,  —  probably  over  forty,  but looking  younger.  Then,  with  a  charming  bow,  she bade  me  good-night.  The  desolation  of  the  house and  of  her  own  brave  worldly  little  soul  still  haunts me;  and  I  wonder  often,  situated  as  she  is,  sur rounded  by  Japanese  whom  I  can  plainly  see  to  be rascals,  what  she  is  going  to  do.  May  the  Gods protect  her,  and  forgive  me  for  having  abused  her beautiful  but  most  d — bly  managed  hotel. Oh!  you  must  be  happy  to-day!  It  is  Aid.  The sunshine  is  whiter.  Emerald  and  ruby  lightnings, —  the  flash  of  dragon-flies,  are  playing  everywhere. All  the  shadows  are  sharp  as  the  edge  of  a  knife. The  Season  of  Great  Light. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. August  30,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Edith  Thomas  is  perhaps the  best  of  American  poets,  after  Aldrich  and 154  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Holmes;  —  she  has  written  only  short  pieces,  but  all are  exquisite  in  thought  and  finish.  She  is  a  new growth,  —  not  yet  very  famous.  I  can  recommend her  without  fear  to  the  severest  critic  on  earth.  I met  her  in  New  York,  —  to  thank  her  for  the  pleas ure  her  work  had  given  me  in  the  tropics.  A  thin, sepulchral,  black-robed,  goblin-like  creature, —  and yet  radiating  goodness  through  her  mourning,  —  a light  oozing  through  a  pitcher  of  obsidian.  She  seems to  know  life  only  as  concrete  pain.  And  still  her work  has  a  lightness,  a  spring-glow,  a  beauty  that would  seem  inspired  by  the  possession  of  all  earthly happiness. ...  I  am  not  insensible  to  the  charm  of  popular faith  in  Catholic  countries.  You  know  I  have always  written  tenderly  of  it.  But  I  can't  dissociate the  thing  called  Christianity  from  all  my  life's  ex periences  of  hypocrisy,  and  cruelty,  and  villainy, — from  conventional  wickedness  and  conventional dreariness  and  ugliness  and  dirty  austerities  and long  faces  and  Jesuitry  and  infamous  distortion  of children's  brains.  My  experiences  have  been  too heavily  weighted  with  all  this  to  allow  me  to  be just.  I  can't.  I  never,  never  found  religious  beauty in  a  church,  —  never  out  of  the  heart  of  a  man  or a  woman  of  the  poorer  classes,  —  no !  the  poorest classes.  I  know  I  am  rabid.  I  can't  help  it,  but  I  try to  control  it  in  my  writings.  By  the  way,  I  have heard  that  I  can  get  a  permit  to  go  to  Manila  for several  months  if  I  make  application  next  year. I  wonder  whether  they  would  wall  me  up  alive if  I  went  into  one  of  their  fortress-like  convents. TO  BASIL  HALL   CHAMBERLAIN  155 I  am  writing  a  sketch  to  be  entitled  "The  Stone Buddha,"  a  revery  on  eternal  mysteries  at  the  foot of  an  old  Shaka  in  a  cemetery  behind  our  college. The  thing  has  been  growing  slowly  in  my  mind  dur ing  more  than  a  year.  Therefore  it  ought  to  be something  good,  perhaps  you  think.  But  I  fear  not. It  will  be  very  short  indeed. The  other  day  I  got  lost  in  the  mountains.  What a  fearful  thing  to  lose  one's  way  in  a  confusion  of valleys,  —  each  exactly  like  another,  and  all  the paths,  between  rice  fields  and  barley  fields  twisting into  infinite  mysteries.  A  kind  peasant  guided  me home,  after  I  had  lost  myself  out  of  sight  in  a  wood, trying  to  escape  from  the  maze. I  have  promised  to  ask  if  you  collect  Japanese almanacs,  for  200  or  400  years  back.  Having  done so,  my  conscience  is  relieved. Ever  most  truly,  LAFCADIO  HEARN. September  1,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Many  thanks  for  the Advertiser,  and  the  kind  loan  of  Zola's  last,  —  which I  wanted  to  read.  .  .  . Tell  me,  do  you  think  a  mathematician  can  be  a poet?  —  that  is,  do  you  know  any  mathematician who  is?  I  do  not  mean  that  the  mathematical faculty  per  se  is  antagonistic  to  the  feeling  that  cre ates  poetry.  But  the  mental  cost  of  the  faculty (physiologically,  the  nerve  cost)  is  so  great  that  it seems  to  me  to  leave  simpler  faculties  undeveloped, or  atrophied.  You  know  that  a  want  of  sympathy is  said  to  be  characteristic  of  mathematicians. 156  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN I  must  write  you  my  sensations  about  Zola  so soon  as  I  have  devoured  him.  Jules  Lemaitre,  I think,  first  did  real  justice  to  Zola.  Zola  has  always believed  and  proclaimed  himself  a  realist.  If  there  is anything  which  Zola  is  not,  —  it  is  a  realist.  His mind  conceives  the  horrible  as  Dore's  mind  con ceived  the  ghastly  and  the  nightmarish.  He  is  the idealist  of  the  Horrible,  the  Foul,  the  Brutal,  the Abominable.  In  this,  he  is  greater  than  any  man who  has  followed  the  same  impulses.  As  you  say, I  cannot  find  that  anything  but  evil  can  be  the general  outcome  of  such  studies  of  human  nature. Swift  had  the  same  spirit.  It  is  a  morbid  one,  of course.  But  Zola  represents  the  extreme  swing of  the  pendulum  between  severe  reserve  and  frantic license.  His  school  must  die  with  him.  He  himself has  done  so  much  that  no  one  will  ever  again  in  this century  try  to  follow  him.  I  am  sorry  you  read  "La Terre"  last.  The  best  of  the  series,  I  think,  is  "Ger minal,"  and  after  it,  "La  Debacle."  You  must  have read  "La  Debacle."  The  chapter  containing  that  de scription  of  the  rushing  by  of  the  Prussian  artillery shows  Zola  at  his  best, — a  tremendous  nightmare. There  is  nothing  obscene  in  "La  Debacle,"  scarcely. (I  see  even  Anderson  makes  serious  mistakes.  He confounds  Kotoshiro-nushi-no-kami  with  a  totally different  deity,  —  representing  him  as  a  child  of Izanami  and  Izanagi.)  After  all  I  can't  make  much worse  errors  in  my  book  than  much  better  men  have done,  eh?  But  for  this,  I  have  to  thank  Kojiki, above  all  else.  •  Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  157 September  3,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — Well,  I've  read  "  Le  Doc- teur  Pascal ; "  and  after  reading  it,  I  read  the  Times' s criticism.  It  was  a  good  criticism  from  the  analyt ical  side,  but  struck  me  as  wrong  in  two  points.  I confess  I  have  not  read  all  the  "  Comedie  Humaine" (I  never  had  a  chance  to  borrow  it,  and  did  not  care to  buy  it,  because  there  was  higher  literature  to  buy). But  Balzac  was  a  great  artist  in  ideal  lines  quite  for eign  to  Zola's  genius.  Take  for  example  "  La  Peau  de Chagrin;"  —  the  terrible  human  symbolism  of  that story  will  keep  it  forever  among  the  great  Parables of  World  Literature.  Take  the  wondrous  "  Contes Drolatiques"  (with  the  equally  wondrous  engrav ings  by  Dore) ;  —  take,  in  spite  of  Froude's  fierce denunciations,  "  Le  Pere  Goriot."  There  is  a  great deep  marvellous  art  there,  —  a  spontaneous  giant utterance  of  art,  coupled  with  strangest  delicacy. There  is  vice  and  horror;  but  how  beautifully  bal anced  with  virtue  and  heroism !  Balzac  has  tender ness;  Balzac  has  vast  sympathies;  Balzac  has  the charm  of  highest  imagination.  Where  is  Zola's  ten derness?  where  are  Zola's  sympathies?  and  how enormously  morbid  is  Zola's  imagination.  Nothing will  ever,  I  think,  persuade  me  to  place  Zola  above Balzac,  —  though  I  confess  Zola's  greatness.  The Times' s  critic  seems  to  treat  Zola's  scientific  theories seriously.  I  don't  know  that  they  would  bear  real scientific  analysis  at  all.  Doubtless  his  details  are carefully  studied; — I  speak  only  of  his  plan,  his whole  plan.  Starting  out  with  the  undeniable  fact that  Zola's  studies  are  essentially  morbid  in  spirit, 158  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN his  theory,  however  seemingly  scientific  in  the  small limits  of  a  single  story,  must  prove  itself  vicious  on the  larger  scale  of  twenty  volumes.  The  Jukes'  epi sode  of  heredity  would  not  be  a  justification.  How ever,  I  am  not  competent  to  deal  with  the  facts here,  —  only  with  the  general  value  of  a  result  ob tained  upon  an  unreal,  because  a  morbid,  basis. The  other  statement  of  the  Times' s  critic  I  could not  agree  with,  would  be  his  suggestion  that  this  is perhaps  the  best  of  Zola's  series.  To  me  it  is  one  of the  weakest  of  all.  It  has  a  few  nude  pictures  of  a woman  "divinely  slender  and  young"  who  compares the  beauty  of  her  own  flesh  to  satin  and  milk  and snow.  These  are  pretty;  but  they  are  mere  sensual genre-studies.  They  don't  compare  with  that  mon strous  personification  of  machinery  in  "  Germinal," or  the  battle  pictures  of  "La  Debacle,"  or  the  won derful  figure  of  the  Jew  banker  in  "L'Argent,"  as works  of  art.  And  there  are  no  other  pictures  in  the story,  —  real  pictures,  —  except  that  of  the  Spon taneous  Combustion.  (By  the  way,  I  may  be  mis taken,  but  I  am  under  the  impression  that  Sponta neous  Combustion  of  this  sort  is  a  myth.)  Still  the book  is  a  great  book,  —  well  worth  reading.  And the  characters  seem  wonderfully  alive.  I  would  not care  to  read  it  twice  (the  test  of  the  highest  art) ; but  I  would  not  miss  reading  it  once. After  reading  Zola,  the  sky  always  seems  less blue,  and  the  sun  much  further  away.  By  the  way, did  you  ever  see  "Les  Soirees  de  Medan"?  Zola seems  to  me  at  his  very  best  in  "L'Attaque  du Moulin."  I  think  there  are  six  stories  in  the  book,  — TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  159 each  written  by  a  different  pupil  of  Zola.  (Only  one afterwards  rose  to  greatness,  —  Guy  de  Maupas sant.)  And  indeed  Maupassant  never  excelled  the story  he  contributed  to  "  Les  Soirees,"  —  "Boule-de- Suif."  All  the  stories  except  Zola's  (!)  are  diabolic ally  immoral ;  but  it  is  the  immorality  of  artists,  — not  feeble,  but  vigorously  cynical,  like  the  art  of Diderot's  or  Voltaire's  "Contes."  "Le  No.  7"  is  a very  fine  piece  of  brutal  realism.  How  curious  that the  man  who  did  it  could  never  do  anything  else! I  have  been  trying  to  think  what  all  this  sort  of work  will  produce  in  time.  Its  own  time  is  already past;  but  all  that  has  ever  existed  as  a  popular  vogue must  continue  to  exercise  some  influence  in  another way.  Perhaps  the  effect  of  this  pessimism  may,  after all,  prove  less  of  value  in  the  reaction  it  provokes than  in  the  new  perceptions  of  life's  problem  which it  forces.  However  morbidly  exaggerated  the  teach ing  of  it,  there  may  have  been  need  of  such  teaching. It  is  true  that  we  advance  by  ideals;  and  yet  we  must not  allow  the  Ideal,  as  a  mere  abstract,  to  veil  from us  the  real  horror  and  misery  and  pity  of  struggling life.  Perhaps  the  fault  of  the  old  idealism  was  its artistic  exclusiveness ;  and  Zola  was  right  in  calling it  a  "drawing-room  Idealism."  Such  art  could appeal  to  a  very  small  section  of  the  human  mind. The  future  needs  a  fiction  to  appeal  to  the  hearts  of all  who  can  read  and  feel.  The  cunning  of  it  is  given to  but  few;  — yet  I  think  Rudyard  Kipling  is  of those  thus  favoured  by  the  Gods. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 160,      LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN September  7,  1893.    « DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  suspect  you  are  more than  right  about  a  want  of  something  in  Symonds. The  Atlantic  critic  said  it  was  the  lack  of  the story-teller's  power,  essential  to  the  really  great  his torian.  I  think,  too,  that  Symonds  must  have  felt the  hand  of  Death  upon  him,  and  have  handled  his material  hurriedly,  —  without  that  thorough  diges tion  of  it  necessary  for  dramatic  effect. I  have  never  been  in  Italy  since  a  child,  and  know it  only  from  books.  When  six  years  old  I  spoke  two languages,  —  Romaic  and  Italian,  both  now  utterly forgotten.  But  what  a  delight  I  should  have  to  visit Italy  now.  From  my  reading,  and  from  pictures,  I suppose  what  you  say  about  the  inferiority  of  the Italian  Cathedrals  must  be  true.  Indeed  the  climate could  scarcely  be  suited  to  Gothic  architecture,  eh? But  I  would  like  to  know  whether  Milan  is  an  excep tion  in  your  judgment.  Taine  says  it  is  not.  But Tennyson  cries,  — O  Milan!  O  the  chanting  choirs,  — The  giant  windows'  blazoned  fires,  — The  height,  the  depth,  the  gloom,  the  glory!  — A  mount  of  marble,  —  a  hundred  spires! Now  this  does  give  an  idea  of  imperial  Gothic magnificence.  But  is  it  true  ? On  the  subject  of  Japanese  smells.  No  one  who has  lived  much  in  the  tropics  is  likely  to  be  bothered by  smells  in  Japan,  —  except  when  feeling  unwell.  I was  only  badly  bothered  in  Oki.  I  fear  you  could  not bear  Saigo;  for  even  the  Japanese,  in  all  their  houses there,  keep  incense  burning.  Though  very  fond  of TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  161 daikon,  I  don't  like  to  smell  it  while  being  cooked; and  the  smells  made  by  the  scavengers  are,  of  course, severe  temporary  trials.  In  Tokyo  I  never  noticed any  smells,  nor  in  Kyoto.  The  sense  of  smell  varies much  in  different  persons.  A  friend  in  the  Southern States  had  such  a  faculty  that  he  could  track  a  deer by  scent,  as  well  as  one  of  his  own  hounds.  He  was a  polished  gentleman  of  the  old  school,  and  appre ciated  delicate  odours;  but  he  told  me  that  his  faculty was  a  great  suffering  to  him.  There  is  certainly  no doubt  of  one  fact,  —  that  by  living  constantly  in  the midst  of  any  particular  odour,  one  finally  ceases  to detect  its  existence. What  you  say  about  the  great  poets  is  most  true. Still,  I  think  we  lose  a  great  deal  of  pleasure  by  con fining  ourselves  to  the  Masters.  I  read  every  poet  I can  get  hold  of.  I  read  therefore  a  vast  heap  of  rub bish.  But  I  am  rewarded  by  the  discovery  of  rubies, and  diamonds,  and  emeralds.  Take  Joaquin  Miller. No  man  has  written  at  times  more  absurdly.  But what  divine  surprises  and  jets  of  light  he  has  at times,  —  as  in  that  magnificent  outcry  to  the  Plains, beginning  with  the  words  "Room! — room — "  or as  in  that  verse,  — I  saw  the  lightning's  gleaming  rod Reach  forth,  and  write  upon  the  sky The  awful  autograph  of  God,  — or  in  those  lines  from  the  "Ship  in  the  Desert  ":  — A  land  of  Silences,  —  a  land Of  shoreless  deserts  strewn  with  sand Where  Desolation's  dwelling  is;  — Where,  wandering  from  day  to  day, You  say,  "To-morrow  sure  we  come 163  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN To  rest  in  some  cool  resting  place,"  — And  yet  you  journey  on  through  space While  seasons  pass,  and  are  struck  dumb With  MarveLat  the  distances.  .  .  . I  quote  from  memory;  so  may  do  injustice  to  my favourites.  But  I  must  venture  to  close  by  trying  to quote  from  James  Maurice  Thompson.  Who  cares for  James  Maurice  Thompson?  Yet  he  wrote  "  Ata- lanta's  Race":  — When  Spring  is  old,  and  dewy  winds Blow  from  the  south,  with  odours  sweet, I  see  my  love,  in  shadowy  groves, Speed  down  dark  aisles  on  shining  feet. She  throws  a  kiss,  and  bids  me  run In  whispers  sweet  as  roses'  breath; I  know  I  cannot  win  the  race, And,  at  the  end,  I  know  is  death. Yet  joyfully  I  bare  my  limbs, Anoint  me  with  the  tropic  breeze, And  feel  through  every  sinew  run The  vigour  of  Hippomenes. Oh!  race  of  Love,  we  all  have  run Thy  happy  course  through  groves  of  spring, And  cared  not  while  we  lost  or  won For  life  or  death,  or  anything! Imagine  how  utterly  foreign  to  Japanese  feeling  all this!  Could  not  even  be  explained. Faithfully  ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. September  9,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Conder's  book  on  Gar dens  rather  knocks  my  attempt  to  write  about  the philosophy  of  the  Eternal  Feminine,: — West  and TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  163 East.  I  had  imagined  no  sex-idea  connected  with Japanese  love  of  nature.  But  it  seems  there  is  a  sex- idea,  and  a  pairing  idea  even,  in  the  arrangement  of stones.  Of  course  it  is  different  from  our  idea.  But it  is  there.  All  my  Japanese  experience  convinces me  of  this  fact:  "  There  is  nothing  absent  from  Japan ese  life  which  we  imagine  to  be  absent ;  all  we  have  is there,  —  only  the  colour  is  different!"  My  first  ideas were  like  Lowell's,  about  the  absence  of  individ uality.  There  are  millions  of  individualities,  but one  has  to  live  close  to  them  to  discover  them.  They are  strong,  but  their  tints  are  not  the  same. I  believe  I  may  have  been  vaguely  half  right.  Our sexual  idea  is  probably  nude  and  Greek,  and  that  of the  Japanese  robed  and  Oriental.  Perhaps  Japanese art  might  say  to  the  Western  idealist  something  like what  a  Minister  of  Spain  said  to  the  fellow  who wanted  to  present  the  Queen  with  a  pair  of  silk stockings,  "Know,  sirrah!  that  the  Queen  of  Spain has  no  legs!'9  Might  not  Japanese  art,  as  I  suggest, observe  to  us,  "Know,  sirrah!  that  Nature  has sex,  but  not  any  geometrical  lines  of  thigh,  breast, or  of  those  parts  which  inspired  your  Venus  Kalli- pyge,  and  which  you  are  always  thinking  about!" Yet  I  don't  see  how  to  say  this  in  an  English  essay with  proper  convincing  force. The  other  day  I  was  astonished  to  hear  the  bam boo  curtain  suspended  in  front  of  doorways  called  a kirishitan.  Asking  for  explanation,  I  was  told  this: The  peculiarity  of  the  bamboo  curtain  is  that  it prevents  any  one  outside  from  seeing  into  the  house, while  those  inside  the  house  can  see  through  it  very 164  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN plainly  everything  which  happens  outside.  And  this is  like  magic.  Now  a  Christian  is  a  sort  of  wicked magician:  therefore  the  curtain  is  called  a  Christ ian.  I  suppose  this  must  be  from  the  days  of  the padres.  What  do  you  think  of  it  for  an  etymology? If  you  ever  do  get  to  work  on  that  much-to-be- hoped-for  illustrated  edition  of  "Things  Japanese," don't  fail  to  call  on  me  for  anything  you  think  I  can offer  in  the  line  of  contributions. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. September  14,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  The  first  of  your  two  un answered  letters  brought  me  woeful  ideas;  —  I  tried to  answer  it,  but  failed  to  do  so  to  my  own  satisfac tion.  I  found  fault  with  your  doctor,  and  with  Miya- noshita,  and  with  all  sorts  of  things,  —  without being  able  to  suggest  any  more  satisfactory  means of  improvement.  But  your  next  letter  brought  me joy;  and  I  am  full  of  hope  again  that  you  will  pass a  good  winter. I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  know  little  of  Pascal  except the  "Pensees;"  but  I  am  going  to  send  for  him  and read  him  through, — together  with  Rousseau  and  Boi- leau,  whom  I  have  known  hitherto  only  by  detached works.  What  you  tell  me  about  Symonds  is  simply awful.  It  was  especially  the  Italian  literature  of  the "  Renascence  "  I  hoped  to  be  made  acquainted  with. Yriarte,  in  his  "Un  Condottiere  au  XVI  siecle," made  me  hungry  for  more  knowledge  on  the  subject. Rossetti  gave  us  delicious  specimens  of  the  pre- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  165 Raphaelite  poets,  from  1200  to  1300;  but  how  fill  up the  awful  lacuna  that  Symonds  has  left.  By  the way,  I  suppose  you  know  the  French  have  reprinted Burchard,  —  in  Latin,  of  course,  —  the  terrified secretary  of  Alexander  Borgia.  I  think  the  pub lisher  is  Ernest  Leroux.  What  a  reading  that  would be! You  are  right  about  Holmes  being  very  light  as  a poet.  I  think  you  would  like  Aldrich  more  on  closer acquaintance.  His  "Judith"  is  worthy  almost  of Tennyson.  Bret  Harte,  I  think,  is  great  in  his  pathos and  his  weirdness,  —  especially  in  such  pieces  as "Conception  de  Argillas,"  "For  el  Key,"  — "Miss Blanche's  Rose,"  etc.  .  .  . My  grind  has  begun  again.  This  term  twenty-one hours  a  week.  Every  year,  I  remark,  they  try  to make  my  work  more  practical,  and  less  theoretical. I  have  no  books,  and  now  three  fresh  conversation- classes.  Japanese  students  do  seem  to  lack  one thing,  —  spontaneity.  Conversation  must  be  al ways  painfully  forced  by  questions.  Original  ques tions,  original  suggestions,  original  ideas  are  sel dom  uttered.  They  are  written  sometimes;  but  out of  four  hundred  —  no,  out  of  fully  one  thousand —  that  I  have  taught,  I  do  not  remember  ten  ac customed  to  ask  or  to  say  original  things.  Per haps  there  were  eight.  Out  of  that  eight,  two  are dead. I  have  no  belief  in  the  worth  of  a  literary  course for  Japanese  students.  The  standard  is  too  low.  No class  has  sufficient  mastery  of  English  to  feel  an author,  nor  even  to  understand  the  difference  be- 166  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN tween  poetry  and  prose.  "Teacher!  it  is  no  use  to put  that  into  rhyme  for  us  —  we  see  no  difference between  prose  and  verse."  I  fancy  the  literary course  in  the  University  itself  must  be  of  little  value to  those  who  follow  it.  The  great  rush  is  to  the Law!  The  reason  seems  to  be  that  this  branch  of study  requires  especially  the  strong  faculty  of Japanese  students,  —  Memory;  while  the  Scientific and  Technological  branches  require  a  faculty  sel dom  developed  among  them  to  any  high  degree,  — Mathematics.  At  least  I  imagine  this  to  be  the  case. One  disheartening  fact  the  teacher  has  to  face  is that  he  need  never  expect  to  be  able  to  influence  his classes  much  through  imagination  —  so  powerful  an auxiliary  elsewhere,  — not  because  his  students  have no  imagination,  but  because  he  can  offer  them  no thing  capable  of  stimulating  such  imagination  as they  have.  Now  what  the  devil  is  the  use  of  trying to  teach  English  literature  to  a  class  totally  insens ible  to  European  imagination?  It  is  pure  waste  of time  and  money. .  .  .  The  weather  has  become  diabolically  change able  —  approaching  winter.  Heavy  shock  of  earth quake  the  other  night. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. September  16,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Many  thanks  for  the Eclectic  which  I  read  with  much  pleasure,  and return  to-day  by  this  mail.  I  see  that  Pearson's book  is  making  a  great  sensation.  As  I  wrote  to  you TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  167 long  ago,  I  have  been  inclined  to  the  same  conclu sions  as  Pearson  reaches,  for  some  years;  but  I arrived  at  them  by  different  methods.  My  life  in  the tropics  taught  me  what  tropical  life  means  for  white races,  — after  the  trial  of  three  hundred  years;  — America  taught  me  something  about  the  formidable character  of  the  Chinese,  and  taught  me  also  the enormous  cost  of  existing  civilization  to  the  Western individual.  I  think  it  highly  probable  that  the  white races,  after  having  bequeathed  all  their  knowledge to  the  Orient,  will  ultimately  disappear,  just  as  the ichthyosaurus  and  other  marvellous  creatures  have disappeared,  —  simply  because  of  the  cost  of  their structure.  There  is  something  very  sinister  in  the fact  that  the  cost  of  life  to  an  Englishman  is  just about  twenty  times  the  cost  of  life  to  an  Oriental, nor  does  the  difference  of  the  two  in  mental  capacity and  energy  by  any  means  correspond  to  the  differ ence  in  ability  to  live.  I  have  sent  for  Pearson.  His critics  are  very  amusing  so  far.  The  Reverend  one finds  fault  with  him  because  he  does  n't  consider "Gawd"  as  a  factor  in  the  case;  —  Harrison,  be cause  he  does  n't  count  upon  Idealism,  whatever that  may  be,  as  a  factor.  Idealism,  in  one  sense, certainly  leads  to  moral  and  aesthetic  development; but  neither  moral  nor  aesthetic  development  can  be counted  on  as  factors  in  the  mere  struggle  to  live;  — while  we  are  bound  to  recognize  the  terrible  truth that  "the  law  of  Murder  is  the  law  of  growth." Please  just  glance  at  the  English  words  at  the  top of  this  "ad. "  from  the  Asahi  Shimbun.  I  You  will  not venture  to  include  this  display  of  Westernization  in 168  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN "English  as  She  is  Japped;"  but  it  will  serve  to lighten  the  humours  of  a  gloomy  day. Ever  most  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. September  20,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  No,  you  never  told  me about  that  delightful  old  man  before:  it  was  one  of the  subjects,  however,  which  I  wanted  to  talk  with you  about  if  we  ever  got  time,  —  because  I  knew from  the  preface  of  "Things  Japanese"  there  was a  romance  there.  What  a  charming  sketch  you  could make,  or  give  to  me  to  make.  Perhaps  you  are the  only  one  in  all  Japan  who  could  make  it;  —  for the  old  men  are  all  dead  or  hidden  away  in  that obscurity  which  precedes  death.  Besides,  even  if  one could  now  find  such  an  old  man,  he  would  not  now be  so  charming:  he  would  have  seen  too  much  of  the new,  he  would  be  changed  in  soul  and  in  costume;  he would  have  laid  aside  much  of  the  beautiful  naivete which  you  saw,  together  with  his  queue  and  his swords. Each  new  generation  of  students  seems  to  me  a little  harder-featured,  more  unsmiling,  more  sullen, more  lacking  in  spontaneity,  and  less  courteous, than  the  preceding.  I  don't  much  love  them.  They are  very,  very  queer  in  Kyushu.  While  my  old Izumo  boys  still  write  to  me,  these  seldom  even  say good-bye  to  ANY  of  their  teachers  before  going  to Tokyo.  This  year,  indeed,  they  sent  me  a  deputa tion;  but  last  year  none;  and  the  other  teachers  have told  me  that,  on  their  return  from  Tokyo  during  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  169 vacation,  they  don't  even  call  on  their  old  masters. There  is  something  dead  wrong  in  this  brutally apathetic  attitude  of  teachers  and  students;  and that  something  wrong  must  have  an  ill-effect  upon the  after-life  of  both.  I  don't  like  it;  and  if  all  gov ernment-schools  are  so,  I  had  rather  teach  —  were it  possible  —  in  a  Buddhist  charity  school. ...  A  curious  instance  of  Japanese  character  came to  my  notice  the  other  day.  I  was  informed  by  letter that  some  Christian  students,  among  whom  was  one of  my  old  pupils,  had  been  trying  to  obey  the  teach ing  of  some  beastly  bigot  by  refusing  to  show  respect to  the  shades  at  some  Shinto  temple.  They  were  not kindly  treated  by  the  other  students,  as  you  may imagine.  I  sympathized  much  with  one  of  them,  — a  very  sweet-hearted  boy,  —  and  wrote  him  a  long letter  of  explanation  and  reproach.  I  put  the  mat ter  on  the  ground  of  common-sense  politeness  and common  heart-religion.  Then  I  hesitated.  I  felt convinced  that  if  I  sent  such  a  letter  to  English students,  on  the  same  sort  of  an  occasion,  the  result would  be  pure  mischief  only.  Finally  I  sent  it  to  a teacher,  instead,  requesting  him  first  to  read  it,  and to  hold  or  deliver  as  he  deemed  best.  He  delivered. To  my  pleasant  surprise,  the  result  has  been  of  the happiest.  The  Xn  boys  held  council,  discussed  the points,  and  nobly  confessed  in  a  public  way  they had  been  misled.  They  remain  Xns,  but  I  don't think,  from  what  has  been  told  me,  that  they  will make  any  more  such  mistakes.  This  is  quite  nice, —  is  n't  it? 170  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN September  23,  1893.  ^, DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  My  old  Inkyo  has  amus ing  small  misfortunes.  He  likes  to  go  out  for  a  walk, but  generally  loses  his  way,  —  and  tries  to  help  him self  home  again  by  looking  at  the  tops  of  the  moun tains.  Sometimes  he  succeeds.  But  when  the  day  is foggy,  and  he  cannot  see  the  mountains,  he  has  to ask.  And  as  he  speaks  the  old  Izumo  dialect,  and cannot  understand  the  Kumamoto  folk  at  all  —  the questioning  avails  him  nothing.  So  he  sits  in  a  store somewhere  and  waits  till  we  send  out  to  look  for him.  Then,  when  we  get  him  home,  he  tells  us  the history  of  his  adventures  —  which  are  always  funny. To-day  they  picked  his  pocket  in  a  crowd.  It  is  a great  crazy-festival  day  (Hachiman),  —  on  which they  drive  horses  through  the  streets,  curiously caparisoned,  with  shouts  of  Boshitari !  Chosen  Boshi- tari  I  said  to  be  a  memorial-cry  from  the  time  of Kato-Kiyomasa,  who  prayed  to  Hachiman  before going  to  Chosen.  It  is  a  rough  festival!  At  all  the larger  houses  the  horse  is  halted;  and  the  crowd  is supplied  with  sake  and  salt  fish.  I  contribute,  of course.  Each  street  has  its  own  horse,  and  its  own band  of  runners  —  in  gay  attire;  and  all  bands  have a  captain,  who  superintends  the  visits,  and  sees  that the  sake  is  given  only  to  his  own  men.  So  nobody  is imposed  on.  But  the  old  man  went  out  to  see  a dance  —  a  No  dance;  and  fell  among  strangers.  His loss  was  trifling;  but  he  became  impressed  by  the difference  between  Kyushu  and  Izumo  crowds. The  other  night  we  had  a  singular  festival  next door.  A  teacher  of  dancing  —  an  old  woman  of  our TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  171 neighbourhood  —  died  last  year;  and  on  the  anni versary  of  her  death,  her  ihai  were  placed  on  a  plat form  erected  for  the  occasion  next  door,  and  offer ings  set  before  it.  Then  all  the  little  girls  she  had taught — from  four  years  up  —  were  brought  to  dance before  the  ihai  to  please  her  spirit.  The  dainty  little fairy  darlings.  I  went  behind  the  scenes  and  saw  all the  dressing.  The  children  were  all  faultless  till  the dance  was  over  —  but  then  being  tired  they  would cry  a  little;  and  their  mothers  would  carry  them home,  —  looking  like  wonderful  dolls  in  their  tiny gorgeous  Kagura-dresses.  Surely  a  Japanese  baby- girl  is  the  sweetest  thing  in  all  this  world. Beyond  the  other  side  of  the  garden  I  hear  and see  something  much  less  pleasing  —  the  training  of a  little  geisha.  The  child  is  very  young;  but  she  is obliged  to  sing  nearly  seven  hours  every  day.  I  can tell  what  time  it  is  by  the  tone  of  weariness  in  her voice.  Sometimes  she  breaks  down  and  cries  to  be let  alone  in  vain.  They  do  not  beat  her  —  but  she must  sing.  Some  day  she  will  revenge  herself  on  the world  for  this  —  and  "sarve  it  right!" The  tsuku-tsuku-boshi  is  not  yet  dead;  but  it sings  only  at  long  intervals.  There  is  great  heat  still —  alternating  with  spells  of  sudden  cold  —  each  a little  bit  sharper  than  the  last.  Here  winter  and summer  come  and  go  by  sudden  jerks.  What  a funny  country  it  is.  There  is  nothing  steady  or  per manent  in  Nature.  There  is  nothing  steady  or permanent  in  the  race-character.  And  for  fear  that anything  should  be  allowed  to  evolve  and  crystal lize  into  anything  resembling  order,  everything 173  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN is  being  constantly  remodelled  and  removed  and reformed !  What,  what  can  come  out  of  all  this  arti ficial  fluidity !       -^  , Jbver  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. September  24,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  The  pendulum  has  swung to  the  right  again;  and  the  blue  devils  have  van ished;  and  Kumamoto  seems  a  good  place  to  stay  in for  another  two  years.  What  do  you  think  of  that! —  I  wonder  whether  Watson's  poems  had  anything to  do  with  it.  I  have  by  no  means  read  them  all  yet. This  poetry  is  like  wedding-cake:  one  must  eat  only a  little  at  a  time.  "The  Dream  of  Man"  is  high sublimity;  and  urged  me  to  fresh  work  at  once  on my  "Stone  Buddha."  I  was  considering  exactly the  same  puzzle;  but  my  theory,  luckily,  is  quite  the reverse.  It  is  that  the  motive  and  creative  power of  the  universe  are  burnt-out  passions  and  fears and  sorrows,  which  only  transformed  as  forces  by death  must  continue  to  make  birth  and  rebirth  till such  time  as  they  reach  a  second  and  supreme  form of  transformation  by  the  triumph  in  all  worlds  of Buddha's  own  theory.  Alas!  I  can't  write  poetry. Reading  the  introduction,  or  dedication,  to  "Lon don,"  there  flashed  to  me  memory  of  a  mightier poem  of  the  same  kind  by  a  smaller  poet :  —  do  you remember  the  colossal  power  of  Alexander  Smith's "Edinburgh"?  Smith  could  not  have  written  "The Dream  of  Man,"  but  he  felt  the  grim  heart  of  a  city as  I  think  no  one  else  —  certainly  no  Latin  —  ever TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  173 felt  it.  Indeed  Latin  lands  have  not  yet  developed that  awful  thing,  an  industrial  centre,  as  the  Eng lish  and  the  Americans  have,  —  the  industrial  cen tre,  whose  blood  is  steam,  whose  nerves  are  steel, — devouring  the  weak,  consuming  the  strong, — the machine  in  whose  cogwork  each  man  knows  himself caught  and  doomed  to  whirl  forever. 1  There  are  bits  here  and  there  that  make  me  think of  Villon.  (Of  course  you  know  Payne's  wonderful translations.)  I  was  a  little  startled  by  the  verses on  Oscar  Wilde.  Why  do  we  feel  that  a  poet  like Watson  has  no  right  to  be  a  mocker,  to  say  cruel things  to  his  fellow  man?  We  feel  the  same  in  read ing  Tennyson's  terrible  satire  on  Bulwer  Lytton, and  Browning's  brutal  anger  at  Edward  FitzGerald. I  think  we  regard  it  as  we  regard  an  obscene  poem by  a  priest,  or  in  other  words  a  sort  of  sacrilege  to self.  We  have  not  yet  learned  (as  I  think  we  shall some  day)  to  confess  aloud  that  the  highest  poetry is  a  religion,  and  its  world-priests  the  true  prophets and  teachers.  But  we  feel  it.  Therefore  we  are shocked  and  pained  when  these  betray  any  sign  of those  paltry  or  mean  passions  above  which  their  art at  other  times  lifts  us. To-day  I  must  tell  you  the  Legend  of  my  house. There  are,  you  know,  two  kinds  of  Haunters  in Japan,  —  the  Living  and  the  Dead.  He  who  built this  house  to  spend  his  age  in  was  happy  in  all things,  except  a  child.  So  he  and  his  wife  made agreement  with  a  girl  to  bear  a  child  for  them,  under certain  conditions:  Rachel  and  her  handmaid.  She gave  him  a  boy;  and  he  sent  her  away,  —  hiring  a 174  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN nurse  for  the  boy.  But  he  did  not  keep  his  promise in  all  things,  —  and  even  his  wife  blamed  him. Whereat  he  said  nothing.  Presently,  for  the  first time  in  his  life,  he  fell  ill.  The  physician  (a  garrison doctor),  after  trying  what  could  be  done,  declared he  must  die.  The  Kannushi  told  him  why  —  "there was  an  iki-ryo  in  his  home."  So  others  said.  Then remorse  seized  him.  They  tried  to  find  the  girl.  She was  gone  —  lost  in  the  forty  millions,  God  knows where.  And  the  days  dragged  in  uttermost  pain. Then  came  a  hyakusho,  saying  he  had  heard  where the  woman  was;  he  might  be  able  to  bring  her  back within  a  week.  But  the  sick  man  said,  —  "No,  she would  not  forgive  in  her  hearty  it  is  too  late."  And  he re-turned  his  face  to  the  wall  and  died.  Then  the widow,  and  the  little  boy,  and  the  pet  cat  went away;  and  I  took  up  my  dwelling  in  the  house.  The iki-ryo  has  passed. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. September  27,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — To-day  there  came  to  the school  the  whole  Normal  School  of  Riu-Kiu,  — the  Shihan-Gakko  of  Horai.  They  were  received  in the  Gymnastic  Hall,  where  all  our  boys  were  drawn up  in  hollow  square.  Then  the  first  student  of  our highest  class  made  a  speech  of  welcome;  and  the first  of  the  Loochooan  students  responded  briefly. The  director  was  a  Japanese. Except  that  the  islanders  had  darker  skins,  they looked  just  like  Japanese.  They  wore  white  cotton TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  175 trousers,  and  short  close  blue  jackets.  They  go hence  to  Dazaifu,  to  visit  the  Temple  of  Tenjin,  and to  Hakata,  etc.  What  impressed  me  was  the  curious formalism  of  the  whole  reception.  It  ought  to  have been  (by  European  code)  highly  enthusiastic.  It  was all  silent  and  expressionless  as  a  phantom  meeting, —  though  the  classes  were  broken  for  it.  What  curi ous  souls !  —  How  much  would  I  not  give  to  be  able to  see  into  them ! I  have  conquered  the  first  vexation  of  licking  my cubs  into  shape.  They  are  good  boys,  —  as  a  whole; but  each  new  class  comes  in  absolutely  savage. Only  the  Gods  know  how  they  have  been  trained.  It takes  real  trouble  for  a  while  to  get  them  into  the regular  drill.  And  you  know  how  a  foreign  teacher is  placed  —  he  has  no  moral  support  whatever,  and must  smooth  everything  himself.  I  have  never  been obliged  to  complain  —  but  I  feel,  if  I  did,  that  the blame  of  the  result  would  be  rather  for  me  than  for the  offenders.  The  whole  idea  is  that  a  good  teacher should  be  able  to  keep  his  crew  in  hand;  if  he  com plains,  it  is  a  sign  that  HE  is  wrong !  There  is  some sense  in  the  policy,  but  it  is  too  d — bly  general. Speaking  of  the  oddity  of  the  reception  of  our guests  from  Horai,  reminds  me  of  another  queer  fact I  want  to  chat  with  you  about.  It  affords  a  strik ing  proof  of  the  fact  that  any  foreigner  who,  without very  considerable  experiences,  ventures  to  draw  in ferences  about  Japanese  conduct  is  sure  to  be  dead wrong. You  remember  my  story  about  the  iki-ryo.  It  is true,  of  course.  Now  listen  to  the  odd  sequel.  The 176  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN people  blamed  the  girl  very  much.  They  attributed to  her  the  death  of  the  man  who  had  been  unkind  to her.  They  sympathized  with  her,  but  they  blamed her. Here  comes  the  puzzle.  Why  did  they  blame  her? Perhaps  you  don't  perceive  the  whole  face  of  the puzzle  yet.  She  was  not  blamed  as  a  witch.  She was  not  blamed  for  sorcery.  But  she  was  blamed  for the  death  —  caused  by  the  haunting  of  the  iki-ryo. Now  the  sending  of  an  iki-ryo  is  not  voluntary  at all.  Other  Things  (with  a  capital  "T")  may  be  sent. But  an  iki-ryo  goes  forth  quite  i  ndependently  of  the will  of  the  person  from  whom  it  emanates,  and  even without  the  knowledge  of  that  person. How  then  could  the  people  blame  the  woman  for the  coming  of  the  iki-ryo  and  the  death  of  the  man? Well,  they  blamed  her  for  being  TOO  angry, — because  anger  secretly  nursed  may  cause  an  iki-ryo to  form,  and  therefore  she  ought  to  have  known  bet ter  than  to  allow  herself  to  be  so  angry! Who  could  divine  such  an  explanation  of  the facts  in  the  case?  Eh? Faithfully  ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. October  2,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  think  you  are  right about  Etajima,  —  especially  as  my  little  woman would  be  very  lonesome  in  such  a  place.  What attracted  me  especially  was  the  idea  of  the  divine Sea,  —  the  smell  of  it,  —  the  swirl  and  the  sound  of it  and  the  soul  of  it,  —  a  chance  to  swim  every  day, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  177 and  to  watch  the  changing  face  of  the  water.  That would  be  heaven,  —  in  days  to  come. I  don't  know  how  to  praise  Watson.  He  is  fine, fine !  —  delicate,  deep,  penetrant.  I  am  going  to return  him,  together  with  the  Pascal.  What  a genius  was  P. ;  yet  one  cannot  help  regretting  that so  much  genius  and  wit  and  charm  of  style  had  to  be used  up  simply  in  attacking  error.  What  would  not Milton  too  have  given  us  had  he  not  wasted  his  eyes and  his  years  in  polemics? Would  you  not  like  to  read  Proude's  "Spanish Story  of  the  Armada"?  And  I  will  soon  have  Pear son  for  you.  He  is  a  little  ponderous;  but  a  thinker worth  feeling.  He  is  not,  however,  a  man  of  magical style,  like  Harrison,  who  grips  your  hand,  and  makes you  feel  the  warmth  of  the  pulse  in  it.  Pearson  has no  pulse.  He  is  just  as  cold  and  keen  as  Herbert Spencer,  to  whom,  curious !  —  he  makes  but  a  single reference,  though  I  can  see  that  Spencer  was  his intellectual  milk.  How  selfish  authors  sometimes are  to  their  teachers!  .  .  . I  have  been  studying  Japanese  babies.  I  have none  of  my  own  yet.  But  there  is  a  pretty  custom. When  a  woman  is  about  to  become  a  mother,  she borrows  a  baby;  and  it  is  thought  an  honour  to  lend it.  Of  course  it  is  petted  extraordinarily;  but  no amount  of  petting  could  spoil  the  child  now  in  the house.  It  is  only  six  months  old,  but  expresses  in a  supreme  degree  all  Japanese  virtues.  For  example, it  never  cries  or  shows  vexation.  It  invariably smiles  when  smiled  at.  It  is  docile  to  the  degree  of going  to  sleep  whenever  bidden,  and  of  laughing 178  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN immediately  as  soon  as  it  is  awakened.  Sometimes I  feel  downright  afraid  of  it;  it  knows  infinitely  too much;  and  I  strongly  suspect  that  it  still  remembers all  its  former  births.  My  own  child  certainly  will never  be  such  an  angel.  This  is  the  Buddha  himself. I  wonder  that  lotos  flowers  as  large  as  chariot  wheels do  not  rise  up  through  the  floor,  and  that  all  the dead  trees  in  the  neighbourhood  have  not  begun  to blossom. Another  visitor  comes  of  its  own  accord.  It  is  a girl;  and  its  name  is  Bamboo.  It  is  fourteen  months old.  It  walks  into  the  house,  and  gravely  salutes each  inhabitant.  Then  it  points  to  each  tree  in  the garden,  and  says  "Ki!"  Then  it  points  to  the  stones and  says  "is5  I!";  always  putting  its  finger  to  its mouth  afterwards.  Each  day  it  has  a  new  word.  It loved  me  till  it  saw  me  one  day  in  yqfuku.  I  fear its  ancestral  recollections  are  not  good ;  for  it  cried loudly  and  fled,  —  mistaking  me  for  a  policeman  (all in  white).  Now  Missy  Bamboo  is  the  child  of  poor but  honest  parents.  But,  O  Missy  Bamboo,  what were  you  in  the  previous  birth?  that  you  should fear  a  nice,  good  policeman? Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. October  11,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  am  thinking  it  is  time to  write  you  —  though  there  is  no  news.  Suppose  I write  you  of  one  day  of  my  life  as  a  sample.  I  don't see  why  I  should  n't  —  though  I  would  not  write  it to  anybody  else  on  either  side  the  world. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  179 Morning,  6  A.  M.  —  The  little  alarm  clock  rings. Wife  rises  and  wakes  me,  —  with  the  salutation  de rigeur  of  old  Samurai  days.  I  get  myself  into  a squatting,  posture,  draw  the  never-extinguished hibachi  to  the  side  of  the  futons,  and  begin  to  smoke. The  servants  enter,  prostrate  themselves,  and  say good  morning  to  the  danna-sama,  and  proceed  to open  the  t5.  Meanwhile  in  the  other  chambers  the little  oil  lamps  have  been  lighted  before  the  tablets of  the  ancestors,  and  the  Buddhist  (not  the  Shinto deities)  —  and  prayers  are  being  said,  and  offerings to  the  ancestors  made.  (Spirits  are  not  supposed  to eat  the  food  offered  them,  —  only  to  absorb  some  of its  living  essence.  Therefore  the  offerings  are  very small.)  Already  the  old  men  are  in  the  garden, saluting  the  rising  sun,  and  clapping  their  hands, and  murmuring  the  Izumo  prayers.  I  stop  smok ing,  and  make  my  toilet  on  the  Engawa. 7  A.  M.  —  Breakfast.  Very  light  —  eggs  and  toast. Lemonade  with  a  spoonful  of  whiskey  in  it;  and black  coffee.  Wife  serves;  and  I  always  make  her eat  a  little  with  me.  But  she  eats  sparingly,  —  as she  must  afterward  put  in  an  appearance  at  the regular  family  breakfast.  Then  kurumaya  comes. I  begin  to  put  on  my  yofuku.  I  did  not  at  first like  the  Japanese  custom,  —  that  the  wife  should give  each  piece  of  clothing  in  regular  order,  see  to the  pockets,  etc.;  —  I  thought  it  encouraged  lazi ness  in  a  man.  But  when  I  tried  to  oppose  it,  I  found I  was  giving  offence  and  spoiling  pleasure.  So  I  sub mit  to  the  ancient  rule. 7.30  A.  M.  —  All  gather  at  the  door  to  say  Sayo- 180  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN nara;  but  the  servants  stand  outside,  —  according to  the  new  custom  requiring  the  servants  to  stand when  the  master  is  in  yofuku.  I  light  a  cigar,  —  kiss a  hand  extended  to  me  (this  is  the  only  imported custom),  and  pass  to  the  school. (Blank  of  4  to  5  hours.) Returning,  at  the  call  of  the  kurumaya,  —  all come  to  the  door  again  as  before,  to  greet  me  with the  O-Kaeri;  and  I  have  to  submit  to  aid  in  undress ing,  and  in  putting  on  the  kimono,  obi,  etc.  The kneeling-cushion  and  hibachi  are  ready.  There  is  a letter  from  Chamberlain  San,  or  Mason  San.  Dinner. The  rest  eat  only  when  I  am  finished:  because there  are  two  inkyo,  but  I  am  the  worker.  The  prin ciple  is  that  the  family  supporter's  wants  are  first to  be  considered,  —  though  in  other  matters  he  does not  rank  first.  For  instance,  the  place  of  honour when  sitting  together  is  always  by  age  and  parentage. I  then  take  the  fourth  place,  and  wife  the  fifth.  And the  old  man  is  always  then  served  the  first. During  the  repast  there  is  a  sort  of  understanding that  the  rest  of  the  family  and  the  servants  are  not to  be  disturbed  without  necessity.  There  is  no  rule; but  the  custom  I  respect.  So  I  never  go  into  that part  of  the  house  unnecessarily  till  they  are  finished. There  is  also  some  etiquette  about  favourite  places, —  which  is  strictly  observed. 3  P.  M.  4.  —  If  very  hot,  everybody  sleeps,  —  the servants  sleeping  by  turns.  If  cool  and  pleasant, all  work.  The  women  make  clothes.  The  men  do  all kinds  of  little  things  in  the  garden  and  elsewhere. Children  come  to  play.  The  Asahi  Shimbun  arrives. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  ,  J81 6  P.  M.  —  Bath  hour. 6.30-7.30.  —  Supper. 8  P.  M.  —  Everybody  squats  round  the  hako- hibachi  to  hear  the  Asahi  Shimbun  read,  or  to  tell stories.  Sometimes  the  paper  does  not  come,  — then  curious  games  are  played,  in  which  the  girls join.  The  mother  sews  at  intervals.  One  game  is very  original.  A  piece  of  string  is  tied  in  a  large  loop, and  a  number  of  little  loops  and  ends  are  made  with short  pieces  of  string.  Then  the  large  loop  is  spread on  a  velvet  zabuton,  so  as  to  form  the  outline  of  the face  of  Otafuku.  Blindfolded,  then,  the  players must  put  the  other  loose  ends  and  bits  of  string inside  the  circle,  so  as  to  make  the  rest  of  the  face. But  this  is  hard  to  do,  and  every  mistake  produces extraordinary  comicalities.  But  if  the  night  is  very fine,  we  sometimes  go  out  —  always  taking  turns  so that  the  girls  get  their  share  of  the  outing.  Some times  the  theatre  is  the  attraction.  Sometimes  there are  guests.  I  think  the  greatest  joy,  though,  is  the discovery  and  purchase  of  odd  or  pretty  things  in some  lamp-lit  shop  at  night.  It  is  brought  home  in great  triumph,  and  all  sit  round  it  in  a  circle  to  ad mire.  My  own  evening,  however,  is  generally  passed in  writing.  If  guests  come  for  me,  the  rest  of  the family  remains  invisible  till  they  go  away,  —  except wife,  —  that  is,  if  the  guests  are  important.  Then she  sees  to  their  comfort.  Ordinary  guests  are  served only  by  the  girls. As  evening  wanes,  the  turn  of  the  Kami-sama comes.  During  the  day,  they  received  their  usual offerings;  but  it  is  at  night  the  special  prayers  are 182  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN made.  The  little  lamps  are  lighted;  and  each  of  the family  in  turn,  except  myself,  say  the  prayers  and pay  reverence.  These  prayers  are  always  said standing,  but  those  to  the  hotoke  are  said  kneeling. Some  of  the  prayers  are  said  for  me.  I  was  never asked  to  pray  but  once  —  when  there  was  grief  in the  house;  and  then  I  prayed  to  the  Gods,  repeating the  Japanese  words  one  by  one  as  they  were  told  to me.  The  little  lamps  of  the  Kami  are  left  to  burn themselves  out. All  wait  for  me  to  give  the  signal  of  bed-time,  — unless  I  should  become  so  absorbed  in  writing  as  to forget  the  hour.  Then  I  am  asked  if  I  am  not  work ing  too  hard.  The  girls  spread  the  futons  in  the  vari ous  rooms;  and  the  hibachi  are  replenished,  so  that we  —  i.  e.,  I  and  the  men  only  —  may  smoke  during the  night  if  we  wish.  Then  the  girls  prostrate  them selves  with  an  o-yasumi!  and  all  becomes  quiet. Sometimes  I  read  till  I  fall  asleep.  Sometimes  I keep  on  writing  —  with  a  pencil  in  bed — but  always, according  to  ancient  custom,  the  little  wife  asks pardon  for  being  the  first  to  go  to  sleep.  I  once  tried  to stop  the  habit  —  thinking  it  too  humble.  But  after all  it  is  pretty,  —  and  is  so  set  into  the  soul  that  it could  not  be  stopped.  And  this  is  an  ordinary  day  in outline.  Then  we  sleep. Faithfully  ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. Saturday,  October  13. P.  S.  There  is  a  frightful  storm  —  so  that  I  would not  ask  anybody  to  go  to  the  mail;  and  I  have TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  183 pulled  open  the  envelope  of  last  night's  letter  to  add a  line  or  two. I  am  working  out  an  essay  —  a  philosophical essay  on  "  Jiujutsu,"  promised  to  the  Boston  folks by  December.  Could  you  give  me  any  of  your  own thoughts  about  the  reaction  against  foreign  influ ence,  and  its  future  possibilities.  Of  course  I  want the  pessimistic  view  (from  the  Western  side),  —  viz., that  the  reaction  belongs  to  the  deepest  instincts of  the  race,  and  will  never  pass.  I  am  taking  this side.  I  don't  mean  to  say  I  am  sure  of  my  posi tion.  Who  but  the  Gods  can  be  sure  of  anything. But  I  am  taking  what  I  believe  the  most  probable view.  What  I  would  especially  like  are  sample-facts of  a  startling  kind  —  something  that  will  whiz through  the  imagination  like  a  splendid  mad  wasp. All  reactions  ought  to  be  summed  up  if  I  can  do  it — moral,  educational,  religious,  commercial.  I  don't mean  to  ask  you  to  sit  down  when  you  don't  feel like  it  to  write  me,  but  to  dash  off  a  few  ideas  on paper  for  me  when  you  do  have  time  and  inclination. Even  a  word  may  stir  up  a  universe  of  fancies:  I want  hints  at  least.  You  are  in  the  nerve-centre,  and I  am  only  at  a  very  small  remote  ganglion — so  to speak. Earthquakes  increase  in  frequency.  The  boy Tortoise  being  carried  across  the  street  the  other day  might  have  caused  the  last  one.  I  am  more  and more  inclined  to  think  him  a  Bosatsu.  He  has  been taught  to  hand  me  letters  and  papers,  —  and  though only  six  months  old  he  does  it  always  with  a  smile, (not  taught  at  all,  the  smile, — must  be  ancestral 184  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN habit).  Then  he  watches  me  open  them.  I  am  quite afraid  of  him,  and  sure  that  he  knows  more  than  I. To  cause  him  fear  is  utterly  impossible;  nor  have any  experiments  sufficed  to  make  him  exhibit  grief or  wrath.  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  this  means  only perfect  health;  it  means  the  influence  of  faith  or character  for  one  thousand  years,  at  least. October  11,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Won't  you  think  me dull?  Well,  I  have  malaria,  —  it  is  nearly  over,  but it  always  stupefies  me, — so  that  I  can't  write  well.  I trust  the  autumn  weather  is  dealing  gently  with  you. WTe  had  great  games  here  yesterday  in  com memoration  of  our  foundation.  I  liked  the  games in  Izumo  better,  because  of  the  beautiful  old  loyal spirit  they  showed,  love  of  the  Emperor,  love  of country.  But  these  were  interesting,  too.  What especially  impressed  me  was  the  military  song chanted  by  two  hundred  young  men,  all  keeping time  with  their  feet  and  bringing  out  the  last  syl lable  of  each  line  with  a  report  of  emphasis  like  a crash  of  musketry.  I  thought  I  saw  for  an  instant a  flash  of  Japanese  soul,  —  the  old  military  spirit. Oh!  what  pains  should  be  taken  to  preserve  it! — and  yet  those  in  power  do  so  little  to  cultivate  it.  I could  really  cry  with  vexation  when  I  think  of  the indifference,  —  the  ignorant,  blind  indifference  of the  Educational  Powers  to  nourish  the  old  love  of country  and  love  of  the  Emperor.  The  fencing  was rather  savage,  but  quite  skilful.  I  am  convinced, however,  that  the  French  school  founded  by  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  185 terrible  mulatto,  Jean  Louis,  is  the  only  one  that  will survive.  Point  will  always  win  against  edge.  I  be lieve  our  soldiers  are  drilled  in  the  French  style.  % There  was  an  idiot  of  a  missionary  —  a  simpering gawk  —  who  wanted  to  show  his  Western  superior ity;  and  I  knew  by  one  look  at  the  man  that  he  was going  to  make  an  ass  of  himself.  He  did.  He  tried  to throw  the  hammer  and  was  beaten  most  absurdly by  a  boy  of  sixteen,  and  he  tried  to  run  a  race,  and was  beaten  badly  by  a  man  with  much  shorter  legs. A  foreigner  is  a  fool  to  contend  when  not  invited.  If he  is  a  good  man,  and  wins,  —  it  is  no  credit  to  him, as  he  is  usually  a  giant  compared  with  the  con testants;  and  if  he  is  beaten,  the  exultation  shown at  his  defeat  seems  to  say,  "You  have  disgraced your  nationality."  I  fancy  the  sly  mockery  of  yes terday,  however,  was  especially  due  to  the  man's being  a  missionary.  Sneers  of  "senkyoshi!"  were pretty  audible  in  all  directions. I  finished  my  "Stone  Buddha"  and  sent  it  away. Whether  it  is  good  or  bad,  I  can't  even  surmise.  I am  working  now  on  a  philosophical  study  of "Jiujutsu." Every  day  has  its  revelations.  What  seem  to  be mountains  turn  out  to  be  only  clouds;  the  horizon forever  recedes.  Of  Japan,  I  would  say  with  Kip ling's  pilot:  "And  if  any  man  comes  to  you,  and  says 'I  know  the  Javva  currents,  don't  you  listen  to him;  for  those  currents  is  never  yet  known  to mortal  man!'" Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 186       LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN October  31,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  It  was  very  pleasant  to hear  you  smacking  aesthetic  lips  over  the  splendid savour  of  Gautier;  —  you  can  feel  now  how  apt Baudelaire's  epithet  applied  to  him,  —  "Le  parfait magicien  des  lettres  franchises."  Then  you  ex pressed  him  exactly  by  saying  "  the  thought  is  the word."  As  a  mere  pure  artist  I  suppose,  in  spite  of all  the  carping  there  has  been  about  his  work,  he  has not  any  equal  in  all  European  verse.  We  exact thinking  now,  as  well  as  art,  —  and  perhaps  it  is well,  since  the  mere  mechanical  mastery  of  verse  is common  to  a  whole  world  of  poetasters.  But  there is  really  an  art  in  Gautier  that  lifts  every  word  into the  world  of  thinking,  and  that  makes  one  almost ready  to  believe  in  a  new  Gnosticism,  —  that  words are  Beings  which  reveal  their  souls  only  to  the  elect. You  ask  if  I  have  any  more  "delightful  surprises." Really  I  don't  know.  I  studied  the  Romantic  School pretty  well;  and  perhaps  if  you  have  not  paid  much attention  to  it,  I  might  be  able  to  make  suggestions you  would  like.  But,  of  course,  there  is  only  one Gautier.  I  should  like  to  know  how  you  will  feel about  his  prose,  —  "  Arria  Marcella,"  "line  Nuit  de Cleopatre,"  "Le  Roi  Candaule,"  the  delicious "Morte  Amoureuse,"  "Avatar,"  etc.  If  you  like him,  perhaps  you  would  like  De  Nerval.  Gerard  de Nerval's  "Voyage  en  Orient"  (two  volumes,  Levy, f.3.50)  seems  to  me  the  most  wonderful  thing  of the  kind  ever  done.  You  know  he  went  to  Africa, married  a  Mussulman  wife,  who  naturally  hated him  (because  he  was  mad)  and  ran  away  from  him. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  187 He  wrote  the  marvellous  "Legend  of  Solomon"  and "Queen  Balkis"  for  that  history,  —  the  work  which inspired  Meyerbeer.  It  would  have  been  put  upon the  operatic  stage,  but  the  conception  proved  like one  of  John  Martin's  pictures,  —  too  supernatural in  depth  and  breadth  for  any  stage.  He  translated "Faust  "  very  beautifully.  Besides  the  voyage  you might  like  his  "Filles  de  Feu,"  beautiful,  sober,  sad, ghostly  sketches,  betraying  the  incipient  madness that  was  at  last  to  drive  him  to  suicide.  Dore,  I think,  made  a  picture  of  that  suicide;  but  the  police broke  up  the  lithograph  stone  and  suppressed  the work.  Anything  of  De  NervaPs  would  please  you. There  is  a  marvellous  mediaeval  story  by  him,  — "La  Main  de  Gloire,"  —  worth  anything  in  the  nar rative  part  of  Hugo's  "Notre  Dame."  But  I  can not  now  remember  what  book  it  was  in. Should  you  be  able  to  bear  the  fiendish  and  mon strous  mixed  with  rare  queer  art,  you  would  be greatly  impressed  by  two  volumes  of  Baudelaire,  — "Les  Fleurs  du  Mai,"  and  "Petits  Poemes  en Prose."  The  former  work  placed  Baudelaire  third among  the  Romantic  poets,  —  first,  Hugo;  second, Gautier.  I  can't  say  I  was  much  impressed  by Leconte  de  Lisle;  —  nor  by  any  others  of  the  swarm of  Romantic  poets. Of  course  you  have  read  "  Madame  Bovary."  But perhaps  you  have  not  read  Flaubert's  "Tentation de  Saint  Antoine,"  "Les  Trois  Contes,"  "Bouvard et  Pecuchet,"  "Salammbo,"  —  four  books  each  of which  would  seem  to  have  been  written  by  a  totally different  person.  Flaubert  represents  the  extrava- 188  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN gance  of  the  Romantic  laboriousness  of  art,  —  the exaggerations  that  preceded  the  Realistic  reaction. But  he  is  very  great;  and  not  tourmentS  to  the  extent of  the  brothers  Goncourt.  Since  Swift,  I  think  no such  satire  ever  was  written  on  human  nature  as "Bouvard  et  Pecuchet."  But  don't  try  to  read "L'education  sentimentale  "  if  you  have  not  already done  so;  in  spite  of  its  title  it  was  a  shocking  failure in  all  respects.  Flaubert  was  a  victim  of  epilepsy; his  affliction  ruined  some  of  his  best  efforts. The  perfection  of  vital  Romantic  prose,  however, seems  to  me  to  have  been  first  reached  by  Loti. Here  we  may  disagree.  But  let  me  remind  you  that you  had  the  misfortune  to  read  the  worst  works  of Loti  first,  which  is  a  misfortune  in  the  case  of  any author.  Perhaps  if  you  would  read  his  "Roman d'un  Spahi,"  "Mariage  de  Loti,"  and  "Fleurs D'Ennui,"  you  would  feel  as  I  do.  Loti's  work  is represented  by  a  curve  — "Roman  d'un  Spahi" "  Mariage  de  Loti "  "  Fleurs  d'Ennui " "Aziyade"  Five  works,  each weaker  than the  last. I  really  think  the  prose  of  those  three  exotic  books ought  to  charm  you  even  more  than  the  poetry  of Gautier,  and  in  an  equally  subtle  way. It  is  no  harm  to  ask  you  if  you  have  read  the "Contes  Drolatiques"  of  Balzac,  either  in  the quaint  but  easy  French  or  in  the  excellent  English "Droll  Stories"  (by  Chatto  &  Windus)  with  Dore's TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  189 four  hundred  and  twenty-five  marvellous  illustra tions.  The  book  is  cheap;  but  it  ought  not  to  be  read without  the  illustrations.  Comparing  the  French with  the  English  version,  I  found  that,  although  the translation  is  wonderful,  many  Rabelaisian  expres sions  have  been  toned  down.  But  I  notice  that the  book  is  having  a  great  influence  even  upon  the higher  criticism.  I  see  references  to  it  constantly. Of  course  it  is  more  daring  than  Gautier's  "  Made moiselle  de  Maupin."  But  "  de  Maupin  "  is  only  an artist's  dream;  the  personages  of  the  "  Contes  Drola- tiques  "  are  all  alive.  And  the  stories  are  not  all  droll; there  are  some  which  are  in  the  highest  degree pathetic.  Even  the  drollness  is  terrible:  it  was  the humour  lighted  by  the  fires  of  the  stake,  or  shadowed by  the  gibbet  of  Montfaucon.  Of  all  the  wonderful things  in  that  book,  perhaps  the  most  wonderful  is the  story  of  "Le  Succube."  The  Parisian  publisher is  Gamier  Freres. Well,  I  won't  tire  you  with  any  more  literary  chit chat  to-day.  Let  me  say  your  letter  about  the  Reac tionary  Movement  completely  revolutionized  my work,  —  caused  me  to  remodel  it  completely.  As  I told  you,  even  a  suggestion  may  work  wonders  for me.  What  I  wanted  was  your  point  of  view,  and having  got  it,  I  reasoned  "why"?  The  answer  to the  "why  "  settled  the  dilemma  I  was  in. Two  points  in  the  letter  occur  to  me  to  speak  of. It  may  be  true  as  you  say  that  this  tone  of  the nation  is  Jingo;  but  you  did  not  quite  understand the  feeling  of  your  humble  servant.  It  was  the contrast  between  the  artificial  character  of  loyal 190  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN expression  as  I  see  it  here,  and  the  sincere  heart- rooted  character  of  loyalty  in  Izumo  that  impressed me.  Now  I  think  this  is  partly  due  to  the  insincere and  artificial  character  of  the  teaching  of  the  na tional  feeling.  In  Izumo  it  was  the  real  old-fash ioned  soul-thing;  here  it  is  done,  with  a  cynical smile  in  the  sleeve. The  other  point  was  about  the  missionary  pro perty.  Really  I  can't  see  that  the  Japanese  are  wrong at  all.  First,  the  property,  being  acquired  in  contra vention  of  law,  and  by  fraudulent  evasion  of  that  law, might  quite  justly  be  confiscated.  Secondly,  as  the money  was  given  professedly  for  the  Japanese Church,  and  not  for  the  support  or  convenience  of foreign  missionaries,  the  native  Christians  have a  moral  right  to  demand  its  cession  as  a  test  of  the sincerity  of  foreign  religion.  Personally,  of  course, I  think  the  missionaries  ought  to  be  put  on  a  small ship,  and  the  ship  scuttled  at  a  reasonable  distance of  one  thousand  miles  from  shore. You  said  a  very  nice  thing  about  Mason  in  one  of your  letters,  that  he  was  "always  sane."  I  can't  pre tend  to  be  always  sane.  Indeed  I  may  confess  I  have been  practically  insane  for  a  great  part  of  my  exist ence.  You  will  therefore  not  be  surprised  to  hear me  say  that  I  wonder  how  you  can  read  the  Yoko hama  papers  without  going  mad.  The  Herald  you sent  me  spoiled  two  meals  for  me.  The  extracts  were all  right,  but  the  comments.  I  never  open  the  Mail any  more;  I  am  afraid  to.  It  only  spoils  my  temper and  my  work.  So  I  envy  you.  You  can  look  down upon  all  this,  as  you  say,  "with  amusement."  I  can- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  191 not  even  think  of  it  without  feeling  just  as  you would  feel  to  see  some  cowardly  or  base  action  very close  to  you.  You  see  the  race  struggle  much  more philosophically.  Doubtless  it  is  the  best  way.  I  feel, too,  the  absurdity  of  any  struggle  against  eternal laws.  But,  nevertheless,  those  few  insane  ones  who believe  themselves  able  to  fight  the  Infinite,  do accomplish  something;  they  effect  some  delays  in disintegration,  and  preserve  in  their  protests  the memory  of  something  beautiful  that  might  other wise  be  lost. Which  reminds  me  of  the  absurd  episode  at  the close  of  your  last  letter,  the  episode  of  the  drunken sailors.  It  set  me  to  thinking  what  is  the  value  of obscene  vulgarity  in  evolutional  processes.  And  I came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  coarseness  and roughness  and  brutality  which  most  shock  us abroad,  have  their  indirect  value  as  social  checks,  — brakes.  They  are  a  perpetual  mock  and  menace  to sentimentality,  and  prevent  certain  exaggerations. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. Oh!  I  must  add  the  following  from  a  recent  com position.  "Autumn  has  becomed.  It  is  the  season when  the  sound  of  the  rivers  sink  us  into  deep  asso ciation.  And  the  mountains  are  lonely,  having  lost their  ADDRESSES."  (He  meant  their  beauty.) DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  The  more  I  read  Kip ling's  "Rhyme  of  the  Three  Sealers,"  the  more I  am  astonished  at  the  immense  power  of  the  thing. 192  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN It  gains  with  every  reading.  And  how  little  of  the world's  modern  fiction  and  poetry  does  this!  It  is the  sign  of  true  genius,  —  the  perfect  imagination that  reaches  its  goal  by  unknown  methods.  There is,  indeed,  the  trouble  you  spoke  of  long  ago,  — that  it  is  written  in  a  dialect,  so  to  speak,  which may  change  rapidly.  Still,  I  doubt  if  our  rough speech  changes  much  more  rapidly  than  does  our refined  tongue.  The  English  of  the  eighteenth  cen tury  is  not  the  English  of  to-day,  though  we  under stand  and  admire  it.  Kipling  must  last,  anyhow, a  hundred  years,  —  that  will  make  his  best  work classic. But  what  are  "sheer  strakes,"  "chocks,"  "bends and  butts,"  "cleats,"  and  "topping-lifts"?  You  will confess  that,  though  mysterious  to  the  landlubber, there  is  a  blocky,  bumping,  raking  force,  even  in  the sound  of  them  that  tells.  Yet  again,  what  —  oh  what is  a  holluschickie  ?  Is  it  a  kite?  —  a  pi-yoro-yoro? Weird  and  funny  at  once  —  is  n't  it? And  we'll  go  up  to  the  wrath  of  God  as  the  holluschickie  goes. But  he'll  lie  down  on  the  killing-grounds  where  the  holluschickie  go. But  it  seems  to  me  that,  leaving  the  descriptive  art of  the  thing  out  of  the  question  as  above  all  praise, Kipling  reaches  his  supreme  art  in  the  two  simple lines,  — And  west  you'll  turn  and  south  again,  beyond  the  sea-fog's  rim, And  tell  the  Yoshiwara  girls  to  burn  a  stick  for  him.  .  .  . It  is,  of  course,  the  very  first  time  that  any  Western writer  ever  succeeded  in  making  infinite  poetry  with that  much  befouled  word;  —  there  is  more  art  in TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  193 that  one  line  than  in  all  "Madame  Chrysantheme." But  that  is  n't  the  wonder  alone:  the  wonder  is,  that with  that  simplest  touch,  a  whole  world  of  pathos, —  the  whole  romance  and  better  nature  of  the  rough sailor  appears,  —  his  rude  tenderness,  —  his  super stition,  —  his  isolation,  —  his  vague  empiric  educa tion  by  travel,  teaching  him  that  one  faith  may  be good  as  another, — his  consciousness  of  no  hope  from his  own  by  the  breaking  of  every  law,  human  and  di vine,  —  and  fifty  other  things!  That  is  sheer  magic. One  word  more  would  have  spoiled  the  effect.    One word  less  would  have  rendered  it  impossible.   And no  genius  —  not  Victor  Hugo  —  could  even  have changed  a  word  without  ruining  the  perfect  balance of   the  whole  infinitely  pathetic  utterance,  —  the moral  of  it,  —  the  poetry  of  it,  —  "the  pity  of  it." I  won't  try  to  praise  the  rest  of  the  astonishing study,  —  the  sudden  change  of  feeling  from  anger  to kindness,  —  the  change  of  the  modern  man,  wicked only  for  a  reason,  for  a  profit,  —  good  underneath all.  But  one  could  write  a  book  on  the  thing. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  think  your  version  of the  origin  and  necessity  of  the  rhyme  alternation — as  expressed  in  the  treat  just  received  from  you —  must  be  correct.    What  I  ventured  on  was  only a  theory  as  to  the  period  of  the  adoption  of  certain rules  to  govern  the  use  thereof, —  and  as  to  a  pos sibly  romantic  origin.   We  may  both  be  right:  cer tainly  you  must  be.  As  for  me,  I  find  this  in  Saints- 194  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN bury, —  regarding  the  Provencal  causo:  "Here  the rhymes  were  interlaced,  and  the  alternation  of  mas culine  and  feminine  by  degrees  observed."  (End  of llth  and  beginning  of  12th  —  lasting  to  13th  cen tury  (1st  Period.)  Best  work  (2nd  Period)  of  the thirteenth  century,  —  referred  to  in  the  above lines.)  Saintsbury  thinks  that  of  Provencal  poetry only  the  lyrical  form  affected  Northern  French  as  a literary  influence.  But  he  also  thinks  the  Northern lyrical  work  published  in  Bartsch's  "  Romanzen  und Pastourellen  "  (Leipsic,  1870)  was  indigenous.  The question  you  bring  up  is  not  touched  by  him  — probably  never  occurred  to  him.  By  the  way, since  you  tell  me  you  have  not  paid  much  attention to  Provencal,  I  am  sure  the  early  work  would  delight you;  and  I  am  almost  sure  ihefelibres  would  charm you.  I  have  not  studied  the  tongue  itself,  —  only made  out  beauties  cited  in  works  on  the  trouba dours,  etc.  But  I  would  like  to  coax  you  to  experi ment  with  the  modern  Provencal,  in  the  shape  of Mistral's  "  Mireille."  Leroux  (?)  has  published  a  de licious  edition  of  it  at  four  or  five  francs,  I  think, with  the  Provencal  text  on  the  left  page,  and  a  par allel  prose  modern  French  translation  on  the  other. It  is  beautiful,  I  think:  I  loved  it.  Wish  I  had  a  copy to  send  you.  But  I  was  beaten  out  of  my  library  — nine  hundred  and  fifty  volumes  about  —  by  a  smart Yankee  doctor  in  Philadelphia.  Vanity  and  vexa tion  of  spirit!  I  believe  the  modern  Provencal  is  a splendid  introduction  to  the  elder  form  —  so  they say.  Some  of  my  New  Orleans  friends  used  to  speak it  well.  It  sounded  like  invertebrate  Spanish  mixed TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  195 with  Italian.  I  have  no  copy  of  S.  Prudhomme's poem,  or  I  would  be  so  glad  to  send  it  you.  I  never had  his  complete  works,  —  nor  even  the  delightful Parnasse  collections:  I  used  only  to  pick  up  bits  and scraps  of  the  Parnassien  school  in  the  French reviews  and  in  the  Figaro.  But  were  I  sure  of  things I  would  spend  one  thousand  yen  to-morrow  for French  books.  Prospects  are  so  uncertain,  however, that  I  must  abandon  literary  luxuries.  I  study  now only  "thinking  books"  —  la  raison  sans  melange? And  I  am  almost  ashamed  to  confess  one  base  in dulgence  in  luxury  of  recent  date  —  a  complete set  of  Goethe.  Of  course  it 's  solid  thinking  in  a  cer tain  sense,  —  but  not  the  kind  of  thing  one  should buy  unless  able  to  purchase  lots  of  pure  literature. Clifford,  Stevens,  Bain,  Huxley,  Galton,  —  those are  the  men  I  ought  to  read. I  wrote  an  extravagant  note  to  you  yesterday about  Kipling's  last.  But  it  really  expressed  my conviction  and  feeling.  The  thing  is  wonderful,  and haunts  me  asleep  and  awake. What  you  say  about  the  hope  for  a  nation  willing to  sacrifice  life  for  an  idea  is  certainly  the  grand truth  —  that  which  stills  the  angriest  hopelessness as  oil  smoothes  the  waves.  There  is,  indeed,  that hope,  —  if  the  detestable  officialism  can  be  choked to  death  in  another  twenty -five  years.  The  friend who  has  been  lifting  corners  of  the  veil  for  me, showed  me  to-day  the  reports  of  the  old  Sapporo college  under  American  management. Well,  that  was  a  school.  But  what  is  it  now?  And what  are  the  middle  schools  changing  into?  Is  it 196  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN possible  there  may  come  at  last  a  general  failure of  the  whole  system —  as  in  Korea.  The  very  zeal  of the  beginning  gives  one  that  fear. Faithfully, LAFCADIO. P.  S.  I  will  copy  that  Kumamoto  Rojo,  and  send the  copy  whenever  you  wish  —  preferring  with  your permission  to  preserve  the  original  MS. It  has  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  have  been thinking  of  the  Daikokumai  Ballads,  when  you  sug gested  a  paper  for  the  Asiatic  Society.  I  did  not finish  working  at  them,  —  but  will  later  on.  Should you  wish  them,  tell  me.  The  only  trouble  is,  they won't  be  of  any  value  as  literal  translations  —  which is  what  the  Society  should  certainly  have,  — should  n't  it?  I  will  write  later  about  other  things. My  old  Japanese  grandfather  does  not  hear  well, and  is  not  often  talkative.  But  he  sometimes  tells queer  tales  of  the  past.  The  appearance  of  an  Eng lish  man-of-war  off  Osaka  in  his  youth  was  the  sub ject  of  his  last  narrative.  The  idea  about  for eigners  in  those  days  was  apparently  superhuman, for  the  servants  of  the  samurai  nearly  all  ran  away from  them,  when  ordered  to  the  beach.  If  I  could write  the  old  man's  exact  words,  you  would  enjoy his  narrative.  It  struck  me,  while  I  was  hearing  the interpretation,  that  if  the  old  men  still  living  could be  induced  to  write  down  all  their  reminiscences, out  of  the  mass  extraordinary  interest  could  be extracted.  ^ Ever'  L.  H. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  197 DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  kind  letter  from Miyanoshita  has  just  come.  Indeed,  I  have  no sensitiveness  about  criticism,  —  even  upon  my  own work;  —  I  had  feared  having  offended  in  a  purely conventional  matter  only.  I  like  a  very  savage criticism  on  a  book  next  to  a  very  sympathetic  one. And  you  —  who  have  the  most  preeminent  imperial right  to  criticize  any  critic!  —  never  could  I  dream of  protesting  against  your  most  perfect  frankness  of like  or  dislike  to  my  hobbies.  No:  indeed!  When you  agree,  of  course  I  feel  glad ;  and  when  you  don't I  sometimes  feel  disappointed  —  at  not  having  been able  to  give  pleasure:  that  is  all. What  is  more,  I  know  you  are  right  from  one point  of  view  about  Gautier.  The  Romantic  move ment,  which  he  really  headed,  was  a  protest  against all  conventions,  —  moral  and  otherwise,  —  in  the name  and  for  the  sake  of  beauty  alone.  This  pagan principle  is  recognized  still  by  schools  of  art  and literature  —  without  extravagance,  of  course  —  and all  general  sweeping  extremes  entail  terrible  errors. Mallock's  criticisms  are  often,  I  think,  abominable; but  he  told  the  plain  truth  when  he  said  that  Gau tier  (in  "  Mdlle.  de  Maupin  ")  had  sung  the  praises not  only  of  natural  but  of  unnatural  lust.  Other Romantists  did  nearly  as  ill.  They  all  sowed  a  crop of  dragon's  teeth.  Preaching  without  qualification the  gospel  of  beauty  —  that  beauty  is  truth  — pro voked  the  horrible  modern  answer  of  Zolaism: "Then  truth  must  be  beauty!" It  is  not  the  highest  art,  of  course,  this  worship of  beauty.  We  cannot  to-day  touch  the  skirts  of 198  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Greek  art,  —  yet  we  feel  the  realized  ideal  that  one marvellous  race,  and  only  one,  had  a  divine  glimpse of,  is  not  the  highest  possible.  The  highest  must  be aspirational,  —  like  music,  —  aspirational  with  all its  spirings  of  utterance  piercing  into  the  Future. But  I  think  that  every  school  contributes  some tone,  some  colour  —  else  unobtainable — to  that mighty  future  scale  of  emotional  harmonies  of which  the  depths  and  the  heights  are  still  invisible to  us — just  as  the  possibilities  of  colour  are  still  but faintly  guessed  at  by  us.  Sense  alone  —  pure  or impure  love  of  mere  beauty  and  light  and  sweet ness  —  cannot  give  the  highest  tones,  —  nor  the deepest;  but  they  help  to  do  something  for  the  evo lution  of  the  middle  lines,  which  the  loftier  and  the deeper  powers  cannot  make  —  yet  without  which they  would  remain  but  dimly  visible. For  this  reason  I  imagine  we  are  not  wrong  to praise  and  admire  even  the  art  of  Gautier  and  of  the senses.  Some  sensualism  is  a  good  thing  for  human nature.  It  softens.  NowIlikethat"ArriaMarcella," — that  reverie  which  expresses  the  whole  regret  of the  nineteenth  century  for  the  dead  Gods  and  the dead  paganism,  —  which  re-creates  the  past  for  a night,  and  lives  forever  after  haunted  by  the  un speakable  melancholy  of  the  broken  dream.  Is  it not  truth — the  longing  of  every  lover  of  the  antique beauty  —  the  dreams  of  every  passionate  student in  the  spring  of  thinking  life?  We  have  all  had  it. Surely  never  to  have  had  it  would  leave  life  more colourless  and  less  sensitive  than  it  ought  to  be. About  the  impossibility  of  a  courtesan  ever  be- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  199 ing  a  heroine,  I  am  not  quite  sure.  Two  great  nov els —  one  by  Wilkie  Collins  and  one  by  Charles Reade  —  seem  to  hint  that,  even  in  that  society where  the  courtesan  is  degraded  as  in  no  other  epoch or  century,  a  courtesan  may  come  very  near  to being  a  heroine.  But  the  condition  varies  much  with country  and  customs.  However,  let  us  only  touch the  higher  literature.  I  think  at  once  of  three  books I  would  not  like  to  deny  supreme  merit  to, —  the "Manon  Lescaut"  of  Prevost,  still  a  perfect  classic after  one  hundred  and  sixty  years'  test;  —  the "Rolla"  of  Alfred  de  Musset;  —  and  the  powerful "Carmen"  of  Prosper  Merimee,  which  inspired  so noble  an  opera — an  opera  that  still  haunts  me  with its  Havanese  airs,  its  tantalizing  of  tropical  passion, its  merciless  lesson  of  the  fall  of  those  who  love  111. Now  those  three  are  courtesans.  It  is  true  they  are —  in  two  cases — curses  and  terrors;  but  that great  novels  may  be  written  about  them  strikes  me as  quite  possible.  But,  oh !  what  would  you  think  of Balzac's  "La  Belle  Imperia"?  Certainly  you  would judge  it  more  harshly  than  Froude  has  done  "  Le  Pere Goriot."  And  both  you  and  Froude  are  right  — though  I  don't  think  wholly  right.  The  spiritual sense  in  both  —  the  Northern  Gothic  aspirational sense  —  is  too  deeply  offended  by  the  unspiritual element  of  such  tales  to  acknowledge  they  can  have any  charm  for  a  higher  mind. You  ask  me  to  recommend  some  books  I  like,  and I  may  venture  to  try  something  in  the  larger  and stronger  way  that  I  imagine  you  might  like.  But  I am  not  sure.  (I  have  been  "out  of  the  run"  for  five 200  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN years;  —  so  I  have  missed  much.)  But  I  would  like you  to  try  what  I  believe  to  be  the  most  powerful emotional  novel  of  modern  times  (the  French  ver sion) —  "Crime  et  Chatiment"  of  Dostoievsky,  if you  have  not  already  read  it.  It  is  a  crucifying  thing to  read,  but  it  goes  down  to  the  deepest  fibres  in  a man's  heart.  This  is  a  greater  book  even  than  Tol stoi's  "Cossacks."  I  like  the  Russian  writers,  very, very,  very  much.  I  think  Tourgueneff's  "Virgin Soil"  greater  than  Victor  Hugo's  "Miserables."  I think  Gogol  cleverer  than  our  cleverest  society novel  writers.  And  I  like  the  little  stories  these  men write, — the  delightful  little  stories  of  Tourgueneff, —  the  "Nouvelles  Russes,"  etc.  There  is  so  much in  little  stories!  You  might  not  like  "A  Lear  of  the Steppe,"  etc.,  but  you  would  like,  I  think,  "Les Reliques  Vivantes,"  etc.  (Except  Dostoievsky:  I only  want  my  worst  enemy  to  read  some  of  his  short stories.) Only  one  living  French  writer  writes  tolerably sane  short  stories  worthy  to  compare  with  those  of the  Russians,  —  Daudet.  Daudet's  short  stories of  the  Franco-Prussian  war  struck  me  as  greater works  of  art  than  even  "Le  Nabab,"  "Froment Jeune  et  Risler  Aine,"  etc.  They  have  not  the comical  power  of  the  same  class  of  stories  by  De Maupassant,  but  they  have  what  De  M.  never possessed  —  deep  human  sympathy. And  I  might  venture  to  ask  if  you  have  tried Bjornson?  If  you  have  not,  and  should  attempt "Synnove  Solbakken,"  I  fancy  you  would  like  to read  everything  else  he  has  written.  The  puzzle  of TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  201 these  Norse  writers  is  their  enormous  force  combined with  childish  simplicity.  Take  up  a  volume,  and  you think  you  are  reading  a  book  for  babies.  All  at  once tremendous  passion  shows  itself,  masters  you,  and shakes  you  into  profound  respect.  Andersen's charm,  you  know,  was  marked  by  this  same  power. These  Northmen  never  condescend  to  look  for ornamental  words,  —  they  have  no  devices,  no tricks  at  all,  —  nothing  but  great  huge,  smooth, frank  strength.  They  are  my  despair !  I  could  never write  a  page  like  Bjornson  though  I  studied  for  a century.  But  I  could  imitate  in  English  a  Florid Romantic.  Ornamental  luxurious  work  is  n't  the hardest.  The  hardest  is  perfect  simplicity. And  I  find  myself  thinking  of  Taylor's  noble poem,  "Lars,"  and  that  made  me  think  of  American writers.  You  spoke  not  very  admiringly  of  Holmes one  day;  —  but  did  you  ever  read  "Elsie  Vernier"? I  fancy  you  would  like  it.  However,  I  won't  say anything  more  about  American  writers  to-day. Ever  most  sincerely, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  A  Japanese  Riddle. (Do  you  like  riddles?  I  do  —  only  when  I  can find  the  answer.  I  don't  like  the  others  much,  — because  they  may  turn  out  to  be  Sphinx-riddles; and  I  am  afraid  of  being  devoured.) This  is  from  the  local  newspaper:  — Young  Kyushu  farmer  goes  into  a  public  bath, finds  the  water  too  hot  for  his  taste,  and  cries  out, "This  is  Jigoku."  Grizzled  relative  in  the  bath  ex- 202  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN claims  to  him,  " You  are  an  animal!  —  why  hair upon  your  face  have  you  not  got?  Suppose  I  was  in the  Penitentiary  —  I  am  your  relative!"  Young farmer  vainly  tries  to  apologize;  —  says  he  had  no double  meaning.  Relative  proceeds,  "You  are  a mushi;  you  are  a  child  new-born.  Give  me  back your  wife :  she 's  my  blood !  What  right  has  an  insect like  you  —  who  knows  nothing  about  living  —  to a  wife?"  Young  farmer  says,  "All  right!"  Goes home,  tells  his  wife  all,  pets  her,  and  sends  her  to the  relative.  Two  days  later  goes  to  the  house  of Jigoku  —  calls  out  the  returned  wife,  and  whispers her  to  go  to  another  relative's  house  at  once.  Wife goes.  Young  farmer  then  enters  house,  and  kills ex-penitentiary  relative  with  the  edge  of  the  sword. Returns  to  other  relative's  house  and  embraces wife.  Wife  and  husband  bathe,  dress,  feast,  and compose  poems!!  Then  both  kill  themselves. Now  all  this  is  very,  very  puzzling.  What  public opinion  under  the  circumstances  could  force  a  man to  send  back  his  wife  for  the  mere  asking?  Then  why the  necessity  of  killing?  Why  the  perfect,  joyful acquiescence  of  the  wife,  and  the  universal  sym pathy  with  the  dead,  and  the  general  opinion  of  the murdered  party  as  guilty  of  murder.  What  strange ethics !  —  what  strange  pride  and  power  of  purpose ! "And  if  any  man  was  to  come  to  you  and  say,  'I know  them  Javva  currents,' —  don't  you  listen  to him;  for  those  currents  is  never  yet  known  to  mortal man,"  .  .  .  etc. L.  H. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  203 November  23,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Many  sincere  thanks  for kind  letter  and  the  enclosed  kind  notice  of  the  In troduction.  Whether  you  will  like  all  the  book equally  with  what  you  have  seen  of  it,  I  cannot  say; but  as  H.  M.  &  Co.  never  publish  anything  very  bad, you  will  not,  I  think,  find  your  ventured  criticism untrue.  Perfect  equality  of  tone  through  a  book  of this  kind  is  scarcely  possible;  —  for  one  page  written for  print,  perhaps  ten  have  been  suppressed.  .  .  . I  am  sorry  I  cannot  tell  you  anything  satisfac tory  about  good  works  of  a  special  kind  on  modern French  prosody.  Perhaps  Saintsbury's  history  of French  literature  will  contain  some  valuable  refer ences  —  but  I  do  not  know  to  what  date  he  brings up  his  history;  and  the  existing  schools  have  brought in  some  new  ideas.  It  strikes  me  that  both  in  prose and  poetry  Gautier  is  essentially  alliterative,  as  in the  line,  — Une  grace  atroce,  — La  grace  du  gladiateur. And  the  crispy  crunchy  sudden  thawing  into  soft ness  of  the  Symphonic,  — De  quel  mica  de  neige  vierge, De  quelle  moelle  de  roseau. I  am  sorry  to  have  praised  to  you  stories  you  do not  like  —  though  your  beautiful  criticism  of  the dramatic  element  in  "  Le  Roi  Candaule  "  shows  you were  not  altogether  disgusted.  My  excuse  is  that besides  the  fact  the  "Morte  Amoureuse"  is  regarded as  Gautier's  most  remarkable  story  by  critics  of  the highest  class,  it  has  been  translated  by  Lang,  under 204  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN the  title  of  "The  Dead  Leman,"  and  it  was  thought worthy  of  a  sonnet  by  Swinburne,  who  is  certainly a  good  judge.  "Arria  Marcella"  I  like  even  better; but  I  suppose  you  will  be  still  more  disgusted  with it. I  think  your  idea  about  a  possible  limit  to  Chinese emigration  and  acclimation  would  be,  if  fully  sup ported  by  facts,  the  only  powerful  argument  pos sible  against  the  predictions  of  Pearson.  Unfor tunately,  perhaps,  the  facts  seem  to  be  the  other way.  China  can  send  streams  out  from  three  of  her own  different  zones  of  climate;  and  her  people  pour into  Siberia  as  well  as  into  Singapore.  I  have  seen Chinamen  everywhere  in  the  West  Indies.  They  are getting  all  the  small-shop  trade  into  their  hands  in some  of  the  islands.  They  settle  on  the  Pacific  coast from  Canada  to  Southern  Chili.  Panama  alone proved  a  deadly  climate  to  them;  but  the  West Indian  negroes  also  died  there,  and  faster. A  suggestion  apropos  of  prosody.  Sidney  Lanier met  the  difficulty  of  vexed  questions  about  metres and  their  names  by  a  curious  book  that  might  please you  —  if  you  do  not  know  it  "The  Science  of Verse"  (Scribners).  He  gives  all  the  measures  in music,  and  thinks  that  is  the  quickest  way  to  teach the  art  of  poetry.  It  is  certainly  the  most  natural. The  only  trouble  is  that  the  student  should  know music  as  a  preliminary  to  being  taught  by  such  a method. xMany  thanks  for  kind  telegram.  All  well. Ever  very  truly  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  205 December  3,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — ...  There  is  a  whole world  of  evolutional  suggestion  in  that  letter  of yours,  —  especially  in  the  passage  of  it  relating  to the  influence  of  musical  development  upon  lan guage  forms.  It  seems  to  me  to  explain  a  host  of  rid dles.  The  other  day  while  labouring  to  do  something with  the  terribly  dull  narrative  of  another  Japanese ballad,  I  came  to  a  sentence  relating  the  return  of  a mother  from  the  dead,  and  could  not  help  compar ing  it  most  unfavourably  with  a  similar  episode  in  the "Kalevala,"  which  always  seemed  to  me  one  of the  most  pathetic  and  beautiful  in  human  literature. The  Japanese  text  is  dead  as  a  door-nail.  But  the Finnish  race  is  truly  musical.  So  profound  the  rela tion  between  music  and  emotional  speech,  that  I suppose,  however  deeply  felt,  emotion  can  never  be strongly  expressed  in  a  tongue  which  music  has  not largely  aided  to  evolve.  It  is  not  simply  that  the words  won't  cry  out,  but  that  even  the  thought  be hind  the  words  never  can  be  fully  uttered,  but  only suggested.  Are  not  the  daintiest  Japanese  or  Chinese poems,  after  all,  suggestive  rather  than  expressive,  — and  for  this  very  reason?  —  though  our  own  com mon  ballads  are  full  of  powerful  feeling,  as  well  as full  of  music. What  you  call  your  theory  as  to  the  rime  riche seems  to  me  to  rise  far  above  theory,  —  to  supply a  very  adequate  explanation.  Here,  however,  I  am too  much  of  an  ignoramus  to  discuss  the  matter.  I read  nothing  on  French  philology  except  Brachet's "Historical  Grammar,"  and  the  wonderful  phonetic 206  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN history  of  the  language  prefixed  to  his  Etymological French  Dictionary  (the  Macmillan  ed.  U.  S.),  — explaining  a  sort  of  musical,  or  tonic  "Grimm's Law"  discovered  by  Helmholtz,  —  was  n't  it?  But I  could  not  master  all  that  so  as  to  utilize  it  seriously : indeed  I  never  tried.  I  can  speak  of  philological matters  only  from  the  general  standpoint  of  the Synthetic  Philosophy.  According  to  that,  in  spite  of the  effort  to  preserve  it,  the  rhyme  of  the  final  sylla ble  would  seem  doomed  beyond  hope,  —  especially, according  to  the  opinion  of  the  German  philologist you  cite,  that  the  tendency  is  now  to  withdraw  the accent  further  back. Shelley  and  Byron  both  use  the  "rich  rhymes,"  as you  call  them,  in  some  of  their  comic  and  satiric work,  —  but  not,  I  think,  in  their  finer  verse;  and none,  perhaps,  could  be  found  in  Tennyson,  Ros- setti,  or  the  best  singers.  The  word  "rich"  strikes me  as  a  euphemism, —  unless  it  had  the  sense  of cloying,  —  of  too  many  raisins  in  the  pudding.  I cannot  quite  understand  why  what  is  certainly  bad in  English,  should  seem  not  bad  in  French. With  the  reading  of  your  letter  there  has  come  to me  the  idea  that  some  of  the  old  French  measures might  have  been  evolved  in  a  way  that  would explain  the  order  of  the  alternation  of  the  feminine and  masculine  rhymes.  The  feminine,  in  quatrains, belongs  always  to  the  preponderating  line,  — does  n't  it?  Thinking  of  those  queer  mediaeval  stu dent-songs,  of  which  the  first  line  was  —  say  Latin, the  second  French,  the  third  English,  the  fourth Spanish,  etc.,  —  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  fusion  of TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  207 a  Northern  with  a  Latin  tongue  would  certainly result  in  popular  efforts  to  shape  new  metres  — metres  which  might  represent  a  sort  of  compromise between  the  ancient  and  the  newer  forms.  The  pre dominant  language  would  give  the  predominant quality,  after  the  fusion,  to  any  measure  of  this kind.  Our  own  ballad  measures  appeared  only  after the  conquest.  Again  there  is  this  possibility — per haps  (?) — that  in  early  measures  of  four  there would  have  been  only  two  rhymes  —  as  in  our  own early  ballads,  the  masculine  rhymes  not  being  at first  used  at  all.  In  our  old  ballads  the  second  and fourth  lines  only  rhyme,  —  in  ninety-nine  cases, perhaps.  But  the  mere  weakening  of  the  tonic  ac cent  you  speak  of  would  also  be  a  reason,  the  creat ive  effort  following  the  direction  of  least  resistance —  basing  its  work  on  the  feminine  rhymes.  How ever,  this  is  all  the  guess-work  of  a  man  so  ignorant about  philology  that  it  may  be  impertinent  for  him to  guess  at  all.  I  have  an  idea  that  the  historical prosody  of  French  is  rather  fully  treated,  in  a  very pleasing  way,  in  the  great  modern  works  on  the poetry  of  the  troubadours  and  trouveres,  and  on the  literature  of  old  Provence.  I  say  "idea"  because I  read  many  extracts  from  these  books,  at  a  time when  I  was  trying  to  study  Mistral  and  the  modern Provengal  singers.  I  cannot  (horrible  to  say!)  re member  a  single  name.  But  probably  nothing  of solid  value  produced  in  France  could  have  escaped the  omnivorous  German  philologues. Wife  is  well,  and  running  about  as  if  nothing serious  had  happened. ;  The  boy  is  everything  that 208  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN I  could  wish  —  except  one  thing.  After  all,  he  is going  to  be  fair-haired  and  fair-eyed,  and  not  much like  a  Japanese.  Something  of  the  Hearn  family  not in  Lafcadio  Hearn  at  all  is  developing  very  strongly in  him.  I've  mapped  out  all  his  little  future.  Ma son's  advice  is  right  —  I  think,  confirms  my  own resolve.  This  little  being  needs  my  whole  life,  time, strength,  care  —  everything  I  can  give  before  going to  the  hakaba;  —  I  shall  barely  be  able  to  freight  and supply  the  ship  for  its  voyage.  No  more  life-ships shall  be  launched !  —  I  am  rather  proud,  however,  of this  one,  and  not  much  afraid  of  the  future  therefor. I  fear  it  will  tax  patience  to  read  such  a  long epistle,  —  but  your  last  was  so  brimful  of  sugges tions  that  a  brief  reply  was  out  of  the  question. Ever,  with  grateful  regards, Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. December  13,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  You  are  beautifully  right about  Hugo  in  his  nobler  moods.  He  is  simple, — but  carries  in  his  simplicity  what  Clifford  calls "cosmic  emotion." About  the  accents,  —  well,  I  never  studied  the question;  but  is  it  really  the  accent  that  makes  the difference?  I  did  not  think  it  was.  "Nearest"  and "dearest"  and  "clearest"  seem  right  to  me  simply because  the  sound  suffices  to  fix  their  meaning  most clearly.  Not  so  exactly  with  "near"  and  "veneer;" —  there  the  second  part  of  the  dissyllable  is  a  per fect  repetition  in  sound  of  the  monosyllabic  word. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  209 It  only  struck  me  about  this  way:  —  When  the termination  of  any  polysyllable  contains  the  exact sound  of  another  word  with  which  it  is  made  to rhyme,  the  rhyme  is  unlawful  —  becomes  a  sort  of bastard  pun.  (Is  n't  this  almost  right?)  And  no two  words  of  different  meaning  but  similar  sound can  be  used  as  rhymes  —  such  as  "sewn"  and "sown  "  — or  "tern"  and  "turn" — for  like  reason. It  seems  to  me  the  question  is  rather  of  meaning than  of  accent,  —  that  the  accent  only  is  explana tory.  In  "nearest"  and  "dearest"  —  the  suppres sion  of  the  initial  consonant  leaves  no  intelligible remainder;  —  "earest"  having  no  meaning.  But  in such  unlawful  rhymes  as  "polite"  and  "delight," the  suppression  of  the  only  differently  sounding  parts of  the  word  leaves  remainders  with  not  only  the  same sound,  but  the  same  possible  meaning  —  to  the  ear. Oh  dear!  I  am  sorry  (for  myself  only)  that  you already  have  the  book  I  wanted  to  give  you.  The engravings  are  delightful  —  are  they  not?  Then  you probably  know  whether  the  work  contains  anything that  I  could  build  upon.  I  have  reached  that  stage at  which  the  collector  finds  his  legends  grouping themselves  —  each  new  fact  only  reechoing  an  idea already  received  several  times.  This  is  sterilizing  to fancy.  I  am  always  in  the  state  of  hope  for  a  new sensation,  but  seldom  get  it.  The  little  book  of Kwannon  I  have,  —  full  of  queer  little  pictures.  I would  like  to  get  some  good  things  out  of  the  Kom- pira  book,  however;  for  I  hope  to  make  something of  the  trip  in  a  literary  way.  In  a  financial  way,  I never  expect  to  make  anything.  No  publisher  ever 210  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN paid  me  anything  except  under  threat  of  a  lawsuit, and  then  as  little  as  possible.  The  pay  of  the  maga zines  is  about  twenty  dollars  a  page;  the  Atlantic paying  less  than  half  that;  —  but  other  magazines than  the  Atlantic  spoil  a  man's  work,  caricature  it with  beastly  illustrations,  and  take  only  what  will feed  the  popular  man.  You  know  the  popular  man wants  nothing  fine.  On  the  contrary,  the  Atlan tic  goes  in  only  for  fine  work;  but  they  want  it  too fine.  They  are  forcing  me  into  philosophical  writ ing.  Perhaps  it  is  the  best  thing  possible  for  me  at the  present  —  because  I  can  obtain  no  help  for  any lighter  kind  of  work,  and  can  get  no  material;  but  it condemns  a  man  to  a  very  restricted  audience.  In order  to  read  such  stuff  at  all,  the  audience  must have  become  well-crammed  with  book -lore  of  a  spe cial  character. Perhaps  you  would  like  Sully  Prudhomme.  He has  written  exquisite  things  —  some.  And  perhaps you  would  like  bits  of  Louis  Bouilhet.  I  made  a translation  of  S.  P.'s  "Les  Yeux;"  but  I  fear  it  is a  desecration.  Of  Bouilhet,  I  venture  a  version, — I  can't  give  you  the  original,  as  I  found  it  only  in Maxime  du  Camp's  "Souvenirs,"  whichjl  no  longer possess.  Please  don't  think  of  the  faults  in  my verse:  it  is  only  the  strangely  weird  idea  of  the  poem that  I  would  call  your  attention  to:  — THE  MUMMY Startled,  —  as  by  some  far  faint  din Of  azure-lighted  worlds,  —  from  sleep, The  Mummy,  trembling,  wakes  within The  hypogeum's  blackest  deep,  — TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  £11 And  murmurs  low,  with  slow  sad  voice: "Oh!  to  be  dead  and  still  endure!  —    ' Well  may  the  quivering  flesh  rejoice That  feels  the  Vulture's  gripe  impure! "Seeking  to  enter  this  Night  of  death, Each  element  knocks  at  my  granite  door:  — '"We  are  Air  and  Fire  and  Earth, —  the  breath Of  Winds,  —  the  Spirits  of  Sea  and  Shore. '"Into  the  azure  —  out  of  the  gloom Rise!  —  let  thine  atoms  in  light  disperse! Mix  with  the  date-palm's  emerald  plume! Scatter  thyself  through  the  universe! "  We  shall  waft  thee  far  over  waste  and  wold;  — Thou  shalt  be  lulled  to  joyous  sleep By  leaves  that  whisper  in  light  of  gold,  — By  murmur  of  fountains  cool  and  deep ! '"Rise!  —  perchance  from  thy  dungeon  dark Infinite  Nature  may  wish  to  gain For  the  God-like  Sun  another  spark,  — Another  drop  for  the  diamond  rain!' "Woe!  Mine  are  death's  eternal  bands!  .  .  . I  feel  Them  come,  as  I  lie  alone,  — The  Centuries,  heavy  as  drifted  sands Heaping  above  my  bed  of  stone. "0  be  accursed,  ye  impious  race!  — Caging  the  creature  that  seeks  to  soar, Preserving  agony's  weird  grimace In  hideous  mockery  —  evermore!" Do  you  know,  —  whenever  I  get  very  despondent, I  feel  just  like  Louis  Bouilhet's  mummy;  —  I  think of  the  far  azure-lighted  worlds,  and  I  feel  the  years, like  sand -drifts,  heaping  all  round  the  soul  of  me. Ever  very  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 212  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN December  14,  1893. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  What  you  said  in  your last  letter  about  the  effect  of  darkness  upon  you  in childhood,  haunted  me:  I  thought  I  would  revert  to it  another  time.  And  now  that  about  one  hundred compositions  have  been  corrected,  I  can  find  a chance  to  chat  about  it. You  specified  nothing:  I  understand  the  feeling itself  was  vague,  —  like  many  other  feelings  of childhood  of  which  the  indefiniteness  itself  is  a  fear, —  a  sort  of  mysterious  depression  of  which  you could  not  yourself  have  told  the  cause.  (This  I  also remember,  —  but  it  became  coupled  with  other unpleasant  sensations  of  which  I  shall  speak  pre sently.)  It  seems  to  me  these  feelings  of  earliest childhood  —  so  intense  and  yet  so  vague  —  are  the weirdest  in  all  human  experience,  and  that  for  the best  of  reasons:  they  are  really  ghostly.  Not  of  our own  experience  are  these;  —  they  of  the  dead  —  of the  vanished  generations  behind  us;  —  and  I  am  not sure  but  that  our  pleasures  are  equally  weird  at  that age.  I  remember  crying  loudly  at  an  air  played  upon the  piano,  —  in  the  midst  of  a  fashionable  gather ing; — and  I  remember  people  (long  buried)  whose names  I  have  quite  forgotten,  making  their  voices and  faces  kind,  and  trying  to  coax  me  to  tell  what was  the  matter.  Naturally  I  could  not  tell;  —  I  can only  vaguely  guess  now;  I  know  the  emotions  stirred within  my  child-heart  were  not  of  me  —  but  of other  lives.  But  then  I  had  to  give  a  reason:  so  I lied.  I  said  I  was  thinking  of  my  uncle  who  was  dead (though  I  never  really  cared  for  him  at  all).  Then TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  213 I  got  petting,  and  cake,  and  wondered,  young  as  I was,  how  I  had  been  able  to  deceive. Have  you  not  noticed  how  utterly  the  psycholog ists  have  failed  to  explain  the  Fear  that  comes  in dreams?  The  suspension  of  will-power  is  given  as  an explanation;  but  that  will  not  do, —  because  there is  frequently  loss  of  will-power  in  dreams  unaccom panied  by  the  real  fear  of  nightmare.  The  real  fear of  nightmare  is  greater  than  any  fear  possible  to experience  in  waking  moments;  it  is  the  highest possible  form  of  mental  suffering;  it  is  so  powerful that  were  it  to  last  more  than  a  few  instants  it  would cause  death;  and  it  is  so  intimately  linked  to  feelings of  which  we  know  nothing  in  waking  hours —  feel ings  not  belonging  to  life  at  all  —  that  we  cannot describe  it.  It  is  certainly  well  that  we  cannot. Now  I  have  long  fancied  that  this  form  of  fear  also is  explainable  only  by  the  inheritance  of  ancestral memories, — not  any  one  painful  experience,  but the  multitudinous  fears  of  a  totally  unknown  past, which  the  Gods  have  otherwise  mercifully  enabled us  to  forget.  The  memories  themselves  are  indeed gone,  —  only  the  sensations  of  them  remain,  stir into  life  at  vague  moments  of  sleep,  and  especially  in the  sleep  of  sickness,  when  the  experiences  of  real life  grow  faintest  in  recollection. Well,  when  I  was  a  dhild,  bad  dreams  took  for  me real  form  and  visibilitjF.  In  my  waking  hours  I  saw them.  They  walked  about  noiselessly  and  made  hid eous  faces  at  me.  Unhappily  I  had  no  mother  then —  only  an  old  grandaunt  who  never  had  children  of her  own,  and  who  hated  superstition.  If  I  cried  for 214  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN fear  in  the  dark,  I  only  got  whipped  for  it;  but  the fear  of  ghosts  was  greater  than  the  fear  of  whip pings  —  because  I  could  see  the  ghosts.  The  old  lady did  not  believe  me;  but  the  servants  did,  and  used  to come  and  comfort  me  by  stealth.  As  soon  as  I  was old  enough  to  be  sent  to  a  child-school,  I  was  hap pier,  —  because  though  badly  treated  there,  I  had companions  at  night  who  were  not  ghosts.  Gradu ally  the  phantoms  passed  —  I  think  when  I  was about  ten  or  eleven  I  had  ceased  to  fear.  It  is  only  in dreams  now  that  the  old  fear  ever  comes  back. Now  I  believe  in  ghosts.  Because  I  saw  them? Not  at  all.  I  believe  in  ghosts,  though  I  disbelieve in  souls.  I  believe  in  ghosts  because  there  are  no ghosts  now  in  the  modern  world.  And  the  difference between  a  world  full  of  ghosts  and  another  kind  of world,  shows  us  what  ghosts  mean  —  and  gods. The  awful  melancholy  of  that  book  of  Pearson's may  be  summed  up  in  this,  I  think,  —  "The  Aspira- tional  has  passed  forever  out  of  life."  It  is  horribly true.  What  made  the  aspirational  in  life?  Ghosts. Some  were  called  Gods,  some  Demons,  some  An gels;  —  they  changed  the  world  for  man;  they  gave him  courage  and  purpose  and  the  awe  of  Nature  that slowly  changed  into  love;  —  they  filled  all  things with  a  sense  and  motion  of  invisible  life,  —  they made  both  terror  and  beauty. There  are  no  ghosts,  no  angels  and  demons  and gods:  all  are  dead.  The  world  of  electricity,  steam, mathematics,  is  blank  and  cold  and  void.  No  man can  even  write  about  it.  Who  can  find  a  speck  of romance  in  it?  What  are  our  novelists  doing?  Craw- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  215 ford  must  write  of  Italy  or  India  or  ancient  Persia;  — Kipling  of  India;  —  Black  of  remote  Scotch  country life;  —  James  lives  only  as  a  marvellous  psycholog ist,  and  he  has  to  live  and  make  his  characters  live on  the  Continent;  —  Ho  wells  portrays  the  ;  ugliest and  harshest  commonplaces  of  a  transient  demo cracy.  What  great  man  is  writing,  or  can  write of  fashionable  society  anything  worth  reading,  or  of modern  middle  life,  —  or  of  the  poor  of  cities,  — unless  after  the  style  of  "Ginx's  Baby"?  No!  those who  write  must  seek  their  material  in  those  parts  of the  world  where  ghosts  still  linger,  —  in  Italy,  in Spain,  in  Russia,  in  the  old  atmosphere  of  Cathol icism.  The  Protestant  world  has  become  bald  and cold  as  a  meeting-house.  The  ghosts  are  gone;  and the  results  of  their  departure  prove  how  real  they were.  The  Cossacking  of  Europe  might  have  one good  result,  —  that  of  bringing  back  the  ghosts,  — with  that  Wind  of  the  Spirit  which  moves  the  ocean of  Russian  peasant  life  for  the  gathering  storm. Sometimes  I  think  of  writing  a  paper  to  be  called "The  Vanishing  of  the  Gods." Perhaps  you  are  tired  of  theories.  But  I  want  to speak  of  one  thing  more,  —  a  theorizer,  a  beautiful French  boy  of  seventeen,  whose  name  was  Henry Charles  Reade.  He  died  at  seventeen.  Friends who  loved  him  collected  his  boyish  poems,  and printed  them  in  a  little  book,  —  seven  or  eight  years ago.  One  of  these  poems  expresses  a  sensation  only a  psychologist  of  power  could  explain.  It  relates  to what  Spencer  tells  us  is  relative  to  all  antecedent experience.  I  offer  my  own  "overdone"  translation 216  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN of  it  —  because  I  have  not  the  original.  The  original was  more  simple,  and  in  all  respects  worthy  of  a  bet ter  rendering;  but  the  idea  is  as  follows:  — I  think  that  God  resolved  to  be Ungenerous  when  I  came  on  earth, And  that  the  heart  He  gave  to  me Was  old  already  ere  my  birth. He  placed  within  my  childish  breast A  worn-out  heart,  —  to  save  expense!  — A  heart  long  tortured  by  unrest And  torn  by  passion's  violence. Its  thousand  tender  scars  proclaim A  thousand  episodes  of  woe;  — And  yet  I  know  not  how  it  came By  all  those  wounds  which  hurt  it  so! Within  its  chambers  linger  hosts Of  passion-memories  never  mine,  — Dead  fires,  —  dreams  faded  out,  —  the  ghosts Of  suns  that  long  have  ceased  to  shine. Perfumes,  deliriously  sweet, Of  loves  that  I  have  never  known, It  holds,  —  and  burns  with  maddening  heat For  beauty  I  may  never  own. O  weirdest  fate!  —  O  hopeless  woe! Anguish  unrivalled!  —  peerless  pain!  — To  wildly  love,  —  and  never  know The  object  wildly  loved  in  vain! Certainly  the  lad  who  could  write  such  a  poem  at sixteen  might  have  been  a  poet  if  he  lived,  —  don't you  think  so? LAFCADIO  HEARN. January  12,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Twenty  thousand  thanks for  your  kind  criticisms.  As  to  the  general  verdict, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  217 it  is  the  very  highest  I  could  wish  to  obtain  from you.  To  write  about  such  matters  at  all,  situated  as I  am,  is  a  hazardous  thing,  —  having  no  one  whoever to  exchange  ideas  with  by  word  of  mouth. Of  course  your  illustration  of  the  Chinese  love  of rhyme  (and  indeed  I  ought  to  have  remembered Legge's  illustrations)  knocks  one  of  my  sugges tions  out  of  existence;  and  I  shall  suppress  it. Thanks  also  for  notes  on  the  margin,  or  rather queries.  The  ugliest  one,  that  is,  the  only  one  I  can't answer  at  all,  is  the  query  about  quadrupeds.  I never  have  been  able  to  satisfactorily  explain  to  my self  the  contrast  offered  by  the  drawings  of  cats, dogs,  horses,  and,  above  all,  cows,  —  to  the  marvel lous  drawing  of  insects,  flowers,  landscapes,  and  en masse,  or  as  figures  in  a  landscape,  even  men  and women.  I  can't  think  it  is  the  mere  difficulty  of  size. Why  should  a  cow  be  drawn  so  much  worse  than  a dragon?  Yes,  that  is  an  ugly  matter  to  get  over. But,  of  course,  I  presumed  in  my  article  to  refer  only to  things  not  suggestive  of  sex;  —  horses  and  cows, etc.,  certainly  are.  Why  should  a  Japanese  artist astonish  the  world  with  drawings  of  monkeys,  and not  be  able  to  draw  a  cow?  Here  again,  my  theory has  to  face  a  series  of  exceptions  I  can't  get  over. All  I  can  venture  is  this:  —  From  the  intrinsic merit  of  the  art  itself  I  cannot  help  suspecting  (or,  if you  like,  wishing  to  suspect)  that  there  may  have been  social  conditions,  conventions,  or  disabilities of  some  sort  which  checked  the  development  of  that art  in  one  direction,  —  or  perhaps  traditions  which checked  it,  or  perhaps  other  causes  connected  with 218  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN the  religion,  the  agriculture,  etc.,  of  the  people.  All this  may  seem  wild.  But  the  common  explanation that  large  subjects  were  beyond  the  range  of  Japan ese  art  does  not  strike  me  as  tenable.  However,  here I  must  acknowledge  my  ignorance. As  to  the  two  queries  on  Wordsworth:  —  I  did not  mean  to  call  Wordsworth  obscure,  but  I  think Tennyson  is  more  lucid,  simpler,  requires  much  less mental  effort  to  follow.  There  is  great  depth  in Wordsworth;  —  I  confess  I  have  to  re-read  stanzas several  times  to  get  the  meaning  clear.  Parts  of  the "Ode  to  Immortality"  I  think  you  would  acknow ledge  hard  reading.  That  Wordsworth  conceived Nature  as  Intelligence  is  alone  a  good  proof  of  his depth.  And  I  must  confess  my  sympathy  with Arnold's  criticism  that  one  must  wade  through  a  vast heap  of  rubbish  in  order  to  get  all  the  beauties  of Wordsworth.  On  the  second  query,  it  is  true  that Wordsworth  is  much  less  characterized  by  the  an thropomorphic  spirit  than  other  poets,  —  as  he  is also  less  imaginative;  but  when  he  does  describe,  he can  look  even  at  houses  anthropomorphically,  — Dear  God!  the  very  houses  seem  asleep, And  all  that  mighty  heart  is  lying  still! However,  the  question  is:  —  "How  do  we  see  the beauties  of  Nature?"  (By  "we"  understand  the artistic  West.)  Do  we  generally  see  them  with  the coldly  moral  gaze  of  Wordsworth,  or  do  we  not rather  see  them  through  the  passional  delight  of Shelley?  —  or  the  fantastic  fetichism  of  Coleridge? ^-or  the  spirit  of  the  Amourists?  I  think  artists TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  219 generally  certainly  do  not  look  at  Nature  like Wordsworth.  That  you  yourself  cannot,  your  lines about  Fuji  plainly  show,  and  your  much  more beautiful  lines  about  the  colour  of  the  scenery  at Miyanoshita.  Wordsworth  represents  for  me  the cold  theological  view  of  the  world;  we  have  to  love him,  because  he  touches  infinite  truth  betimes,  but surely  he  was  immensely  deficient  in  sense  of  im agination!  Never  in  his  life  could  he  have  felt Byron's  lines,  — They  looked  up  to  the  sky,  whose  floating  glow Spread  like  a  rosy  ocean,  vast  and  bright; They  gazed  upon  the  glittering  sea  below Whence  the  broad  moon  rose  circling  into  sight;  — They  heard  the  waves  plash,  and  the  wind  so  low, And  saw  each  other's  dark  eyes  darting  light Into  each  other;  and  beholding  this Their  lips  grew  near  and  clung  into  a  kiss. He  describes  sensation  almost  miraculously, —  but the  sensations  are  rarely  very  fanciful. Be  the  intellectual  world  as  it  may,  however,  the vast  middle  class  abroad  certainly  seem  to  feel  that all  beauty  is  feminine,  and  the  exceptions  in  any class  should  not  break  the  rule.  But  in  regard  to what  I  said  of  terrible  beauty,  even  Wordsworth's "Yea!  Carnage  is  thy  daughter!"  is  an  example. Of  Corot,  I  can't  speak;  I  only  saw  engravings. But  I  think  the  charm  of  colour,  of  sound,  of  per fume,  are  all  (in  spite  of  Grant  Allen's  beautiful book)  related  (to-day)  to  our  passional  sense.  That German  music  should  have  crowded  out  Italian  for a  time  only  proves  that  we  are  rising  higher  into  the ether;  the  passional  music  will  come  back  to  favour, 220  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN etherealized  and  infinitely  more  powerful  as  an emotional  influence.  Of  course,  I  am  not  supposing that  you  suspect  me  of  a  tendency  to  hard  and  fast rules.  There  are  no  general  rules  of  a  sharp  sort;  but to  insist  upon  absolute  accuracy  would  kill  specula tion  and  paralyze  fancy,  —  would  n't  it? Mason's  criticism  is  partly  right  from  his  point  of view  as  expressed  in  his  letter,  I  think.  But  I  also think  that  neither  in  this  article  nor  in  a  previous one  did  he  quite  understand  my  drift,  which  was psychological.  I  still  think,  as  you  say,  the  foreigner does  not  see  the  real  Japanese  life,  even  under  the most  favoured  conditions.  Only  the  other  day,  at  a Japanese  house,  my  host,  drawing  his  child  to  his breast,  and  caressing  it,  said  to  me:  —  "We  cannot do  that  among  ourselves,  and  the  little  fellow  knows he  has  not  any  right  to  come  near  me  [meaning  cud dle  up  to  him]  when  there  are  guests.  But  as  you are  a  foreigner,  you  will  excuse  him."  In  Izumo,  I noticed  contrary  signs,  proving  that  the  conduct  of husband  and  wife  to  each  other  is  by  rigid  rule purely  formal  under  observation;  even  the  pretended throwing  aside  of  formality  is  formal.  Of  course  I have  learned  something  of  other  lives,  —  but  not by  my  own  observation.  The  emotional  side,  even in  the  case  of  death,  is  forever  hidden,  not  from  us alone,  but  from  all.  I  heard  the  other  day  of  trage dies  that  astounded  me.  The  sufferers  —  fellow teachers  —  never  interrupted  duty,  nor  hinted  of their  loss  or  suffering  in  any  possible  way.  They would  have  thought  themselves  degraded  to  have done  so. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  221 And  now  for  the  big?  —  Are  you  really  surprised that  I  think  evolutional  philosophy  has  enormously spiritualized  our  idea  of  woman  and  made  her  in finitely  more  precious?  Well,  it  is  true  I  have  seen no  books  written  upon  the  subject;  but  the  doctrine entails  the  result  I  specify.  Here  I  would  wish  to  be able  to  talk;  to  explain  my  thoughts  on  paper  fully would  take  too  long.  I  can  only  suggest.  The  physi cal  or  material  facts  of  evolution  are  terribly  beau tiful  and  wonderful.  But  what  is  infinitely  more terrible  and  beautiful  and  wonderful  is  the  psycho logical  story  of  evolution.  Let  us  think  of  a  sweet young  pure  girl,  with  the  mother-soul  (mutter seele?)  in  her  but  half -fledged.  According  to  theo logy,  what  does  she  represent?  A  freshly  created being,  moulded  by  an  imaginary  God.  According  to materialism,  what  is  she?  A  perfect  female  body, brought  into  existence  by  material  laws,  and  de stined  to  live  and  perish  like  a  plant,  a  human  poly- cotyledon.  According  to  evolutional  philosophy, what  is  she?  Not  ONE,  —  but  countless  myriads  of millions  of  dead  in  ONE  LIFE  MANIFESTATION,  —  an incomprehensible  Multiple,  that  has  appeared  but once  in  the  order  of  the  Cosmos,  and  never  can appear  again. But  that  is  only  the  barest  definition.  Why  is  she beautiful?  Because  in  the  struggles  of  unknown millions  of  years  between  the  tendency  to  beauty and  the  tendency  to  ugliness,  —  the  beautiful  tri umphed  over  unspeakable  obstacles  and  won.  Why is  she  good  and  sweet  and  lovable?  Because  by  the sacrifices,  and  the  love,  and  the  sense  of  goodness £22  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN acquired  by  countless  millions  of  mothers,  —  in spite  of  all  conceivable  suffering  and  pain  and  ter ror  and  fear  and  wickedness,  —  the  sum  of  all  the unthinkable  multitude  of  tendencies  in  the  race  to goodness  triumphed  to  appear  in  her.  A  good  man, a  good  woman,  seemed  a  small  matter  a  century  ago, —  men  and  women  were,  as  for  Heine,  Nos.  1,  2,  3, —  11,  12.  But  when  we  learn  scientifically  at  what awful  cost  of  suffering  and  struggle  and  death  any single  moral  being  is  evolved,  surely  the  sense  of  the value  of  a  life  is  increased  unspeakably.  And  on  the other  hand,  —  how  much  more  terrible  does  a  crime appear.    For  of  old  a  crime  was  a  violation  of  the laws  of  a  country,  a  particular  society,  a  particular theology.  But  in  the  light  of  the  new  philosophy,  a real  crime  becomes  a  crime  against  not  only  the  to tality  of  all  human  experience  with  right  and  wrong, —  but  a  distinct  injury  to  the  universal  tendency to  higher  things,  —  a  crime  against  not  humanity only,  but  the  entire  Cosmos,  —  against  the  laws that  move  a  hundred  millions  of  systems  of  worlds. Years  ago  I  wrote  a  story  I  am  now  ashamed  of; but  I  cut  out  a  paragraph  and  send  it,  because  it embodies  some  of  my  fancies  on  this  topic.  Still, I  can't  write  my  thoughts  to  you;  they  are  things to  talk  over  only.  Thousands  of  illustrations  only could  satisfy  me. Then  there  is  this  other  very  awful  thing.  Here  is a  woman,  for  example,  who  is  good,  sweet,  beauti ful.  Since  the  being  of  the  world,  all  life,  all  human ity,  all  progress  has  been  working  against  evil  and death  in  one  line.  The  end  of  the  line  only  is  visible. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  223 It  is  that  girl.  She  represents  the  supreme  effort. But  she  is  a  creator.  Her  place  is  to  continue  the infinite  work  of  the  dead.  He  who  weds  her  has  an awful  responsibility  both  to  the  dead  and  to  the unborn.  To  the  dead,  if  he  should  mar  their  work. To  the  future,  if  he  plant  in  that  bosom  a  life  in capable  of  continuing  the  progress  of  the  past.  But this  is  too  long.  Are  you  not  tired? Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Looking  over  Saints- bury's  "French  Literature,"  which  I  received  only to-day,  I  find  in  regard  to  the  origin  of  the  alterna tion  of  masculine  with  feminine  rhymes,  a  remark. As  I  guessed,  you  will  remember,  from  our  own poetry,  —  it  seems  the  alternate  form  began  with Proven  gal,  in  which  the  earlier  form  was  eight- syllable  lines  rhyming  together,  pair  by  pair,  and, subsequently,  the  form  changing,  the  alternation of  feminine  and  masculine  began.  This  would  be  the natural  evolutional  process,  of  course.  But  that the  invention  was  Provencal,  and  made  just  perhaps about  the  time  of  the  amorous  feeling  which  created the  courts  of  Love,  would,  I  think  (though  Saints- bury  says  nothing  about  it),  account  for  the  first place  being  given  to  the  feminine. In  the  accompanying  volume  ("Specimens"),  also received  to-day,  I  find  that  Saintsbury,  who  both in  the  Encyclopaedia  Britannica  and  in  his  "History of  French  Literature"  characterizes  "La  Morte Amoureuse"  as  the  most  perfect  of  all  French  short 224  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN stories,  actually  cites  three  pages  of  it  as  the  only prose  sample  of  Gautier's  best  work.  On  the  other hand,  I  certainly  cannot  agree  with  Saintsbury  that Baudelaire's  "  Fleurs  de  Mai "  "  were  never  popular" or  worthy  to  be,  —  nor  that  Zola  and  the  Realist school  are  insufferably  dull,  have  no  art-sense,  and owe  their  existence  to  the  appetite  for  vice.  I  have not  read  him  all,  of  course;  but  while  some  of  his criticisms  both  delight  and  surprise  me,  others  strike me  as  showing  total  inappreciation  of  the  character istics  of  the  writer.  Certainly,  it  would  not  be  well for  us  if  we  had  to  accept  the  judgment  of  any  one literary  critic  as  final.  It  is  only  through  conflicting opinions  that  we  reach  the  secret  both  of  the  faults and  the  merits. I  noticed  that  the  presents  manufactured  this year  show  less  of  innovation  than  last  year.  The figured  silks,  haori  linings,  etc.,  were  among  the most  beautiful  things  I  ever  saw, — chrysanthemum blossoms,  flower  sprays  of  divine  colours  (including an  unforgettable  blaze  of  iris-blossoms), — dragons and  clouds,  —  birds,  etc.,  and  landscapes.  The  only unpleasant  break  in  the  hundreds  of  designs  I  saw was  one  representing  Lieutenant  Gunji  and  Lieu tenant  Fukushima  exploring  ripples  and  deserts  of damascening.  These  were  costly;  but  perhaps  the simplest  things  were  even  more  charming.  I  bought piles  of  towels,  because  they  were  just  as  good  as kakemono.  Some  were  figured  with  Chinese  poems and  Japanese  poems;  —  some  had  scenes  from plays;  —  and  some  scenes  from  Oguri  Hangwan  (!); not  to  speak  of  views  of  Matsushima,  Fuji,  etc. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  225 The  sake  cups  were  less  vulgar  than  last  year;  but I  saw  one  horror,  the  word  BEEF  (sic)  in  gold  letters upon  fine  porcelain  (made  as  presents  from  butch ers!) From  Nagasaki  I  got  a  Consular  letter  with  ex traordinary  spellings;  —  I  enclose  as  a  curiosity.  I have  written  a  long  answer  asking  advice,  but  hesi tate  to  post  it.  My  folks  won't  hear  of  becoming English  citizens,  and  losing  power  of  acquiring  pro perty  in  the  interior.  If  the  Consul  Quin  is  a  good fellow,  he  might  write  to  me;  but  I  feel  again  he might  snub  me,  etc. It  has  suddenly  occurred  to  me  that  my  reference to  masculine  and  feminine  rhyme  alternation  in Provengal  is  childish,  —  as  I  forgot  that  I  did  not know  whether  in  that  era  the  rhymes  were  thus named  at  all.  What  might  again  be  considered, however,  is  the  appearance,  in  early  French  poetry, of  verse  in  two  languages,  —  one  line  in  Latin  and one  in  Romance,  alternately.  Your  question  is  cer tainly  most  interesting,  but  difficult  to  solve.  Per haps  it  can't  be  certainly  solved  at  all,  because  the early  ballad-poetry  of  the  Northern  French  dialect has  completely  disappeared,  if  it  ever  existed,  which some  doubt. I  fancy  I  may  have  discovered  the  truth  about  all that  disgusts  me  in  government  schools.  One  said to  me  yesterday:  "There  is  little  love  between students  and  teachers  and  little  zeal  in  the  teaching, —  simply  because  the  government  schools  are  offi cial  nurseries.  The  teacher  may  be  in  love  with  his profession,  but  he  may  not.  He  is  merely  a  govern- 226  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN ment  official  in  hard  fact.  He  regards  teaching  as  a step  to  rank,  and  perhaps  to  public  life  in  the  capac ity  of  a  foreign  representative,  or  a  Tokyo  office holder.  He  is  appointed  not  for  his  abilities,  but  for his  relationships  or  his  utilizeability,  so  to  speak. The  students  understand  the  position  perfectly well,  and  act  accordingly.  There  is  no  more  respect, much  less  reverence." Let  me  tell  you  a  rather  pleasant  story  of  local life.  An  old  shopkeeper  who  sells  us  lacquerware  had a  queue,  —  like  not  a  few  other  old  shopkeepers  in Kumamoto.  He  professed  to  detest  all  Western manners,  dress,  ideas;  and  praised  the  tempora antiqua  without  stint.  Whereby  he  offended  young Japan,  and  his  business  diminished.  It  continued to  diminish.  His  young  wife  lamented,  and  begged him  to  cut  off  his  queue.  He  replied  that  he  would suffer  any  torment  rather  than  that.  Business  be came  slacker.  Landlord  came  round  for  rent.  All three  were  samurai.  Husband  was  out.  Landlord said,  "If  your  husband  would  cut  off  his  queue  he might  be  able  to  pay  his  rent ! "  "That  is  just  what  I tell  him,"  said  she,  —  "but  he  won't  listen  to  me." "Let  me  talk  to  him!"  said  the  landlord.  Queue comes  in,  out  of  breath,  and  salutes  landlord.  Land lord  frowns  and  asks  for  rent.  Usual  apologies. "Then  you  get  out  of  my  house,"  says  the  landlord, —  "get  out  at  once."  Queue  cannot  understand old  friend's  sudden  harshness,  becomes  humble  in vain,  —  makes  offers  of  his  stock  in  payment. Landlord  says,  "Hm!  what?"  "Anything  you  like in  the  shop?"  "Hm,  word  of  honour?"  "Yes." TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  227 Landlord  joyfully  to  wife,  "Bring  me  a  scissors, quick!"  Scissors  is  brought.  Dismay  and  protests checked  by  the  terrible  word  "  Yakusoku."  Off  goes the  queue.  Owner  mourns.  Landlord  laughs,  and says,  "Old  friend,  I  make  you  now  a  present  of  the three  months'  rent;  you  owe  me  nothing."  Business begins  to  improve. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  I  feel  the  power  of  the  anti-foreign  reaction. The  sudden  hiss  of  hatred  with  which  I  am  greeted by  passers-by  sometimes,  in  unfamiliar  districts,  con vinces  me  that  foreigners  in  the  interior  would  have an  ugly  time  in  case  of  political  troubles  of  a  very likely  kind.  The  only  hope  for  Japan  is  a  return  to autocracy. January  22,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  have  just  had  your letter  and  a  new  big  batch  of  proofs  at  the  same time,  up  to  galley  one  hundred  and  eighty -two,  — makes,  I  think,  over  seven  hundred  pages  already, but  more  to  come. However,  I  want  to  chat  first.  Yes,  after  I  posted my  last  letter,  I  thought  to  myself,  "He  has  got  me on  Wordsworth;  I  can't  make  out  a  case  there.  I must  give  in."  Indeed  I  think  more  of  the  Latin poets,  I  suppose;  I  think  of  the  Latin  prose-writers, like  Gautier  describing  the  hills  qui  ondulaient  comme leshanches  d'une  femme,  when  I  write  those  things. And  you  are  right;  the  world  is  n't  all  paganized  yet. Still,  I  fancy  our  artistic  classes  do  at  the  present 228  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN time  feel  Nature  more  in  the  Latin  way  than  they did  in  Wordsworth's  era,  —  feel  her  something  like Symonds  did.  Your  comparison  about  Wordsworth —  beautiful  as  a  swan  when  he  glides  along  with  the current  of  a  subject  befitting  his  powers,  and  wad dling  clumsily  when  out  of  it  —  is  delicious.  By  the way,  Baudelaire  has  a  touching  poem  about  a  frig ate-bird,  or  albatross,  which  you  would  like,  —  de scribing  the  poet's  soul  superb  in  its  own  free  azure, —  but  helpless,  insulted,  ugly,  clumsy  when  striving to  walk  on  common  earth,  —  or  rather,  on  a  deck, where  sailors  torment  it  with  tobacco  pipes,  etc. But  about  Japanese  art.  I,  too,  thought  of  the anatomy  question.  It  did  not  solve  the  question  for me.  Why?  Because  I  don't  believe  the  Greeks  knew anything  about  anatomy.  I  say  this  after  a  careful study  of  Winkelmann  and  the  monuments  so  match lessly  engraved  by  the  Society  of  Dilettanti  (what would  I  not  give  to  have  the  edition  I  saw!),  and  the engravings  of  gems,  etc.,  etc.  The  astounding  thing is  that  the  great  Italians  who  studied  osteology  — who  drew  the  skeleton  before  covering  it  with painted  flesh  —  never  approached  the  commonest Greek  outline.  Did  the  Greeks  ever  dissect?  It strikes  me  their  religion  would  have  rendered  that impossible,  and  their  humanity.  How  did  they  man age?  What  is  the  awful,  —  really  awful  secret  of their  knowledge  of  grace?  We  know  the  geometrical rules  for  the  face.  But  those  for  the  limbs,  —  those Jong,  lithe,  light,  wondrous  limbs !  and  the  torso,  — and  the  divine  symmetry  of  the  rest,  —  we  cannot find.  We  know  they  drew  by  rule,  squaring  off  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  229 surface  with  cross-lines  first.  But  what  was  the rule?  And  how  did  they  find  it?  And  the  muscles of  the  Farnese,  —  the  suppleness  of  the  miraculous Aphrodite,  —  the  abdominal  lines  of  the  Apollo,  — nay,  the  mere  set  of  the  limbs  of  the  smallest  nude figure  on  a  gem!  Yet  they  cannot  have  studied anatomy  at  all  in  the  modern  sense.  No;  they  loved the  body,  —  they  found  the  secrets  of  the  divine geometrical  idea  of  it  through  the  intuition  of  that love,  possible  only  in  a  time  when  there  was  no  sense of  shame  or  shyness  or  what  we  call  conscience  about sexual  matters  in  themselves.  I  can't  think  scientific knowledge  of  anatomy  could  have  helped  them much  in  groping  for  the  pure  ideal  which  they  found; it  would  rather  have  balked  them.  And  I  don't think  ignorance  of  the  subject  would  alone  explain the  Japanese  incapacity  in  the  anatomical  direction. Strange  to  say,  however,  yesterday  I  saw  an artistic  cow!  Really!  I  had  been  invited  to  look  at some  kakemono  by  Ippo,  and  lo!  —  the  first  was  a running  cow.  It  was  very  good.  But  why?  Curi ously  enough  the  cow  had  been  drawn  exactly  like  an insect;  the  figure  was  about  as  large  as  this  sheet,  and foreshortened,  —  the  hind  quarters  being  turned toward  the  gazer.  What  the  artist  had  caught  was the  motion,  —  the  queer  crooked  lumbering  knock- kneed  motion  of  the  cow.  I  don't  believe  he  could have  done  it  on  a  bigger  scale  at  all;  he  could  not have  then  given  the  sense  of  the  gawky  movement. I  found  this  in  the  Athenceum :  — "Give  me  thy  dreams!"  she  said;  and  I, With  empty  hands,  and  very  poor, 230       LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Watched  my  fair  flowery  visions  die   * Upon  the  temple's  marble  floor. "Give  joy!"  she  cried.  I  let  joy  go;  —  '" I  saw  with  cold  unclouded  eyes The  crimson  of  the  sunset  glow Across  the  disenchanted  skies. "  Give  me  thy  youth,"  she  said.  I  gave; And,  sudden-clouded,  died  the  sun;  — And  on  the  grey  mound  of  a  grave Fell  the  slow  raindrops,  one  by  one. "Give  love!"  she  cried.  I  gave  that  too. "  Give  beauty!"  Beauty  sighed  and  fled, For  what,  on  earth,  should  beauty  do, When  love,  who  was  her  life,  was  dead? She  took  the  balm  of  innocent  tears To  hiss  upon  her  altar-coal,  — She  took  the  hopes  of  all  the  years, And,  at  the  last,  she  took  my  soul. With  heart  made  empty  of  delight And  hands  that  held  no  more  fair  things, I  questioned  her;  —  "What  shall  requite The  savour  of  my  offerings?" "The  Gods,"  she  said,  —  "with  generous  hand Give  guerdon  for  thy  gifts  of  cost; Wisdom  is  thine,  to  understand The  worth  of  all  that  thou  hast  lost." (E.  NESBIT.) It  strikes  me  that  the  workmanship  might  be  vastly improved;  but  the  imagery,  the  thought,  the  moral of  the  verses  are  true  poetry  in  spite  of  the  flaws. Ever  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. Mason  likes  dreams.  I  send  a  sample  of  a  genuine one,  described  as  exactly  as  I  knew  how,  —  without any  additional  imaginings. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  231 P.  S.  I  forgot  another  thing.  You  are  certainly right  in  holding  that  both  sexes  ought  to  be  equally exalted  by  the  philosophical  idea  of  character  evolu tion.  We  do  not  disagree  there  at  all.  But  of  course, each  sex  studies  the  other  as  a  something  apart from  itself.  I,  writing  from  the  masculine  point  of view,  think  of  the  woman  in  the  reverential  fashion for  a  purpose. There  is  this,  however:  —  The  perfect  woman appeals  to  us  through  the  evolution  in  her  of  those particular  qualities  which  latter-day  faith  especially dwells  on  as  divine,  —  devotion,  mercy,  pity,  infin ite  love,  tenderness,  —  all  those  soul-things  that  the world's  bitterness  and  struggle  make  us  wish  for,  — all  those  things  which  are  to  make  and  soften  the peace  of  the  future  Age  of  Gold.  But  the  ideal  man cannot  be  figured  in  this  wise;  we  cannot  divest  him of  the  aggressive,  —  we  cannot  admire  him  even without  recognizing  in  him  some  latent  capacity of  inspiring  fear  and  some  potential  hardness  of soul.  As  a  matter  of  stern  physical  fact,  the  man is  really  the  superior  being,  —  morally  as  well  as physically;  his  whole  nature  is  one  of  greater  mass- iveness,  his  sympathies  are  larger  and  deeper,  his sense  of  justice  incomparably  higher  and  broader, and  woman  never  can  be  his  equal  for  plain  physio logical  reasons.  But  in  the  present  unhappy  con dition  of  the  world,  it  is  only  the  woman  who  really sees  the  man;  it  is  only  for  her  that  he  takes  off  his armour  and  mask. L.  H. 232  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN January  27,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — Your  letter  was  a  great pleasure  to  me  for  more  reasons  than  one,  —  es pecially,  however,  because  giving  what  a  man  is always  most  hungry  for  in  this  world  (unless  he  is  a Diogenes) — sympathy.  First,  about  the  registration question :  —  Perhaps  your  idea  of  my  destiny  is prophetical,  and  I  may  again  be  a  traveller.  I  think I  ought  to  travel  a  little  for  literary  material.  But  I cannot  imagine  any  circumstance,  except  banish ment  by  the  Tenshi-sama,  that  should  prevent  me from  making  my  home  in  Japan.  Indeed,  I  never thought  about  such  a  possibility.  The  only  grim outlook  isv  death,  —  because  I  am  much  older  than  I like  to  be;  in  that  case  English  citizenship  would  be of  no  use  to  my  folk.  As  for  my  wife,  she  is  only  a simple  sweet-hearted  country-girl;  she  would  never feel  at  home  in  the  life  of  the  open  ports,  or  be  able to  mingle  at  ease  in  the  Europeanized  circles  of  their Japanese  society.  Again,  none  of  my  folks  know anything  about  business;  —  they  would  be  easily deprived  of  anything.  I  could  leave  them  in  any  of the  settlements;  but  as  for  myself,  I  can't  imagine anything  which  could  separate  us  indefinitely  in life.  Leaving  the  moral  question  aside  altogether  — though  it  is  a  stronger  one  than  any  —  there  comes the  consideration  of  the  facts,  thus :  The  Japanese are  still  the  best  people  in  the  world  to  live  among; —  therefore  why  wish  ever  to  live  elsewhere?  No one  will  ever,  or  could  ever,  love  me  any  more  than those  about  me  now  love  me;  —  and  that  is  the most  precious  consideration  in  life  aside  from  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  233 mere  capacity  to  live.  The  ugly  questions  are  death and  lack  of  employment.  The  latter  is  quite  pos sible.  The  former  is  important.  In  either  event,  it were  better  that  mother  and  son  were  able  to  live in  the  interior,  and  own  their  own  homestead,  and have  a  little  revenue,  and  take  care  of  each  other until  better  times.  There's  the  odds.  Yes,  as  you say,  it  is  a  hard  nut  to  crack;  but  I  fancy  the  safe side  is  that  suggested  by  the  family  instinct  —  they have  all  decided  not  to  risk  loss  of  citizenship.  The patriarch,  of  course,  considers  me  only  an  adopted son;  and  thinks  that  Izumo  should  always  be  the family  home. What  you  say  of  Japanese  costume  as  a  protection by  mimicry  is  glorious.  I  should  like  to  meet  the Japanese  who  had  shrewdness  enough  to  say  so  de licious  a  thing !  The  fact  struck  me  a  good  while  ago (and  I  embodied  it  in  my  article  on  "  Jiujutsu  ")  that the  Japanese  have  never  really  adopted  European costume  at  all.  It  is  worn  only  outside  the  house; the  reifuJcu  as  a  business  uniform,  the  yofuku  as  a military  uniform.  Even  the  officers  of  the  garrison resume  at  home  the  kimono,  obi,  haori,  and  tabi. The  Kencho  officials,  the  judges,  the  Governors  of provinces,  the  teachers,  are,  at  home,  each  and all,  just  as  much  Japanese  as  they  were  a  thousand years  ago.  The  students  even  hate  the  uniforms  and confess  its  value  only  as  a  military  garb. What  you  say  about  the  French  rhymes  again  is of  extreme  interest  to  me,  —  showing  how  enor mously  complicated  the  most  apparently  simple subject  always  proves  under  the  examination  of  a 234  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN thinker.  I  believe  everything  you  say  about  the "pause"  —  value  of  the  single  rhyme,  etc.  But  the question  first  suggested  by  you  —  the  precedence given  to  the  feminine  rhyme  —  would  not  be  solved by  any  of  these  discoveries,  I  think;  —  although they  would  explain  the  raison  d'etre  for  the  retention of  the  rule.  I  don't  think  it  was  a  gradual  evolution, —  though  it  may  have  been;  because  far,  far  back  in the  history  of  French  literature  it  still  appears,  and because  exceptions  would  only  prove  the  rule  by their  comparative  rarity.  I  still  imagine  (and  will do  so  until  a  proof  to  the  contrary  turns  up)  that the  solution  is  to  be  found  in  the  old  rules  of  Proven- gal  lyric  poetry,  —  which  strongly  affected  the Northern  lighter  verse  that  it  preceded,  so  far  as  we are  able  to  learn.  Of  course,  this  idea  leaves  out  the supposition,  for  which  no  positive  proof  exists,  that a  mass  of  Northern  ballad  literature,  antedating  the "Song  of  Roland,"  etc.,  has  been  lost.  Saintsbury thinks  this  an  unsubstantiated  conjecture;  and  the extraordinary  vitality  of  ballad  literature  elsewhere is  in  his  favour. I  suppose  you  can  scarcely  have  failed  to  observe the  extraordinary  benevolence  exercised  toward students  throughout  the  country.  Every  official and  every  teacher  —  or  nearly  every  —  has  a number  of  shosei  in  his  house.  Nominally  they should  support  themselves,  but  I  fancy  they  are  in all  cases  largely  aided,  even  as  to  food.  What  you may  not  have  noticed,  perhaps,  is  that  in  modern Japanese  houses  of  a  fair  class  —  such  as  my  own  — special  architectural  provision  is  made  for  shosei. TO  BASIL  HALL   CHAMBERLAIN  235 There  are  two  or  more  small  walled-off  rooms  (solid kabe-work)  contrived  about  the  entrance  which  are called  "student-rooms."  The  soshi-busmess  in Tokyo  represents  only  the  perversion  of  this  bene volent  custom  to  political  ends.  I  myself  intend,  if things  turn  out  pretty  well,  to  take  an  Izumo  stu dent  or  two  later  on,  and  help  as  far  as  can  reason ably  be  expected.  I  am  often  asked  by  local  stu dents,  but  as  often  refuse;  for  others  have  prior claims,  and,  besides,  my  present  house  is  too  small. The  native  benevolence  does  not  draw  the  line at  shosei.  I  know  a  number  of  cases  of  hard-worked teachers  contributing  regularly  every  month  to  the university  expenses  of  boys  whom  they  have  taught. I  asked,  "Are  they  really  grateful?"  of  a  very  cyn ical  professor.  He  said,  "Yes,  I  believe  they  are; —  they  are  grateful  to  their  Japanese  teachers  for personal  favours."  I  said,  "But  they  are  not grateful  to  foreign  teachers?"  He  answered, — "Well,  no:  that  is  quite  a  different  matter."  Then I  wondered  whether  this  is  not  just  because  we foreign  teachers  are  really  so  much  more  selfish towards  them  —  for  reasons  we  cannot  help,  of course. Lastly:  —  The  benevolence  of  the  teachers  does not  stop  there.  Special  teachers  devote  their  whole spare  time  to  unpaid,  gratuitous  teaching,  —  in many  instances.  Take  jiujutsu !  Our  present  teacher, a  disciple  of  Kano's,  builds  here  at  his  own  expense, in  his  own  residence  grounds,  a  jiujutsu  hall,  and teaches  all  his  spare  time  without  a  cent  of  remuner ation.  Take  natural  history !  The  least  sympathetic 236  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN of  all  the  teachers  gives  his  whole  leisure  to  extra labour  in  this  direction.  Perhaps  it  is  the  very  excess of  such  kindness  on  the  part  of  the  native  teachers which  creates  the  feeling  of  "off  ness"  between  the foreign  teacher  and  the  students.  His  greatest kindness  suffers  terribly  by  comparison. Again  the  foreign  teacher  is  trusted  only  as  an intellectual  machine.  His  moral  notions,  his  sym pathies,  his  intuitions,  his  educational  ideas  are  not trusted  at  all; —  a  Japanese  teacher  is  always  con sulted  by  preference.  There  seems  to  be  the  set  con viction  in  every  official  mind  that  a  foreigner  cannot understand  Japanese  students.  Indeed  I  suspect that  those  among  us  who  sympathize  with  them, and  wish  to  know  them,  may  really  understand them  much  better  than  they  can  understand  us,  — which  is  saying  a  good  deal, — just  because  of  this solid  conviction  about  our  mental  incapacity.  .  .  . Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. Extract  from  a  composition  now  before  me:  — "I  think  the  orders  of  the  Mombusho  are  very cruel  to  our  students.  According  to  this  document, the  students  must  be  very  humble  to  their  masters. We  are  giving  the  money  for  thanks  for  our  lessons. The  masters,  who  are  only  obliged  to  teach  us,  have no  affection  for  us,  —  so  that  we  also  have  none for  them.  Whenever  by  chance  there  happens  any disagreeing  between  teachers  and  students,  then the  students  seem  in  the  teachers'  eyes  to  be  venom ous  snakes,  and  'the  cruelty  carried  up  to  our TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  237 head/  so  that  anger  is  more  encouraged  than  ever. (I  don't  quite  understand  this.) "In  Japan  there  used  to  be  good  customs,  —  to honour  His  Majesty  Our  Emperor,  to  love  our parents,  and  to  reverence  the  old.  Now  the  only precepts  are  about  carefulness.  Our  hearts  are infected  with  European  false-hearted  customs." Well,  —but  is  n't  it  true? L.  H. January  30,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — I  am  really  overwhelmed, and  can't  say  much  in  way  of  thanks.  The  trans lation  delights  me  beyond  all  measure;  it  is  exactly the  thing  I  dreamed  of!  —  transliteration  and  all. As  I  began  to  read  it  I  began  to  sing, — for  the whole  thing  flashed  with  melody  at  once, — the new  jerky,  menacing,  clarion-style,  —  with  all  the emphasis  phalanxed  at  the  line-ends,  like  bayonets. It  lives;  and  I  am  going  to  try  to  versify  it.  I  am very  weak  and  inexperienced  in  versifying,  however; and  it  will  take  time.  Then  I  will  offer  you  the  sam ple,  to  be  judged.  Your  MS.  I  will  always  preserve as  a  very  dear  thing.  But  do  not  ever  take  such trouble  for  me  again,  —  because  it  would  only  make me  ashamed.  Of  course,  I  shall  try  to  use  the  song for  the  Kumamoto  paper  in  my  own  way,  if  you wish.  .  .  . Is  n't  Lowell  much  like  those  tropical  fruits  that are  ripened  only  by  sun?  He  has  had  none  of  the frost  of  life  to  sweeten  him.  Tropical  fruits,  you know,  are  terribly  disappointing,  —  though  very 238  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN lovely  to  the  eye.  You  must  go  North,  and  far North,  to  get  the  fruits  that  have  the  true  rich  flav our  and  nutritive  force.  They  have  been  ripened  by sharp  winds  and  frosts.  So  with  men,  is  n't  it?  The man  who  has  not  suffered,  has  had  only  half  of  his nervous  system  developed.  He  can  touch  and  feel life  on  one  side  only.  It  is  the  man  who  has  had  to fight  with  the  world's  rough  weather  that  can  feel life  to  several  dimensions.  Hence  that  Goethe- verse  you  know  so  much  better  than  I  do,  — Who  ne'er  his  bread  in  sorrow  ate,  — Who  ne'er,  the  lonely  midnight  hours, Weeping  upon  his  bed  hath  sate, He  knows  ye  not,  Ye  Heavenly  Powers! And  so  the  whirligig  of  Time  works!  Would  it  not be  enough  to  make  one  doubt  the  Unutterable,  were all  powers  and  privileges  of  feeling,  seeing,  and  think ing  possible  to  ripen  only  by  fertilizing  the  life-soil with  gold-dust?  The  Eternities  and  the  Immens ities  seem  to  equalize  things  pretty  well  after  all! Perhaps  the  highest  sympathies  cannot  be  evolved at  all  without  subjection,  for  some  time  at  least,  to the  discipline  of  pain. Just  as  you  suppose,  the  house  revolves  around the  little  boy  now;  I  have  greatly  fallen  into  obliv ion.  How  good  the  Japanese  are  to  children,  — even the  most  extravagant  things  said  do  not  tell.  The little  creature's  eyes,  though,  are  bright  blue;  and I  wonder  whether  his  possible  foreign  appearance would  cause  him  any  trouble  with  future  school mates.  In  Kumamoto  children  are  not  gentle.  The old  grandfather  is  the  most  delighted.  He  used  to TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  239 take  care  of  the  children  of  the  Daimyo  of  Izumo (Matsudaira  Dewa-no-kami,  I  think)  in  his  youth, —  and  is  accustomed  to  children;  besides,  he  has still  the  heart  of  a  child.  He  sings  the  lullabys  of long  ago,  and  among  many  others  one  which  goes something  like  this:  — Tsuru  sennen Kame  wa  mannen,  — Urashima  Taro,  hassen  zai, Tobo  Saku Hyaku  mutsu; Take-Uji  Daijin Sambiaku  yo: Inagaki  Kaji-Wo Kono  tori. (He  is  great-grandfather  by  the  adoption  only  of  my wife  by  his  son.  She  was  a  Koizumi,  daughter  of  a samurai  of  much  higher  rank,  —  old  Karo  stock.) I  did  not  believe  it  was  possible  for  one  child  to give  constant  labour,  night  and  day,  to  seven  per sons;  yet  such  is  the  fact.  If  I  protest,  I  am  asked to  help — which  does  n't  suit  my  occupations;  be sides,  the  child  feels  strangely  afraid  of  me:  I  am so  clumsy! I  made  a  speech  by  request  Saturday  on  "The Future  of  the  Orient,"  and  I  think  the  students  are going  to  print  it.  I  never  sent  you  any  of  my  printed speeches  from  Matsue,  — there  was  nothing  in  them that  would  not  have  seemed  platitude  to  you.  If this  be  printed,  however,  I  will  send  it,  as  it  is  a  sort of  philosophical  history  of  the  invasion  of  the  West ern  Barbarians, — a  supplement  to  the  views  of Pearson. 240  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN The  secret  of  many  enthusiasms  evoked  by  na tional  song  must  be,  I  imagine,  hidden  from  those of  alien  race  and  experience.  I  was  horribly  disap pointed  by  the  "Ranz  des  V  aches:"  perhaps  one must  have  lived  in  Switzerland  to  understand  it. Songs  there  are,  like  the  "  Marseillaise,"  which  ex plain  their  history  by  the  melody  alone:  so  power fully  do  they  reflect  the  emotion  of  an  hour.  But I  doubt  whether  even  so  splendid  a  song  as  the "Death  of  Nelson,"  with  its  shouting  lines, — England  expects That  every  man This  day  will  do  his  duty,  — could  be  fully  understood  by  any  Latin.  And  what would  an  Irish  or  Scotch  air  mean  to  an  Italian  or a  Spaniard,  in  most  cases?  Association  is  the  great witchcraft.  Still  there  are  songs  which  combine  the triple  charm  of  poetry,  melody,  and  association. "Patti  is  going  to  sing  at  the  St.  Charles,"  said a  friend  to  me  years  ago:  —  "I  know  you  hate  the theatre,  but  you  must  go."  (I  had  been  surfeited with  drama  by  old  duty  as  a  dramatic  reporter,  and had  vowed  not  to  enter  a  theatre  again.)  I  went. There  was  a  great  dim  pressure,  a  stifling  heat,  a whispering  of  silks,  a  weight  of  toilet-perfumes.  Then came  an  awful  hush; — all  the  silks  stopped  whis pering.  And  there  suddenly  sweetened  out  through that  dead  hot  air  a  clear,  cool,  tense  thread-gush  of melody  unlike  any  sound  I  had  ever  heard  before save  —  in  tropical  nights  —  from  the  throat  of  a mockingbird.  It  was  "  Auld  Lang  Syne  "  only — but with  never  a  tremolo  or  artifice;  —  a  marvellous,  au- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  241 dacious  simplicity  of  utterance.  The  silver  of  that singing  rings  in  my  heart  still. There  is  no  song  which  moves  me  so  much, — not because  of  the  "intolerable  pathos"  only  —  as Matthew  Arnold  calls  it  —  of  the  words,  nor  only because  of  the  souvenir  of  the  divine  voice.  But there  is  a  dream  fastened  to  that  song,  —  the  dream of  an  Indian  city  stifling  in  reek  of  pestilence  and smoke  of  battle,  —  trenches  piled  with  sweltering corpses,  —  grim  preparations  against  worse^than death, — the  sense  of  vast  remoteness  from  all  dear things,  —  and  the  sudden  lighting  up  of  all  those memories  which  grow  vivid  only  at  the  last  hour. And  then,  like  one  of  those  memories  itself,  —  start ling  beyond  all  startlingness, — the  Highland  pip ing  beyond  the  walls,  — We  twa  hae  paidl't  i'  the  burn, Frae  morning  sun  till  dine; But  seas  between  us  braid  hae  roared Sin'  Auld  Lang  Syne. I  believe  it  was  first  the  clan  call  of  the  MacGregors; — then  "Auld  Lang  Syne."  What  was  Beethoven to  that? Well,  your  mere  statement  of  the  history  of  the existing  military  songs  of  course  kills  all  hope  of finding  in  them  anything  corresponding  to  sincer ity  of  thought  and  true  emotional  art.  Such  merits belong  only  to  spontaneous  work,  and  especially  to the  creations  of  the  people.  Only  the  melodies  and the  historical  or  local  suggestions  can  therefore  ac count  for  the  excitement  these  new  songs  produce; —  and  the  most  one  could  attempt  would  be  to  give 242  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN the  lilt  and  an  occasional  suggestive  fragment, — in  a  purely  literary  study  of  them.  On  the  other hand,  their  Zeit-geist  quality  is  of  the  most  extraor dinary,  and  worthy  of  a  very  elaborate  essay.  The idea  of  "Supensa"  and  "Dawin"  is  too  enor mously  grotesque !  —  what  a  study  you  could  make ! The  romance  would  n't  be  on  the  surface,  —  but deep  down  under  the  whole  thing  there  is  certainly the  broad  interest  of  a  race-effort  for  independence. It  would  apologize  for  the  atrocities  of  many  an utterance.  "Supensa"!  ! -—  "Da-win"!  !  ! I  read  Kipling's  ballad  three  times  last  night,  and every  time  I  found  new  surprises  in  it.  Queer  how he  hits  the  local  colour  and  the  exact  human  tone always.  I  used  to  chat  while  stopping  at  Carey's in  Yokohama  with  just  such  men  and  the  sealers.  I rather  like  seamen,  engineers,  —  all  that  hard  class. They  can  tell  you  wonderful  things;  and  their  talk is  never  dull.  But  to  use  it  like  Kipling  one  must have  worked  with  them,  lived  their  life.  I  always fail  in  trying  to  work  out  one  of  their  yarns;  the stage  of  the  action  is  too  unfamiliar  to  me. Since  you  are  indirectly  responsible  for  my  hor rid  mistake  about  Mr.  Okakura's  observation,  I  will revenge  myself  by  offering  you  a  caricature  in  words of  Sully  Prudhomme's,  — Bleus  ou  noirs,  —  tous  aimes,  tous  beaux, Des  yeux  sans  nombre  ont  vu  1'aurore; Ils  dorment  au  fond  des  tombeaux Et  le  soleil  se  leve  encore! If  you  are  disgusted,  remember  it  is  your  own  kind est  fault. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  243 I  must  write  some  curious  Kumamoto  news  to you  in  a  few  days.  The  contradiction  of  facts  and feelings  throughout  my  notes  to  you  may  amuse you;  that  contradiction,  however,  reflects  the  con flict  of  the  still  uninterpreted  existence  about  me. And  my  letters  are  too  prolix  and  gushy,  I  know; but  if  I  stopped  to  polish  them,  I  would  never  get through,  nor  would  I  feel  quite  honest. With  sincere  thanks, Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. February  2,  1894.    \ Pendulum  on  the  left. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  The  heading  does  not imply  that  I  feel  out  of  sorts,  or  dissatisfied,  or  lone some.  It  signifies  only  that  in  spite  of  the  most obstinate  optimism,  perceptions  of  the  pessimistic sort  are  forcing  themselves  upon  me.  As  the  last page  of  my  optimistic  volumes  left  for  Boston,  I said  to  my  own  soul,  —  "Oh!  you  foolish  thing! what  an  illusion  it  all  was!!"  My  soul  made  no answer.  She  only  looked  down  on  the  ground. Smallness,  after  all,  is  the  word.  You  called  at tention  to  the  multitude  of  words  in  Loti  expressing smallness.  He  saw  outwardly  and  on  the  surface only.  Yet  one  who  sees  inwardly  is  forced  at  last to  think  of  smallness.  After  all,  what  is  there  large in  Japan  except  Fuji,  and  the  ranges?  What  has man  made  that  is  large?  What  has  he  done  that  is large?  What  does  he  think  that  is  large?  What  does he  feel  that  is  large?  His  gods  are  ghosts  only,  — 244  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN who  eat  tiny,  tiny,  tiny  repasts.  His  cities  are  vast collections  of  wooden  huts.  His  temples  are  scarcely better.  His  castles  are  mere  timber  barricades. And  very  small  his  imaginations  are.  What  is large  about  them?  His  poems,  which  are  only tiny  pictures? — his  deepest  sentiments  of  heroism which  he  shares  with  the  ant  and  the  wasp !  —  his romances,  mediae vally  tiresome,  yet  without  any of  the  strength  of  our  own  medievalism !  Always details,  —  details  infinite  in  number  and  variety, infinitesimal  in  character.  And  to-day,  what  is  his tendency  ?  To  make  everything  that  he  adopts  small — philosophy, sciences, material,  arts,  machinery;  — everything  is  modified  in  many  ways,  but  uni formly  diminished  for  Lilliput.  And  Lilliput  is  not tall  enough  to  see  far.  Cosmic  emotions  do  not come  to  Lilliputians.  Did  any  Japanese  ever  feel such  an  emotion?  Will  any  ever  feel  one? I  watch  with  amusement  the  tendency  to  the disease  which  the  Saturday  Review,  or  somebody else,  called  "Specialistitis."  Does  not  the  difference between  the  average  Japanese  mind  and  the  aver age  European  mind  seem  to  be  something  like  the following:  — Thinking  in  Thinking  in small  detail  relations OBJECT  OBJECT Ideas,  habitually  .    Ideas  habitually dissociated,  and  never  coordinated  and synthetized,  would  synthetized,  would never  produce  any  line  unite  into  a  single of  thought  capable  of  line  of  thought, giving  any  result. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  245 And  then  again  the  comparative  difference  in mass  between  mere  feeling  in  Western  and  in  Japan ese  people!  When  I  think  of  what  is  expressed  by a  musical  emotion, — a  mere  memory  of  Verdi;  — by  a  Greek  marble; — by  a  religious  exaltation; —  by  a  Gothic  church;  —  by  a  poem  —  how  enor mous  the  difference  in  volume  of  life.  We  are  Brob- dignagiansl  And  yet,  perhaps,  the  future  is  to  these races !  The  age  of  giant  feelings,  like  the  age  of  giant mammals,  may  be  succeeded  by  an  era  of  smaller life  —  a  life  without  dreams  and  aspirations  above the  material.  Do  you  know  Quinet's  tremendous prose-poem  about  the  Cathedral? But  in  a  purely,  hopelessly  industrial  age,  what would  be  the  use  of  dreams?  And  that  age  is  com ing.  Then  the  men  who  are  giants  will  all  starve  to death ;  and  the  earth  will  be  peopled  by  the  extreme ly  small,  and  governed  by  extremely  small  ideas. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. February  12,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — I  have  been  silent  for some  days,  being  crazy  with  the  labour  of  reading, revising,  and  indexing  490  plate-proofs.  Therewith came  a  letter  which  will  not  please  you,  —  but which  I  enclose,  as  a  duty. I  think  your  love  of  indexing  is  simply  an  indi cation  of  your  force  of  purpose.  The  only  way  to face  a  painful  thing  satisfactorily  is  to  train  one's  self by  sheer  strength  of  will  to  love  it.  This  can  be done;  and  you  seem  to  have  done  it.  But  I  suspect 246  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN it  is  a  comparatively  recent  feeling  because  you never  indexed  the  "  Kojiki,"  which  greatly  needs  in dexing.  I  hate  —  detest — abominate  indexing ;  but I  will  gladly  help  some  day  to  make  an  index  for the  "Kojiki,"  if  you  want.  Such  an  index  would have  to  be  enormous. A  subject  on  which  we  are  as  "two  souls,  etc.,"  is chess  —  perhaps ,  mathematics  and  kindred  things : all  forms  of  calculation  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  the exercise.  I  have  not  even  the  faculty,  which  is  an awful  confession.  What  I  can't  understand  is  how so  amiable  a  man  as  Mason  can  be  a  good  chess player, —  or  how,  being  a  good  chess-player,  he should  not  be  a  first-class  man  of  business, — a  big merchant,  etc.  Strong  chess-players,  mathemati cians  (except  the  crazy  sort),  and  all  men  with remarkable  powers  of  calculation  seem  to  me  to have  all  the  qualities  for  success  in  big  things;  — but  they  also  seem  to  be  rather  hard.  It  is  difficult for  me  to  imagine  Mason  as  a  good  chess-player, simply  because  he  is  so  delightful  a  letter-writer. "A  South  American  Republic!"  I  believe  it. Spencer's  explanation  of  the  Spanish-American incapacity  for  autonomy  is  the  half-breed  blood. The  Indian  ancestral  impulse  overpowers  all  tend ency  to  social  integration  of  the  highest  kind.  The Japanese  have  not  this  trouble  to  contend  with. But  they  have  others,  —  shared  perhaps  with  the Spanish,  whom  they  most  seem  to  resemble  (i.  e.,  if they  can  be  said  to  resemble  any  Western  race  at all).  The  Northern  capacity  for  autonomy  is  im- memorially  old,  racial,  and  is  physiologically  repre- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  247 sented  by  enormous  capacity  of  self-restraint  by judgment.  One  should  suppose,  on  a  superficial view  of  things,  that  the  highest  self-restraint  was exemplified  in  the  Japanese  race.  But  I  am  con vinced  that  it  is  n't.  Remove  the  necessity  for religious  and  social  submission,  and  they  will  show no  self-restraint  at  all.  Why?  Because  the  self- restraint  of  the  Northern  sort  requires  large-mmd- edness.  It  is  rendered  possible  only  by  large, straight,  powerful  apprehensions  of  general  truths, and  the  general  effects  of  general  causes.  The ability  to  think  in  relations,  and  in  abstract  rela tions,  alone  accounts  for  the  existence  of  England. Will  the  Japanese  learn  to  think  in  relations  —  as a  people  ?  Not  before  the  sun  dies,  I  fear.  The  men who  now  think  in  relations  are  —  the  old  masters of  the  Buddhist  philosophy!  Not  the  politicians, nor  the  students,  nor  the  native  teachers. I  think  it  will  be  Korea  over  again  —  in  regard to  public  education.  The  first  enormous  burst  of zeal  has  been  succeeded  by  a  number  of  reactions, —  all  tending  toward  a  dimly  visible  end,  —  a  uni versal  crash.  The  impossible  was  attempted  at  the beginning;  —  then  preference  was  given  to  the  pos sible.  The  teaching  of  English  was  restricted  every year.  The  foreign  teachers  and  managers  are  being got  rid  of  as  quickly  as  possible;  — and  the  insti tutions  founded  and  operated  by  them  are  falling into  degradation  year  by  year.  Instead  of  trying to  keep  up  the  fabric,  the  appropriations  are  an nually  decreased.  Compare  the  Sapporo  College  of 1871  with  that  of  to-day !  The  incomes  of  the  Middle 248  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Schools  are  being  reduced.  The  remuneration  of  all foreign  teachers  has  been  reduced.  The  systems  of teaching  devised  for  perpetuity  have  all  been  aban doned — except  perhaps  in  Tokyo.  There  is  no  system elsewhere.  To  establish  a  system  would  be  impossi ble  now.  To  establish  discipline  would  be  impossible. To  dyke  back  in  any  way  the  constant  movement toward  utter  disintegration  would  be  impossible. Lest  any  efforts  should  be  made  to  establish  a system,  to  enforce  discipline,  to  crystallize  anything, —  all  educational  officials  and  all  other  officials  are being  perpetually  removed  from  place  to  place. Here  we  have  Spencer's  changes  "from  integrated to  disintegrated  movements."  But  all  plans  and purposes  being  fully  understood,  even  by  the  pub lic,  the  attacks  made  upon  the  educational  sys tem  as  a  whole  will  continue;  demands  for  further reductions  in  expenditure  will  be  regularly  made and  acceded  to; — the  Mombusho  will  certainly become  what  Hasegawa  Tai  already  called  it,  —  a baJcemono-yashiki;  the  students  will  revolt,  desert, or  disappear;  —  and  the  things  will  disappear  also from  want  of  funds  to  prop  them  up.  I  think  it  is reasonable  to  expect  that,  in  spite  of  Japanese pride,  the  Higher  Middle  Schools  will  shortly (i.  e.,  within  a  decade)  vanish.  They  will  probably be  first  changed  in  some  way  so  as  to  cover  up  the shame  of  their  abandonment,  —  and  gradually dropped.  Kencho  schools  will  follow,  —  by  the hundreds.  Government  will  drop  education  per force;  and  it  will  have  to  be  all  reconstructed  by private  effort.  This  seems  possible  to  many.  To TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  249 me  it  now  seems  much  more  than  possible.  The military  and  naval  schools  promise  to  last  a  little longer.  But  how  much  longer?  Assuredly  there will  be  also  a  reaction  in  that  direction. One  reason  why  I  think  thus  bluely  is  that  Japan naturally  but  unfortunately  overestimated  her  physi ology.  Mental  capacity  is  nervous  capacity.  .  .  . I  think  that  universal  education,  just  like  uni versal  suffrage,  etc.,  is  a  humbug  in  every  country. It  seems  to  me  especially  so  in  Japan.  Why  waste the  national  forces  in  the  effort  to  bestow  it  on  the millions  who  cannot  profit  by  it,  and  to  whom therefore  it  can  only  be  made  pernicious?  In  this school,  certainly  only  a  third  of  the  scholars  ought to  be  allowed  to  remain.  The  rest  are  wasting  their youth.  Men  of  marked  capacity  alone  ought  to  have the  highest  opportunities.  A  reform  in  higher  educa tion  ought  to  mean  the  remodelling  of  the  system for  the  sole  benefit  of  extraordinary  capacities. I  should  like  to  be  mistaken  about  all  this.  But the  pendulum  won't  move  any  more.  I  feel  it  is  no use  to  pretend  to  one's  self  that  the  race  is  equal to  its  own  ambitions.  I  feel  it  is  no  use  to  optimize about  anything  in  relation  to  it.  That  is  bad,  — is  n't  it?  The  opening  of  the  country  was  very wrong,  —  a  crime.  .  .  .  Fairyland  is  already  dead ; —  perhaps  the  anti-foreign  feeling  at  present  is  no more  than  the  vague  national  consciousness  of  what must  come.  "That  which  ye  fear  exceedingly,  shall come  upon  you,"  —  saith  Isaiah. Ever  most  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 250       LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN February  16.  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  When  you  reissue  "Things Japanese,"  perhaps  an  extra  line  or  two  about  baths might  be  of  interest.  The  custom  of  singing  in  pub lic  baths  is  worth  commenting  upon.  In  Tottori there  is  a  famous  "o-furo-uta." I  have  been  thinking  how  disappointing  Japanese song-titles  are.  From  a  Western  point  of  view  the titles  are  most  suggestive  —  but  nothing  suggested is  to  be  found.  Your  criticism  seems  to  be  just; "apples  of  Sodom  and  ropes  of  sand." Perhaps  the  condition  of  the  Japanese  dog  is one  thing  which  tells  powerfully  against  our  beliefs about  the  influence  of  Buddhism  upon  the  treatment of  animals.  The  Japanese  dog  remains  very  close to  the  primitive  wolf  or  jackal.  The  "chin"  makes only  an  exception  to  the  rule.  We  must  talk  of the  dog  in  general.  What  a  difference  between  the Western  and  the  Japanese  dog!  How  different  the gaze,  the  intuition,  the  memory!  And  how  utterly deficient  the  Japanese  dog  in  gratitude!  And  how indifferent  to  the  question  of  who  owns  him.  He is  still  pretty  savage,  —  occasionally  shows  it  in very  ugly  ways.  He  feeds  his  young  exactly  like  a wolf,  —  chewing  up,  half -digesting,  and  then  re gorging  for  the  benefit  of  the  pup.  He  is  curiously cunning,  —  but  in  a  savage,  sneaking  way. A  great  russet  brute  lies  on  the  sunny  half  of  the street  facing  the  college.  He  lets  the  children  play about  him,  but  is  n't  demonstrative;  Japanese dogs  never  are.  He  is  apathetic  in  demeanour.  I notice  his  sharp  ears  suddenly  prick,  and  his  sharp TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  251 eyes  aim  for  a  minute  far  down  the  road.  That means  inward  emotion;  but  what  it  is  I  can't  im agine,  because  he  deliberately  turns  his  head  the other  way,  and  stares  at  the  smoke  of  the  Aso-San. Presently  I  discern — far,  far  away  —  the  cause  of the  momentary  emotion,  coming  at  a  lope.  It  is  a dog  of  foreign  breed,  —  setter  build,  —  long,  light, with  silky,  drooping  ears.  Approaching,  his  very large  eyes  get  bigger.  He  sees  the  red  bulk  lying  in the  middle  of  the  road.  A  moment  he  hesitates; but  the  wolfish  muzzle  is  pointed  toward  Aso-San. There  is  a  chance.  The  Gwai-koku-jin  "spurts"  to pass.  But  at  exactly  the  right  moment  the  red  jaws take  him  by  the  back.  Oh !  the  agony  and  the  howl ing!  The  foreign  yowls,  yelps,  desperately  fights. The  native  does  n't  make  a  sound,  —  he  only  bites. For  half  a  mile  he  follows  the  fugitive,  —  rolls him  over,  —  turns  him  in  circles,  —  torments  him into  frenzy.  At  last  he  comes  back  slowly,  and  lies down  again,  without  a  sign  of  excitement,  among  the children.  A  peasant  strides  along  with  his  horse, and  scowls  at  the  dog.  The  late  warrior  suddenly changes  to  jackal,  —  because  the  peasant  happens to  have  a  bamboo.  Such  a  combination  of  cunning, ferocity,  and  cowardice  is  not  of  the  civilized  dog. I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  find  a  civilized  cat. There  must  be  some,  but  they  are  very  rare.  Shy ness  and  treachery  characterize  most  of  them. The  horses  I  don't  understand  at  all.  Never have  I  seen  one  struck.  The  peasant  marches  along with  them,  speaks  gently  to  them,  does  not  ask them  to  labour  harder  than  himself.  I  followed  one 252  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEAKN day,  for  fully  two  miles,  a  peasant  who  walked behind  his  horse,  holding  the  ends  of  two  heavy planks  fastened  to  the  animal's  back.  The  motion of  the  horse  caused  them  to  oscillate;  —  so  the peasant  held  the  ends  and  handled  them  in  such  a manner  as  to  prevent  the  horse's  back  from  be ing  rubbed.  I  see  lots  of  such  actions.  But  why are  these  horses  so  horribly  afraid?  They  actually whinny  with  fear  when  they  hear  a  kuruma  com ing.  It  gives  one  an  awful  suspicion  that  they  must have  been  started  out  in  life  with  a  sufficient  experi ence  of  pain  to  render  all  further  correction  unneces sary.  They  give  one  the  same  unpleasant  impression as  performing  dogs  do  —  which  is  unspeakable. This  brings  me  to  Buddhism.  Surely,  as  you  say, it  were  better  for  Japan  to  have  any  civilized  relig ion  than  none,  —  and  the  danger  is  that  of  having none.  You  can't  imagine  how  many  compositions I  get  containing  such  words  as  —  "Is  there  a  God? —  I  don't  know"  —  which,  strange  as  it  may  seem to  you,  does  n't  rejoice  me  at  all.  I  am  agnostic, atheist,  anything  theologians  like  to  call  me;  but what  a  loss  to  the  young  mind  of  eighteen  or twenty  years  must  be  the  absence  of  all  that  sense of  reverence  and  tenderness  which  the  mystery  of the  infinite  gives.  Religion  has  been  very  much  to me,  and  I  am  still  profoundly  religious  in  a  vague way.  It  will  be  a  very  ugly  world  when  the  religious sense  is  dead  in  all  children.  For  it  is  the  poetry  of the  young,  that  should  colour  all  after-thought,  — or  at  least  render  cosmic  emotions  possible  later  on. >  The  Shinshu  does  seem  to  hold  its  own,  or  to TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  253 gain(?).  But  there  are  curious  obstacles.  The students  of  its  schools  are  obliged  to  reverence  the Head  of  the  sect  as  a  living  Buddha,  —  wherefore modern  ideas  must  be  tabooed,  or  modified  and  dis torted.  (The  same  thing,  I  believe,  in  the  Univers ity;  for  at  one  time  it  was  seriously  proposed  to secure  John  Fiske  for  the  chair  of  Philosophy,  but the  discovery  that  the  evolution  theory  assailed  the Imperial  prerogatives  ended  that  project.  I  am  also told  there  is  no  chance  of  having  the  Spencerian  or any  other  form  of  Western  philosophy  ably  taught in  Japan  for  similar  reasons  —  much  as  they  pre tend  to  follow  Spencer.)  But,  as  I  was  saying,  what of  the  other  sects  of  Buddhism?  —  the  enormous  ig norance,  the  hideous  poverty,  the  corruption?  .  .  . Shinto,  on  the  other  hand,  has  native  nobility. It  seems  to  me  in  many  ways  a  noble  creed;  and  the absurdities  of  its  records  of  the  Gods  are  not,  after all,  greater  than  those  of  other  faiths,  —  either Indian  or  Hebrew  or  Moslem.  But  the  fox-temples and  fox-rites  and  divinations  and  exorcism  mixed up  with  it,  seem  to  have  much  more  influence  than the  real  thing. Finally  Christianity  offers  the  small  choice  of thirty-two  different  creeds.  And  the  young  man of  the  twenty-seventh  year  of  Meiji  is  disgusted. He  thinks  of  all  these  beliefs  as  various  forms  of mental  disease,  and  cannot  naturally  be  expected to  believe,  without  a  study  in  advance  of  his  years, that  all  —  even  the  most  corrupt  —  are  growths rooted  in  universal  truth. For  the  educated  classes  no  religion  seems  to  be 254  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN the  certain  goal.  This  means,  not  only  that  the whole  moral  experience  of  the  past  is  being  thrown overboard  by  that  class,  with  nothing  to  replace  it; but  it  means  the  rapid  widening  of  an  impassable gulf  between  the  educated  and  the  common  people —  the  total  separation  of  the  head  from  the  body, —  or  at  best  a  sort  of  nuke-kubi  future.   A  ghastly business ! What  is  there,  after  all,  to  love  in  Japan  except what  is  passing  away?  There  are  fairer  lands  and skies;  —  there  is  a  larger  —  a  vastly  larger  life  — as  much  larger  as  Sirius  is  larger  than  the  moon. The  charm  was  the  charm  of  Nature  in  human nature  and  in  human  art,  —  simplicity,  —  mutual kindness,  —  child-faith,  —  gentleness,  —  politeness. These  are  evaporating  more  rapidly  than  ether  from an  uncorked  bottle.  And  then  what  will  there  be but  memories?  The  one  tolerably  good  thing  yet  is the  cottony  softness  of  all  this  life;  —  the  let-alone spirit  of  it,  —  for  it  even  hates  work  with  smiles  and pretty  words.  This  is  good,  —  although  it  means the  absence  of  large  feelings,  sympathies,  compre hensions.  As  the  stronger  the  light,  the  blacker  the shadow  it  casts,  so  are  our  highest  feelings  offset by  evil  ones  of  startling  power.  One  does  not  meet these  in  Japan.  But  how  long  will  this  condition last?  The  bonds  are  only  now  being  cast  off;  — the  cage  doors  opened.  By  and  by  the  games  will begin  —  circenses. I  am  through  most  of  the  indexing.  Really  it  was more  pleasant  than  I  had  anticipated  —  gives  one such  an  exaggerated  idea  of  the  extent  of  one's  work. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  255 The  book  seemed  to  be  enormous  by  the  time  I  got to  "Zuijin."  An  enormous  illusion  —  or,  rather, evocation  of  the  ghost  of  old  Japan. Ever  most  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. February  18,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Just  received  your  de lightful  translations,  and  letter. In  these  short  poems,  of  which  I  think  the  two specimens  forwarded  among  the  most  charming possible,  I  have  always  thought  the  Japanese  just  as great  as  they  are  great  in  art,  —  in  colour-pictures of  precise  times,  moods,  sensations.  Very,  very great!  Each  little  poem  gives  one  the  same  ghostly shock  that  the  wonderful  print  does  —  only  (as  in these  instances)  it  is  more  subtle;  for  it  pene trates  well  into  the  heart,  —  thinly,  perhaps,  like an  acupuncture,  but  none  the  less  effectively.  No : these  brief  Japanese  poems  are  very  wonderful. I  felt  that  when  I  first  read  the  versions  of  De  Rosny in  America,  and  afterwards  when  I  read  your "Classical  Poetry,"  and  the  more  I  learn  of  the  old life,  the  more  the  conviction  of  the  value  of  that poetry  grows  upon  me.  Without  knowing  anything about  the  language,  I  feel  competent  to  make  one observation:  the  poems  are  characterized  by  what we  know  to  be  among  the  highest  qualities  of  West ern  verse,  —  including  one  of  the  qualities  most marked  in  Gautier,  in  Rossetti,  in  all  great  modern poets,  —  self-control.  This  self-control  means  con centration,  means  simplicity,  means  artistic  reserve, 256  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN —  and  therefore  power.  The  race-character  at  its antique  best  seems  to  speak  here,  —  just  enough and  no  more.  Of  course  I  suppose  the  study  of  col our,  form,  or  melody  in  words  is  not  at  all  compara ble  to  Western  art;  —  the  self-control  is  in  the  utter ance  only,  the  thought.  The  measure  permits  only the  briefest  possible  utterance,  and  thus  assists  the art  by  the  cothurne  etroit. As  to  genius,  I  am  a  profound,  earnest  believer in  genius :  I  think  any  student  of  the  new  psychology must  be.  The  literary  curse  of  the  century  is  the want  of  genius,  coupled  with  extraordinary  perfec tion  in  the  mastery  of  all  mechanical  form.  Thou sands  can  write  absolutely  correct  flat  prose  in  a century  of  different  forms  of  verse,  —  not  only  can, but  do.  Hence,  what  a  relief  to  read  a  ballad  by Kipling! How  genius  exactly  works,  we  shall  perhaps  never know.  It  means,  though,  exactly  what  you  say  — seeing,  and  seeing  in  lightning  flashes.  Perhaps  it also  means  remembering,  —  seeing  retrospectively, through  rifts  in  the  curtain  of  the  past.  The  faculty is,  of  course,  explainable  only  by  the  ancestral hypothesis:  by  any  other,  we  should  be  obliged  to go  back  to  the  old  mediaeval  ideas  for  any  account of  it. Spencer  makes  a  very  beautiful  illustration  of ancestral  memory.  Imagine  a  number  of  coloured negatives  (each  photo,  negative  representing  an  ex perience  of  a  different  individual) ;  and  superimpose them.  The  light  still  passes  through;  the  images are  blurred  more  or  less;  certain  details  are  lost; TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  257 but  the  general  arrangement  of  the  landscapes,  their general  tone  and  character,  and  colour,  will  still  be dimly  perceptible. If  this  be  the  general  symbolic  result,  may  there not  be  such  exceptions  as  might  correspond  to extraordinary  lucidity  of  the  photo-impressions  and their  colours  in  the  possible  supposition  of  negatives superimposed.  These  might  account  for  certain perceptivities;  and,  again,  there  would  necessarily ensue  the  phenomena  of  strengthening,  —  I  mean decupling  or  centupling  a  transmitted  power  by certain  fortuitous  combinations  in  the  memory  — superimposition.  Only  vague  suggestions;  but  I fancy  they  must  roughly  symbolize  real  facts. Ever  most  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. February  25,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — .  .  .  Indeed  I  should  like very  much  to  read  that  book  by  Loti,  and  shall  take good  care  of  it.  I  have  Pater's  "Appreciations"  — would  you  like  them  to  read?  They  have  fine  and subtle  quality,  and  penetrating  needle-points  of truth ;  but  I  fear  the  general  effect  would  disappoint you.  Still  the  book  has  become  so  famous,  that  I think  you  might  like  to  look  at  it.  Anything  I  have you  would  like  to  read  is  always  ready  for  shipment to  you  at  the  drop  of  a  postal. Two  gleams  of  sunshine: — You  know  there  are  men  in  this  world  that  we love  the  first  time  we  look  at  their  faces,  and  never cease  to  love.  I  have  met  two  such  Japanese,  — 258  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN needless  to  say  never  of  this  generation.  The  first was  Koteda  Yasusada,  now  Governor  of  Niigata. The  second  was  Akizuki  of  Aidzu,  an  old  man  of seventy-three,  Professor  of  Chinese  in  the  college. I  have  often  spoken  of  him. He  came  to-day  to  see  my  boy  (for  he  had  been away  in  Tokyo  for  some  months).  He  brought  gifts, —  a  beautiful  plum-tree  in  blossom,  a  most  quaint vase  full  of  sake,  and  (most  precious  of  all)  two  kake mono  written  by  himself,  inscribed  with  poems  in honour  or  in  congratulation  —  what  should  I  say —  of  Herun-San-no-o-ko-san.  He  is  a  great  Chinese scholar,  and  famous  for  calligraphy  too.    So  I  had this  Soul  of  old  Japan  in  my  house  for  an  hour;  — and  the  Presence,  like  the  perfume  of  the  plum- blossoms,  filled  all  the  place  and  made  it  some what  divine.    Were  there  real  Kami,  I  know  they would  come  and  smile  and  look  just  like  that  divine old  man  with  his  long  grey  beard. The  other  gleam  of  sun  was  less  bright,  but  it was  cheerful,  —  a  visit  to  the  jiujutsu  private school.  Its  teacher,  Arima  Sumihito,  long  of  the Nobles'  School,  is  at  all  events  a  man.  He  is  a  pupil of  Kano,  speaks  English  perfectly,  —  the  handsom est  Japanese  I  know,  —  cynically  polite,  —  a  fine aristocrat:  in  short,  one  of  those  types  so  different from  the  rest  that  I  never  thought  before  of  writ ing  about  him.  The  type  is  impossibly  reserved,  — • not  attractive,  —  but  decidedly  interesting.  Well, I  studied  some  marvellous  things  during  the  exhibi tion  there;  and  as  I  watched  the  jiujutsu,  and studied  the  surroundings,  the  idea  came  to  me  of TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  259 a  possible  normal  change,  or  reform,  in  the  whole existing  educational  system.  "Here,"  I  said,  "is the  old  samurai  school,  —  severely  simple,  healthy, lovable,  romantic.  The  students  delight  in  this  re turn  to  the  old  ways,  —  the  squatting  on  the  floor, —  the  perfect  natural  freedom,  —  the  faultless discipline  of  self-control,  —  the  irreproachable  po liteness,  —  the  brotherhood  between  teacher  and pupil  — "  Now  could  not  schools  be  established for  all  teaching  in  this  very  way?  I  think  they could.  It  seems  to  me  now  an  enormous  mistake for  the  Japanese  to  have  tried  to  adopt  the  West ern  school-system,  to  have  built  monstrosities  of brick,  and  destroyed  the  Oriental  relation  of  pupil to  teacher. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I'm  wondering  whether you  sent  me  the  Herald  article  about  Leland's  book with  a  single  or  double  purpose  —  I  mean  with  a possibly  suggestive  literary  purpose.  I  thought  of talking  to  you  a  long  time  ago  about  a  book,  —  not of  the  Leland  sort  at  all,  but  a  book  of  extraordinary or  curious  personal  impressions,  touching  only  cer tain  tones  and  colours  of  life.  However,  I  don't  feel ripe  enough  yet. Leland  is  quite  a  wonderful  person;  but  I  confess to  a  slight  ill-will  towards  him.  The  reason  has  been his  belittling  of  Borrow.  Now  Borrow  was  as  much greater  in  Gypsy  matters  than  Leland,  as  Leland is  greater  than  a  police-reporter.  Borrow's  life  was a  romance;  his  book  "The  Bible  in  Spain,"  despite its  forbidding  title,  is  a  delight;  and  his  stories  are 260  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN wonderful.  Leland  tries  to  belittle  him.  Leland's book  on  the  Gypsy  is  the  dullest  ever  written,  — worse  incomparably  than  even  Simpson's,  and  Bor row  prepared  everything  for  him. By  the  way,  you  have  read  Merimee's  "  Carmen," of  course,  —  matchless  story !  —  but  would  you  not like  to  read  the  sweetest  and  tenderest  gypsy-story ever  written?  If  you  have  not  read  it,  let  me  most humbly  pray  and  beseech  you  to  read  J.  Sheridan Le  Fanu's  "Bird  of  Passage:  A  Love-Story."  You will  thank  me,  if  you  read  it.  It  is  very  short. Sheridan  Le  Fanu  is  a  very  great  artist  at  his  best. His  "My  Uncle  Silas"  is  a  terrible,  but  tremen dously  powerful  novel. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  am  absolutely  unpro ductive  now,  hovering  between  one  thing  and  an other,  —  sometimes  angry  with  men,  —  sometimes with  the  Gods.  But  I  think  of  many  things.  I  have been  long  writing  down  extraordinary  passages  from the  compositions  of  students.  Some  are  simply queer,  —  some  interest  because  showing  a  thought that  is  not  as  our  thought,  —  some  are  beautiful, as  in  the  old  Chinese  utterance  about  the  firma ment: — "What  thought  is  so  high  as  it  is,  —  what  mind is  so  wide?" What  most  pleases  me  are  subjects  taken  from the  memories  and  thoughts  of  the  boys  themselves. I  have  some  beauties  I  know  to  be  original;  and  I have  often  thought  of  an  essay  about  them. But  of  a  few  I  am  in  doubt.  Can  this  be  original? TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  261 —  (Subject:  "What  men  remember  longest.") "When  I  was  only  four  years  old,  my  dear,  dear mother  died.  It  was  a  winter's  day.  The  wind was  blowing  through  the  bushes  and  trees  round our  house.  There  were  no  leaves  on  the  trees. Quails  in  the  distance  whistled  with  a  melancholy sound.  I  remember  that  as  my  mother  was  lying in  bed,  a  little  before  she  died,  I  gave  her  a  sweet orange.  She  smiled  and  took  it  and  ate  it.  It  was the  last  time  she  smiled.  From  that  moment  when she  ceased  to  breathe  until  to-day,  sixteen  years have  elapsed.  But  to  me  the  time  is  as  a  moment. The  winds  that  blew  when  my  mother  died,  blow still;  —  the  quails  utter  the  same  cries;  —  all  things are  as  then.  But  my  mother  never  will  come  back again."  L.  H. March  4,  1894. Pendulum  to  the  right. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  After  all,  the  contract did  not  go  back  to  H.  M.  &  Co.  My  little  wife  was too  shrewd.  She  knew  nothing  about  what  the letter  contained,  but  she  saw  by  my  face  that  I  was in  a  bad  humour.  So,  after  duly  addressing  the  big envelope,  she  posted  it — in  a  drawer — and  asked me  to-day  whether  I  should  not  like  to  have  with held  some  of  that  correspondence.  You  see  she understands  me  very  well.  I  concluded  not  to  send it  on  finding  it  had  not  been  sent,  but  to  await  the results  of  the  letters.  Besides,  after  all,  I  am  not sure  that  the  return  of  the  contract  would  have much  affected  H.  M.  &  Co. 262  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN I  have  given  up  all  idea,  for  the  time  being,  of  ever living  in  Tokyo.  Really,  as  you  have  more  than once  suggested,  I  think  I  should  find  it  out  of  the frying-pan  into  the  fire.  Besides,  I  wonder  whether Japanese  life  has  not  spoiled  me  for  any  other  —  at least  in  the  temperate  zone.  The  freedom  of  it,  the laissez-faire,  the  softness  of  things,  the  indifference, the  lonesomeness,  really  constitute  a  sort  of psychological  tropics.  Tropical  life  in  lat.  15°-14° destroyed  permanently  my  capacity  for  physical effort; — this  psychological  tropic  of  Japanese  life may  have  already  unfitted  me  to  endure  anything resembling  conventions  and  unpleasant  contacts. I  suppose,  after  all,  that  the  populations  of  the Open  Ports  of  the  Far  East  must  be  much  more afflicted  with  bourgeoisme  (if  I  can  coin  such  a  word) than  any  others,  —  partly  because  composed  almost exclusively  of  the  mercantile  middle-classes,  who are  made  by  conventions,  and  partly  because  the conventions  themselves,  transplanted  to  exotic  soil, must  there  obtain  a  savage  vigour  unknown  in  the mother  country.  Ideas  and  opinions  must  be  petri fied;  "it  has  been  suggested;"  "it  is  hoped;"  "it is  the  opinion  of  the  community;" — must  be phrases  of  enormous  weight  there,  —  primitive  war- clubs,  —  stone  celts !  Oh,  dear,  I  am  blessed  after all  in  not  having  to  live  where  people  think  they must,  only  because  "it  has  been  suggested,"  — while  within  themselves  thinking  also,  "What  an infernal  humbug!"  There  is  something  much  worse than  dwelling  in  a  community  governed  by  the revolver,  or  by  Judge  Lynch.  And  that,  for  me, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  263 would  be  to  hold  a  situation  of  absolute  dependence in  a  community  regulated  by  lawyers,  codes,  con tracts,  and  opinions  dry  and  tough  as  Mexican jerked  beef.  Beside  this  conception  of  an  open port,  how  innocently  comfortable  Japanese  life  is! But  why  is  it  that  these  horrors  do  not  exist  in Roman  Catholic  countries?  Do  you  find  them  in Italy,  or  in  Spain,  or  in  France?  Zola  wrote  some articles  once,  "  Mes  Haines,"  well  worth  reading.  He had  one  on  religious  influences  in  literature,  — holding  that  Protestant  influences  cut-and-dried and  mummified  and  devitalized  everything,  —  that emotional  power  and  high  imagination  must  be sought  for  elsewhere  than  in  Protestant  countries. Here,  of  course,  Zola  fell  into  the  inevitable  fallacy of  a  sweeping  statement.  It  is  n't  all  true.  But there  is  much  truth  in  it.  Protestantism-Puritan ism  —  substituting  conventions  for  spiritual  be liefs  —  has  had  the  most  repressive  effect  upon social  freedom  and  upon  imaginative  art.  Milton towers  up,  as  one  talks,  and  Goethe,  and  a  host. But  Italy  made  Milton,  and  Faust  is  profoundly mediaeval;  and  I  think  we  would  find  that  the modern  English  writers  we  love  most  are  all  men who  have  felt  the  older  influences,  or  who  have emancipated  themselves  from  all  conventions.  Rus- kin,  Rossetti,  Symonds,  — how  pagan  or  Catholic! —  Browning,  how  bathed  and  interpenetrated  with the  soul  of  Italy  and  of  the  Middle  Ages !  —  or  go back  further,  and  compare  the  feeling  of  Coleridge, Keats,  Byron,  Shelley ,^with  the  greys  of  Cowper  and Wordsworth. 264  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Is  not  the  truth  also  that  we  English  or  Ameri cans  hate  our  "awful  orderliness"  (to  use  Kipling's word)  —  and  all  the  shams  and  conventions  that we  perforce  obey,  and  rush  to  Italy  or  to  France  as soon  as  we  can  get  free?  —  (Do  you  know  Curtis's "Howadji  in  Syria"? — there  is  such  a  beautiful comparison  of  the  human  soul  to  a  camel,  —  the camel  that  weeps  when  approaching  a  city.)  But what  cities  do  city-haters  hate?  Venice,  Florence, Milan,  Rome,  Genoa?  —  Seville,  Granada,  Cadiz, Alcantara?  —  Marseilles,  Paris,  Rouen?  —  No,  — but  Liverpool,  Manchester,  London;  New  York, Chicago,  Boston.  I  believe  Wordsworth  alone  ever found  London  beautiful.  What  London  really  is seems  to  me  to  have  been  exactly  felt  only  by  Dore. (You  know  his  "London"  which  the  English  did not  like  at  all.)  And  I  say  this  even  while  wishing to  be  in  London  again,  like  Private  Ortheris,  —  "for the  sights  of  'er  and  the  smells  of  'er,"  —  "orange- peel  and  hasphalte  and  gas  coming  in  over  Vauxhall bridge." But  I  suppose  the  ultimate  value  of  conventions is  this:  — that  they  shrivel  up  all  souls  except  the strongest,  and  that  any  one  able  to  dwell  among them  and  abide  by  them,  and  yet  remain  purely himself,  becomes  a  wonder  that  no  Latin  country can  produce. I  found  in  "  Wilhelm  Meister's  Travels,"  one of  these  marvellous  little  stories  by  Goethe  which have  a  hundred  different  meanings.  Perhaps  you know  "The  New  Melusine."  ...  I  repeat  some of  the  facts  only  to  suggest  one  application.  There TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  265 was  a  man  a  fairy  loved;  —  and  she  told  him  she must  either  say  good-bye,  or  that  he  must  become little  like  herself,  and  go  to  dwell  with  her  in  her father's  kingdom.  She  made  him  very,  very,  very small,  by  putting  a  gold  ring  upon  his  finger.  Then they  entered  into  their  tiny  world.  Everything  in the  palace  of  the  fairy  king  was  unimaginably pretty,  and  the  man  was  petted  greatly  by  the  fairy- people,  and  had  everything  given  to  him  which  he could  desire.  He  had  a  pretty  child,  too;  and  the old  king  was  good  to  him.  After  a  time,  however, being  ungrateful  and  selfish,  he  got  tired  of  all  this; he  dreamed  of  having  been  a  giant.  He  supplied himself  with  gold  for  a  journey,  and  then  managed to  file  the  ring  off  his  finger,  —  which  made  him big  again,  —  and  he  ran  away  to  spend  the  gold in  riotous  living.  He  did  other  horrible  things, which  you  may  remember.  The  character  of  the fairy  was  altogether  Japanese  —  don't  you  think so?  And  the  man  was  certainly  a  detestable  fellow. I  have  become  much  more  interested  in  the  jiu- jutsu  teacher  I  spoke  of  the  other  day,  and  I  want to  try  to  cultivate  him.  His  slightly  frigid  polite ness  tells  me  that  I  shall  never  get  very  close  to  him ; but  he  is  certainly  a  remarkably  "fine  gentleman" as  well  as  an  amiable  man  in  a  general  sense,  and perhaps  I  shall  have  some  experiences  worth  writing about  to  you. Of  Seki-Baba,  whose  images  used  to  be  placed under  bridges,  and  of  the  bridge-superstitions  about coughs  and  colds,  you  may  some  day  like  to  know. They  are  naive  and  interesting. 266  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN While  the  winter  lasted  the  weather  was  heavenly. Now  is  the  season  of  close  warm  air,  mould,  rain, and  (what  you  don't  especially  like)  atrocious smells.  I  wonder  what  Lowell  thought  of  that  awful cynicism  of  yours  in  "Things  Japanese"  about  that in  Tokyo  which  "appeals  to  the  nose." Faithfully,         LAFCADIO  HEARN. March  5,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — ...  Oh !  what  a  pleasure  to, get  the  Loti.  I  have  only  read  the  Japanese  sketches ; and  they  are  really  very  fine.  Of  course  Loti  is  very unjust  to  the  Japanese  woman,  and  has  not  yet even  learned  that  to  understand  the  beauty  of another  race  so  remote  as  the  Japanese,  requires both  time  and  study.  It  does  not  strike  a  European at  the  first  glance.  He  knows  also  nothing  about their  morals  or  manners,  and  his  divinations  are all  wrong  on  these  subjects.  But  aside  from  all his  errors,  is  not  the  general  impression  given  by "Femmes  Japonaises,"  dainty,  tender,  graceful, mysterious  and  queer.  His  judgment  of  the  peasant woman,  of  the  Japanese  interiors,  of  the  love  of children,  are  all  very  pleasing,  however  we  may  find fault  with  the  details.  The  trip  through  the  Kyushu country  is  perfection  itself:  I  could  smell  the  rice- fields,  and  cedar  groves.  That  is  genius!  He  says strange  things  betimes,  however:  — "II  se  forme  a  la  longue  dans  1'air,  un  ensemble impersonnel  d'ames  anterieures; —  quelque  chose comme  un  fluide  ancestral,  qui  plane  et  qui  veille sur  les  vivants." TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  267 (I  might  stagger  here;  I  am  not  sure.  These  are our  thoughts  of  the  thing.  But  are  they  Japan ese?  I  am  not  sure;  but  I  think  not.  I  think  the ideas  of  the  ancestral  ghosts  remain  distinctly separated  in  the  Japanese  mind.  I  mean  the  mind of  the  common  people.  The  synthetizing  mind  of the  higher  intellect  might  have  such  an  ethereal notion  —  not  that  of  the  peasant.) "Ces  dames  marchent  les  talons  en  dehors,  ce qui  est  une  chose  de  mode,  et  les  reins  legerement courbes  en  avant(?).  Ce  qui  leur  vient  sans  doute  d'un abus  hereditaire  de  reverences." Not  hereditary  at  all;  but  the  impulse  to  make  a joke  was  irresistible,  and  also  artistic. There  is  a  delicious  humour  also  in  Loti  betimes, —  whether  conscious  or  unconscious,  I  cannot  say; but  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  you  will  not  be  able to  help  laughing  after  you  have  read  the  following lines:  — "Leur  musique,  qui  les  passionne,  est  pour  nous etrange  et  lointaine  comme  leur  ame.  Quand  des jeunes  filles  se  reunissent  le  soir,  pour  chanter  et jouer  .  .  .  nous  ressentons,  apres  le  premier  sourire etonne,  1'impression  de  quelque  chose  de  tres  in- connu  et  de  tres  mysterieux  que  des  annees  d'accli- matement  intellectuel  n'arriveraient  pas  a  nous  faire completement  saisir." If  you  don't  laugh  at  that,  please  tell  me;  the n9arriveraient  pas  to  me  is  delicious. I  may  attempt  a  little  criticism,  entre  nous. "Surtout  elles  essayent  de  se  derober  par  le  rire a  Veffroi  du  surnaturel." 868  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN (A  Western  thought,  —  Breton  perhaps,  Celtic, —  not  of  the  Orient.) "Des  superstitions  vielles  comme  le  monde,  les plus  etranges  et  les  plus  sombres,  effroyables  a entendre  conter  les  soirs." (A  Celtic  or  Norse  feeling  applied  to  vague  ideas of  what  Japanese  might  seem  to  believe,  but  do  not believe  at  all.  The  deep  fear,  the  nightmare  fear of  the  supernatural,  has  never  been  known  in  Japan. It  is  not  in  the  race.) I  will  write  again  as  soon  as  I  have  read  the  rest of  the  book.  ...  LAFCADIO  HEARN. March  6,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Well,  I  read  Loti  all through  in  bed  last  night  —  and  dropped  asleep  at last  to  dream  of  the  Venise  fantasque  et  tremblotante. Before  talking  of  the  book  especially  I  want  to utter  my  heterodoxies  and  monstrosities  in  your  ear. You  will  not  be  pleased,  I  fear;  but  truth  is  truth, however  far  it  be  from  accepted  standards. To  me  the  Japanese  eye  has  a  beauty  which  I think  Western  eyes  have  not.  I  have  read  nasty things  written  about  Japanese  eyes  until  I  am  tired of  reading  them.  Now  let  me  defend  my  seemingly monstrous  proposition. Miss  Bird  has  well  said  that  when  one  remains long  in  Japan,  one  finds  one's  standard  of  beauty changing;  and  the  fact  is  true  of  other  countries  than Japan.  Any  real  traveller  can  give  similar  experi ences.  When  I  show  beautiful  European  engravings of  young  girls  or  children  to  Japanese,  what  do  they TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  269 say?  I  have  done  it  fifty  times,  and  whenever  I  was able  to  get  a  criticism,  it  was  always  the  same:  — "The  faces  are  nice,  —  all  but  the  eyes:  the  eyes are  too  big,  —  the  eyes  are  monstrous."  We  judge by  our  conventions.  The  Orient  judges  by  its  own. Who  is  right? There  are  eyes  and  eyes,  in  all  countries  —  ugly and  beautiful.  To  make  comparisons  of  beauty  we must  take  the  most  beautiful  types  of  the  West  and East.  If  we  do  this,  I  think  we  find  the  Orient  is right.  The  most  beautiful  pair  of  eyes  I  ever  saw —  a  pair  that  fascinated  me  a  great  deal  too  much, and  caused  me  to  do  some  foolish  things  in  old bachelor  days  —  were  Japanese.  They  were  not small,  but  very  characteristically  racial;  the  lashes were  very  long,  and  the  opening  also  of  the  lids;  — and  the  feeling  they  gave  one  was  that  of  the  eyes of  a  great  wonderful  bird  of  prey.  —  There  are  won derful  eyes  in  Japan  for  those  who  can  see. The  eyelid  is  so  very  peculiar  that  I  think  its  form decides  —  more  than  any  other  characteristic  of  the Far  Eastern  races  —  the  existence  of  two  entirely distinct  original  varieties  of  mankind.  The  muscu lar  attachments  are  quite  different,  and  the  lines of  the  lashes,  —  indeed  the  whole  outer  anatomy. One  might  ask  mockingly  whether  to  Japanese eyelids  could  be  applied  the  Greek  term  charitoble- pharos.  I  think  it  could.  There  is  a  beauty  of  the Japanese  eyelid,  quite  rare,  but  very  singular,  —  in which  the  lid-edge  seems  double,  or  at  least  marvel lously  grooved,  —  and  the  effect  is  a  softness  and shadowiness  difficult  to  describe. 270  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN However,  it  seems  to  me  that  the  chief  beauty  of  a beautiful  Japanese  eye  is  in  the  peculiar  anatomical arrangement  which  characterizes  it.  The  ball  of  the eye  is  not  shown,  —  the  setting  is  totally  hidden. The  brown  smooth  skin  opens  quite  suddenly  and strangely  over  a  moving  jewel.  Now  in  the  most beautiful  Western  eyes  the  set  of  the  ball  into  the skull  is  visible,  —  the  whole  orbed  form,  and  the whole  line  of  the  bone-socket,  —  except  in  special cases.  The  mechanism  is  visible.  I  think  that  from a  perfectly  artistic  point  of  view,  the  veiling  of  the mechanism  is  a  greater  feat  on  Nature's  part.  (I have  seen  a  most  beautiful  pair  of  Chinese  eyes,  — that  I  will  never  forget.) I  don't  mean  to  make  any  sweeping  general  rule. I  only  mean  this:  "Compare  the  most  beautiful Japanese,  or  Chinese  eye  with  the  most  beautiful European  eye,  and  see  which  suffers  by  compari son."  I  believe  the  true  artist  would  say  "neither." But  that  which  least  shows  the  machinery  behind  it —  the  osteological  and  nervous  machinery  —  now appears  to  me  to  have  the  greater  charm.  I  dare say  such  eyes  as  I  speak  of  are  not  common;  but beautiful  eyes  are  common  in  no  country  that  I  have ever  visited. And  now  I  will  presume  to  express  my  opinion about  another  heresy, — that  a  white  skin  is  the most  beautiful.  I  think  it  is  the  least  beautiful.  The Greeks  never  made  a  white  statue,  —  they  were always  painted. Naturally  each  race  thinks  itself  the  most  beauti ful.  But  we  must  not  think  about  race  in  such  mat- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  271 ters  at  all,  —  only  about  colour  per  se,  and  its  effect upon  the  aesthetic  colour-sense  in  us,  derived  —  as we  all  know  through  Mr.  Grant  Allen's  populariza tion  of  a  most  complex  subject  —  from  ancestral experience  in  food  choice.  The  sensation  of  a  beauti ful  sunset  and  that  of  a  ripe  apple  is  not  so  different in  origin  as  might  be  supposed. But  to  appreciate  the  beauty  of  coloured  skins, it  is  not  simply  enough  to  travel,  —  one  must  be come  familiar  with  the  sight  of  them  through months  and  years.  (So  strong  our  prejudices  are!) And  at  last  when  you  perceive  there  are  human skins  of  real  gold  (living  statues  of  gold,  with blue  hair,  like  the  Carib  half-breeds !)  —  and  all fruit  tints  of  skins,  —  orange,  and  yellow,  and peach-red,  and  lustrous  browns  of  countless  shades; —  and  all  colours  of  metal,  too,  —  bronzes  of  every tone,  —  one  begins  to  doubt  whether  a  white  skin is  so  fine!  (If  you  don't  believe  these  colours,  just refer  to  Broca's  pattern-books,  where  you  will  find that  all  jewel-colours  exist  in  eyes,  and  all  fruit- colours  and  metal  colours  in  skins.  I  could  not  be lieve  my  own  eyes,  till  I  saw  Broca.)  I  have  seen people  who  had  grass-green  emeralds  instead  of eyes,  and  topazes  and  rubies  for  eyes.  And  I  have seen  races  with  blue  hair. I  do  not  think  the  Japanese  skin  remarkably beautiful:  the  "amber"  of  Arnold's  imagination does  not  exist  in  this  archipelago,  —  one  must  go  to the  tropics  for  that.  The  Italian  or  Spanish  brown seems  to  me  much  richer  and  finer.  But  I  am  only talking  in  general.  It  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  egg- 272  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN colour.  Well  Mahomet  says  that  is  the  colour  of  the houris,  —  but  it  is  nothing  to  other  colours  that exist. Now  for  jet-black, — the  smooth  velvety  black  skin that  remains  cold  as  a  lizard  under  the  tropical  sun. It  seems  to  me  extremely  beautiful.  If  it  is  beauti ful  in  Art,  why  should  it  not  be  beautiful  in  Nature? As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is,  and  has  been  so  acknow ledged  even  by  the  most  prejudiced  slave-owning races. Either  Stanley — or  Livingstone,  perhaps — told the  world  that  after  long  living  in  Africa  the  sight of  white  faces  produced  something  like  fear.  (And the  Evil  Spirits  of  Africa  are  white.)  —  Well,  even after  a  few  months  alone  with  black  faces,  I  have felt  that  feeling  of  uncomfortableness  at  the  sight of  white  faces.  Something  ghostly,  terrible  seemed to  have  come  into  those  faces  that  I  had  never  even imagined  possible  before.  I  felt  for  a  moment  the black  man's  terror  of  the  white.  At  least  I  think  I partly  realized  what  it  was. You  remember  the  Romans  lost  their  first  battles with  the  North  through  sheer  fear.  Oculi  caerulii  et truces,  —  rutilae  comae,  —  magna  corpora!  —  The fairer,  —  the  weirder,  —  the  more  spectral,  —  the more  terrible.  Beauty  there  is  in  the  North,  of  its kind.  But  it  is  surely  not  comparable  with  the wonderful  beauty  of  colour  in  other  races. As  I  write  two  queer  memories  come  up  before  me. (1)  On  board  a  West  Indian  steamer.  —  We  had stopped  at  some  queer  island  out  of  our  route, to  the  disgust  of  the  captain,  who  wanted  cargo  so TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  273 badly  that  he  had  to  take  it  where  he  could  get  it. —  Then  it  was  sugar  and  lemons.  A  brown  man came  on  board,  the  owner  of  the  cargo,  and  tried to  talk  English.  We  could  not  understand  him  at first.  He  made  amazing  efforts,  and  at  last  his  talk became  clear  enough  to  understand.  Yet  he  had been  a  graduate  both  of  some  English  university and  of  Heidelberg.  He  had  begun  even  to  lose  his native  language.  Only  at  intervals  of  months  could he  speak  with  whites.  He  spoke  only  the  patois  of the  negroes  in  the  valley  where  he  lived  alone.  His plantation  was  worth  £10,000. (2)  In  Martinique,  —  in  an  unvisited,  unknown forgotten  corner  of  the  island,  —  a  sort  of  happy valley  between  mountains  of  this  shape,  —  like  the Mountains  of  the  Moon.  Two  whites — brothers  — alone  there  for  fourteen  years.  They  almost  killed me  with  kindness,  for  the  sake  of  the  chat.  "  Et  vous etes  Anglais!  Mais  c'est  drole!"  Then  in  the  night, under  the  palms,  we  sat;  and  one  of  the  brothers  got a  dusty  fiddle  out  of  the  Lord-of-Zombis-knows- where;  and  began  to  play  and  sing  a  song  about  an Englishman,  of  which  I  can  remember  only  one verse  (mocking  the  English  accent  as  he  sang) :  — "L'autre  nuit  j'ai  fait  un  reV-e, Un  reve  qui  me  plait; J'avais  mis  dans  mon  oreil-Ie Le  canon  d'un  pistolet, Et  comme  je  pressais  la  manivel-le La  balle  a  pris  son  cours  [pronounce  course] Et  je  sentais  sauter  ma  cervel-le  — Que  ne  peut-on  rever  toujours! Que  ne  peut-on  r£ver  toujours! (Basso  extra  profondo) 274  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN I  wish  I  could  get  the  whole  of  that  song;  it  was  very, very  funny, — but  in  the  tropics  people  are  so  lazy you  can  never  get  them  to  copy  anything  for  you. Perhaps  the  French  poet  was  thinking  of  the Englishman  who  hung  himself  just  because  of  the trouble  of  dressing  and  undressing  every  day.  I sympathize  with  that  Englishman.  I,  too,  would rather  hang  myself  than  be  obliged  to  dress  and  un dress  a  la  mode. I  wanted  to  write  about  Loti,  but  I  shall  wait  till next  time.  Sufficient  for  the  day  is,  etc. Faithfully, LAFCADIO. Ah!  que  ne  peut-on  rever  tou jours! Que  ne  peut-on  rever  tou JOURS! March  7,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  There  is  very,  very  great art  in  Loti,  —  very  wonderful  art:  — 3Te  me  souviens  aussi  de  ces  silences  quelquefois,  apres qu'elle  avait  dit  une  chose  profonde,  dont  le  sens  paraissait se  prolonger  au  milieu  de  ce  calme  .  .  . I  can  think  of  nothing  so  exquisite  in  any  English writer.  The  nearest  approach  to  it  that  I  recall  are the  lines  in  Rossetti's  supremely  divine  "Staff  and Scrip,"  — And  when  each  anthem  failed  and  ceased, It  seemed  that  the  last  chords Still  sang  the  words.  .  .  . But  how  much  subtler  still  is  Loti's  prose! Nevertheless,  I  must  confess  I  dislike  Loti  very much  in  this  book.  The  Carmen-Sylva  papers,  with TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  275 all  their  art,  do  not  seem  to  me  the  work  of  a  gentle man.  I  should  not  wish  to  be  intimate  with  the  man capable  of  writing  them,  —  or,  at  least,  of  printing them.  In  this  case,  indeed,  one  must  distinguish between  the  artist  and  the  man.  The  former  is  a wonder  and  worthy  of  all  highest  praise;  —  the latter  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  traitor  and  coward, ready  to  sell  anything  for  the  pure  egotism  of announcing  himself  once  a  royal  guest.  Nay,  I would  go  further  even  than  that.  I  do  not  think that  on  the  moral  side  here  there  is  any  difference between  Loti  and  that  Russian  demi-monde  who published  in  England  the  history  of  her  amours  with the  Grand  Duke.  One  feels  even  that  Loti  would have  done  as  badly  if  he  dared,  but  that  he  is  re strained  by  conventions  of  an  order  which  all  but those  who  have  nothing  to  lose  must  obey.  To  give the  world  the  history  of  all  a  woman's  little  weak nesses  —  her  weaknesses  in  literature  or  in  speech or  in  health  —  would  surely  be  thought  nasty  even if  the  woman  were  only  an  ordinary  person  of  the middle  class;  —  I  cannot  think  but  that  it  is  even worse  when  the  woman  happens  to  be  a  queen. That  "Carmen  Sylva"  made  herself  a  topic  of public  converse,  by  even  writing  for  American magazines,  is  true.  But  is  it  not  just  for  that  reason that  a  professional  man  of  letters  should  have  been silent  about  all  that  he  could  not  praise?  No:  I  fear the  dulness  of  Loti's  moral  sense  is  in  inverse  ratio to  the  extraordinary  sensibility  of  his  perceptivities. Take,  for  example,  page  96;  and  remember  that  the queen  and  the  woman  was  then  very,  very  sick,  — 276  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN on  the  verge  of  insanity  or  death,  —  and  how  is it  possible  to  judge  of  Loti's  printed  lines  about "pu&rilitS,  —  blaspheme  d' enfant,  —  deception  inat- tendue"  without  extreme  disgust!  The  after-revela tion  does  not  mend  matters. But,  leaving  the  man  and  his  contemptible  con ceit  out  of  the  question,  the  book  is  a  treat.  The coloured  pictures  of  Venice  are  certainly  miracles, and  one  can  never  forget  them.  And  there  are beauties  at  every  few  pages  of  extreme  rarity. By  the  way,  I  am  so  sorry  you  have  not  read Loti's  "Roman  d'un  Spahi"  that  I  will  venture  to suggest  that  you  ask  Hanawa  whether  he  cannot lend  you  a  copy.  He  used  to  have  one,  which  I  gave him.  —  I  would  like  you  to  read  those  earlier  works of  Loti,  without  thinking  of  the  man  except  as  a wonderful  nervous  machinery.  —  (As  I  write  these lines,  there  comes  upon  me  the  vague  unutterably displeasing  after-taste  of  those  Sylva  sketches,  — the  sense  of  sickness  and  sorrow  and  all  that  refine ment  and  tenderness  should  guard  from  view,  — caged  in  long  primer  for  public  show!) By  the  way,  why  can  we  never  get  out  a  novel  so tastily  as  the  French  do?  See  how  everything  takes colour  and  power  and  beauty  from  the  clear,  large type,  and  grand  spacing,  and  broad  margin!  But we  are  not  enough  artists  in  style  yet.  When  we  are, perhaps  we  shall  set  our  jewels  better. Shall  I  not,  in  returning  Loti,  also  send  Pater? Many  thanks  for  the  loan  of  Loti. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  277 March  9,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — I'm  trying  to  write  an essay  —  no,  a  fantastico-philosophical  sketch  — about  Mirrors  and  Souls.  Especially  Souls.  Which causes  me  to  think  about  Mrs.  James's  version  of the  "Matsuyama  Kagami." Who  is  Mrs.  James?  I  have  read  her  version about  fifteen  times,  and  every  time  I  read  it,  it affects  me  more.  And  I  can't  help  thinking  that  the woman  who  could  thus  make  the  vague  Japanese incident  so  beautiful  must  have  a  tender  and beautiful  soul,  —  whoever  she  is,  —  whether  mis sionary  or  not.  Of  course  a  great  deal  of  the  charm is  helped  by  the  work  of  the  Japanese  artist,  —  I suppose  the  same  supernatural  being  who  drew  the pictures  for  Urashima.  I  think  more  of  those  pic tures,  love  them  more,  than  any  engraving  ever printed  in  L'Art  or  L' Illustration.  But  of  course  to know  how  magical  they  really  are,  —  how  very  ex traordinary  they  are,  —  one  must  have  lived  in Japan  a  good  while. "Dai-Kon"  for  Dai  Konrei,  I  suppose, — the Great  Wedding.  Their  Imperial  Majesties  have given  us  all  —  teachers  and  functionaries  —  the sum  of  fifty  yen,  wherewith  to  make  ourselves jocund.  At  the  school  a  new  Japanese  song  was sung;  and  we  all  bowed  to  the  pictures  of  their Augustnesses,  and  then  there  were  military  salutes, and  then,  in  the  refectory,  we  drank  the  Imperial healths.  (The  ceremony  of  bowing  is  much  less elaborate  and  graceful  than  in  the  ordinary  middle schools.  Only  two  bows  are  given,  instead  of  six.) 278  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Then  " Ten -no-Heika -Banzai!"  —  and  such  a  yell! —  like  a  real  college-yell  in  the  West.    "Ten-no- Heika-Banzai ! "  — not  a  yell,  the  second  time,  — but  a  clear  roar,  that  did  my  heart  good  to  hear.   I wondered  what  the  third  cheer  would  be  like.  "Ten- no-Heika-Banzai ! "  A  tremendous  roar  followed  and suddenly  broke  into  a  furious  song,  —  the  song  of the  overthrow  of  the  Tokugawa  dynasty.  "They  are very,  very  much  excited,"  said  one  of  the  teachers, —  "and  that  song  is  not  a  good  song;  it  is  vulgar!" I  tried  to  get  the  song;  but  every  one  to  whom  I applied    made    unfavourable  criticisms  about    it. What  the  fault  was,  I  can't  imagine;  but  the  song went  on  till  I  thought  the  roof  surged  up  and  down at  every  lilt  in  it.    It  was  a  very  quick,  swinging, devil-may-care  sort  of  a  song,  —  not  at  all  like  the solemn  military  measures  of  to-day.  —  Then  the pendulum  moved  a  little  more  to  the  right.    It always  does  when  I  hear  such  singing.  I  think  then, the  Soul  lives;  —  while  that  remains  there  is  always hope. To-night  a  procession  of  students  with  E-NOR- MOTJS  lanterns,  —  and  then  an  entertainment  at the  school.  What  it  will  be  like,  I  don't  know.  I  am going  to  see,  —  and  will  tell  you  all  about  it  to morrow. Do  you  think  I  am  right  or  wrong  about  the  fol lowing  matter?  I  am  asked  advice  sometimes,  and I  urge  those  who  ask  it  to  follow  a  course  of  prac tical  science  or  of  medicine,  and  to  leave  law,  liter ature,  and  philology  alone  (unless,  in  the  case  that they  seem  to  have  extraordinary  natural  talent TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  279 for  languages).  The  other  day  I  got  a  letter  from Kyoto,  full  of  English  mistakes,  from  a  student  who wanted  to  know  about  taking  a  philological  course; —  and  I  wrote  him,  very  strongly  advising  him  to study  anything  else  by  preference.  The  utter  in capacity  of  most  of  the  students  to  turn  literary and  language  studies  to  any  high  account  seems  to me  proof  that  only  rare  talents  should  be  even allowed  the  chance  to  follow  such  studies. Saturday,  10th  March: — This  morning  I  re turned  home  from  the  college  at  2.30, — after  a night  of  curious  festivities.  About  6.00  on  Friday afternoon  the  lantern  procession  left  the  college. There  were  about  400  students,  —  each  carrying  a small  red  lantern,  —  and  to  every  hundred  there was  a  monstrous  egg-shaped  red  lantern,  borne  at the  head  of  the  column.  The  teachers  and  students sang  their  new  song,  and  other  songs  through  the city,  and  shouted  "  Banzai."  At  nine  they  returned to  the  college,  and  the  festivities  began. These  were  chiefly  theatrical,  with  some  recita tion  thrown  in.  Unfortunately  the  college  has  no real  hall,  —  only  an  enormous  shed  used  for  drilling- purposes  in  wet  weather,  and  the  shed  is  not  en closed  at  the  sides.  Kneeling  on  the  floor,  with  the north  wind  on  one's  back,  from  9.00  p.  M.  till  2.00 A.M.  was  trying.  Still  I  find  I  can  ouikneel  the  Jap anese  in  yofuku. A  word  about  the  performances. The  students  had  arranged  a  nice  little  stage,  and some  scenery.  The  performance  opened  with  sam urai  sword-songs,  —  each  young  man  having  the 280  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN appropriate  costume,  with  a  white  band  about  his hair,  sleeves  strung  back,  etc.  This  was  greatly  and deservedly  applauded. Then  came  a  comedy.  Some  peasants  appeared from  different  sides,  singing  real  peasant  songs,  met, greeted  each  other,  and  squatted  down  in  the  mid dle  of  an  imaginary  field.  Surveyors  come  to  sur vey.  Peasants  protest,  interfere,  attack,  —  the  in struments  are  slung  about,  —  a  great  fight  occurs; —  policemen  run  in,  and  arrest  all  parties  con cerned.  Next  scene  shows  the  police  court.  The trial  is,  of  course,  made  very  funny  by  the  answers and  protests  of  the  peasants.  Just  after  the  judge has  pronounced  sentence  of  two  months'  imprison ment  and  costs  conies  a  telegram  announcing  the Imperial  Wedding-anniversary.  Prisoners  are  dis charged;  and  judge,  attorneys,  police,  peasants, and  surveyors  dance  a  dance  of  exultation.  The acting  in  this  piece  seemed  to  me  very  fine:  I  was able  to  appreciate  the  excellence  of  the  peasants' parts. To  not  bore  you  with  too  many  details,  I  will  only mention  one  remarkable  series  of  subjects  —  what subjects?  Je  vous  le  donne  en  mille.  —  Why  Commo dore  Perry  and  the  Shogunate.  The  Commodore speaks  English,  and  is  surrounded  by  armed  marines. Shogun's  interpreter  asks  him,  "Why  have  you come  to  this  country?"  Perry  makes  appropriate answer,  explains,  —  says  he  has  a  letter  from  the Great  American  People.  Interpreter  reads  letter. Replies  that  the  letter  is  too  difficult  to  answer  at once,  —  so  much  time  will  be  required.  .  .  .  "Sir, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  281 next  year  come  to  Nagasaki,  and  wait  there  for  the Shogun's  order.  Do  you  know  Nagasaki?"  Perry answers  that  he  knows  Nagasaki,  but  does  not propose  to  know  the  Shogun,  He  will  return  to await  the  Emperor's  orders. Next  scene,  Ronins,  Samurai,  aged  teacher. Aged  teacher  advises  his  young  men  what  to  do. Times  are  about  to  change.  The  duty  will  be  to work,  —  to  work  earnestly  to  make  Japan  great. Last  scene.  Banquet  of  Ministers  in  Tokyo. One  student  very  cleverly  represented  Count  Ito. The  Minister  of  England  arises  and  makes  a  speech about — the  Imperial  Wedding-festival.  The  French Minister  speaks  on  the  same  subject  in  French. The  German  in  German.  The  Chinese  in  Chinese. The  Russian  Minister,  the  Spanish,  and  the  Italian, do  not,  however,  speak  in  their  own  tongues.  The speeches  are  humorous;  but  more  humorous  still  the interpreter's  part,  by  a  young  man  with  a  magni ficent  voice,  ringing  like  a  gong,  —  who  imitates, with  very  artistic  exaggeration,  the  solemn  musical antique  method  of  reading  official  texts. I  may  also  mention  a  really  magnificent  Daiko- kumai  —  Kyushu  style,  quite  different  from  any thing  in  Izumo,  and  extremely  picturesque  in  cos tume  and  movement.  Also  samurai  in  raincoats, disguised  as  peasants,  singing  a  very  small  weird humble  song  in  a  field,  with  their  swords  hidden,  — waiting  for  Demons,  who  are  duly  slaughtered. Well,  you  would  be  bored  if  I  told  you  any  more on  paper  in  this  mere  hasty  fashion.  Suffice  to  say the  evening  was  a  very  pleasant  one  for  me.  I  could 282  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN not  understand  the  dialogue,  but  I  could  understand the  acting.  It  seemed  to  me  very  good  indeed, — like  the  acting  of  Latin  students.  I  do  not  think English  students  are  naturally  good  actors  at  all. The  enormous  difference  in  the  acting  of  French  and of  English  boys  was  strongly  impressed  on  me  in early  days. Then  I  could  but  remark  the  extremely  strong national  feeling  that  characterized  the  greater  part of  the  performance,  —  the  real  enthusiasm  of  the young  men,  —  but  always  with  the  fond  regret  for old  samurai  days,  —  sword-days.  Whatever  the officials  be,  the  students  certainly  have  the  feeling that  should  be  the  strength  of  Japan. At  a  little  after  2.00  I  fled,  —  too  many  students urging  me  to  drink  sake.  I  had  to  drink  about  fif teen  cups,  and  have  a  headache  as  I  write. Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. "  The  Pipes  of  Hamelin" .      Notes  —  Extracts  —  (This  is  not  a  composite.) "There  were  lived  so  large  rats  that  cats  could not  treat  them  as  an  enemy.  They  increased  in great  many  number,  and  all  cats  of  town  ran  away to  far-distance.  Then  the  rats  were  free  to  steal  all foods  which  put  on  a  table  for  gentleman.  Town- folk  appealed  to  Town-hall,  but  Hall-men  could  not conquer. "Therefore  they  advertised  that  if  a  man  would have  been  subdued  the  adversity  of  rats,  they  shall TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  283 pay  him  ten  thousand  pieces  of  gold.  There  come encient  man. "...  Town'smen  sorrowed  and  celebrated  relig iously  that  mount  to  protect  their  town."  (I  can't quite  get  the  idea  here,  can  you?) The  following  extracts  are  taken  from  a  composi tion  to  which  I  gave  100  marks.  There  were  scarcely any  errors,  but  the  variations  are  amusing:  — "He  took  a  small  pipe  from  his  pocket,  and  put it  to  his  mouth.  When  he  piped,  all  the  rats  came out  of  their  nests  and  ran  through  the  street.  He ran  after  them.  The  faster  they  ran,  the  faster  he pursued,  etc.,  etc. "They  said  they  should  give  him  only  fifty  pieces of  gold.  He  became  very  angry,  because  they  had broken  their  promise.  But  he  pretended  as  if  he  were not  angry,  and  said,  'I  will  show  you  some  magic/ and  he  began  to  pipe  again.  Then  the  Mayor  and all  the  people  could  neither  move  nor  speak.  All the  children  came  from  their  schools,  etc. "The  children  were  never  seen  again.  It  became a  custom  in  that  city  to  celebrate  a  festival  [Matsurif] once  a  year  for  them." (How  Japanesy!) March  13,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Can't  wait  for  your  an swer  any  longer, — wherefore  here  goes  Pater  with Loti,  for  which  renewed  thanks.  The  essay  of  Pater on  Wordsworth  seems  to  me  very  beautiful  —  the most  beautiful  thing  ever  written  on  Wordsworth; —  that  on  Feuillet's  "La  Morte,",  and  that  on 284  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Coleridge  are  also  fine.  That  on  Rossetti  is  very disappointing,  indeed,  —  infinitely  inferior  to  the fine  paper  in  the  "Encyclopaedia  Britannica," — a case,  in  short,  of  iN-appreciation.  But  you  will  be charmed  with  the  Wordsworth  paper. I  forgot  to  tell  you  a  funny  episode  of  the  stu dents'  theatricals.  The  Minister  of  France  forgot his  role;  but  with  admirable  presence  of  mind  in stantly  supplied  the  gap  in  memory  by  reciting  very rapidly,  with  appropriate  gesture,  — Maitre  Corbeau,  sur  un  arbre  perche Tenait  dans  son  bee  un  fromage,  etc. When  I,  early  in  the  dawn,  do  open  my  door  and do  feel  the  whiff  of  the  cold,  I  think  of  Death.  For Death  is  cold.  Warmth  is  a  great  vibration;  the less  the  vibration,  the  less  warmth,  the  less  life,  the less  thinking.  In  the  Sun  one  would  "think  like h — ,"  to  use  a  picturesque  Americanism,  whereas in  outer  space,  there  would  be  absolute  death.  I have  been  told  that  all  vibration  ceases  at  200  de grees  below  Zero?  Then  200  degrees  below  Zero would  be  Nirvana.  Now  I  love  Buddhism ;  but  the idea  of  perfect  bliss  being  only  possible  at  200  de grees  below  Zero  is  too  much  for  my  nerves  at  pre sent.  Mild  as  the  winter  has  been  it  is  too  long  for me.  —  I  have  only  two  metaphysical  consolations: (1)  That  thought,  as  motion,  has  been  proven incomparably  lower  than  other  modes  of   appar ently  non-sentient  force. (2)  That  perfectly  extinct  Buddhas,  like  Pragna- kuta,  return   at   will   and   become  visible  to  hear the  preaching  of  the  Law,  —  ergo,  they  have  power TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  285 of  motion  to  escape  from  200  degrees  below  Zero, and  are  under  no  necessity  —  to  seek  existence  at 1,000,000  degrees  Fahrenheit. There  is  some  possibility  of  a  golden  mean,  appar ently. Speaking  of  motion,  another  idea  has  come  to  me. We  were  talking  some  time  ago  about  smallness  as an  inherent  Japanese  quality.  What  of  slowness? The  complexity  of  life  means  much  more  than complexity  of  structure;  it  means  quantity  of movement.  The  greater  the  motion,  the  higher  the life.  This  is  the  outset  of  physiological  psychology. The  motion  may  be  locomotion;  but  the  highest motion  of  life  is  not,  according  to  present  knowledge, in  locomotion.  There  is  more  force  in  a  mathe matical  thought  than  in  the  flight  of  an  eagle  for  a mile.  The  highest  and  swiftest  forms  of  ascertained living  motion  are  thoughts. Well,  it  strikes  me  that  something  very  extraor dinary  could  be  written  by  a  competent  philosopher on  the  comparative  manifestations  of  Oriental  and Occidental  movement.  I  can  only  think  now  of  a few  points  of  comparison,  —  music  (popular),  danc ing,  —  writing,  —  daily  motions  of  workers.  The result,  however,  is  quite  startling.  Think  of  a Scotch  reel,  an  Irish  "wind  that  shakes  the  barley," our  dance-tunes,  especially  the  Celtic,  and  all  the expressions  of  our  physical  life  under  excitement. Then  think  of  the  East! A  letter  has  just  come  from  you  which  might have  been  written  by  Herbert  Spencer.  You  have everlastingly  and  instantly  revolutionized  my  view 286  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN of  the  case.  —  Every  point  you  make  is  irresistible, and  very  large.  I  am  sorry  I  cannot  disagree  with you  enough  to  try  to  say  something  new;  but  I  can't. My  view  was  very  narrow,  because  made  by  the idea  of  a  special  class.  Yes,  —  in  England  there  is the  highest  freedom  between  certain  lines.  And  I suppose  the  bourgeois  class  in  all  countries  is  dread ful  enough.  In  French  country  towns  it  is  Monsieur le  Cure,  Monsieur  le  Vicaire,  Monsieur  le  Maire, Monsieur  Tlntendant,  and  a  few  military  and  civil functionaries  who  are  the  Law  and  the  State.  The point  about  savages  is  especially  fine;  for  even  the remotest  possible  conception  of  perfect  personal freedom  can  never  have  entered  into  a  savage  mind. The  great  beauty  of  De  Coulanges's  work,  "La Cite  Antique,"  is  perhaps  in  illustrating  the  tyranny of  antique  life.  No  Greek  of  the  golden  Greek prime  ever  enjoyed  so  much  as  the  faintest  sense  of modern  civic  freedom.  Even  the  Gods  were  not  free. Still,  you  will  feel  inclined  to  grant  that  where the  English  bourgeois  do  insist  upon  "awful  order liness" —  the  orderliness  is  at  least  something unparalleled  for  line  and  weight  and  gloom,  —  like unto  the  architecture  of  Egypt,  —  something  in  the style  of  Luxor  and  Hecatompylis ! Ever  with  best  wishes  and  thanks, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  If  you  have  any  old  Korean  or  Chinese stamps  you  don't  want  betimes,  please  send  two  or three  for  a  little  boy  in  Martinique,  who  writes wonderful  letters  to  me. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  287 March  14,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, —  .  .  .  What  you  said  about English  freedom  ran  back  like  a  powder-trail,  and ignited  a  host  of  evolutional  ideas  that  are  still glowing.  Of  course  there  ought  to  be  in  England not  only  as  much  but  more  freedom  than  in  Latin countries,  since  the  race  is  the  Mother  not  only  of freedom  but  of  its  modern  ideals,  and  of  all  the philosophy  of  liberty  of  thought.  —  Perhaps  the strong  conventions  which  rule  certain  of  its  social territories  act  only  as  necessary  curbs  to  check extreme  tendencies  to  freedom  of  action. Do  not  Bacon  and  Hobbes  give  one  a  very  un pleasant  sense  of  being  scrutinized,  or  rather  ana lyzed,  without  sympathy?  Especially  Bacon.  I have  read  little  of  him,  and  I  can  admire  him  only as  one  admires  superior  cunning.  Indeed  Hobbes is  much  the  more  humane  of  the  two,  it  seems  to  me. —  I  know  Plato  only  through  extracts,  —  the  de lightful  dialogues,  the  criticism  of  Lewes,  and  the translation  of  the  "Republic."  But  all  the  atmo sphere  about  him  seems  to  be  delightful  as  the mysterious  tenderness  of  a  great  mild  summer's  day. Of  a  summer's  day  I  happen  to  be  thinking,  be cause  in  re-reading  your  paper  on  pilgrimages, there  came  to  me  with  a  vividness,  sharpened  by  the peculiar  regret  which  pleasant  things  always  leave after  them,  memories  of  a  day  of  travel  three summers  ago.  We  had  reached  a  broad  river  some where  in  Hiroshima  Ken,  and  were  waiting  for  a ferry-boat.  As  the  boat  came,  a  young  pilgrim,  all in  white,  joined  us  and  went  on  board.  The  women, 288  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN of  whom  there  were  a  number,  began  to  say  to  each other,  "How  pretty  he  is!"  and  I  looked.  Whether it  was  the  costume  or  not,  I  cannot  tell;  but  it seemed  to  me  that  I  was  looking  at  one  of  the  hand somest  boys  I  had  ever  seen.  He  was  perhaps thirteen  years  old.  Everybody  began  to  question him,  —  was  he  alone?  —  any  parents?  —  where from,  etc.  He  answered  laughing;  but  what  the answers  were  I  have  forgotten:  they  left  me,  how ever,  with  the  impression  he  had  no  kindred  and was  quite  alone.  Then  those  poor  women  and  men, —  very  poor,  I  think,  nearly  all  peasants,  —  all made  up  a  little  subscription  for  him.  I  gave  him ten  cents.  He  took  it  with  a  soft  laugh;  and  looked straight  at  me  from  under  the  edge  of  his  immense white  hat;  and  the  long  black  laughing  eyes  went right  into  my  heart  and  stayed  there  till  now.  Then we  left  him  behind.  As  I  looked  again  at  the  picture in  your  book,  this  grey  dead  day,  the  dark  rosy young  face  reappeared  suddenly  with  its  laughing eyes,  —  and  the  gold  sheet  of  sun  on  the  river's breadth,  —  and  the  sense  of  summer  wind,  —  and the  weird  blue  ghosts  of  the  hills  peaking  into  the empty  sky. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. March  19,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  ...  There  is  a  good  deal of  thinking  —  curious  thinking  —  among  these  men- students.  I  find  the  fact  of  existence  is  a  trouble to  not  a  few.  "Why  am  I  in  the  world  — Please TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  289 tell  me  your  views?" — these  are  the  awful  questions I  am  sometimes  asked.  I  cannot  forbear  to  cite  a specimen-composition.  It  is  queer,  —  is  n't  it?  — "For  what  purpose  do  men  live  in  this  world? From  the  time  a  man  is  born  he  drinks,  eats,  speaks, sees,  hears,  feels  happy  or  sad,  sleeps  at  night,  rises in  the  morning.  He  is  educated,  he  grows  up,  he marries,  he  has  sons,  he  becomes  old,  his  hair  turns white,  and  he  dies. "What  does  he  do  all  his  life?  His  whole  occupa tion  in  this  world  is  only  to  eat  and  to  drink,  to sleep  and  to  rise  up.  Why  came  he  into  this  world? Was  it  to  eat  and  drink?  W7as  it  to  sleep?  Every day  he  does  the  same  thing;  —  yet  he  is  not tired! "When  rewarded,  he  is  glad.  When  pained,  he  is sad.  When  he  gets  rich,  he  is  happy;  when  he  be comes  poor,  he  is  very  unhappy.  Why  is  he  sad  or glad  about  his  condition?  Happiness  and  sadness are  only  temporary.  Why  does  he  study  hard?  No matter  how  great  a  scholar  he  may  become,  when he  is  dead,  there  remains  nothing  of  him  —  only bones!"  — And  observe  that  the  author  of  the  above  is  full of  humour,  life,  and  noisy  fun.  He  it  was  who personated  the  Minister  of  France  at  the  late banquet-act. The  composition  brought  a  memory  to  me.  A great  crime  which  terrifies  us  by  the  revelation  of the  beast  that  hides  far  down,  Minotaur-wise,  in the  unknown  deeps  of  the  human  heart,  sometimes makes  one  think  like  the  above  composition.  All 290  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN mysteries  of  pain  and  sorrow  stir  up  afresh  the  awful three  — Why?  Whence?  Whither? Well,  there  had  been  a  frightful  crime  committed. I  slept  and  forgot  the  world  and  all  things  in  the dead  heavy  sleep  which  men  sleep  in  the  tropics. Midnight  within  forty  hours  of  the  Equator;  and there  was  music  that  made  people  get  out  of  their beds  and  cry. The  music  was  a  serenade;  —  there  were  flutes and  mandolins. The  flutes  had  dove-tones;  and  they  purled  and cooed  and  sobbed,  —  and  cooed  and  sobbed  and purled  again;  —  and  the  mandolins,  through  the sweetness  of  the  plaint,  throbbed,  like  a  beating  of hearts. The  palms  held  their  leaves  still  to  listen.  The warm  wind,  the  warm  sea,  slept.  Nothing  moved but  the  stars  and  the  fireflies. And  the  melody  said,  more  plainly  than  any speech  articulate  could  ever  say, — "Do  you  not  feel  the  Night  in  your  heart,  —  the great  sob  of  the  joy  of  it?  — "And  this  strange  fragrance  that  recalls  the past,  —  the  love  of  all  the  dead  who  will  never  love again,  —  being  only  dust,  —  feeding  the  roots  of the  palms?" And  I  asked,  "WThy  that  wonderful,  inexpress ible,  torturing  sweetness  of  music?" And  they  said,  —  "The  murderer  of  the  girl  has been  acquitted.    They  are  consoling  his  family!" Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  291 March  24,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  kept  another  letter back  for  a  few  days,  because  it  struck  me  that  the musical  experience  therein  recorded  —  which  I tried  to  polish  up  a  little  —  might]  displease  you. Reading  it  over  again,  however,  it  seems  all  right enough,  —  and  excusable  at  least  as  an  illustration of  how  extreme  artistic  sensitiveness,  or,  if  you  like better,  sensuousness,  may  be  conjoined  with  extra ordinary  and  savage  ferocity.  Some  recognition of  this  fact  alone  would  help  us  to  comprehend certain  phenomena  of  the  antique  society,  which yet  faintly  survive  in  Latin  countries. — And  surely there  is  a  very  great  problem  behind  all  such  facts; which  proves  that  the  instinctive  religious  enmity to  art  was  not  altogether  wrong. Here  comes  the  kindest  letter  from  you,  with some  bad  news  (for  I  am  always  very  sorry  to  hear you  have  a  cold), — and  a  delicious  little  envelope full  of  exotic  stamps, — and  three  numbers  of  the Eclectic  which  I  am  not  to  return  but  sure  to  enjoy very  much.  Please  don't  give  yourself  more  trouble about  stamps;  I  have  quite  enough  —  more  than enough  —  to  delight  the  little  boy  in  Martinique. In  New  York  I  got  him  quite  a  nice  collection  of African,  European,  and  Turkish  stamps,  —  to gether  with  some  Oriental.  But  you  have  sent  a number  that  will  fill  gaps  in  his  collection.  Should you  like  Pater,  it  would  please  me  to  have  you  keep him;  I  have  digested  him,  and  will  not  really  have any  more  need  of  him. >  As  yet  I  can't  chat  much  about  the  reviews,  not 292  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN having  read  anything  except  the  paper  on  the Entrance  of  the  Prussians  into  Paris.  One  thing in  that  essay  sums  up  the  whole  French  soul, — one phrase.  I  mean  the  exclamation  of  the  woman  who, after  inspecting  the  new  arrivals,  exclaimed,  "  C'est degoutant  comme  Us  sont  distingues!"  How  Greek, how  pagan  that  terrible  intelligence  is!  I  cannot help  saying  terrible :  all  perceptions  which  show powers  superior  to  human  passion  are  somewhat terrible.  Then  the  question  comes  whether  this inherent,  innate  power  of  sharply  defining  things as  they  are  in  themselves  —  this  antique  art  fac ulty  (for  it  is  nothing  else)  —  can  have  the  same value  for  a  race  as  the  enthusiasms  or  beliefs  or senses  of  duty  which  blind  men  to  things  as  they are,  and  show  them  only  things  as  they  should  be. - —  I  don't  think  it  would  be  safe  to  try  to  decide  so complex  a  question  now.  It  involves  the  relation of  the  faculties  in  question  to  the  development  of the  applied  sciences.  But  I  can't  help  venturing this, — that  I  fancy  the  belief  of  the  Russian  peas ant  in  the  destiny  of  his  race  and  the  power  of  the Holy  Ghost  is  at  least  as  strengthening  as  any possible  development  of  pure  intelligence  could  be, in  a  time  of  national  peril. It  has  occurred  to  me  that  as  the  blue  stamps  are rare,  you  might  like  especially  to  send  a  couple  of new  ones  to  English  friends.  As  I  did  not  buy  them, but  had  them  given  to  me,  you  will  not  refuse  them, I  hope.  I  enclose  also  an  uncancelled  American stamp:  as  for  cancelled  Exposition-stamps,  I  can send  you  all  you  wish, — should  you  need  them. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  293 In  the  Atlantic  you  will  find  a  paper  entitled  "Is the  Musical  Faculty  Masculine?"  —  which  should interest  you.  I  do  not  know  the  writer;  but  she seems  to  know  her  Spencer  as  well  as  her  Schopen hauer, — though  quoting  only  the  latter.  And  pray be  patient  with  "Philip  and  his  Wife."  The  inter est  may  diminish  in  the  mere  story,  but  the  study of  the  woman  (Cecilia's)  character  is  really  like witchcraft  —  so  perfect  it  seems  to  me.  I  thought there  was  only  exactly  one  woman  of  that  partic ular  type  in  the  world,  and  that  I  knew  her;  but Mrs.  Deland  must  have  seen  numbers  to  write  the sketch.  For  one  character  cannot  give  us  a  type  in fiction:  every  "fictitious"  creation  of  genius  is  a composite  of  interrelated  impressions  and  experi ences. —  Well,  every  day  I  find  my  extraordinary people  are,  after  all,  only  common  types;  and  it makes  me  feel  just  as  I  used  to  feel  when  obliged  to recognize  that  I  knew  nothing  about  some  subject on  which  I  had  imagined  myself  pretty  well  in formed.  —  Of  reading:  I  wish  I  were  able  to  take  a year's  rest  from  all  anxieties,  and  spend  a  part  of each  leisure  day  in  reading  to  you  something  you would  like.  But  that  can't  be — so  I  can  only  offer one  suggestion  —  the  result  of  experience. I  have  found  that  by  reading  in  the  common  way —  looking  down  on  the  book  —  I  can  only  read  for a  comparatively  brief  time  without  feeling  my  eyes tired. But  by  looking  up  at  a  book  I  can  read  all  day without  fatigue. I  just  put  a  high,  hard  pillow  on  the  floor,  lie 294  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN down  on  my  back  or  side,  and  hold  the  book  above me.  Then  my  eyes  don't  get  tired  at  all.  The physiologist  knows  that  the  act  of  reading  of  itself increases  the  supply  of  blood  to  the  eye,  —  but when  one  bends  the  head  also  over  a  book,  the  flow increases.  This,  I  believe,  is  the  explanation. The  examinations  are  on  me.  I  hope  to  go  to Kompira  on  the  first. Faithfully,  with  best  thanks, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  It  is  not  yet  really  set tled  weather,  but  there  is  the  same  warm  lush  atmo sphere  almost  as  at  the  time  of  your  visit  last  year; and  the  trees  are  bursting  into  clouds  of  pink-and- white  blossoms.  The  examinations  are  over;  and I  have  a  passport  for  Kompira  which  I  may  or  may not  use. There  is  nothing  very  new  or  delightful  to  tell  you. Only  a  fox-story. Anciently  where  the  college  now  stands  there  was a  temple;  and  a  fox  used  to  torment  the  priest  of that  temple  by  assuming  the  shape  of  the  acolyte, and  announcing  that  the  bath  was  ready,  whereupon the  priest  would  enter  not  a  bath,  as  he  imagined, but  a  cesspool  —  to  the  great  diversion  of  the  fox. After  the  temple  had  disappeared  and  the  college was  built,  the  memory  of  the  priest's  fox  remained. Recently  the  postman  who  used  to  deliver  letters in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  school  complained  of being  deceived  by  foxes;  and  kurumaya  protested they  had  been  hired  late  at  night  to  take  army- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  295 officers  to  phantom-villages  which  disappeared about  them  while  they  were  waiting  for  the  return of  their  fares. Be  that  as  it  may,  the  students  of  the  Daizo  Koto Chugakko  three  days  ago  killed  a  female  fox  in  the parade-ground.  She  had  made  her  den  in  one  of  the drain-pipes.  Five  little  blind  cubs  were  found  in it.  The  boys  carried  these  to  their  dormitory  build ings,  and  subscribed  each  a  few  rin  to  buy  milk  for them.  So  we  are  now  cultivating  foxes. I  suppose  you  must  be  exceedingly  tormented  by autograph-hunters.  I  receive  a  small  number  of letters  from  them  every  year,  to  none  of  which  I ever  reply, —  always  stealing  the  enclosed  stamp, on  the  authority  of  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  who  told us  all  some  years  ago  that  such  stamps  should  be confiscated.  But  yesterday  the  most  accomplished autograph-hunter  I  ever  came  across  wrote  me  — that  is,  I  got  his  letter.  It  was  wonderfully  elegant, and  stamped  with  a  crest  of  blue-and-gold.  En closed  was  a  most  exquisite  sheet  of  paper,  in  an other  envelope,  —  and  on  that  sheet  of  paper  I  was to  write  "a  sentiment"  and  my  auto.  This  sheet  of paper  was  placed  inside  of  a  carefully  addressed envelope, — stamped  with  a  5-cent  Japanese  stamp ! ! There  was  cunning  for  you!  The  letter  contained only  the  exact  number  of  necessary  words.  But there  was  also  a  printed  statement  of  the  history  of the  author's  collection  of  autographs,  and  a  list of  the  names  of  those  who  had  fallen  victims  to  his wiles.  And  at  the  head  of  the  list  was  printed  the name  of  —  Oliver  Wendell  Holmes,  the  champion 296  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN enemy  of  all  autograph-hunters!    The  assault  was masterly!   But  I  am  not  going  to  do  what  Oliver I  Wendell  Holmes  does,  but  only  what  he  tells  me  to do.  So  I  confiscated  the  whole.  On  trying  to  ex plain  at  home  the  reasons  for  my  conduct,  I  found that  my  action  was  judged  to  be  highly  immoral. In  vain  I  tried  to  explain.  The  moral  evidence  was against  me.  Nevertheless,  I  know  one  autograph- . hunter  who  "shall  be  disappointed." Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. April  7,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Just  back  from  Shikoku to  find  your  kind  letter.  I  thought  of  writing  you on  my  journey,  but  as  we  rushed  from  Kumamoto to  Kompira-uchi-machi  and  back  in  four  days,  I  re ally  could  not  get  a  chance  to  write  a  decent  letter. This  is  partly  about  the  Adventures  of  Kaji. Before  he  was  born,  I  remember  expressing  the fear  in  a  letter  to  you  that  no  child  of  mine  could ever  have  the  wonderful  placidity  of  the  little Japanese  boy,  Kame,  whom  I  compared  to  a  small Buddha.  But,  although  in  quite  a  different  way, niy  boy  turns  out  to  be  altogether  Japanese  in  this excellent  point.  He  never  cries,  which  you  will grant  is  quite  extraordinary,  —  and  is  never  sick, and  likes  travel.  His  adventures  gave  me  proof (such  as  I  could  never  otherwise  have  obtained)  how much  the  Japanese  love  children,  and  how  much deeper  and  more  natural  is  the  common  interest  of the  people  in  children.  Perhaps  this  may  be  partly TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  297 though  not  altogether  explained  by  the  custom  of early  marriages,  and  the  Oriental  family  structure. With  us  the  long  delay  of  marriage,  and  the  dis integration  of  the  family,  and  the  difficulty  of  life have  all  combined,  doubtless,  to  create  that  absence of  sentiment  which  renders  it  difficult  for  us  to  be interested  at  sight  in  children  not  our  own;  and which,  by  reaction  perhaps,  helps  to  make  Western children  so  much  naughtier  and  more  troublesome than  Oriental  children. On  the  train  from  Kumamoto  to  Moji  we  trav elled  with  a  crowd  of  furious  politicians,  —  some of  whom  had  evidently  been  banqueting.  They shouted  as  they  talked,  and  laughed  enormously, and  made  a  great  ado.  This  interested  Kaji.  He looked  at  them  very  curiously,  and  laughed  at them;  and  they  stopped  talking  politics  awhile  to amuse  themselves  by  watching  him.  So  far  as  I could  judge,  Kaji  began  his  travels  by  introducing peace  into  the  world  of  politics. At  Moji  he  was  carried  all  over  the  hotel,  and made  much  of.  We  took  a  steamer  the  same  night, —  an  abominable  steamer  (don't  forget  the  name!), the  Yodogawa  Maru.  No  first-class  cabin,  —  but a  large  chu-to:  all  together  on  the  floor.  There  were perhaps  twenty  others  with  us,  —  including  a  num ber  of  very  sweet  women.  At  least  I  thought  them very  sweet,  —  partly  because  they  were  young, pretty,  and  gentle,  but  much  more  because  they begged  for  a  loan  of  Kaji.  He  played  with  them  all, and  was  petted  very  much.  But  he  showed  much more  partiality  for  the  men  (I  pray  the  Gods  he 298  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN may  always  have  this  disposition:  it  would  save  him a  universe  of  trouble) ;  and  the  men  carried  him  all over  the  ship,  and  the  Captain  descended  from  his bridge  to  play  with  him.  Then  one  old  man  pro duced  the  portrait  of  his  granddaughter,  a  little girl  whom  he  said  looked  much  like  Kaji;  and  the resemblance  was  really  striking.  Another  passenger gave  Kaji  a  small  book,  —  to  read  as  soon  as  he should  be  able;  and  little  baskets  of  oranges,  boxes of  sushi  and  cakes  were  given  us  by  various  persons. Thus,  as  the  "grub"  furnished  by  the  steamer  was really  uneatable,  Kaji  supplied  us  with  provisions. Kaji's  grandmother,  who  carried  him  on  her  back over  most  of  the  distance,  insisted  upon  certain observances.  There  was  a  wonderful  display  of phosphorescence  that  night:  the  ripples  were  liter ally  created  with  fire,  —  a  fire  quite  as  bright  as candlelight,  —  and  at  the  bows  of  the  steamer  there was  a  pyrotechnic  blazing  and  sputtering  bright enough  to  read  small  print  by.  Kaji  liked  the  sight, but  was  not  allowed  to  look  long  at  it:  there  is  some ghostly  idea  connected  with  these  sea-lights  which I  could  not  fully  learn.  (You  know  the  French phrase,  la  mer  lampe.)  Well,  the  sea  really  did "lamp"  that  night:  I  never  saw  a  brighter  phos phorescence  in  the  tropics.  Even  to  throw  a  cigar- butt  into  the  water  made  a  flashing  like  a  fire cracker.  A  tug  (Ko-joki)  passed  us,  surrounded  by what  seemed  like  a  vast  playing  of  Catharine- wheels.  —  And  Kaji  also  is  not  yet  suffered  to  look much  into  a  looking-glass;  for  another  ghostly reason  which  I  shall  some  day  tell  you  about. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  299 Setsu  translated  for  me  some  conversation  that took  place  in  the  cabin  during  my  wanderings  on deck,  over  cases  of  oil  of  Batoum.  If  true  as  to  fact, it  would  seem  that  I  am  far  more  popular  with  the Kumamoto  students  than  I  had  imagined;  for  some very  extraordinary  statements  were  made  as  to their  feeling  towards  me  by  a  Kumamoto  official  on board.  Recently,  however,  the  students  have  been coming  very  much  closer  to  me,  taking  walks  with me,  and  telling  me  wonderful  things,  —  so  it  may be  true. At  Tadotsu,  the  crew  and  passengers  all  said  good bye  to  Kaji.  The  women  said,  "We  shall  be  lone some  now."  Kaji  laughed  at  them  till  their  faces passed  out  of  sight. The  hotel  at  Tadotsu  called  the  Hanabishi  is very,  very  pretty, — and  rather  old.  The  oshiire were  wonderful;  —  the  fuJcuro-to-dana  (?)  or  jibu- kuro  were  marvels;  the  whole  place  would  have delighted  Morse  unspeakably.  And  nowhere  else in  all  Japan  did  I  ever  eat  such  fried  fish !  —  just  out of  the  sea.  —  You  know  Tadotsu,  —  so  I  need  not describe  it.  Except  for  the  modern  structures,  the town  is  delightful.  Setsu  said,  "I  saw  this  place before  in  a  dream;"  I  said,  "That  is  because  your ancestors  visited  it  so  often."  —  Kaji  was  pleased by  the  shops,  and  we  bought  absurd  little  toys  for him. But  the  Kompira-uchi-machi  was  a  greater  sur prise  than  Tadotsu.  What  a  delicious  town,  — what  survivals!  It  was  just  the  day  to  see  such things, —  a  vast  warm  bath  of  blue  light, —  cher- SCO  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Ties  and  peaches  in  bloom,  —  long  vistas  through hazy  bursts  of  pink-and- white  blossom,  —  all  di vinely  clear.  And  oh,  oh,  oh !  the  queer  dear  moun tain-climbing  city, — itself  a  pilgrim,  all  robed  in blue-and-white,  and  shadowed  and  hatted  with  un speakable  tiling,  and  supporting  itself  with  staffs of  bamboo,  as  it  zigzags,  singing,  up  to  the  clouds! Oh  for  a  photographer  that  knew  his  business! —  for  an  artist  with  a  soul  to  image  what  cannot be  described  at  all  in  words !  Even  Loti  could  not do  it.  Neither  Nara  nor  Kitzuki  nor  anything in  Kyoto  nor  anything  in  Kamakura  can  ever  com pare  with  the  "Saka."  The  colours, — the  shad- owings,  —  the  flutterings  of  drapery,  the  riddles  of the  shops,  the  look-down  over  the  magical  village to  the  grand  blue  silhouette  of  Sanuki-Fuji!  I  saw on  the  tablets  the  name  of  "B.  H.  Chamberlain, English,"  —  and  I  wished  so  much  he  were  beside me,  that  I  might  say  those  things  which  moments inspire  but  which  cannot  be  written  or  remembered. Kaji's  grandmother,  at  the  bottom  of  the  steps, took  off  her  zori,  and  began  the  ascent  very  lightly, with  the  child  on  her  back.  I  protested;  but  Setsu said,  "No,  that  is  mother's  way:  she  thinks  it  wrong to  approach  a  holy  place  with  footgear."  People stopped  her  to  look  at  Kaji  and  ask  questions.  /  was taken  for  an  Ainoko  by  some, — Kaji  seems  to  pass for  a  Japanese  very  well.  In  parts  of  Oki  also  I  was said  to  be  an  Ainoko. We  made  a  present  to  the  temple,  following  the example  of  "B.  H.  Chamberlain,  English;"  and the  miko  danced  for  us.  They  were  two  very  pretty TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  301 girls, — not  painted  up  and  powdered  like  the  Nara virgins,  but  looking  like  the  sisters  of  the  daughter of  the  Dragon-King  in  the  Urashima  pictures.  Kaji opened  his  eyes  more  widely,  and  laughed,  and  made one  of  the  miko  smile,  even  during  her  solemn  dance. After  the  dance  he  became  an  object  of  attention. Kaji  seemed  to  like  the  miko  better  than  any  other strangers  of  the  fair  sex;  — for  with  this  exception his  friendships  are  especially  masculine.  I  admired his  taste  in  the  case  of  the  miko.  Besides  they  were just  at  the  lovable  period  between  girlhood  and womanhood,  when  children  are  very  strongly  sym pathized  with. Our  hotel  was  the  Toraya.  You  know  there  are two  figures  of  tigers  there,  said  to  have  been  made by  Hidari  Jingoro,  and  caged  in  wire  nets.  (I  sus pect  they  are  relics  of  the  Buddhist  days  of  Kom- pira.)  And  upstairs  I  found  myself  looking  out  upon the  street  through  the  legs  of  another  tiger.  There are  more  than  one  hundred  rooms,  and  a  very beautiful  garden.  What  most  impressed  me  was  the use  of  a  most  beautiful  sky-blue  plaster  for  the  walls of  the  back  part  of  the  buildings  and  corridors  lead ing  to  the  chozuba.  —  A  lot  of  geisha  came  and  sat down  on  the  gallery  to  play  with  Kaji.  I  hope  that will  be  Kaji's  last  acquaintance  with  geisha,  —  al though  they  behaved  very  prettily  with  him. I  passed  over  the  wonderful  bridge,  of  course;  and down  the  avenue  of  stone  lanterns;  and  we  ascended the  colossal  toro,  and  saw  the  black  skillets  in  which two  go  of  tomoshi-abura  are  burned  every  night. But  we  did  not  take  Kaji  upstairs.  It  would  have 302  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN been  dangerous.  —  I  observed  the  curious  wind- bells  of  bronze,  hung  at  the  corners  of  the  eaves; the  very  broad  tongue  has  almost  the  figure  of  an inverted  fleur-de-lys. I  returned  by  a  much  finer  boat,  —  the  Odagawa Mam,  very  comfortable,  with  a  good  table.  There were  many  children;  and  Kaji  won  many  successes. Meanwhile  I  met  one  of  your  old  pupils,  —  a  young naval  surgeon  named  Oki,  now  stationed  at  Kure, with  a  prospect  of  three  years'  study  in  Germany. A  fine,  long-limbed  young  fellow,  with  heavy  eye brows,  and  a  love  of  innocent  mischief.  We  talked a  good  deal  together.  I  also  met  the  new  director of  the  Yamaguchi  Higher  Middle  School  —  pleas ant,  cautious,  and  inquisitively  official:  there  I  saw only  the  surface.  Oki  seems  to  me  a  fine  boy.  He has  just  the  necessary  amount  of  conceit  to  help him  through  the  surf  of  life;  and  exactly  the  dis position  that  will  make  friends  for  him  among  the students  of  Munich,  where  he  hopes  to  go. We  were  delayed  about  six  hours  by  a  perfectly black  night — the  hand  could  not  be  seen  before the  face.  Kaji  gave  no  trouble  at  all. But  there  are  so  many  risks  for  a  child  in  travel that  I  did  not  feel  quite  easy  till  we  got  home  last night.  I  send  a  picture  of  Kaji.  His  last  friendship on  the  railroad  was  with  a  grim-looking  government surveyor,  whose  hand  he  seized  from  behind,  while the  man  was  looking  out  of  the  window. (Finis  first  chapter  of  the  Adventures  of  Kaji.) What,  after  all,  is  the  charm  of  Kompira's  city? TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  303 Not  certainly  in  any  one  particular  thing.  It  is  the result  of  a  great  combination  of  very  simple  things under  a  divine  sky.  This  grey  day  it  would  look common  enough.  Another  day  it  would  look  like the  ascent,  through  blue  light  and  sungold,  into  the phantom  city  of  the  Gokuraku,  and  the  gardens where  souls  like  Kaji's  are  born  out  of  the  lotus- flowers,  and  fed  with  ambrosia  by  miko  having wings.  Truly  the  whole  place  is  a  work  of  Art, — with  well-chosen  Nature  for  its  living  pedestal,  or canvas. And  that's  all  about  my  travels.  .  .  . Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Since  last  writing  you I  have  copied  and  mailed  the  index,  corrected  the remaining  few  hundred  plate-proofs,  worked  over the  preface  (of  which  I  sent  you  a  raw  duplicate), and  written  a  metaphysical  article  on  Japanese mirrors.  So  that  I  have  been  working  pretty  hard. Many  thanks  for  the  Eclectics.  The  second  paper by  the  recorder  of  that  wonderful  phrase  C'est degoutant  comme  Us  sont  distingues  —  the  paper on  the  Commune  in  1871  —  strikes  me  as  the  most remarkable  contribution  in  the  three.  That  man, whoever  he  be,  is  a  very  great,  large,  vivid,  com prehensive,  sympathetic  man.  What  a  book  he could  make!  The  terrible  realism  of  that  story about  the  girl  is  something  one  will  never  forget. That  is  a  master-artist.  He  has  a  gift  like  Froude. Indeed  I  am  delighted  to  sympathize  with  you 804  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN about  Froude's  "Short  Essays  on  Great  Subjects." They  seem  to  me  the  most  perfect  work  of  the  kind ever  done  in  the  English  language;  the  "Spanish Story  of  the  Armada"  is  in  the  same  vein  and  of  the same  fibre;  and  I  am  looking  forward  with  eagerness to  his  coming  volume  of  sketches  relating  to  the great  seamen  of  the  seventeenth  century,  —  the Drakes,  Hawkinses,  etc.  It  is  many  years  since  I read  those  essays.  I  have  most  vivid  recollection of  the  papers  relating  to  Roman  society  in  the  pe riod  of  the  Decadence  (including  that  marvellous study  of  the  impostor  Alexander) ;  —  then  I  can always  see  the  figure  of  that  terrible  fighting  Eng lish  bishop, — Le  Despenser,  was  n't  it? — who  set tled  the  peasant  revolt  by  attacking  the  whole  host all  by  himself  (Sicut  aper  frendens  dentibus) ;  —  and last,  but  not  least,  the  weird  humour  haunts  me  of that  dream  about  the  Railway  Station  and  Judg ment  of  Souls.  Perhaps  the  fate  of  Western  races is  indeed  to  be  decided  at  last  by  their  treatment of  the  animal  world — though  this  is  by  no  means easy  to  show.  Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  I  have  been  trying  to  shoot  with  a  bow.  You know  the  shape  of  the  Japanese  bow  is  peculiar, and  it  is  not  held  as  our  bows  are.  It  is  held  near  the bottom,  and  is  hard  to  use.  The  bottom  part  is wider  than  the  top,  and  the  thing  is  tremendously long.  I  think  mine  is  fully  nine  feet.  My  father-in- law,  trained  to  arms  in  his  youth,  is  expert  with  it. I  can  scarcely  do  anything  with  it;  but  he  is  teaching TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  305 me.  The  target  the  first  day  was  a  metal  wash basin,  covered  with  painted  paper.  His  first  arrow, though  blunt,  whistled  through  the  basin  and  struck halfway  through  the  fence.  I  am  rather  afraid  of the  thing, — for  it  would  kill  a  man  at  once.  I would  feel  safer  shooting  with  a  revolver,  which  I know  how  to  manage.  But  I  shall  try. May  10,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  think  you  are  quite right  not  to  care  about  work  in  MS.,  —  indeed,  I made  the  proposal  rather  through  a  sense  of  friendly duty  than  with  any  idea  that  it  could  be  hailed "  with  joy  and  gladness."  There  is  no  colour  in  MS., and  symmetry  is  concealed.  It  is  like  trying  to  read through  loose  tissue  paper,  which  lumps  over  the page  and  has  to  be  held  down  with  the  fingers.  .  .  . That  is  delightful  news  about  your  new  librarian. You  are  really  very  pleasantly  fixed.  I  am  only legitimately  jealous  —  rejoicing  in  all  your  comforts; but  if  you  only  knew  what  four  years  mean  (or  at least  three),  separated  from  every  intelligent  being in  the  Western  sense,  you  would  experience  the grim  joy  of  Jeremy  Taylor,  who  held  that  one  of the  greatest  delights  of  heaven  consisted  in  the  in spection  of  the  torments  of  the  damned.  (By  the way,  I  think  I  am  wrong  —  that  it  was  Jonathan Edwards.)  Well,  whoever  it  was,  I  don't  think  he meant  that  the  S.  S.  are  to  take  any  malicious  joy in  the  spectacle,  but  only  that  their  heaven  would become  quite  unbearably  monotonous  if  they  did  n't have  an  occasional  chance  to  compare  StatusES 306  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN (there's  an  English  plural  for  you!) — My  whole trouble  here  has  been  the  work  of  one  man.  He  re presents  (I  think)  what  is  called  the  missionary  in fluence  in  the  school.  Somehow  or  other,  he  has  the ear  of  K .  K is  now  trying  to  get  him  into the  University  as  assistant  teacher  or  something  — preparatory  department.  But  whether  this  is  only a  plan  for  getting  rid  of  him  or  not,  I  cannot  be  sure. My  admirer's  specialty  is  English  literature  —  so  I suppose  I  must  be  in  his  way.  He  has  a  very  good —  even  wonderful  collection  of  books  on  the  subject (I  don't  know  how  he  could  afford  them),  and  a book-clerk's  knowledge  of  titles  and  prices.  When I  have  said  that,  I  have  said  all.  He  cannot  write ten  lines  of  a  letter  without  a  mistake,  and  he  can not  understand  the  "Lady  of  the  Lake."  But  he teaches  Bacon's  Essays,  Burke's  Speeches,  Car- lyle,  and  the  Devil  knows  what.  He  also  publishes texts.  A  foreign  teacher  can  only  be  asked  about ten  questions  a  day  —  there  is  so  little  time.  But at  the  end  of  a  year  it  figures  up.  Then  comes  out the  original  editing.  The  youngest  class  but  one  — a  preparatory  class  in  which  no  boy  can  write  a decent  composition  —  was  the  other  day  being taught  by  this  wonderful  genius  —  Je  vous  le  donne en  mille! — the  structure  and  history  of  the  English sonnet  (!)  out  of  "Barnes's  philological  grammar." It  is  rather  funny  that  my  friend  imagines  himself such  a  philologist  that  he  represented  to  K the very  inefficient  philological  methods  of  the  Univers ity.  K told  him  to  write  a  letter  to  the  Min ister  of  Education  on  the  subject  —  which  I  have TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  307 no  doubt  he  did.  I  am  very  kind  to  the  horrid  little beast.  But  my  nerves  are  strained,  —  as  I  can't pretend  to  understand  what  I  know  he  is  doing. I  pray  the  Gods,  K will  get  him  into  the  Uni versity,  or  anywhere  out  of  this.  In  the  University I  think  he  would  hang  himself  quick  enough.  He has  been  in  the  Doshisha,  —  but  they  don't  seem to  have  appreciated  him  there.  —  And  yet,  there might  be  worse  than  he  in  our  school.  He  is  not of  the  rude  rough  sort  —  but  of  the  small,  shabby- genteel,  spiteful  kind;  one  of  the  kind  that  hates everything  Japanese,  and  everything  foreign  except missionaries,  who  seem  to  be  of  use  to  him.  My greatest  suffering  are  the  lectures  on  Milton,  Nicho las  Breton  (!),  Donne,  Painter's  "Palace  of  Pleas ure,"  and  various  other  known  and  unknown  au thors  which  he  inflicts  upon  me.  He  is  scandalized at  my  ignorance  "of  those  Elizabethan  lyrists, edited  by  Bullen."  Can  you  imagine! How  many  pages  of  scandal!  Still  I  must  howl to  somebody  who  can  appreciate  the  anguish!  No Japanese  could  understand  it.  —  Now  about  that poetry. No,  I  never  spoke  much  about  the  decadents.  I don't  understand  their  work  —  only  their  princi ples.  It  is  Manet  in  words,  they  say.  It  is  impres sionism.  Some  people  see  much  in  it.  I  can't.  The principle  must  be  wrong.  Psychology  ought  to prove  it.  The  values  and  colours  of  words  differ in  all  minds  —  as  tabulated  statements  of  word- sensations  collected  in  the  universities  and  schools have  shown.  The  effect  of  a  poem  like  that  you  sent 808  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN me  can  only  be  anything  to  the  writer's  psycho logical  cousin,  —  provided  the  cousin  has  had  pre cisely  the  same  experiences  in  mental  preparation. I  can  imagine  a  tolerably  successful  application  of the  principle, — but  the  medium  would  have  to  be the  language  of  the  greatest  (not  the  great)  majority. Could  a  writer  apply  the  thing  to  the  vulgar  idiom of  the  people  —  to  what  everybody  understands (except  the  highly  refined),  I  think  astonishments of  beauty  and  power  might  result.  There  are obvious  obstacles,  however.  As  the  decadents  now are,  their  "art"  seems  to  me  a  sort  of  alchemy  in verse, — totally  false,  with  just  enough  glints  of reality — micaceous  shimmerings — to  suggest  im aginations  of  ghostly  gold.  I  can't  understand  that thing  at  all.  It  pains  my  head,  and  hurts  my  soul. The  only  really  fine  line  in  it,  — —  meurtries De  la  langueur  goutee  a  ce  mat  d'etre  deux  — • (you  will  acknowledge  a  sensual  but  weird  beauty in  that!)  is  not  original.  I  have  read  it  before, though  I  can't  tell  where.  I  think  it  was  better  in the  other  form  —  to  my  taste  the  word  goutee  spoils the  charm.  The  beauty  is  really  in  that  psychic truth  of  the  desire  to  melt  into  another  being  —  the fable  of  Salmacis  and  Hermaphroditus. Huxley  says,  "No  man  can  understand  Shake speare  till  he  becomes  old."  I  think  he  might  have said  the  same  about  the  old  Greek  fables.  I  now only,  turning  grey,  seem  to  understand  them.  I know  Medusa,  the  beautiful  woman  who  freezes the  hearts  and  souls  of  rich  men  into  eternal  stone. THE   MOUNTAIN    OF    SKULLS From  a  sketch  by  Hearn TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  309 And  I  have  seen  the  Sphinx.  Alkestis  I  have  also seen,  and  Admetus,  and  glorious  Herakles,  and  the Witch  whose  wine  makes  beasts  of  men, — and  the Sirens  singing,  with  white  bones  bleaching  under their  woman's  breasts,  —  and  Orpheus  to  whom  the trees  bowed  down,  who  sought  hell  for  a  shadow  and lost  it:  all  these  have  been  with  me.  But  how  new they  now  are !  —  how  real  —  how  deep  —  how  eter nal! I  can't  let  you  get  out  of  hototogisu  and  uguisu  in that  most  unfair  way, — because  I  insist  that  the hototogisu  is  not  a  cuckoo,  and  that  the  uguisu  is not  a  nightingale.  And  I  have  become  so  accustomed to  say  two  kuruma,  four  kurumai/a,  that  it  seems monstrous  to  me  anybody  should  put  an  "s"  to them.  If  you  imagine  that  I  have  been  writing Japanese  words  for  four  years  without  ever  using a  plural,  you  will  believe  me.  It  is  a  thing  one  gets used  to,  and  fond  of, — like  squatting. But  it  is  late,  and  I  am  tired  awfully.  With  best wishes  and  thanks  for  the  decadantissimum  poema, which  I  shall  try  to  read  once  more  before  returning. Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. May  16,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  letter  went  right into  that  much  bescratched  thing  called  my  soul. I  am  getting  rather  hungry  myself  for  the  open ports.  To  live  in  a  Japanese  fishing-village  in  Oki, or  Yu-Notsu,  or  a  certain  little  islet  I  know  where all  the  people  still  wear  queues  and  the  terakoya 310  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN still  exist  might  be  preferable.  But  that  would entail  certain  severe  discomforts,  —  especially  as my  folks  do  not  share  my  liking  for  out-of-the-way nooks  and  corners.  Yes,  I  imagine  one  could  be happy  in  the  open  ports.  As  you  say,  there  are genuine  men  and  women  there.  And  they  are  the most  beautiful  cities  in  Japan.  Kobe !  —  what  a flood  of  light,  with  the  amethyst  hills  massing  into it;  —  what  dreamy  luminosity  over  Yokohama  bay, with  the  ghost  of  Fuji  floating  over  all !  —  what delicious  quaintness  and  queerness  and  windy  glory over  Nagasaki!  But  how  live  there!  One  must  be right  rich,  or  a  business  man,  or — a  journalist?  ?  I have  dreams.  Beale  has  been  suggesting  future possibilities.  I  should  be  better  off,  "driving  a quill,"  than  teaching  under  these  officials. Some  splendid  boys  will  go  to  Tokyo  this  summer, but  I  suppose  as  you  no  longer  teach  you  are  not likely  to  see  them.  Still,  I  would  like  to  mention one  name.  Yasukochi  Asakichi,  whom  I  have  taught for  three  years,  is  the  finest  Japanese  student  I  ever met.  Though  a  heimin,  he  is  patronized  by  the lord  of  Fukuoka,  and  will  probably  be  sent  abroad. He  studies  law,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  but  he  is  right, — having  a  special  high  talent  for  it.  He  is  ex traordinarily  solid  in  character,  —  massively,  not minutely  practical, — straight,  large,  thorough,  and I  think  will  become  a  great  man.  He  is  not  only first  in  English,  but  easily  first  also  in  everything he  studies,  —  and,  quite  unlike  the  average  stu dent,  regards  his  teachers  only  as  helps  to  his  own unaided  study  —  instead  of  as  bottles  of  knowledge TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  311 to  be  emptied  slowly  upon  lazy  sponges.  —  A  com rade,  Kawafuchi,  is  nearly  as  clever,  though  less solid.  What  a  pity,  however,  that  the  really  fine heads  take  always  to  law.  The  science-classes  show no  such  young  men:  they  are  mediocre  in  the  ex treme. I  feel  a  great  temptation  this  summer  to  take  a run  by  myself  to  Hakodate,  and  plunge  into  the little  hotel  kept  by  Carey  the  mulatto  there.  (You may  remember  I  lived  at  his  house  in  Yokohama: he  was  kind,  and  a  good  man  to  the  bones  of  him.) Then  I  could  bathe  once  more  in  an  atmosphere  of sailors  and  sealers  and  mates  and  masters  of  small craft  —  in  a  salty  medium  full  of  water-dogs.  It would  be  healthy  for  me,  refreshing:  I  like  rough men  who  don't  get  too  drunk,  and  I  get  along  with them  first-rate.  .  .  . DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  What  do  you  think about  the  idea  of  getting  up  a  new  "Japanese  Fairy Tale  Series"?  I  have  quite  a  number  of  tales  splen didly  adapted  to  weird  illustrations.  Is  there  money in  such  a  thing? Do  you  know  this  poem? BRAHMA I  am  the  mote  in  the  sunbeam;  and  I  am the  burning  sun: "Rest  here,"  I  whisper  the  atom; — I  say to  the  orb,  "Roll  on!" I  am  the  blush  of  the  morning,  and  I  am the  evening  breeze: I  am  the  leaf's  low  murmur,  — the  swell of  the  terrible  seas. 312       LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN I  am  the  vine  and  the  vineyard, — grapes, winepress,  and  must,  and  wine,  — The  guest,  the  host,  the  traveller, — the  goblet of  crystal  fine;  — I  am  the  net,  the  fowler,  the  bird  and  its frightened  cry;  — The  mirror,  the  form  reflected, — the  sound and  its  echo,  I;  — I  am  the  breath  of  the  flute;  —  I  am the  mind  of  man, — Gold's  glitter,  the  light  of  sunrise, —  and  the sea-pearl's  lustre  wan, — The  Rose,  her  poet-nightingale, — the  songs from  his  throat  that  rise, The  flint,  the  spark,  the  taper, —  the  moth that  about  it  flies;  — The  lover's  passionate  pleading, — the  maiden's whispered  fear, — The  warrior,  the  blade  that  smites  him, — his mother's  heart- wrung  tear; I  am  both  Good  and  Evil,  —  the  deed,  and the  deed's  intent,  — Temptation,  victim,  sinner,  crime,  pardon and  punishment;  — I  am  what  was,  is,  will  be,  —  creation's Ascent  and  fall, — The  link,  the  chain  of  existence,  —  beginning and  end  of  all ! (RiTTER,  from  Djellalleddin  Rumi.) I  have  studied  this  poem  for  years,  and  every  time I  read  it, — the  grander  it  seems.  To-day  I  found the  old  copy  I  made  of  it  in  1879  among  some  loose papers. There  isn't  anything  new  to  tell  you  that  you could  care  about.  Faithfully, 25th  May,  1894.  LAFCADIO   HEARN. I  wish  it  were  1994, — don't  you?  (OVER) TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  313 I  forgot  to  tell  you:  — To-day  I  spent  an  hour  in  reading  over  part  of the  notes  taken  on  my  first  arrival,  and  during  the first  six  months  of  1890.  Result,  I  asked  myself: "How  came  you  to  go  mad?  —  absolutely  mad?" It  was  the  same  kind  of  madness  as  the  first  love of  a  boy. I  find  I  described  horrible  places  as  gardens  of paradise,  and  horrid  people  as  angels  and  divinities. How  happy  I  must  have  been  without  knowing  it! There  are  all  my  illusions  facing  me,  —  on  faded yellow  paper.  I  feel  my  face  tingle  as  I  study  some of  them.  Happily  I  had  the  judgment  not  to  print many  lines  from  them. But  —  I  ask  myself  —  am  I  the  only  fool  in  the world?  Or  was  I  a  fool  at  all?  Or  is  everybody, however  wise,  at  first  deluded  more  or  less  by  un familiar  conditions  when  these  are  agreeable,  the idea  always  being  the  son  of  the  wish? Perhaps  I  was  right  in  one  way.  For  that  moment Japan  was  really  for  me  what  I  thought  it.  To  the child  the  world  is  blue  and  green;  to  the  old  man grey  —  both  are  right. So  with  all  things.  Relations  alone  exist.  The writer's  danger  is  that  of  describing  his  own,  as  if they  were  common  or  permanent.  Perhaps  the  man who  comes  to  Japan  full  of  hate  for  all  things  Ori ental  may  get  nearer  to  truth  at  once  —  though,  of course,  he  will  also  make  a  kindred  mistake. Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 314  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN June  4,  1894.   " DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — ...  The  poem  of Brahma  (much  finer  than  Emerson's)  I  first  saw in  Longfellow's  "Poems  of  Places,"  credited,  as  a translation  from  Rumi  to  Ritter.  Ritter,  I  believe, is  a  German;  for  I  could  not  get  anything  Oriental by  Ritter  in  English — they  were  all  German  books. Perhaps  Longfellow  himself  tried  his  hand  at  the versification.  I  think  the  contradiction  in  the  first stanza  —  which  might  be  improved,  perhaps  — is  on the  whole  pardonable  considering  the  tremendous antitheses  and  contradictions  of  the  whole  thing. It  is  the  Bhagavad-Gita  condensed;  and  I  suppose the  magnificence  of  the  Saddharuma-Pundarika  is due  to  the  same  mighty  source.  Of  translations, I  liked  Burnouf 's  much  the  best.  When  I  read  such things  I  am  angry  with  my  own  soul  that  I  cannot believe,  —  so  cyclonic  is  the  sublimity  of  the  verses. They  create,  as  I  think  no  other  verses  do,  what Clifford  calls  "cosmic  emotion."  So  some  verses  of the  Bible  do,  —  but  only  because  of  the  changes of  meaning  caused  in  them  by  the  expansion  of knowledge  to-day:  — "They  shall  perish,  but  thou  shalt  remain:  yea, all  of  them  shall  wax  old  as  a  garment.  And  as  a vesture  thou  shalt  change  them  and  they  shall  be changed." The  Hebrew  poet's  world  was  small.  But  to-day —  to-day  when  the  application  of  evolution  to astronomy  confirms  the  Orient  faith  that  the  cosmos itself  appears  and  vanishes  with  the  night  and  day of  Brahma,  —  all  being  but  the  shadows  of  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  315 dream  of  a  God,  —  how  tremendous  the  old  psalm becomes!  .  .  . Every  once  in  a  while,  some  delightful,  earnest, sweet-souled  man — a  Tempo — comes  down  here and  lectures.  He  tells  the  boys  of  their  relation  to the  country's  future.  He  reminds  them  of  their ancestors.  He  speaks  to  them  of  loyalty  and  honour. He  laments  the  decay  of  the  ancient  spirit,  and  the demoralizing  influence  of  Western  manners  and Western  religion  and  Western  business  methods. And  as  the  boys  are  good,  their  hearts  get  full,  and something  brightens  their  eyes  in  spite  of  the  fash ion  of  impassiveness.  — But  what  are  their  thoughts after? A  striking  example  was  afforded  me  the  other day,  by  a  conversation  with  the  remarkable  student I  told  you  of  before, — Yasukochi  Asakichi.  I  will try  to  reproduce  it  thus:  — "  Sir !  What  was  your  opinion  of  the  old-fashioned Japanese  when  you  came  first  to  Japan?  Please  to be  quite  frank  with  me." "You  mean  old  men  like  Akizuki-San?" "Yes." "Wrhy,  I  thought  them  divine,  —  Kami-Sama; and  I  think  them  more  divine  now  that  I  have  seen the  new  generation." "Akizuki  is  a  type  of  the  ideal  old  samurai.  But as  a  foreigner  you  must  have  perceived  faults." "How,  faults?" "From  your  Western  standpoint." "My  Western  standpoint  is  philosophical  and ethical.  A  people's  perfection  means  their  perfect 316  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN fitness  for  the  particular  form  of  society  to  which they  belong.  Judging  from  such  a  standpoint  the man  of  the  Akizuki  type  was  more  perfect  than  any Western  type  I  have  ever  met.  Ethically,  I  could say  the  same." "But  in  a  Society  of  the  Western  type,  could  such men  play  a  great  part?" "By  their  unaided  exertions?" "Yes." "No:  they  have  no  business  capacity,  and  no faculty  for  certain  combinations." "That  is  true.  And  in  what  did  their  goodness seem  to  consist  to  you?" "In  honour,  loyalty,  courtesy,  —  in  supreme  self- control,  —  in  unselfishness,  —  in  consideration  of  the rights  of  others,  —  in  readiness  to  sacrifice  self." "That  also  is  true.  But  in  Western  life  are  these qualities  sufficient  to  command  success?" "No." "And  the  Oriental  system  of  morals  cultivated these;  and  the  result  of  that  cultivation  was  to  sup press  the  individual  for  the  sake  of  the  whole?" "Yes." "On  the  other  hand,  the  Western  form  of  society develops  the  individual  by  encouraging  selfishness —  competition,  struggle  for  gain  —  and  all  that?" "Yes." "And  Japan,  in  order  to  keep  her  place  among nations,  must  do  business  and  carry  on  industry and  commerce  in  the  Western  manner?" ."Perhaps." ,"I  do  not  think  there  is  a  perhaps.  There  is  only TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  317 a  must.  We  must  have  manufactures,  commerce, banks,  stock-companies  —  we  must  do  things  in  the Western  way,  since  our  future  must  be  industrial and  commercial.  If  we  should  try  to  do  things  in the  old  way,  we  should  always  remain  poor  and feeble.  We  should  also  get  the  worst  in  every  com mercial  transaction." "Yes." v"  Well,  how  can  we  do  any  business,  —  or  attempt any  enterprise,  —  or  establish  any  large  system,  — or  carry  on  any  competition,  —  or  do  anything  on a  large  scale,  —  if  we  live  by  the  old  morality?" "Why?" "Because  if  we  can  do  something  advantageous to  ourselves  or  our  interests  only  by  hurting  some one  else,  we  cannot  do  that  according  to  the  old morality." "Yes." "But  to  do  business  in  a  Western  way  we  must not  be  checked  by  any  such  scruples;  the  man  who hesitates  to  obtain  an  advantage  simply  because  he knows  some  one  else  will  be  injured  by  it,  will  fail." "Not  always." "It  must  be  the  general  rule  when  there  are  no checks  upon  competition.  The  cleverest  and  strong est  succeed;  the  weak  and  foolish  fail:  it  is  the natural  law  —  the  struggle  for  life.  Is  Western competition  based  upon  love  of  one's  fellow  man?" "No." "Sir,  the  truth  is  that  no  matter  how  good  the old  morality  was,  we  cannot  follow  any  such  moral law  and  preserve  our  national  independence  and 318  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN achieve  any  progress.    We  must  try  to  substitute law  for  morality." "It  is  a  bad  substitute." "It  is  not  a  bad  substitute  in  England.  Besides, at  last,  men  through  the  influence  of  law  will  learn to  be  moral  by  reason,  not  by  emotion.  We  must forsake  our  Past  (?) " And  I  could  say  nothing.  .  .  . And  now  I  have  said  so  many  horrid  things  about officials  that  it  is  high  time  to  say  something  nice about  men  who  are  not  officials.  Some  years  ago I  met  in  Tokyo  a  gentleman  named  Takagi,  then suffering  from  brain-trouble  of  some  sort, — very charming  and  gentle.  I  forgot  all  about  him  until the  other  week  when  he  came  to  Kumamoto.  He had  been  in  the  Educational  Department,  but  was not  happy  there,  and  being  a  good  chemist  got employed  as  head  man  in  the  Sumitomo  Camphor Refinery  of  Kobe.  The  merchants  liked  him,  took him  all  round  the  world,  and  made  him  quite  happy. His  visit  did  me  good  in  an  unsuspected  way;  for he  had  been  the  schoolmate  of  some  not  inclined to  view  me  favourably,  and  his  opinion  changed  the course  of  events.  I  passed  some  pleasant  days  with him.  He  possesses,  what  is  rare  in  Japan,  a  keen sense  of  humour,  sharpened  by  foreign  experience. I  was  much  amused  by  his  observations  about  for eign  countries.  Of  the  French  manner  of  life  he said,  "They  are  the  most  economical  of  people: they  are  careful  not  to  spend  their  own  money;  but they  possess  an  infinite  art  in  making  other  people spend  money."  I  asked  him  about  the  Chinese  in TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  319 Kobe,  as  merchants.  "There  are  too  many  Chinese, but  few  merchants  in  Kobe.  The  remainder  are chiefly  receivers  of  stolen  goods,  and  dangerous characters."  Takagi  has  the  most  remarkable  boy I  have  seen;  and  I  think  of  using  the  head  (photo graph)  in  a  future  book.  I  want  to  send  you  a  copy to  look  at:  you  will  agree  it  is  fine.  I  am  to  spend some  days  in  Kobe  with  him.  He  is  a  good  amateur photographer,  and  is  taking  photographs  of  queer things  for  me.  I  think  a  more  charming  man  it would  be  hard  to  find.  He  could  never  have  suc ceeded  in  official  life,  as  he  has  the  awful  habits  of saying  what  he  thinks,  and  being  in  earnest  —  two vices  intolerable  to  the  existing  bureaucracy.  As  a letter-writer  he  is  far  superior  to  any  Japanese  I know  —  not  simply  because  he  makes  no  mistakes, but  because  he  writes  as  honestly  as  an  English man,  with  a  very  delicate,  humorous  way  of  expres sion  peculiar  to  himself  —  always  original.  Should you  ever  have  occasion  to  meet  him,  you  would  find him  interesting  in  no  small  degree.  Hinton  used  to be  a  great  admirer  of  his  —  and  I  believe  tried  hard to  get  his  services  once,  but  without  success. The  other  day  some  Japanese  books  were  brought me  to  look  at.  On  them  was  the  name  of  the  father of  a  student  now  at  the  University.  The  poor  old man  could  only  pay  his  son's  expenses  by  selling  his library, — a  wonderful  library.  It  is  all  scattered  now. Nothing  could  be  more  touching  than  the  history  of the  sacrifices  being  made  every  day  in  every  part of  Japan  for  the  education  of  sons  and  daughters: —  the  unwritten  goodness  is  the  most  wonderful. 820  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN I  am  disappointed  to  hear  you  made  nothing  by those  delicious  Fairy-Tales.  I  thought  there  was a  fortune  in  them.  Sets  must  have  been  sold  by thousands.  A  small  set  I  could  certainly  make; but  I  want  you  to  read  my  book  first.  And  my head  is  full  of  dreams.  I  dream  of  — (1)  "The  Story  of  alSoul,"  —  to  be  illustrated with  weird,  but  not  ugly,  pictures  of  the  Meido,  — River  of  the  Three  Roads,  River  of  Tears,  Saino Kawara,  etc. (2)  "  (New)  Japanese  Fairy-Tales"  —  The  Foun tain    of    Youth— The    Haunted    Temple— The Artist  of  Cats  —  The  Waiting  Stone  —  The  Test  of Courage  —  The  Story  of  an  Ihai  —  The  Ise  o-f uda —  The  Old  Woman  and  the  Oni  —  Jizo  and  the wicked  Hotel-keeper,  etc.,  etc.,  etc. (3)  "Western  Science  and  Eastern  Faith."    A comparison  of  results  in  the  form  of  an  address. Shall  I,  or  shall  I  not  try? And  again  I  sometimes  feel  like  despairing  of writing  to  any  purpose  —  feel  like  quitting  every thing  I  like,  and  leaving  the  ground  fallow  for  some years. I  thank  you  in  advance  for  the  works  you  are  so kindly  lending.  Anything  genuine  from  the  old Jesuits  I  should  like  to  see  —  except,  of  course,  such hideous  trash  as  " Paul  Anjiro."  Perhaps  I  can  make a  fine  Kumamoto  chapter.  If  I  can't,  I  shall  accu mulate  notes,  and  go  to  Manila  for  a  season  later on  —  where  I  can  get  the  emotions  I  want. My  boy  has  lost  almost  every  possible  trace  of Japanese  origin.  Even  the  eyelids  have  much TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  321 changed.  His  hair  has  become  a  bright  curly  brown  - chestnut:  his  features  are  all  different:  he  is  get ting  to  be  a  naughty  naughty  English  child  —  ex travagantly  English.  Oh!  what  a  devil  of  a  time I  shall  have  with  him !  I  'm  sure  he  won't  be  very submissive,  after  all.  I'll  have  to  send  him  to  a land  of  sterner  discipline,  later  on.  For  the  moment only,  good-bye, — I'll  finish  another  letter  to  you soon. Most  gratefully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. June  10,  1894. Further  Adventures  and  States  of  Mind DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — To-day  I  could  not  stand it  any  longer.  I  dismissed  my  class  abruptly  for  the first  time,  and  went  home  to  write  a  letter  of  re signation.  After  having  written  it,  I  tore  it  up,  and went,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  to  the  house  of Sakurai  (he  has  a  brother  professor  in  the  Univers ity), —  the  head-master.  He  is  civilized,  having been  educated  in  France;  and  I  felt  some  confidence in  him,  because  he  allows  no  one  to  be  familiar  with him.  I  could  not  find  him  in  his  house:  he  was  at an  archery  club.  I  sat  down,  or  knelt  down,  in  the archery  shed,  and  looked  at  all  those  Oriental  im passive  faces,  and  my  courage  began  to  ooze  away. Perhaps  you  don't  know  what  it  is  to  want  to  say something  very  private,  and  find  your  man  for the  time  being  part  of  a  public  in  nowise  inter ested  in  you — rather  the  reverse.  But  I  stuck  it out,  saying  now  or  never;  and  after  the  archery 322  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN asked  to  see  the  gentleman  privately.  Happily  no one  else  understands  French.  I  went  to  his  house, and  conversed  with  him  very  guardedly,  —  men tioning  no  names,  but  simply  giving  my  three  years' experience  of  discomfort.  He  smiled  and  seemed to  understand,  thought  a  little,  became  suddenly impassive,  and  said:  —  "You  are  generally  liked, — they  are  not  polite  and  courteous;  and  besides Japanese  are  cold.  You  have  no  friend,  I  know; but  I  am  your  well-wisher,  and  I  keep  your  con fidence.  If  there  be  anything  very  disagreeable, come  to  me  and  tell  me  frankly,  and  I'll  settle  it  as well  as  I  can.  As  for  your  contract,  that  oversight was  only  due  to  your  being  so  long  here,  that  we forgot  to  ask  you.  When  the  director  comes  back, we  settle  that."  I  said:  "I  am  no  longer  interested in  staying;  I  am  only  interested  in  being  able  to  go away  on  good  terms."  —  I  think  he  understands exactly  what  I  refer  to,  and  I  think  he  will  hold  his peace  to  all  but  the  director.  The  director  dislikes the  person  I  am  troubled  by,  and  there  may  be  found a  way  to  get  rid  of  him.  But  the  head-master,  who is  a  perfect  gentleman,  would  not  like  me  even  to think  he  understood;  and  I  believe  we  talked  in riddles  all  the  time.  However,  I  have  more  courage now  to  finish  the  three  weeks  left. Yet  Lowell  says  the  Japanese  have  no  individu ality!  I  wish  he  had  to  teach  here  for  a  year,  and he  wrould  discover  some  of  the  most  extraordinary individuality  he  ever  saw.  There  are  eccentrics  and personalities  among  the  Japanese  as  with  us:  only, they  show  less  quickly  on  the  surface.  No  man  can TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  323 make  a  sweeping  general  statement  about  Japanese character  in  a  negative  sense,  without  finding  out his  mistake  later.  It  is  only  by  degrees,  however, that  one  finds  out  they  have  just  as  much  difference among  them  as  any  Orientals.  But  physiologically and  conventionally  these  are  less  perceptible  at  first sight. Won't  you  think  me  a  crank,  writing  all  this stuff?  But  it  is  part  of  the  record  of  a  disillusioned enthusiast.  You  remember  my  first  letters  from Izumo.  Quantum  mutatus  ab  illo!  The  iron  — Japanese  iron — has  entered  into  my  soul  — And  thro'  the  body  of  the  Knight He  made  cauld  iron  gae,  gae, He  made  cauld  iron  gae! Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  By  the  way,  let  me  send  you  a  typical  compo sition  :  — Subject:  —  "Flowing  Water." "  The  water  of  a  river  is  not  the  same  clear  water that  gushed  from  the  source  in  the  mountain.  It becomes  dark  and  muddy  as  it  flows  on,  and  never turns  clear  again.  So  with  the  life  of  a  man.  The sun  always  rises  and  sets  the  same :  in  the  same  way the  year  always  comes  and  goes.  But  man  grows older  always,  and  never  can  become  young  again. One  of  us  who  was  never  sick  till  last  winter  now sleeps  in  a  grave:  one  who  was  singing  and  laugh ing  but  a  few  days  ago,  has  gone  back  to  whence he  came.  One  is  not  long  wept  or  honoured,  but 324  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN soon  forgotten  quite.  The  same  sad  fate  must  over take  us  all.  Even  our  coffin  must  rot,  and  the  very worms  at  last  disdain  our  bones.  Is  this  human  life of  ours  all  a  dream? "  Certain  it  is  that  flowing  water  is  not  lost :  it only  vapourizes,  and  is  returned  to  the  rivers again.  Yet  I  cannot  believe  that  our  Souls  ascend to  Heaven  unchanged  by  death.  Let  us  be  happy  in this  world  only.  If  even  the  shadow  of  our  names remain  for  a  few  centuries,  it  is  a  very  strange  and delightful  thing." June  16,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, —  .  .  .  I  have  read  the  Char- levoix  with  strange  feelings,  and  am  returning  it to-day.  What  another  atmosphere  was  that.  You can  understand  that  I  feel  it,  —  having  been  so much  in  its  modern  continuation.  Was  it  not  a veritable  madness?  —  like  the  Children's  Crusade, • — like  the  epidemics  described  by  Hecker:  those millions  thirsting  for  pain  and  death,  —  those Jesuits  crossing  the  whole  world  in  absolute  terror of  arriving  too  late  to  have  the  chance  to  die.  Do you  know  that  the  conviction  has  suddenly  come to  me  that  the  great  missionary  successes  of  old Romish  days  can  only  be  explained  by  illuminism, —  not  only  mad  faith,  but  contagious  insanity,  the capacity  to  communicate  the  cerebral  disturbance to  others. Ever,  in  haste, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  325 DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Thanks  for  precious  let ters  —  even  the  sharp  one,  for  that  meant  love  — and  the  charming  discussion  on  the  moral  question. By  this  time  I  imagine  my  letters  have  shown  the state  of  affairs.  I  made  a  protest  which  was  kindly received,  with  the  assurance  of  a  renewal  of  con tract  until  March.  Will  it  last?  I  don't  know.  .  .  . Though  I  cannot  but  regret  that  I  should  become useless  to  the  Japanese  Government,  I  must  hon estly  confess  that  I  approve  of  the  abolition  of English  studies.  They  should  be  permitted  to  those only  gifted  with  a  natural  capacity  for  languages; and  their  indiscriminate,  foolish,  wholesale,  topsy turvy  teaching  has  been  a  great  aid  to  national demoralization.  I  can  feel  no  possible  sentiment of  adverse  criticism  on  this  subject.  It  is  simply jiujutsu.  Vae  metis?  Japan  experiments  with everything,  and  retains  only  what  will  be  of  use  to her  —  of  great  use  to  her.  She  is  right.  It  is  possible she  miscalculates  her  strength ;  but  I  doubt  it.  It  is possible  she  is  going  to  play  a  Korean  role,  and bankrupt.  But  I  doubt  that  too.  We  shall  be  dis missed  after  use  —  just  as  the  old  Chinese  teachers must  have  been  in  former  days.  They  cared  less, for  they  asked  less;  and  they  could  live  on  rice. Well,  the  Japanese  Gods  have  treated  me  toler ably  well:  I  trust  in  them.  If  I  have  to  leave  Japan awhile,  it  will  not  be  for  the  worst. Now  about  your  argument.  Indeed,  as  you  say, there  is  a  vast  spiritual  side  to  Western  life,  and noble  effort  must  ever  rest  upon  a  spiritual  basis,  — just  as  in  hard  science  the  most  material  possible 326  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN fact  rests  upon  a  metaphysical  basis.  This  has  been beautifully  proved  by  Huxley.  For  when  we  even touch  the  question  of  matter  itself  scientifically,  the thing  vanishes  further  than  Berkeley's  examination ever  went,  and  leaves  us  in  the  presence  of  nothing but  ghost liness. Unfortunately,  however,  there  is  what  must  be termed  a  material  side  to  life, — the  real  material ism.  Our  civilization,  with  all  its  aspirations,  is industrial  and  commercial  —  and  there  is  no  moral ity  in  that  competition  worth  priding  ourselves upon.  It  is  n't  Yankeedom  more  than  it  is  Anglo- dom.  See,  for  a  terrible  illustration  of  the  facts  in the  case,  Herbert  Spencer's  essay  "The  Morals  of Trade."  Business  men  know  this.  The  Eclectics you  sent  me  contained  several  awful  articles  on  the same  subject,  written  by  Englishmen.  The  fact seems  to  me  that  my  young  student  is  altogether right.  Without  having  studied  philosophy,  he  per ceives  that  emotional  morality  must  yield  to  legal morality;  and  I  am  trying  to  make  him  consider cosmic  law  the  law  to  study,  and  he  understands.  I have  English  business  friends :  men  who  control  vast movements  of  money.  They  do  not  hesitate  to speak  frankly  about  the  cruelties  and  the  bitterness of  commercial  competition.  Our  whole  civilization is  based  upon  immorality  —  if  we  are  to  accept either  the  Buddhist  or  the  Christian  system  of ethics.  There  is  a  comparative  morality,  of  course; but  he  who  follows  the  old  code  must  fail.  What you  and  I  love  —  what  we  admire  —  what  we aspire  after  —  does  not  belong  to  industrialism;  yet TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  327 only  by  industrialism  can  any  of  us  —  even  a Spencer  or  Huxley  or  Tennyson  —  exist.  We  can do  what  is  beautiful  or  right  only  by  the  aid  of industrialism,  unless,  like  Thoreau,  we  prefer  to  live in  the  woods.  A  larger  morality  will  come  —  but only  when  competition  ends.  As  for  the  condition of  woman  in  Western  lands,  I  think  you  refer  only to  the  upper  classes.  The  condition  of  woman  in certain  classes  is  horrible  beyond  Japanese  imagin ing. Ever  sincerely, LAFCADIO  HEARN. This  year  all  the  people  of  the  street  have  been coming  to  my  house  on  festival  occasions.  There  is then  a  great  crowd  always  —  but  perfectly  behaved. In  the  court  before  the  house,  children,  girls,  and men  dance  fantastically.  Girls  dressed  as  men,  and men  as  girls.  This  is  to  gladden  the  spirits  of  the dead.  The  songs  sung  on  the  shokonsai  were  curious, and  the  dances  very  interesting.  I  send  a  copy,  — if  you  think  worth  while,  you  might  ask  somebody to  translate  them,  at  the  usual  rates.  The  dancers on  this  occasion  wore  curious  headdresses.  One  had a  wig  of  seaweed,  —  red  seaweed,  that  made  him look  either  like  a  Shojo  or  Norse  pirate  (he  was  a handsome  fellow  and  danced  splendidly).  Another had  an  o-mikidokkuri  on  his  head;  others  gohei; one  an  enormous  daikon.  The  children  danced prettily  and  blessed  the  house  with  gohei.  A  string stretched  across  the  yard  sufficed  to  keep  back  the women  and  babies  and  street-boys.  What  a  relief 328  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN to  feel  the  atmosphere  of  the  people,  after  stifling in  the  atmosphere  of  officialism!  Griffis  said  he  had found  that  to  live  long  in  Japan  spoiled  a  man.  His meaning  was  wrong.  But  there  is  truth  in  his  words. To  live  among  officials  does  poison  character  —  fills it  with  suspicions,  hates,  mean  sensations.  I  can therefore  well  understand  certain  horrors  of  Tokyo. June  24,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  telegram  came early  this  morning,  "at  the  hour  when  the  crows first  fly  abroad  and  cry" — but  three  days  after the  affair.  It  made  us  feel  very  glad;  but  you  may imagine  that  we  were  not  easy  in  mind.  I  was especially  anxious  about  Mason;  for  I  learned  that no  damage  to  speak  of  had  occurred  in  Akasaka, but  that  the  lower  parts  of  the  capital  —  those  on the  flat  ground  —  had  suffered  severely.  Oh!  dear! what  a  country!  No  wonder  the  doctrine  of  Imper- manency  should  have  taken  deep  hold  of  the  popu lar  mind.  Even  the  face  of  the  land  continually changes.  It  is  remarkable  that  we  foreigners  usu ally  escape. I  wrote  you  yesterday  not  without  qualms  of  con science,  —  feeling  as  if  I  had  no  business  to  write at  all  till  I  got  good  news. I  promised  some  samples  of  student-compositions, which  I  could  guarantee  as  echantillons  of  the  stand ard  feeling.  The  words  of  the  old  conservative  lec turers  may  have  produced  the  fruit,  or  at  least ripened  it.  Certainly  it  is  ripe. ,  (1)  "What  did  our  ancestors  contribute  to  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  329 common  stock  of  civilization  is  a  most  disagreeable question  to  all  of  us.  It  is  shameful  for  us  to  hear that  civilization  is  a  product  of  the  brain  of  the Caucasian.  Only  recently  the  Japanese  were  awak ened  by  the  foreigner.  Now  they  have  begun  to  sound, like  a  temple  bell  struck  from  the  outside.  And  West ern  institutions  have  been  rapidly  introduced. "There  was  this  reason  for  it.  To  a  child  the  sun seems  brighter  and  the  moon  larger  than  to  an  old man.  Japan  as  a  nation  by  itself  is  old,  but  as  a nation  of  the  world  at  large  is  very  young.  The Japanese  were  too  easily  stimulated  by  Western civilization,  —  because  it  seemed  to  them  brighter and  larger  than  it  really  was,  as  the  moon  seems  to a  child.  Now  the  Japanese  are  becoming  old.  Ex perience  has  taught  them  good  lessons.  But  even if  we  grant  the  Japanese  are  below  the  Western nations  in  material  progress,  that  does  not  mean they  are  morally  lower  also.  Christians'  minds  are not  higher  than  ours.  A  foreigner  can  observe  the outward  conditions;  but  it  is  very  hard  for  him  to read  the  depths  of  our  soul.  The  Japanese  never struggled  to  get  freedom  or  equality.  They  knew that  men  cannot  find  real  freedom  or  equality  either on  earth  or  in  heaven.  Stars  are  not  equal.  Some are  larger  than  others;  some  are  brighter.  None move  freely;  all  obey  laws.  The  Japanese  are  not dreamers.  It  is  true  that  nearly  all  Japanese  are cold  toward  religion.  They  cannot  dream  about  a God.  ..." (2)  "Statistics  show  not  only  that  the  average weight  of  the  students  in  all  the  Higher  Middle 330  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEABN Schools  is  decreasing  year  by  year,  but  also  that  the number  of  short-sighted  students  becomes  every year  greater.  Is  this  the  result  of  too  much  study, or  of  the  want  of  bodily  exercise?  I  think  the  former. //  the  present  educational  regulations  continue,  the result  will  be  very  injurious  to  the  next  generation" I  reserve  for  a  future  letter  some  selections  from atheistic  compositions.  I  discourage  them,  but  I  fear I  am  only  laughed  at  (good-naturedly)  for  my  pains. The  importance  of  teaching  scientific  philosophy in  the  schools,  instead  of  barren  logic  and  dead- bones  of  dead  ethics,  seems  to  me  more  and  more of  paramount  importance.  The  higher  education  is simply  making  atheists  —  shallow  atheists  (perhaps I  am  an  atheist  myself,  but  there  are  differences  of kind)  —  men  who  disbelieve  simply  through  ignor ance  and  undiscerning  contempt  of  what  they  see; and  who  think  that  when  they  have  said  "matter is  matter,"  that  is  the  end  of  the  whole  business. And  this  will  have  its  effect  upon  national  morals —  not  so  great  an  effect  as  some  suppose,  because moral  character  is  inherited.  Still  it  will  accentuate all  evil  inclinations  in  those  naturally  vicious  or weak.  One  can't  make  this  generation  religious. But  one  might  certainly  devise  one  sensible  means of  inculcating  the  scientific  fact  that  raw  material ism  is  just  as  irrational  and  vulgar  as  any  form  of peasant  superstition,  and  infinitely  more  injurious to  the  higher  faculties  of  the  mind. There  is  another  advance  notice  of  my  book  in the  Atlantic  which  I  send.  But  read  this  instal ment  of  "Philip  and  his  Wife."  I  think  that  woman TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  331 is  greater  than  George  Eliot.  Perhaps  she  indulges sometimes  in  touches  neither  of  us  quite  like.  But for  fine,  terribly -perceptive  analysis,  —  what  a writer.  Notice,  for  example,  the  paragraph  describ ing  her  disgust  with  the  every-day  actions  and  ways of  her  husband,  and  the  scene  of  the  quarrel.  The Gods  have  denied  all  such  faculties  of  perception to  me, — that  is  creatively.  I  know  them  only  when I  see  them. — Then  I  think  the  practical  paper  on American  railroads  may  interest  you.  Otherwise  I see  nothing  to  specially  commend, — except,  per haps,  the  paper  on  Tortoni's.  It  seems  to  me  to have  been  made  up  from  French  sources;  for  I  read many  bits  of  it  in  the  Figaro,  long  ago. I  am  quite  sorry  to  hear  about  all  the  trouble you  have  with  your  Japanese  assistants.  I  wonder if  every  foreigner  has  not  had  some  like  experience. There  is  a  nomad  restlessness  in  this  race  which really  finds  pain  in  stability,  regularity,  permanency of  any  sort.  The  most  amiable  seem  to  have  it. Even  the  sweetest  Japanese  woman  has  something of  this  Tartar  soul.  Like  sweet  women  the  world over,  she  loves  to  make  a  nest  and  collect  treasures ; but  like  her  possible  ancestors  of  the  steppes,  her life  is  still  the  life  of  tents.  When  she  rests,  she strives  with  charming  success  to  make  everything beautiful;  but  she  is  ready  to-morrow  to  pull  up the  pegs  and  travel  a  thousand  ri.  And  what  won der  —  since  even  the  ground  will  not  stay  still. With  best  regards  and  felicitations, LAFCADIO  HEARN. 332  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN June  27,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  letter  came  late last  night,  and  made  me  very  glad.  It  is  really  nice to  be  able  to  think,  or  at  least  to  feel,  as  if  one's friends  were  specially  cared  for  by  the  Gods.  I  had no  idea  when  I  first  wrote  you  on  the  subject  how much  real  danger  there  was  so  near  you. There  is  no  news  here  to  send  you,  even  about that  tiresome  subject  —  myself.  The  heat  is  great, but  heat  makes  me  feel  young,  although  I  am  this blessed  or  accursed  day  exactly  forty-four  years  old (27th  June),  and  if  I  could  be  where  it  is  always  hot I  think  I  should  live  to  dry  up  and  blow  away.  Still I  can  sympathize  with  your  discomfort, — to  enjoy great  heat  we  should  be  able  to  dress  or  undress  as we  please,  have  freedom  from  dust,  and  the  luxury of  moving  water  —  whether  river,  lake,  or  sea.  I fear  Tokyo  has  not  these. Liquidly  beautiful  the  sky-fire  is,  and  everything looks  sharp  as  the  edge  of  a  sword,  and  the  white clouds  seem  souls  of  Bosatsu  about  to  melt  into Nirvana.  There  is  pleasure  always  in  this  Nature —  however  wearisome  the  hard  work  of  living  (or working)  with  people  who  have  no  souls.  For  the Japanese  officials  have  none.  Imagine  people  hav ing  no  sentiment  of  light  —  of  blue  —  of  infinity ! And  they  cannot  feel  possibly  the  beauty  of  their own  day  as  you  or  I  do.  Think  of  the  comparison of  Fuji  to  a  white  half -open  inverted  fan  hanging in  the  sky.  Of  course  it  is  pretty;  it  is  even  start- lingly  real;  —  but  what  sentiment  is  there  in  it? What  feeling  do  mountains  give  these  people? TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  333 Surely  nothing  like  the  thought  of  Job,  —  "He maketh  Peace  in  His  High  Places'9  What  feeling does  light  give  them?  —  the  light  which  makes  us wish  to  pray  —  to  thank  somebody  for  it?  Nothing like  the  utterance  of  John,  —  "Verily  this  is  the message  we  give  unto  you, — that  God  is  Light!" What,  even,  is  their  thought  of  Nature  —  beauti fully  as  they  mock  her?  Has  any  among  them  ever so  much  as  thought  the  thought  of  the  Bhagavad- Gita,  —  "I  am  the  breath  of  winds,  the  light  of waters  —  MOST  ANCIENT  AND  MOST  EXCELLENT  OF POETS"?  .  .  . Never  a  one!  They  have  lost  the  child-hearts that  the  Gods  gave  them,  which  were  beautiful; and  in  place  of  them  have  something  resembling  the legendary  apples  of  Sodom  —  full  of  bitterness  and dust  only. Oh  dear!  oh  dear!  I  used  to  think  I  had  no  soul; but  since  coming  here  I  think  I  have,  —  that  if  I try  very  hard,  I  could  discover  it.  Converted  from various  nihilisms  I  have  become.  The  Western world  verily  seems  to  me  now  only  a  Titan  world, but  a  world  charged  with  spirit,  like  a  dynamo  with lightning.  Of  course  there  are  bottled  devils  in multitude,  as  in  the  Arabian  tales  of  Soliman;  but what  a  magical  world  it  is !  —  and  how  much  does absolute  exile  from  it  mean ! I  wonder  how  I  shall  feel  in  another  few  years. Would  that  I  could  go  to  those  zones  in  which  Na ture  remains  primeval,  —  where  light  is  divine,  and where  people  walk  forever  with  eyes  fixed  upon  the ground,  —  looking  for  snakes.  Then  I  should  say S34  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN to  the  cobra,  —  "Thou  art  my  sister  and  my  bro ther.  Thou  hast  a  soul.  So  have  I.  But  I  have  been among  men  not  having  souls." LAFCADIO  HEARN. Extracts  from  Compositions  —  showing  the  results of  improved  teaching  by  native  teachers. (1)  Human  life  is  produced  by  the  combination  of those  energies  which  compose  the  soul.    When a  man  dies,  his  soul  may  either  remain  un- (Thisis  changed,  or  may  change  according  to  what  it It  aii.)  combines  with.  Some  philosophers  say  the  soul is  mortal;  some  that  it  is  immortal.  They  are both  right.  The  soul  is  mortal  or  immortal according  to  the  change  in  its  combinations. But  those  elementary  energies  from  which  the soul  is  made,  are,  of  course,  immortal,  —  etc. (2)  Why  has  man  come  into  the  world,  and  why should  he  struggle  to  succeed  in  life?  These  are questions  that  have  remained  unanswered  from ancient  times.    Religions  were  introduced  into the  world  in  order  to  explain  them.  Many  relig ions  teach  the  existence  of  a  God,  and  theorize about  a  paradise  and  a  hell.   But  such  opinions must  have  come  out  of  human  wishes.  .  .  .  etc. (3)  Some  say  the  world  and  all  things  were  made  by a  God,  omnipotent  to  do  as  he  pleases.    But there  is  no  evidence  for  this.  If  there  were  such a  God,  why  did  he  not  make  only  good  and  use ful  things,  and  exclude  all  badness  and  useless- ness  from  the  world?  God  is  nothing  but  an  ideal being.  He  has  no  power  to  influence  life  or  death. TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  335 (4)  Perhaps  there  is  a  universal   energy  without beginning  and  end  which  is  wrongly  called "  God,"  and  this  energy  appears  as  a  man  by  its union  with  substance.  When  the  union  is  de stroyed  life  ceases,  and  the  body  only  remains. (5)  Nothing  could  be  more  foolish  than  to  talk  about the  immortality  of  the  soul.    But  even  were such  a  thing  possible,  the  soul  could  not  con tinue  in  the  same  form;  —  for  all  things  in  the universe  are  constantly  changing  their  charac ters  and  conditions. (6)  After  the  death  of  an  ice-bear  (*ic/),  a  man  takes off  the  fur  of  it.  So  the  fur  is  preserved  for  the future.  But  after  a  man  dies,  what  remains  of him  but  a  name?  .  .  .  etc. "The  evil  of  the  day,"  etc.  You  will  see  there  is some  excellent  hard  sense  in  some  of  these  thoughts. The  pity  of  it  is  that  the  half-scientific  teaching hardens  the  mind  before  it  half  reaches  the  end  of the  matter.  Then  it  stays  petrified  in  materialism, or  in  a  scepticism  with  no  solid  basis;  — ergo,  — the  world  is  humbug? July  2.  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  must  say  that  the dreariest  work  I  ever  undertook  was  that  of  putting the  three  Daikokumai  ballads  into  endurable  Eng lish  prose.  The  work  is  nearly  done,  and  I  am  very sick  of  it.  Indeed,  I  could  not  have  done  it  at  all  — except  just  a  means  of  keeping  my  mind  occupied  in lieu  of  better  work. And  now,  what  on  earth  shall  I  do  with  them? 836  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Of  course  they  have  much  interest  as  folk-lore,  but no  literary  value  that  I  can  discover.  There  is  a weird  coarseness  about  them,  too,  that,  in  addition to  their  flatness,  renders  it  impossible  to  use  them in  my  new  book.  They  would  jar  with  everything else.  Your  warning  to  me  about  Japanese  litera ture  of  this  kind  has  been  fully  realized.  There  is nothing  in  it  for  me, — no  poetry  or  thought  or sentiment. At  an  examination  in  Conversation  the  other  day, I  put  the  following  questions  to  the  youngest  classes as  exercises:  "How  do  you  ask  a  favour  politely?" "How  do  you  refuse  a  favour  politely?" I  had  scarcely  any  good  answers  to  either,  but some  characteristic  replies  to  the  second  one,  e.g.:  — "I  cannot  lend  you  my  dictionary,  because  I  have been  stolen  my  dictionary  last  night." "I  am  sorry  not  to  lend  you  my  horse,  for  he  is sick.  When  he  had  returned  to  his  pleasure,  then I  will  lend  to  you  for  many  week." Is  n't  it  like  your  delicious  rendering  in  "  Classical Poetry,"  of  that  comedietta  "hone  to  kawa"? I  can't  expect  an  answer  to  this.  For  I  hope  to  get away  in  a  few  days.  Oh !  what  a  long,  long  month  — and  what  a  dull,  dead  town ! Ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — Two  most  delightful  let ters, — one  from  you  and  one  from  Mason,  both inviting  me  to  pass  a  few  days  in  Tokyo.  I  think  I shall  really  go  to  19  Akasaka  Daimachi  for  a  little TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  337 while  anyhow,  —  for  I  have  bachelor-habits  of  long standing  (I  mean  orderly  ones,  such  as  disturbing nothing,  and  giving  as  little  trouble  to  others  as  pos sible),  and  I  would  feel  less  of  an  intruder  than  I should  in  going  into  the  midst  of  anybody's  family, for  more  than  an  afternoon  at  a  time.  But  it  is  very, very  pleasant  to  be  so  kindly  thought  of,  and  I don't  know  what  to  say  to  you  at  all.  .  .  . I  am  sorry  about  your  spraining  your  hand,  and have  been  thinking  of  suggesting  archery  as  a  sub stitute  for  tennis.  I  have  now  become  pretty  good  at using  the  bow;  but  a  leather  glove  seems  to  be  neces sary, — else  the  leap  of  the  bow  skins  the  palm.  As I  never  practised  with  an  English  bow,  I  can't  tell how  the  thing  is  handled;  but  the  Japanese  style  is quiteMifficult  to  learn.  The  bow  is  held  not  tightly, but  loosely,  so  that  it  swings  completely  round  in  the hand  at  each  pull. The  bow  describes  an  almost  complete  right about,  or  rather,  left-about  face.  This  used  to  cut my  hand  to  pieces ;  but  now  I  get  on  by  using  a  hand- wrap  of  soft  cotton  —  in  case  of  shooting  for  any length  of  time.  I  recommend  the  archery-exercise chiefly  because  of  its  coolness,  compared  with  tennis or  cricket.  The  chest,  back,  and  arm-muscles  are fully  exercised;  but  the  body  has  to  be  kept  very steady,  and  one  does  not  feel  heated. It  strikes  me  that  there  is  a  good  deal  of  unwritten folk-lore  to  be  got  about  bear-hunting;  and  I  have just  heard  some  facts  which  again  suggest  to  me something  I  wrote  you  long  ago,  about  a  possible parallel  to  be  found  in  Japanese  customs  for  almost 338  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN everything  generally  said  or  believed  to  be  purely Aino.  What  I  wrote  at  the  time  alluded  to  was  my suspicion  that  there  must  have  been  a  common origin  for  the  Ainu  inao  and  the  Japanese  gohei.  But now  I  want  to  talk  about  bears.  In  the  mountain district  of  Goka  in  Yatsushiro,  not  very  far  from here,  and  in  Ichigo  (I  think  the  place  is  in  Ichigo), the  people  hunt  bears.  In  the  latter  place  they  used to  be  employed  by  the  Tokugawas  to  hunt  bears  — especially  the  "golden  bear;"  when  a  bear  was killed,  an  officer  was  sent  to  the  mountain  village to  receive  the  skin,  etc. ;  and  this  officer  used  to  read a  document  which  the  people  believed  to  be  a  sort of  Kyo,  or  religious  address,  which  had  the  effect  of giving  peace  and  contentment  to  the  soul  of  the bear.  But  since  the  passing  away  of  the  old  cus toms  the  people  of  the  bear-hunting  villages  referred to,  say  that  unless  certain  religious  measures  be taken,  the  spirits  of  the  bears  cause  deformed  child ren  to  be  born  and  other  sad  things  to  happen.  So lots  are  cast,  and  every  year  or  so  two  men  are  sent, according  to  the  lots,  to  travel  as  pilgrims  through all  Japan  to  obtain  repose  for  the  souls  of  the  bears. I  have  at  least  had  evidence  that  pilgrims  travel  as pilgrims  both  from  the  Ichigo  place  and  from  Goka in  Kyushu  to  lay  the  ghosts  of  the  bears.  Some carry  with  them  a  few  hairs  of  a  "golden  bear"  or part  of  a  bear's  dried  stomach,  said  to  be  a  panacea, and  give  these  to  those  who  treat  them  well.  Now is  n't  this  exactly  like  the  Ainu  custom  after  a  bear- hunt — so  far  as  the  idea  goes?  However,  the  same desire  to  placate  the  souls  of  animals  killed  while TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  339 hunting  is  followed,  I  believe,  by  many  primitive peoples,  —  among  others,  even  by  some  American Indian  tribes. (I  am  just  through  with  my  examinations,  but have  been  so  overworked  that  I  must  postpone finishing  this  letter  till  to-morrow.) Shooting  at  a  paper  lantern  at  night  is  a  very amusing  kind  of  Japanese  archery.  Contrary  to expectation,  however,  I  found  it  was  fearfully  dif ficult  to  hit.  The  great  art  is  to  aim  an  inch  or  two below  the  light,  when  the  cup  being  shattered,  the light  at  once  goes  out.  My  father-in-law  destroys  a lantern  this  way  every  time,  —  so  I  take  care  to  tire myself  shooting  at  it  before  he  gets  a  chance.  For  at his  first  or  second  arrow  —  good-bye,  lantern!  .  .  . My  boy  now  seems  to  fill  the  larger  part  of  this world,  and  is  going  to  give  me  piles  of  occupation  for the  rest  of  my  earthly  career.  How  people  can bear  to  have  more  than  one  or  two  now  puzzles  me really.  One  is  almost  too  much  for  us  all  to  attend  to. Curiously,  he  takes  to  me  more  than  to  anybody, notwithstanding  that  I  rarely  play  with  him; — he has  learned  to  give  me  my  papers  and  letters,  ride on  my  shoulder,  and  express  his  wishes  without words.  He  is  really  remarkable  in  that  he  never cries.  "Perhaps  he  shall  become  a  Buddha" — • unless  I  can  take  him  to  Italy  and  drown  him  with music,  and  take  him  to  France  to  learn  something about  life.  I  want  to  do  wonderful  things  for  him. And  I  really  think  I  shall  be  able  to. I  got  a  beautiful  set  of  compositions  at  the  sum mer  examinations  on  the  theme  "Home."  There  is, 840  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN after  all,  delicious  poetry  in  the  boys.  However, they  will  soon  become  selfish  and  hard,  I  fear;  and will  love  nothing.  What  a  humbug  Government Education  is!  The  Government  is  a  mother,  per haps,  but  a  stepmother  only.  The  old  terakoya  was infinitely  better  in  some  points  of  view  than  all  their detestable  higher  schools. I  will  not  write  again  till  I  get  nearer  to  you. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. YOKOHAMA,  July  15,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — This  is  a  very  bad  letter, because  written  under  difficulties.  I  hope  to  run  up to  19  Akasaka  Daimachi  to-morrow,  for  a  couple  of days. I  have  been  intimately  acquainted  with  Mason  for more  than  a  million  years,  and  understand,  I  think, just  why  you  like  each  other.  Mason  is  what  Goethe would  have  called  "a  beautiful  soul."  I  have  been to  his  charming  little  home,  and  felt  quite  in  Para dise  there,  and  love  everything  and  everybody  in it.  We  passed  to-day  at  Kamakura  swimming  and indulging  in  debaucheries  of  beefsteak,  whiskey  and lemonade,  gin  and  ginger  ale  and  beer.  His  son  was with  us  —  and  I  like  the  little  man  very  much;  we soon  became  friends. — Well,  you  understand  how very,  very  delightful  things  were.  I  should  not  trust myself  to  say  exactly  what  I  felt  about  our  holi day.  We  are  to  take  a  trip  together  presently. Coming  out  of  my  solitude  of  nearly  five  years to  stand  on  the  deck  of  the  Kobe  Maru  on  the  10th, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  341 I  felt  afraid.  I  saw  myself  again  among  giants. Everything  seemed  huge,  full  of  force,  dignity, massive  potentialities  divined  but  vaguely.  A  sud den  sense  of  the  meaning  of  that  civilization  I  had been  so  long  decrying  and  arguing  against,  and vainly  rebelling  against,  came  upon  me  crushingly. In  another  few  hours  I  had  new  friends. The  first  man  I  spoke  to  was  an  engineer.  He  and I  felt  each  other  at  once.  He  had  been,  like  myself, a  wanderer, — had  seen  Mt.  Everest  from  a  bunga low  in  Nepaul,  —  and  studied  many  things. The  twin  bits  of  our  race-souls  touched  at  once. What  no  Japanese  could  feel,  that  rough  square  man knew, — and  he  seemed  to  me  a  deity,  or  a  demi- deity ,  —  and  I  felt  like  one  about  to  worship  West ern  Gods. Another  day,  and  I  was  in  touch  with  England again.  How  small  suddenly  my  little  Japan  be came  !  —  how  lonesome !  What  a  joy  to  feel  the West!  What  a  great  thing  is  the  West!  What  new appreciations  of  it  are  born  of  isolation!  What  a horrible  place  the  school !  —  I  was  a  prisoner  re leased  from  prison  after  five  years'  servitude! Then  I  stopped  thinking.  For  I  saw  my  home,  — and  the  lights  of  its  household  Gods,  — and  my  boy reaching  out  his  little  hands  to  me, — and  all  the simple  charm  and  love  of  old  Japan.  And  the  fairy- world  seized  my  soul  again,  very  softly  and  sweetly, —  as  a  child  might  catch  a  butterfly. Still,  I  am  rather  inclined  to  look  forward  to Tokyo.  I  can't  dislike  it  any  more.  I  have  seen Mason's  home,  —  so  Tokyo  seems  to  me  very  beau- 342  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN tiful  after  all.  — What  queer  experiences  these!  — how  they  make  a  man  feel  himself  a  creature  of  the forces  of  life  —  moved  and  moulded  by  that  which is  outside  of  himself! How  would  it  be  were  I  here  for  a  couple  of  years? Just  now,  you  know,  I  seem  to  be  in  Scandinavia. Never  did  I  see  so  many  blond  men  with  accipitrine noses,  Berserker  eyebrows,  etc.  I  did  not  know  how fair  Englishmen  were  till  now.  I  give  up  many notions.  I  must  write  of  disillusions,  and  speak respectfully  of  the  open  ports. Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. Excuse  this  letter.  The  room  is  awfully  hot,  and I'm  writing  on  a  washstand. TOKYO,  July  17,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — The  banks  were  inaccess ible  for  three  days  after  my  arrival  in  Yokohama, and  it  was  only  yesterday  afternoon  (Monday)  that I  was  able  to  wind  up  my  little  business  in  Yoko hama,  and  wire  to  Toda.  (By  the  way,  the  bank manager,  a  very  nice  fellow,  —  after  giving  me  a lecture  for  not  having  settled  the  business  a  year ago,  —  practically  made  me  a  present  of  fifty  yen. I  don't  think  bankers  are  such  terrible  people  after all.  Certainly  no  American  banker  would  have  done it  —  at  least  not  for  an  insignificant  school-teacher.) Well,  now  for  what  would  have  been  written  last night  had  I  not  been  very  tired. On  the  way  from  Shimbashi,  I  stopped  at  Hase- gawa's,  gave  him  two  stories,  and  liked  him.  At TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  34S your  house  all  was  in  waiting  for  me;  but  the  dog first  made  my  acquaintance,  —  running  before  to the  gate.  He  is  now  watching  my  every  movement as  I  write,  —  and  we  are  good  friends. Mr.  Toda  is  too  kind,  and  takes  too  much  trouble for  me.  He  was  not  in  at  the  moment  I  came,  — but making  preparations  for  me  on  the  strength  of  the telegram.  He  speaks  English  —  which  is  delightful, as  I  can  express  all  my  wants.  The  charm  of  the home  lacks  but  one  thing  —  your  presence;  but  I am  not  selfish  enough  to  wish  you  to  leave  the mountains  even  for  a  day  while  this  prodigious  heat lasts.  (I  like  heat;  but  I  doubt  if  many  do;  and  the heat  in  Tokyo  is  tropical.)  I  can't  yet  write  my  im pressions  about  19, — as  I  am  still  confused  with kindnesses.  Only — that  delightful  casket  in  the room  upstairs  with  the  medallion  on  top  enclosing a  picture  of  some  structure  that  might  have  been the  stately  pleasure  dome  of  Kubla  Khan  —  what a  fairy-thing  it  is !  ... And  now  for  confessions.  I  am  glad  my  paper  on jiujutsu  was  not  published;  and  I  am  grateful  to  the Gods  for  having  been  obliged  to  visit  Tokyo  and Yokohama.  The  jiujutsu  paper  must  be  remodelled ; and  my  ideas  of  the  open  ports  reconstructed,  re paired,  renovated,  and  decorated.  I  have  received from  the  Gods  inspiration  for  a  paper,  —  the  Ro mance  of  the  Open  Ports,  —  or,  perhaps,  the  moral ity  of  the  open  ports.  If  I  had  Michelet's  divine  gift of  uttering  tender  surprises,  I  could  startle  the  world with  a  paper  on  the  ideas  that  came  to  me  the  other day.  Perhaps  there  are  illusions  among  them,  too. 344  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN But,  after  all,  what  are  all  high  ideals  but  illusions, and  all  high  thought  and  sentiment  lives  by  them, and  ascends  by  them, — as  by  those  golden  fairy- ladders  of  legend, — whereof  each  step  vanishes  as quickly  as  the  foot  passes  it?  Really,  I  was  totally unfitted  to  make  any  judgments  about  the  ports when  I  left  them.  I  had  had  my  ugly  experiences with  American  business  men  and  American  trick sters,  who  played  the  role  of  friends  for  a  purpose;  I had  seen  infinitely  too  much  of  the  black  side  of  life as  a  journalist  of  long  standing;  I  was  uncomfortably situated  and  had  Hinton  in  my  thoughts  as  a  co lonial  type.  In  short  I  had  seen  nothing  which  I ought  to  have  seen.  Then,  by  contrast,  the  caressing atmosphere  into  which  I  entered  on  going  to  Izumo —  where  secret  orders  had  been  given  "to  make the  foreigner  happy"  —  affected  my  judgment  still more.  Now  comes  the  turn.  The  hospitable  open ness,  the  sympathies,  and  the  abnegations  light  up for  me  all  at  once. But  here  is  the  principal  fact  that  impressed  me about  the  moral  question,  —  entre  nous;  for  I  don't want  anybody  else  to  get  on  the  track  of  the  idea till  I  develop  it. Morality  is  not  shown  by  any  unavoidable  obe dience  to  codes  —  indeed,  it's  often  shown  in  the breaking  of  them.  It  is  shown  best,  I  think,  when men,  in  defiance  of  traditions,  conventions,  and prejudices,  —  without  any  obligation,  and  in  utter disregard  of  their  own  interests,  — follow  the  guid ing  of  their  hearts  on  the  path  of  what  they  feel  to be  eternally  right  and  true.  Race  prejudice  and TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  345 cruelty  do  exist:  they  exist  everywhere  a  little;  and the  unfortunate  quality  of  goodness  is  that  it  re mains  invisible  and  silent.  Love  and  generosity  do not  get  themselves  talked  about:  they  never  "ad vertise," —  as  Kipling  would  say.  And,  indeed,  the fact  that  they  are  taken  as  a  matter  of  course  sug gests  their  commonness.  In  connexion  with  all  this, there  is  a  beautiful  subject — requiring  very  delicate handling — that  has  never  been  touched.  What  of  the numbers  who  have  given  up  England,  France,  Italy, —  all  the  large  Western  life,  —  all  that  made  them, and  all  that  must  in  silent  hours  pull  at  their  heart strings  as  the  sea  pulls  at  the  soul  of  a  boy,  —  for pure  love  of  duty?  Never  again  will  they  dwell  with their  kindred,  —  never  visit  the  scenes  they  dream of  in  sick  hours,  —  when  the  Past  floats  back  to  say, hand  in  hand  with  the  Shadow  of  Death,  —  "We are  waiting,  Come!"  They  have  wealth;  they  have no  obstacles  or  laws  to  hinder  them.  Only  moral obligations  they'  need  not  perforce  obey.  But  even these  have  little  to  do  with  the  matter.  It  is  simply love  —  the  purified  affection,  from  which  every atom  of  selfishness  has  been  sifted  out  ages  ago.  In the  brief  time  since  I  got  on  the  Kobe  Mam  I  have learned  so  many  astonishing  things,  that  it  really seems  to  me  I  must  have  been  guilty  of  blasphemies in  other  days — may  the  Gods  forgive  my  ignor ance! — And  then  the  tales  of  prejudice!  Numbers have  given  their  whole  lives  and  brains  and  means not  merely  to  do  what  is  right  and  good,  but  what  is extraordinary  and  generous  to  the  uttermost  limit of  their  human  capacity.  My  imaginary  hard- S46  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN fisted  and  cold-hearted  business  men  of  the  colonies vanish  away  —  phantoms  only;  and  in  their  places what  warm  human  realities  appear !  —  Really  there is  a  vast  romance  to  be  written  here  in  a  few  words —  with   help  of   thoughts   and   illustrations    from evolutional  philosophy.  —  How  you  should  smile  to compare  this  letter  with  other  letters  written  long ago !  But  in  a  few  years  more,  how  will  I  be  writing to  you  again?   Truly  we  have  not  permanent  opin ions  until  our  mental  growth  is  done.   The  opinions we  have  are  simply  lent  us  for  a  while  by  the  Gods —  at  compound  interest. Really,  I  must  try  later  to  get  into  this  exiled Western  life,  and  love  it,  and  study  it,  —  and  tell all  the  beautiful  things  there  are  in  it,  leaving  that which  is  not  beautiful  to  be  related  by  its  enemies. "Read  all  my  books!!" — I  have  n't  been  able  to read  anything  yet.  I  may  be  able  to  take  a  few glimpses  at  some  one  corner  of  this  wilderness  of good  things.  —  I  will  read  the  titles,  though,  as knowing  what  you  have  may  help  me  later  to  pick up  for  you  something  you  have  not. Mason  and  I  project  a  trip  to  Nagano  for  a  few days.  I  will  leave  my  valise  with  your  kind  Toda, and  seek  Zenkoji, — whither  all  the  dead  must  go before  their  journey  to  the  Meido.  Mason  is  a  man awfully  fond  of  movement.  I  could  not  live  as  he has  to  do.  Had  I  such  a  sweet  little  home  in  Tokyo, nothing  could  pull  me  out  of  it  except  at  vast  inter vals  of  time.  He  needs  exercise,  however,  and  re minds  me  of  a  Targui  (the  plural  "Touareg(s)" is  always  used  by  the  papers,  in  spite  of  the  books TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  347 about  that  extraordinary  race).  You  know  they  are very  tall  fair  men  with  blue  eyes  (when  the  race  is pure) .  "  They  can  be  known  far  off  by  their  walk,  — long  and  measured,  like  the  stride  of  the  ostrich." Ever  with  best  regards  and  —  but  I  can't  thank you  on  paper  for  all  this,  you  know!  I  shall  try  to revenge  myself  at  some  future  day  — LAFCADIO  HEARN. 19  AKASAKA  DAIMACHI,  July  20,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Yesterday,  just  after posting  some  lines  to  you,  there  came  from  Miyano- shita  one  of  the  very  prettiest  letters  I  ever  got: I  certainly  shall  follow  your  advice,  —  even  to  the matter  of  title,  probably.  The  book  is  already,  you know,  half-done,  eight  papers  having  been  finished. Did  any  philologist  ever  before,  in  this  mortal world,  coolly  tell  his  friend,  —  "Just  take  along with  you  any  of  my  books  you  wish  to  read"?  I don't  think  so.  You  are  really  too  kind  to  me;  — however,  I  think  I  can  consult  them  here,  in  this cosy  room,  for  all  I  need  to  look  up.  I  have  been mining  extensively;  but  you  will  find  no  volume  out of  place  when  you  return.  Here  are  a  few  notes  on what  I  have  been  doing:  — After  Charlevoix  the  other  literature  and  letters of  the  Jesuits  interest  me  little.  I  glanced  through some  volumes  in  French  and  Spanish,  and  through Satow's  monograph  on  the  mission-press.  (What  a world  of  unfamiliar  things  you  have!)  Then  I  read three  volumes  of  Tolstoi,  full  of  tender  deep  caress ing  melancholy;  I  re-read  (third  time)  Loti's  Kyoto 348  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN ("La  Ville  Sainte"),  and  judged  it  more  kindly. Lowell's  papers  on  "  Esoteric  Shinto  "  greatly  disap pointed  me.  He  utterly  fails  to  feel  the  emotional significance  of  oracles,  —  their  relation  to  human life  from  ancient  times,  their  consolatory  value, their  infinite  poetry  behind  the  poor  little  mask  of necessary  fraud.  So  with  the  calling  back  of  the dead,  the  messages  from  the  underworld:  for  what myriads  have  these  wrought  peace  of  heart !  —  I read  Wepfner,  and  gnashed  my  teeth:  what  a beastly  little  woman!  I  did  not  read  "The  Japanese Bride,"  but  I  read  all  your  delicious  comments  on the  margin.  I  looked  through  Dickson  (not  Dixon), and  admired  him.  He  has  art  and  taste.  I  glanced at  the  Italian  of  the  Avalokitesvara  Sutra  —  it seems  less  beautiful  than  in  its  embodiment  in  the Saddharma  Pundarika  (Kern's  version) ;  —  there  is a  sublime  invocation  in  the  English,  beginning,  "O Thou  whose  eyes  are  beautiful,  whose  eyes  are  kind, whose  eyes  are  full  of  sweetness  and  of  pity  .  .  ."or words  to  that  effect. — Nitobe's  book  on  the  United States  and  Japan  I  liked  very  much.  The  curious "Memorials  of  the  Empire"  is  of  supreme  literary value  for  effective  references.  Besides  this,  I  have turned  over  the  leaves  of  scores  and  scores  of  books on  Japan,  —  and  am  not  halfway  through  making acquaintance  with  the  legion.  I  was  delighted  with the  little  volume  of  quotations  from  Schopenhauer: a  masterpiece  of  editing.  I  was  delighted  with  the pretty  pictures  to  Ayame-San,  and  greatly  vexed  to think  such  fine  work  should  have  been  wasted  on such  disgusting  trash  as  Murdoch's  text. — To-day TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  349 I  expect  to  look  over  many  more  books.  I  admire your  impartiality  as  much  as  anything;  —  you  seem to  have  read  and  commented  upon  such  a  host  of things  on  Japan  that  try  one's  patience;  and  your notes  make  the  humorous  side  of  the  work  the  apo logy  for  its  being.  —  I  really  had  no  idea  until  now how  much  had  been  done  in  certain  lines;  and  feeling that  all  I  could  do  would  be  only  to  add  a  few  bricks to  the  great  Babel,  I  have  become  properly  humble, —  I  hope.  But  all  this  only  to  show  you  that  I  have not  been  idling  my  time. Upstairs,  where  on  the  tansu  "the  shadow  of  the dome  of  pleasure  floateth  midway  on  the  waves,"  — I  have  been  greatly  taken  by  the  mosquito-house.  I never  saw  anything  resembling  this  outside  of  the marsh  country  in  Southern  Louisiana;  but  even there  the  arrangement  is  not  adapted  for  bedrooms, but  for  office-work,  and  the  netting  is  wire.  Along the  Lakes,  near  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi,  and along  the  Gulf  coast,  wire  netting  is  used  for  all  the openings  of  the  house  in  summer.  The  structure  at 19  Akasaka  Daimachi  is  more  simple,  ingenious, and  effective  than  any  I  have  met  before. — The work  on  that  stove  in  the  library  is  a  wonderful thing  in  its  way:  indeed,  lam  constantly  finding wonders.  At  night,  curiously  enough,  I  hear  exactly the  sounds  that  I  hear  at  night  in  Kumamoto  —  the calling  of  the  bugles,  the  chorus  of  military  song.  I could  fancy  myself  at  home.  But  the  night  before last  I  dreamed  of  robbers.  The  robbers  became transformed  into  something  nameless  and  awful.  I did  not  see  them  —  only  felt  them.  Something 350  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN entered  the  house;  and  the  stairs  groaned  under  a hideous  weight:  I  wanted  to  rise,  but  could  not.  IT was  coming,  coming.  I  suddenly  awoke;  and  felt  the whole  house  shaking.  Imagine  the  momentary  sen sation!  An  earthquake,  —  and  a  very,  very  long shock.  Didn't  I  think  about  the  Meido!— Then the  force  of  the  old  Scripture  verse  came  to  me,  — about  "the  thief  in  the  night;" — earthquakes  are certainly  the  weirdest  things  in  human  experi ence. At  Mason's  last  night,  —  a  Japanese  dinner,  very elegant  and  dainty, — Koto-playing  by  Mrs.  M. and  her  sister  (one  of  the  sweetest  little  women  I ever  met), — a  display  of  fireworks  by  the  boys, — a  great  big  warm  moon.  One  of  those  evenings  that never  die:  —  But  I  fear  all  these  experiences  will demoralize  me.  After  rescue,  a  castaway  enjoys  too much  the  food  offered;  a  physician  stands  by  to  pre vent  him  eating  enough.  My  ghostly  part  was  really too  hungry  for  such  experience,  and  feels  longings not  wholesome  for  it;  —  sympathy  is  the  supreme delight  of  life.  I  ought  now  to  meet  some  horribly disagreeable  foreigners,  —  so  as  to  have  my  pleasure checked  a  little.  Besides,  I  am  much  too  happy  to write  essays  and  sketches. The  heat  is  great.  —  The  dog  sits  by  me  at  dinner, comes  to  bid  me  good-morning  regularly,  and  if  I  am not  up  by  a  decent  hour,  he  utters  a  little  plaintive cry  outside  the  fusuma.  He  knows  the  hours  for everything  as  well  as  if  he  studied  the  clock.  — Mason  and  I  probably  will  start  on  Saturday  for  a short  trip  to  Zenkoji.  The  heat  is  still  mighty  — TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  851 equatorial.  This  is  a  poor  letter;  but  intended  only as  an  indication  of  how  all  is  with  your  small  ques tion.  .  .  . Ever  very  faithfully, LAFCADIO. TOKYO,  July  21,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  am  stealing  a  few sheets  of  your  note-paper  until  I  can  supply  myself, which  I  hope  to  do  to-day. And  here  is  Mason  putting  off  our  trip  for  three days  more  on  account  of  his  friend.  So  I  am  likely to  torment  Toda  until  Tuesday.  He  is  very  good. We  went  out  shopping  together  yesterday.  The Atlantic  has  come,  but  I  have  not  received  my  copy yet,  and  only  saw  the  number  belonging  to  the Mail.  I  shall  mail  it  as  soon  as  it  comes  from  Ku- mamoto.  Somehow  or  other  I  don't  feel  that  my story  is  a  success. Kuroda's  "Outlines  of  the  Mahayana"  and  Mun- ro's  pamphlet  on  the  "  Physical  Basis  of  Mind  in Relation  to  Evolution "  are  both  interesting  me much.  I  have  got  several  strong  suggestions  from the  former  —  nothing  new  from  the  latter,  but  the sensation  of  a  soul  that  I  should  like  to  know  bet ter.  — The  most  mysterious  thing  about  any  germ or  sperm-cell,  but  especially  about  the  human  one, is  that  it  contains  potentially  all  the  future  idiosyn- cracies  and  capacities  of  the  individual,  as  well  as all  the  tendencies  of  the  race.  Now  every  material explanation  of  this  has  been  demolished.  Supposing the  atom,  or  force  centre  itself,  to  carry  the  secret S52  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN modification,  the  mathematician  has  very  plainly proven  that  the  number  of  atoms  in  the  cell  could not  possibly  be  adequate  for  such  enormously  com plex  hereditary  transmissions  as  take  place.  Spencer suggests  a  sort  of  polarity,  and  Munro  tries  to follow  him.^  There  is  a  world  of  suggestion  in  the mere  fact  of  this  impossibility  to  explain  the  trans mission.  Polarity,  etc.,  —  all  ghostliness,  —  who knows  what  it  is?  If  these  tendencies  which  make individuals  and  races  belong,  as  they  seem  to  do,  to the  life  of  the  cosmos, — what  strange  possibilities are  in  order!  Every  life  must  leave  its  eternal  re cords  in  the  Universal  life, — every  thought  of  good or  ill  or  aspiration,  —  and  the  Buddhistic  Karma would  be  a  scientific,  not  a  theoretical  doctrine.  All about  us  the  thoughts  of  the  dead,  and  the  life  of countless  dead  worlds,  would  be  forever  acting  in visibly  upon  us. How  touching  Tolstoi  is!  Still,  the  fault  of  the beautiful  religion  of  the  man  is  simply  that  it  is  un- suited  to  the  real  order  of  things.  Resentment,  as Spencer  has  not  hesitated  to  point  out,  is  not  only essential  to  self-preservation,  but  is  often  a  moral duty.  Altruistic  characters  may  be  regulated  by Buddhist  or  Christian  codes  of  action — but  what about  anti-altruistic  characters,  the  Ape-souls  and tiger-souls  whose  pleasure  is  in  malice  or  destruc tion?  The  number  is  few; — but  which  of  us  has not  met  some,  and  recognized  their  capacity  for evil?  I  believe  the  mass  of  humanity  is  good.  I think  every  man  must  so  think  who  has  suffered much,  and  reached  middle  life.  Nevertheless  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  353 sum  of  this  goodness  is  not  so  preponderant  that  we can  practically  adopt  either  Tolstoiism  or  Buddhism to  our  Western  civilization.  Indeed  no  general course  of  action  will  suit.  The  dynamics  of  ethics must  be  varied  according  to  class  and  time.  The great  fault  of  all  religious  systems  is  their  applica tion  of  a  single  code  to  many  widely  different  condi tions. — For  all  that,  Tolstoi  is  certainly  a  light  of the  world,  —  a  practical  Christ  in  his  own  life.  Cu rious  that  in  Russia  and  England,  in  the  same  gener ation,  two  poets,  Ruskin  and  Tolstoi,  should  have attempted  to  follow  in  practice  the  teaching,  "Sell all  thou  hast,  and  give  it  to  the  poor."  The  most religious  men  of  the  nineteenth  century  are  the  in fidels — the  "atheists  and  blasphemers." I  wish  you  could  get  Minnie  Hauk  to  sing  you  a Habanera,  or  the  Seguidilla  (seducing  word!)  from "Carmen."  I  heard  her  sing  it,  and  the  little  eddies  it made  in  my  soul  still  thrill.  — I  cannot  tell  how  glad I  was  to  find  that  Mason  had  not  read  Prosper  Meri- mee's  "  Carmen."  The  opera,  lovely  as  it  is,  does not  give  the  awful  poignancy  of  the  tale  —  simple and  clear  beyond  description.  I  am  going  to  send it  up  to  you,  with  a  bundle  of  other  things,  as  soon as  I  get  back. This  reminds  me  of  a  dream  I  had  a  few  months ago.  I  was  sleeping,  after  reading  "  Carmen  "  for  the fifth  time,  I  think  —  quite  a  tropical  afternoon  it was.  I  entered  a  patio,  —  between  lemon-coloured walls,  —  there  was  a  crowd  and  music.  I  saw  no face  in  the  crowd — only  felt  people  were  there;  — all  my  eyes  and  soul  were  for  a  gypsy  dancing  in  the 354  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN midst; — poising,  hovering,  balancing,  tantalizing with  eyes  and  gestures,  —  and  every  click  of  the castanets  went  into  my  blood.  I  woke  up  and  found the  clicking  of  the  castanets  was  only  the  ticking of  the  little  clock,  —  strangely  exaggerated  in  the heated  silence  of  the  afternoon. The  enormous  laughter  of  the  crows  every  morn ing  amuses  me  very  much.  I  had  not  heard  any thing  like  it  since  leaving  Izumo.  The  only  striking bit  of  weirdness  in  "Shuntoku  Maru"  is  that  about indicating  the  time  of  the  apparition  of  the  boy's dead  mother  as  "the  hour  when  the  crows  first  fly crying  abroad,  before  the  breaking  of  the  day." Let  me  entreat  you,  if  you  have  it  not  already as  an  experience,  to  procure  yourself  the  curious sensation  of  the  "Kalewala,"  in  Leouzon  Le  Due's complete  prose- version.  (A  partial  translation  in two  volumes  appeared  in  '55;  a  complete  one,  at five  francs,  one  volume,  1884.)  The  episode  of  the dead  mother  is  one  of  the  most  touching  things  in all  literature.  "Then  the  mother  arose  from  the  dust of  her  rest,  and  said:  —  "My  son,  for  thee  I  have kept  the  dog  to  be  thy  guide  and  friend;  thou wilt  find  the  dog  tied  to  the  tree"  — perhaps  you remember  the  lines. The  Tokyo  Club  (Rokumeikwan?)  was  a  great surprise  to  me.  Architecturally  and  otherwise,  it would  be  a  credit  to  any  city  in  the  world.  The reading-room  is  an  invaluable  advantage.  Still,  I could  never  accustom  myself  to  that  kind  of  life.  It has  occasional  high  value  for  me:  just  a  dip  into  its atmosphere.  But  were  I  able  to  live  in  the  capital,  I TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  355 should  try  to  live  very,  very  quietly  —  just  as  I  have been  doing.  One  could  never  do  any  literary  work, and  belong  to  society  life  in  the  real  sense  of  belong ing.  And  to  mingle  at  all  with  that  existence,  with out  losing  one's  own  rights  to  seclusion  and  quiet, requires  a  character  and  experience  much  superior to  mine.  It  is  a  constant  wonder  to  me  how  you  can be  yourself,  and  yet  give  yourself  so  much  to  others, —  despite  all  the  leisure  you  can  have. On  your  writing-desk  there  has  been  placed  for me,  at  my  request,  a  little  tabako  bon,  and,  dressed in  only  a  yukata  and  slippers,  I  write,  smoking  my Japanese  pipe  betimes  —  taking  a  cigar  only  after meals  (small  cigars  I  always  carry  with  me  when travelling).  The  dictionary  laid  aslope  on  the  table, with  the  blotting-paper  upon  it,  exactly  suits  me  for writing  upon.  —  Upstairs,  in  the  mosquito-house, I  use  the  hard  pillow  only  —  it  is  nice  and  cool. They  give  me  a  bath  every  morning.  Toda  cooks exquisitely,  but  gives  me  too  many  good  things :  I have  to  tell  him  not  to  take  so  much  pains,  and  to restrict  him  as  to  dishes.  His  coffee  (I  take  it  black only)  is  divine.  — How  shall  I  get  even  with  you  for all  this?  I  don't  yet  know,  but  I  shall  pray  the  Gods to  help  me  find  out. I  am  both  glad  and  sorry  for  knowing  Mason. Why  glad  I  need  not  say.  But  I  shall  feel  sorry  when I  am  separated  from  him ;  —  and  anticipate  regrets of  various  kinds.  What  a  delightful  thing  Schopen hauer  says  in  that  little  book  of  yours  —  comparing men  to  porcupines,  trying  to  huddle  together  for warmth,  and  presently  repelled  again  by  the  contact 350  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN of  their  prickles !  Mason  has  no  porcupine-quills  for me.  It  is  such  an  experience  to  be  close  to  a  man like  that. Surely  you  are  bored  by  this  time. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. r:---.---:  •-.- £'.'.:'  .  • July  22,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Yesterday  at  Otsu  with Mason,  — but  would  rather  far  have  passed  the  day in  his  house.  Still  we  had  a  glorious  swim,  and  the sight  of  a  fishing-net  pulled  in,  —  what  splashing and  spraying  of  prismatic  colours !  Otsu  is  not  Japan ese,  however, — except  the  background  of  sky  and mountain  and  sea.  It  has  been  spoiled  —  become  a mere  trap  for  foreign  flies  —  saucy  girls — rough proprietor — huge  straggling  spaces  of  "ramshackle  " rooms  —  as  one  of  the  guests  called  them.  There is,  however,  a  glorious  beach, and  a  great  warm  wind like  a  trade- wind. After  all,  I  am  not  going  to  Nagano! — After glancing  over  my  passport,  Mason  came  to  the  con clusion  that  we  could  be  only  one  day  together;  and as  the  anticipated  pleasure  depended  largely  upon his  company,  I  gave  up  the  notion.  I  am  getting ready  to  say  good-bye  to  Tokyo,  and  shall  disappear as  soon  as  he  flits.  I  shall  go  to  Yokohama,  however, and  pass  there  a  few  days,  feeling  pulses  —  as  I want  to  provide  if  possible  against  being  compelled to  leave  Japan.  What  may  happen  next  March  none of  us  can  guess.  One  sure  thing  is  that  if  the  Depart ment  conclude  to  do  without  us  for  a  spell,  we  shall TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  357 never  be  taken  back  again  upon  the  same  terms. This  uncertainty  (which  Mason  well  calls  the  sword of  Damocles)  poisons  every  pleasure,  and  paralyzes every  undertaking. Still  mining  in  your  library.  I  envy  you  the  glori ous  sets  of  Transactions,  of  the  various  Asiatic  Soci eties;  and  the  "  Lettres  Edifiantes  "  have  finally  got hold  of  me.  I  took  the  liberty,  also,  to  cut  with  the horse-hoofed  paper-cutter  the  pages  of  a  book  you had  not  read,  "The  Bard  of  the  Dimbovitza."  I found  queer  inexpressible  beauties  and  originalities  in them  — a  sort  of  savage  tenderness  and  fierce  grief such  as  reminded  me  of  the  Servian  poetry.  The Servian  poetry  seemed  to  me,  however,  far  more interesting,  and,  with  all  its  strange  ferocities,  more perfectly  natural.  A  half -suspicion  clings  to  this  col lection  :  its  tone  seems  due  to  individual  taste  in  set ting,  pruning,  and  decorating.  What  a  curious  half- Eastern  world  is  this  world  of  Eastern  Europe!  I suppose  you  have  read  the  Unwritten  literature  of the  Caucasus:  —  the  same  indescribable  mingling of  bloody  ferocity  with  tenderness  and  lamentation. I  have  not  yet  found  among  your  books  the  pretty translations  of  Japanese  moral  tales  made  by  Turre- tini  (I  think)  which  I  used  to  possess  (Romaji  text and  French  version),  and  some  of  the  charming prints  of  the  Musee  Guimet.  Perhaps  you  have them  stowed  away.  If  you  have  not,  I  think  you might  like  to  add  them  to  this  glorious  collection. My  library  of  ancient  days  was  chiefly  folk-lore.  I had  the  Arabic  poets  in  many  editions,  the  whole Bibliotheque  Orientale  Elzevirienne  (Leroux)  up  to 358  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN date,  —  the  larger  Bibliotheque  Orientale,  contain ing  Burnoufs  great  essay,  etc.,  etc., — "Les  Lit- teratures  Populaires  "  (Maisonneuve) ,  and  hosts of  such  things.  Except  that  their  perusal  enriches fancy,  and  gives  glimpses  of  other  race-souls,  how ever,  they  are  of  small  use  to  men  not  serious scholars  or  finished  poets.  To  you  I  fancy  some  of these  French  series  would  be  highly  valuable.  The genius  of  the  race  shows  itself  even  in  the  serious work  of  their  philologists:  they  select,  curiously enough,  just  those  subjects  which  English  trans lators  rarely  touch.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  really human  side  of  Oriental  literature  in  the  Trans actions  of  your  own  Asiatic  Society  has  been  appre ciated  only  by  Aston,  Satow,  and  yourself.  Such papers  as  "Mistress  An's  Tale,"  and  "A  Literary Lady  of  Old  Japan,"  and  three  or  four  others,  form so  striking  a  contrast  to  the  work  usually  done  by the  mass  of  the  contributors.  This  literary  sense strikes  me  as  being  shown  in  a  more  general  way by  the  French  Orientalists, — however  defective their  work  may  be  in  other  respects.  Comparing, for  example,  Lenormant  and  Maspero  in  Assyrian and  Egyptian  studies  with  English  studies  in  the same  line, — how  much  greater  is  the  charm  of  the former  for  one  able  to  understand  the  literary  side only.  .  .  . Mason  said  a  pretty  thing  the  other  day  in  the train.  Opposite  to  us  were  sitting  little  mothers with  their  children.  Both  mothers  and  children  were good  to  look  at,  — and  the  little  white  feet  in  snowy tabi  seemed  scarcely  of  this  world.  Mason  looked  at TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  859 the  dainty  picture  with  a  caress  in  his  eyes,  and said:  —  "If  those  people  could  only  feel  for  us  the sympathy  we  feel  toward  them — !"  Indeed  the whole  question  of  life  in  Japan  to  a  sensitive  West erner  was  summed  up  in  that  half-utterance.  The unspeakable  absence  of  sympathy,  as  a  result,  per haps,  of  all  absence  of  comprehension,  is  a  veritable torture.  Consequently,  the  entering  into  relations of  sympathy  again  temporarily  is  for  me  like  an electric  bath.  The  charm  is  something  like  the  first sensation  of  the  tropic  world.  Really  I  have  been a  great  blasphemer,  and  am  well  punished  therefor. Now  the  idea  of  returning  into  the  life  of  Japan  is  a growing  terror  to  be  overcome.  I  have  been  partly demoralized  by  my  Tokyo  days.  I  need  a  little medicine  of  unkindness  —  want  to  be  sickened  for a  time  of  Yokohama,  etc. Hasegawa  gave  me  a  cheque  of  twenty  for  my first  story,  and  seems  extremely  anxious  to  get more.  This  will  please  you,  I  know. LAFCADIO  HEARN. July  24,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Mason  is  gone,  —  leav ing  a  great  void  in  my  psychical  atmosphere.  I  lin ger  awhile,  hoping  to-day  or  to-morrow  at  latest  to have  the  Atlantic  for  you,  and  to  arrange  a  little matter  in  connexion  with  the  Boston  firm. I  never  had  the  experience  before  of  coolly  taking possession  of  a  friend's  house  during  his  absence,  — and  feel  a  slight  remorse  of  conscience  which  I  can't get  over,  no  matter  how  many  kind  things  you  may 360  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN say.  If  I  did  not  hope  to  be  able  to  give  you  some day  an  almost  equal  amount  of  pleasure,  I  should really  feel  very  bad  —  and  there  is  no  use  reasoning about  the  thing  at  all,  because  feeling  is  quite  inde pendent  of  reasoning.  Indeed  reason  is  the  most tricky  and  treacherous  thing  in  the  world;  and  the Shinto  formula,  "obey  your  own  heart,"  is  much more  satisfactory. — There  are  several  pleasures  in having  been  here  which  I  did  not  speak  about  yet. First  it  is  nice  to  know  a  friend's  home  —  in  which something  of  him  always  lives  wherever  he  be;  —  to comprehend  his  pleasures  and  habits  through  the kindness  of  servitors  who  try  to  make  the  guest  as happy  as  their  own  master  (placing  the  lounge  for him  where  the  breeze  blows,  and  all  these  little attentions) ;  —  to  get  an  idea  of  the  geography  of his  intellectual  world,  and  glimpses  of  the  favourite literary  paths;  —  to  notice  and  sympathize  with  his comments  on  margins ;  —  to  be  instructed  by  the mere  names  of  the  volumes  he  has  collected  in  all places;  —  to  understand  something  of  his  tastes, and  so  to  take  pleasure  in  all  his  happiness;  —  in short,  to  have  the  definite  sensation  of  what  we might  call  "The  Soul  of  the  House."  For  every dwelling  in  which  a  thinker  lives  certainly  acquires a  sort  of  soul  —  there  are  Lares  and  Penates  more subtle  than  those  of  the  antique  world;  —  these make  the  peace  and  ?est  of  a  home.  And  besides, there  are  memories  of  England  which  bring  back visions  of  my  boyhood  —  suggestions  no  American home  furnishes.  The  English  crest  on  silver  plate, —  the  delicious  little  castors, — the  "homey"  ar- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  361 rangement  of  articles  which  represent  the  experience of  generations  in  search  of  good  solid  comfort,  —  all created  for  me  a  sort  of  revival  of  old,  old,  and  very intimate  impressions.  Therefore,  I  suppose,  some ghosts  of  very  long  ago  came  soundlessly  about  me once  or  twice  in  twilight  time,  —  and  portraits  of another  era,  forgotten  for  thirty-five  years,  faintly shaped  themselves  for  me  in  the  dusk  before  the lighting  of  the  lamp.  In  thought  I  sat  again  upon the  floor  of  a  house  which  no  longer  exists,  and  shot at  armies  of  tin  soldiers  with  cannon  charged  with dried  peas.  For,  just  as  the  faintest  odour  of  fresh tar  recalls  visions  of  unnumbered  days  of  travel,  — decks  and  faces  and  ports  and  horizons  of  which  the names  have  faded  out  altogether,  —  so  it  requires only  a  very  little  suggestion  of  England  to  resurrect home-days. I  have  almost  stopped  mining  in  sheer  despair. It  would  take  me  ten  years  to  work  through  all  these veins  —  I  mean  the  veins  I  could  work  a  little;  for one  large  section  would  ever  remain  for  me  incom prehensible  as  a  grimoire.  —  I  never  saw  the  work of  Captain  Basil  Hall  before,  —  though  his  name, attached  to  translations  of  his  books,  has  been  long familiar  to  me  in  French  catalogues.  Looking  over the  beautiful  little  volumes  in  calf,  I  could  not  help thinking  that  our  English  prints  of  to-day  are,  on  the whole,  quite  inferior  to  the  choice  texts  of  that  time —  when  type,  paper,  and  binding  possessed  a  dur able  solidity  and  beauty  that  latter-day  competition is  destroying.  To-day,  our  best  English  prints  seem like  imitations  of  French  work. 362  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Since  you  thought  enough  of  the  Creole  Grammar to  bind  it,  I  must  send  you  a  couple  of  Creole  prints I  have  at  home.  Should  I  ever  be  able  to  recover  my library,  I  could  give  you  an  almost  complete  set  of works  relating  to  all  the  French-Creole  dialects. What  I  regretted  was  my  inability  to  procure  the Catechism  of  Goux  (Pere).  I  had  it  in  my  hands, but  could  not  persuade  the  owner  to  part  with  it.  I think  my  next  letter  will  be  from  Yokohama. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO. •.  '      .     '-.    Ift      •'          -.,4,.;; August  9,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — After  five — no,  six— days at  sea,  and  eight  hours  rail  (Koto  —  with  the  ther mometer  at  96!),  I  am  home  again,  naked,  cool,  and able  to  write.  I  found  all  well,  and  my  boy  crawling about  and  opening  drawers  and  developing  terrify ing  capacities  of  rapid  growth  and  mischief.  I  de livered  your  kindest  message,  which  gave  no  small pleasure;  —  and,  full  of  those  pleasant  memories, which  are  wholesome  regrets,  I  sit  down  to  chat with  you.  Not  so  pleasant  as  under  the  stars  among the  shrubbery  shadows  at  Miyanoshita, — but  that was  a  luxury,  and  might  happen  only  once  in  a  life time. What  shall  I  chat  of?  I  think  you  would  be  most interested  about  my  experiences  with  men  and women  on  board.  The  experiences  of  travel  are usually  among  the  most  pleasant  in  our  lives  —  ugly ones  being  comparatively  rare.  The  general  rule would  seem  to  be  that  human  nature  in  any  normal TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  363 condition  of  a  purely  temporary  kind  throws  off  its armour  of  reserve,  abandons  its  ferocity  of  egotism, and  exposes  to  the  best  light  whatever  of  kindness it  owns.  I  have  made  a  few  acquaintances  of  whom I  hope  to  hear  again. My  roommate  was  a  mate — a  steamboat  mate in  the  N.  Y.  K.'s  employ,  —  a  long  hard  man,  very young,  built  like  a  greyhound,  representing  the swarthiest  type  of  swarthy  Englishman.  His  heavy black  brows, hawk-nose,  and  heavy  chin  were  lighted up  by  a  wonderful  smile,  however,  as  we  met;  and that  smile  made  us  friends  at  once.  I  expected to  find  him  rough  and  straight,  and  I  did.  Very soon  I  learned  all  his  life, — his  ideas  of  right  and wrong,  plain  and  good,  — his  sacrifices  for  others,  — his  hopes  about  the  sweetheart  waiting  at  home. It  was  pleasant  as  a  cool  strong  sea- wind  on  a  burn ing  day.  He  liked  rough  jesting,  and  spared  me instinctively,  but  teased  the  other  passengers  con siderably,  who  seemed  to  allow  his  domination without  regret.  Samples  of  conversation  ought  to have  been  written  down,  — but  I  laughed  too  much at  the  time,  and  next  day  forgot  them.  Only  a  few fragments  are  herewith  submitted :  — Mate.  —  "Is  that  lady  your  sister?" Passenger.  —  "  Yes." M.  —  "Can't  see  the  resemblance." Pass.  — "Well,  that's  not  my  fault.  Still,  I'm younger  than  she  is." M.  —  "Young! — you'll  never  see  fifty-nine again!" Pass.  — "I'm  only  thirty-three.". 364  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN M.  —  "  Good  Lord !  You  '11  be  a  nice-looking  brute, won't  you? — at  sixty.  Why,  you're  half -dead now!" Pass.  —  "Just  out  of  the  German  army." M.  — "Well,  well!— Many  soldiers  like  you?" Pass.  —  "  Not  many  so  good.  I  took  all  the  prizes for  shooting." M.  —  " With  what?" Pass.  — "With  a  gun." M.  —  "What  gun — your  gun?  I  don't  think  you could  shoot  much  with  that."  .  .  . Pass. — "Those  are  pretty  good  shoes  —  what number?  Mine's  five." M.  —  "Five!  I  should  n't  like  to  be  lying  down in  the  street  when  you  're  walking  around  with  that number  five!  —  That's  eleven  —  or  fourteen! " Pass.  —  "Well,  it's  too  large  for  me.  But  I  like that  —  because  number  five  and  number  fourteen are  just  the  same  price:  you  see  I  like  to  get  the worth  of  my  money." A  very  sweet-faced  elderly  woman,  who  adapted herself  to  the  seaman's  rough  ways  with  gentle success,  attracted  me  pleasantly.  She  was  on  her way  to  Vladivostok.  She  was  an  expert  in  electro metallurgy,  kinetics,  and  mineralogy.  Her  husband, a  Frenchman  who  looked  like  a  front-page  drawing by  Cham  out  of  the  Charivari,  was  rightly  proud of  her, — and  told  her  to  explain  to  me  the  defects  of triple-expansion  engines  and  other  things,  —  which she  did  very  shyly  and  sweetly.  I  learned  to  almost love  the  old  lady,  told  her  all  I  could  about  Japan to  interest  her,  and  about  my  own  affairs.  She  gave TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  365 me  her  ideas  about  things  delightfully,  and  with that  perfectly  straight  natural  sympathy  which  is essentially  German.  "The  future,"  she  said,  "is  to natural  science.  The  old  professions  are  being  more and  more  overrun.  If  your  boy  has  a  good  head,  give him  a  scientific  education — there  is  a  sure  future for  the  man  having  practical  scientific  knowledge." As  we  passed  the  high  cliffs,  —  she  would  point  out streaks  of  colour,  and  tell  me  the  names  of  metals that  could  be  extracted  from  them. Her  brother — a  fiery  red — one  of  those  men who  look  as  if  ready  to  break  into  flame — was  all good-nature  and  honesty.  He  had  a  curious  way  of gazing  at  you  with  half-shut  eyes  —  letting  only the  least  steely  glimmer  filter  out  between  the  eye lids:  I  had  only  once  before  seen  that  sort  of  gaze, in  a  Spanish  fencer  —  a  decidedly  dangerous  man. But  this,  I  felt  sure,  was  due  to  other  causes.  The Spaniard  had  teeth  in  his  eyes:  this  German  gaze was  pure  fine  steel.  At  Kobe,  we  all  tried  with glasses  to  read  the  name  of  a  hotel  from  the  deck: he  read  it  at  a  glance,  with  the  naked  eye.  He  was the  crack-shot  of  a  German  corps, : — and  long  prac tice  had  given  him  that  singular  manner  of  looking at  things  and  people,  as  if  taking  aim.  He  got  up in  the  night  to  see  me  off  —  so  did  his  nice  old  sister. I  took  their  address,  and  they  promised  to  write me,  and  want  me  to  visit  them,  if  I  can,  at  Vladi vostok.  The  three  belong  to  some  electrical  com pany,  — the  woman,  curiously  enough,  being  the scientific  head  of  the  undertaking. The  fifth  acquaintance  was  a  globe-trotter, — a 866  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Swiss  ex-officer  of  artillery, — on  a  three  years' journey.  Curious!  he  had  just  come  from  New Orleans !  He  was  a  man  of  the  world  —  hard  and cold  as  a  glacier,  —  and  it  took  some  time  to  make him  thaw.  The  thawing  was  pleasant  — because  he was  a  thoroughly  well-informed  man  on  everything relating  to  Switzerland,  —  and  he  almost  induced me  to  study  some  means  of  settling  there  in  future time.  He  spoke  Russian,  Italian,  French,  and  Ger man  as  well  as  English ;  and  he  had  been  in  the  West Indies  and  Spanish  Honduras.  He  was  not  a  man one  could  ever  make  friends  with,  but  he  was  a highly  interesting  acquaintance,  —  all  precision  and exactness, — a  mathematical  machine,  highly  pol ished,  and  running  noiselessly.  I  thought  it  strange that  he  paid  little  attention  to  Japan,  —  which  he had  only  touched  at  on  his  way  to  India.  But  short as  was  his  stay  at  Yokohama,  he  knew  all  about  the principal  mercantile  houses  there. Now,  don't  you  feel  bored  with  all  this?  Well,  I just  wanted  to  hint  of  my  experiences,  as  typical. I  discovered  something  else,  too. — Since  my  hair lias  turned  grey,  I  find  I  get  along  better  than  I used  to  do  among  absolute  strangers.  Grey  hair gives  a  suggestion  of  wisdom,  of  experience  which may  or  may  not  be  true,  but  always  secures  a  little consideration. — And  one  other  thing  struck  me  — when  all  of  us  second-class  passengers  were  ordered rather  coarsely  to  keep  away  from  the  first-class deck  —  that  it  is  good  to  be  very  poor,  and  good  to be  very  rich;  but  that  to  be  neither  rich  nor  poor  is the  unforgivable  sin.  For  the  steerage  passengers, TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  367 —  Chinese  especially  —  were  allowed  more  privileges than  we. To-day  I  am  sending  some  books  to  you,  and some,  separately,  to  Mason.  The  wonderful  study of  Napoleon,  by  Taine,  is  in  that  volume  (5)  of  the "  Origines  "entitled  "Le Regime Moderne. "  I  would advise  you  to  begin  the  set  with  that.  I  send  also "La  Cite  Antique;"  and  the  last  volume  written  by Maupassant  ("L'Inutile  Beaute")  just  before  his madness.  It  is  noteworthy  that  there  are  two  stud ies  of  insanity  in  this  volume,  —  one  of  which,  about le  monstre  a  crdne-de-lune,  might  have  been  written in  an  asylum.  But  neither  of  these  compares  with the  awful  sketch  "Le  Juge"  —in "La  Petite Roque." I  would  like  you  to  read  the  whole  of  these  stories line  by  line.  Maupassant  may  sometimes  be  dis gusting,  but  he  has  splendid  psychological  percep tions  at  times, — and  his  commentaries  and  argu ments  are,  I  think,  the  most  valuable  part  of  his work.  But  I  must  stop  for  to-day,  though  I  have much  more  to  say. With  all  pleasant  and  grateful  memories,          .     i Faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. August  12,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Yours  of  the  8th  just  at hand.  By  this  time  you  will  have  my  letter  and  the books.  I  did  not  get  home  for  just  a  week,  you know, — leaving  on  the  31st  (Monday)  and  reach ing  Kumamoto  only  on  the  night  of  Saturday. The  heat  has  been  terrible,  and  night  before  last 3681  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN we  had  thirty-five  (!!)  shocks  of  earthquake  —  the first  of  which  was  violent  enough  to  break  the  kabe. We  had  to  pass  the  night  in  the  garden.  All  this  is atrocious. I  don't  mind  tropical  heat, — because  there  is ample  consolation  in  the  splendour  of  tropical  light and  colour,  and  wondrous  vegetation.  But  this  dead oven  heat  is  tiresome,  —  prevents  thinking.  To write  the  name  Kumamoto  now  is  disagreeable  — the  feeling  is  that  one  has  toward  the  names  of  cer tain  unpleasant  people  one  tries  to  forget,  and  dis likes  the  mention  of.  The  old  sensation  of  nervous lonesomeness  enveloped  me  just  like  a  black  atmo sphere  after  my  return,  and  stays  with  me.  I  am tortured  by  the  mere  repetition  of  this  question, always  recurring,"  How  long  can  I  bear  this?"  But what  else  can  I  do?  —  except  leave  the  country. Enough  of  this,  however.  — Let  me  disagree  with you.  I  think  you  are  perhaps  strongly  under  the influence  of  the  18th  century  in  poetry, — you  are  a classic,  I  am  not.  I  detest  the  18th  century,  and  I cannot  believe  that  one  true  line  of  poetry  could  be found  from  the  first  page  of  Pope  to  the  last.  I should  call  everything  Pope  ever  wrote  tiresome bald  prose.  I  am  speaking,  of  course,  a  little  strongly — would  modify  the  last  statement  in  respect  to values,  if  considering  the  literary  influence  of Pope  at  length.  But  I  cannot  think  Pope  ever  felt an  emotion.  To  me  emotion,  uttered  with  power, touched  with  natural  rhythm  and  colour,  is  poetry; and  form  is  not  poetry  at  all.  The  prose  of  the  Eng lish  Bible;  the  prose  of  Kingsley's  "Heroes;"  the TO  BASEL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  369 prose  of  Ruskin  betimes,  is  the  noblest  of  poetry. Or  take  the  prose-line  of  the  translated  Arabian thought  about  the  desolate  site  of  the  camp  "when the  north  wind  and  the  south  have  woven  the twisted  sand,"  — in  all  Pope  what  touches  it?  Now "The  Song  of  the  Camp"  contains  true  feeling;  and though  you  are  quite  right  in  judging  all  Bayard Taylor's  work  as  second-rate  (indeed  you  might have  said  third-rate),  I  think  there  is  fine  emotion all  through  the  book, — gold  strands  to  be  picked out  here  and  there.  Don't  you  think  that  if  we  keep to  the  masterpieces  only,  we  must  lose  a  great  deal of  that  which  is  most  beautiful  and  original  in  hu man  utterance?  For  all  deep-souled  men — how ever  unlettered — are  betimes  poets,  and  utter  poetry worth  remembrance;  and  the  second-rates  and  the third-rates,  if  sifted,  give  us  pearls  and  rubies and  emeralds.  Miller  has  written  much  trash, — nevertheless  to  read  Miller  is  to  receive  a  world  of new  sensations. It  is  true  that  much  of  Pope  cannot  be  thought of  out  of  the  form  in  which  he  cast  and  froze  it. But  is  not  this  true  even  of  proverbs  in  rhyme?  — which  are  prosy  enough  —  especially  the  musical Spanish  ones  — Con  la  mujer  y  el  dinero No  te  burlas,  companero. Byron  was  strongly  under  Pope's  influence;  but  he had  passion,  enormous  force,  a  colossal  imagina tion.  Therefore,  in  the  true  sense  of  poetry,  I  would think  the  "Siege  of  Corinth"  —  even  fifty  lines from  it  —  worth  more  than  all  Pope's  work. 370  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Well,  I  suppose  we  really  agree  at  bottom  — except  about  the  value  to  literature  of  inferior  poets. With  kindest  remembrances, LAFCADIO. August  21.  1894.    1 DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  can't  quite  under stand  about  Welsh  being  written  phonetically  — how  about  "CWRW"? —  beer,  isn't  it?  I  used  to live  in  Wales.  As  a  child  my  folks  passed  all  their summers  at  Bangor,  —  where  we  used  to  hire donkey -phaetons  and  bathe  and  have  a  good  time. Retired  Indian  officers  in  multitude  used  to  be visible  there,  —  and  some  used  to  tell  me  queer stories.  I  was  then  regarded  as  a  pampered  little heir  to  wealth  and  luxury,  and  I  got  wonderful petting  from  beautiful  ladies,  who  would  not  like to  see  me  now.  —  Carnarvon  Castle  was  a  favourite visit.  I  used  to  climb  the  Eagle-tower,  and  look down  upon  the  crawling  of  the  ships.  I  remember a  white  peacock  there. — In  Carnarvon  also  I  had my  first  knowledge  of  the  farther  East.  One  year I  lived  there  all  alone  with  my  nurse  in  the  cottage of  a  seaman  of  some  sort, — he  was  on  the  Chinese run;  and  every  time  he  came  back  he  used  to  bring all  sorts  of  curious  things  from  China, — porce lains,  grotesques,  gods.  These  were  piled  upon  a great  "dresser"  reaching  nearly  to  the  ceiling.  I used  to  look  at  them  with  awe,  and  dream  about them  at  night.  —  My  nurse  used  to  be  able,  though a  Connaught  girl,  to  understand  the  speech  of  the country  folk.  These  would  come  into  town  in  their TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  871 witch-hats, — a  fashion  preserved  from  the  sixteenth century,  I  think,  —  wearing  frilled  caps  under  the hats.  —  What  very  happy  times  those  were!  — they gave  no  augury  of  the  years  of  nightmare  to  follow. I  am  trying  to  prepare  those  ballads  for  the  A.  S., but  it  goes  against  the  grain.  The  ballads  are  all right,  but  should  be  well  supplied  with  notes,  which I  am  not  competent  to  make;  and  I've  lost  all  inter est  in  the  material.  It  appeals  to  no  feeling.  It  is folk-lore  of  the  baldest  narrative  kind.  However, I'll  try  to  make  some  sort  of  an  introduction,  and then  send  you  the  thing  by  parcel-post  —  or,  if  you don't  wish  to  look  at  it,  I  '11  send  to  Mason  —  for though  very  clearly  written,  the  MS.  might  tire your  eyes. I  am  sorry  you  have  so  much  trouble  with  your eyes.  I  fear  you  must  lose  the  chief  part  of  pleasure in  reading,  by  having  a  student  read  to  you  —  es pecially  the  French.  I  can't  help  thinking  this  may have  been  a  reason  for  disliking  Gautier's  tales. They  are  not  adapted,  I  think,  for  being  heard, — the  blaze  of  colour,  the  ghostly  delicacy  of  word- mosaic,  and  the  whole  rhythm  of  the  sentences, address  themselves  best  to  the  eye  and  to  silence.  — Were  I  independent  of  teaching,  and  nearer  to  you, what  a  pleasure  it  would  give  me  to  read  something wonderful  to  you  occasionally.  I  had  a  dear  old friend  in  America,  who  taught  me  printing.  He had  a  great  big  silent  office,  and  every  evening  for two  years,  it  was  our  delight  to  have  such  reading. I  read  nearly  all  the  old  Atlantic  stories  to  him  —  at that  time,  you  know,  the  Atlantic  was  the  medium 872  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN of  Emerson,  of  Holmes,  of  every  man  distinguished in  American  letters.  The  old  man  was  something of  a  Fourierist.  In  his  office  I  made  acquaintance first  with  hosts  of  fantastic  heterodoxies,  —  Fourier himself,  Hep  worth  Dixon  ("Spiritual  Wives"),  the Spiritualists,  the  Freelovers,  and  the  Mormons,  — the  founders  of  phalansteries  and  the  founders  of freelove  societies. I  don't  know  whether  my  fellow  travellers  were anarchists.  They  might  have  been,  though.  They spoke  very  eloquently  about  the  religion  of  human ity  and  the  atrocities  of  modern  civilization.  I sympathized  with  them.  I  shall  always  sympathize with  anarchy  and  nihilism  while  I  am  unable  to  get large  chances  in  life. — You  remember  the  story  — the  fact  rather  —  about  the  Nihilist  or  Anarchist sheet  published  some  years  ago.  One  morning  the paper  appeared  in  mourning  with  a  farewell  edition, saying:  — "We  are  sorry  to  announce  our  inability  to  con tinue  the  publication  of  the .  The  editor  has decamped.  A  vile  traitor  to  the  cause,  a  selfish hypocrite; — having  been  left  by  his  uncle  the sum  of  £300  a  year,  he  has  declared  that  his  senti ments  have  changed,  and  that  he  sympathizes with  the  bloated  bondholders  and  aristocrats.  Fear ing  our  just  vengeance,  he  has  fled." Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — So  glad  to  get  your  let ter — I  was  a  little  uneasy,  fearing  that  some TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  373 sudden  change  in  temperature  might  have  had  un pleasant  consequences:  for  the  weather  is  terribly treacherous  now,  and  we  shall  all  have  to  be  very careful  indeed  at  the  fall  season. — Here  the  heat is  thick  and  solid  at  night,  but  the  land-breeze  blows twice  a  day — and  I  have  the  privilege  of  living naked,  with  only  a  Jcoshimaki.  To  wear  any  cos tume  now  would  be  decidedly  disagreeable,  and signify  a  constant  drenching. Oh!  I  am  so  glad  you  liked  the  "Red  Bridal,"  — an  awfully  dangerous  experiment,  and  one  I  know you  would  not  have  encouraged  in  advance.  I  shall attempt  very  little  in  that  line,  though.  Perhaps you  are  right  about  the  metaphysical  conversation, though  nearly  all  the  thoughts  are  based  on  notes taken  from  Japanese  conversation.  I  have  struck out  a  few  lines  for  the  book-form  —  lines  or  touches, thrown  in  by  myself. The  little  Creole  pamphlets  I  send  you,  and  the "Flying  Trip  round  the  World,"  and  the  Lotis  and the  novels,  are  for  your  library,  of  course.  Don't think  of  sending  them  back.  I  read  "Au  Maroc" through,  with  a  sort  of  half -scared  pleasure;  and  the impression  is  lasting.  Although  purely  personal work,  it  seems  to  me  a  very  perfect  book  of  travel. I  slipped  into  it  a  note  from  Pierre  Loti.  Perhaps you  would  like  to  keep  a  specimen  of  his  chirography. What  you  said  about  the  Welsh  was  very  illum inating:  I  could  understand  many  things  at  once through  those  few  lines  of  yours.  How  very  curi ously  the  value  of  letters  changes  in  certain  tongues ! —  By  the  way,  when  I  was  in  Wales,  excellent  daily 374  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN papers  were  published  in  Welsh.  Perhaps  these  still exist.  If  you  study  Welsh,  as  a  living  tongue,  per haps  it  would  interest  you  to  see  a  few  copies  of those  curious  papers. Yes,  indeed,  there  is  an  astonishing  parallelism between  the  classic  French  and  classic  English  — the  Drydens  and  Popes  with  their  satellites,  and the  Racines,  Corneilles,  and  Boileaux,  etc.,  with theirs.  Boileau  seems  to  me  most  worthy  of  com parison  with  Pope.  But  what  a  delight  to  turn  from these  fettered  giants  to  wild  freedom  of  the  Roman tic  schools,  and  the  later  imitations  of  it  in  England! The  monotony  of  Pope  and  Boileau  tire  me  awfully —  like  the  perpetual  beating  of  a  drum  without orchestra. By  the  way,  did  you  ever  wonder  how  the  old English  Bible  translators  ever  managed  to  get  that splendid  hexameter  (is  n't  it?)  — God  is  gone  up  with  a  shout,  the  Lord  with  the  sound  of  a trumpet ! And  is  n't  it  greater  than  any  line  in  Pope?' Have  you  read  Murger's  "Scenes  de  la  Vie  de Boheme,"  Kompert's  "Scenes  du  Ghetto"? All  of  Kompert  is  good,  — but  I  only  suggest  one for  trial :  the  greatest  Jewish  story-writer  of  the  age. Murger,  I  think,  you  have  read;  but  should  you have  missed  it,  please  get  it,  and  have  a  delightful mixture  of  humour  —  uproarious  humour  —  and  pro found  but  simple  pathos.  It  also  is  one  of  the  great books  of  the  century  —  not  perfect  in  style  —  but so  human:  it  is  to  prose  what  much  of  Beranger's TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  375 work  is  to  French  song.  All  the  works  of  these  two writers  (Levy  Freres)  are  issued  at  one  franc  each. And  pray,  pray  don't  forget,  when  you  order  books again,  Gerard  de  Nerval's  "Filles  de  Feu."  (Levy, one  franc.)  One  of  the  Daughters  of  Fire  (a  dream) inspired  what  has  entered  into  French  literature  as one  of  the  most  perfect  of  all  essays  on  the  romantic ballads  of  mediaeval  France.  Let  me  suggest  also Maupassant's  "Des  Vers."  I  have  not  read  them, but  I  trust  Saintsbury's  enthusiasm  about  them. I  am  just  finishing  a  little  paper  "Yuko,"  story of  the  girl  who  cut  her  throat  that  the  Emperor might  cease  to  sorrow  (May,  1891),  mere  narrative, with  philosophical  reflections.  —  I  fear  you  will  be disappointed  with  my  "ballads" — the  work  was altogether  beyond  my  powers.  I  sent  to  19  Akasaka —  so  that  you  should  not  have  the  trouble  of  look ing  at  them  till  the  weather  got  cool.  —  Should  you condemn  them,  however,  I  may  try  to  offer,  later, a  decent  version  of  a  rather  dry  but  very  curious Buddhist  book  —  "The  Story  of  the  Humming  of the  Sainokawara."  Curious  phrase.  There  is  a Polynesian  song,  quoted  by  Giles,  which  has  in a  refrain  the  words,  "Listen  to  the  humming  of  the ghosts."  And  curiously  also,  I  found  the  word  used in  the  same  sense  by  the  blacks  of  Martinique. (Earthquakes  every  night  nearly.)  Have  discovered a  new  weird  Shinto  God  —  Shinigami. Faithfully,  LAFCADIO. P.  S.  I  have  stacks  of  MS.  Creole  compositions taken  down  from  dictation — folk-songs,  stories, 376  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN samples  of  conversation.  All  these  are  at  your  dis posal,  to  keep,  if  you  ever  want  them. Note. — The  essay  by  Dr.  Mercier  (now  dead) is  the  best,  and  I  believe  the  only  good  paper  in the  Louisiana  patois.  I  don't  like  Fortier's  article, and  I  don't  think  it  is  correct.  He  elaborates  Creole into  a  complexity  the  spoken  tongue  never  possesses in  black  mouths. September  6,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — The  Imperial  gift  came, —  through  the  Governor  of  Shimane  and  through the  kenchi  of  Kumamoto,  —  a  very  handsome  sake- cup  of  red  lacquer  with  the  Kiri-mon  therein  in letters  of  gold.  This  was  accompanied  by  a  very handsome  document  from  the  Governor  of  Shimane, stating  the  why  and  the  wherefore.  —  Pleasant,  of course, — but  probably  the  last  pleasant  thing  that I  will  have  in  Japan. My  robber  had  very  large  feet:  "stately  stepped he  east  the  way,  and  stately  stepped  he  west,"  — and  the  Junsa  took  a  proof  of  his  soles  on  a  piece  of paper,  and  we  burned  many  moxa  upon  the  tracks, that  his  feet  might  become  sore.  Perhaps  this  is why  he  was  riding  all  over  town  yesterday  in  a kuruma,  trying  to  sell  my  watch.  Curious,  the police  have  not  caught  him  yet. The  soldiers  are  being  addressed  by  Buddhist priests,  and  consecrated  to  Amida  by  the  laying  of a  razor  on  each  head  —  symbolic  tonsure.  The sword  and  helmet  of  Kato  Kiyomasa  are  said  to have  disappeared  from  Homnyoji  and  to  have  been sent  to  Korea.  *• TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  377 Autumn  has  begun.  I  hope  your  throat  is  better, It  occurred  to  me,  since  my  last,  that  the  long  con versations  in  the  raw  mountain  air,  on  the  porch at  night,  might  have  been  as  tiring  as  they  were pleasant.  When  I  have  to  talk  in  the  class  for  an hour  without  stopping,  I  feel  it  afterwards  in hoarseness  and  fits  of  coughing. Yours  very  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. September  11,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Glad  to  get  even  a  line from  you — though  it  has  not  brought  me  as  good news  of  you  as  I  could  wish.  Perhaps  it  is  only  the unsettled  weather:  the  clear  autumn  may  bring back  strength. I  was  interested  by  Lowell's  letter.  Since  I  first read  of  Schiaparelli's  discovery,  I  had  always  won dered  why  different  astronomers  could  not  agree  on the  character  of  the  so-called  canals, — many  pro nouncing  them  double,  others  single.  Lowell  would seem  really  to  have  hit  the  cause.  — What  are  the canals?  Are  they  canals,  or  only  the  lines  of  a  mon strous  planetary  breaking-up? I  have  just  sent  off  another  sketch,  "A  Wish  Ful filled"  — the  story  of  one  day  of  a  Japanese  soldier. Lord!  Lord!  what  is  morality?  Nature's  law  — the  cosmic  law — is  struggle,  cruelty,  pain  — every thing  religion  declares  essentially  immoral.  The bird  devours  the  fly,  the  cat  the  bird.  Everything has  been  shaped,  evolved,  developed  by  atrocious immorality.  Our  lives  are  sustained  only  by  mur- 378  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN der.  Passions  are  given,  which,  if  satisfied,  would stifle  the  earth  with  population,  were  there  not other  passions  of  cruelty  and  avarice  to  counteract them.  Perhaps  it  is  the  higher  morality  that  the strong  races  should  rob  the  weak — deprive  them of  liberties  and  rights — compel  them  to  adopt beastly  useless  conventions  —  insult  their  simple faith  —  force  upon  them  not  the  higher  pleasures but  the  deeper  pains  of  an  infinitely  more  com plicated  and  more  unhappy  civilization. There  certainly  is  no  answer  to  this.  It  is  contrary to  all  our  inborn  feeling  of  right.  But  what  is  that feeling?  Only  the  necessary  accompaniment  of  a social  state.  Does  it  correspond  to  any  supreme  law of  the  universe?  —  or  is  it  merely  relative?  We know  it  is  relative;  we  don't  know  anything  about the  ultimate  laws.  The  God  of  the  Universe  may  be a  Devil,  — only  mocking  us  with  contradictions, — forcing  us  through  immeasurable  pain  to  supreme efforts  which  are  to  end  in  nothing  but  the  laughter of  skulls  in  a  world's  dust.  Who  knows?  —  We  are only  what  we  can't  help  being. From  remote  time  all  my  ancestors  were  in  the army.  Yet  to  kill  the  fly  that  buzzes  round  me  as  I write  this  letter  seems  to  me  wrong.  To  give  pain knowingly,  even  to  one  whom  I  dislike,  gives  more pain  to  myself.  Psychology  tells  me  the  why  —  the origin  of  the  feeling.  But  not  by  any  such  feeling is  the  world  ruled  —  or  will  so  be  ruled  for  incal culable  time.  Such  dispositions  are  counted  worth less  and  weak,  and  are  unfitted  for  the  accomplish ment  of  large  things.  Yet  all  religions  teach  the TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  379 cultivation  of  the  very  qualities  that  ruin  us.  Clever men  always  follow  the  forms  and  laugh  at  the  spirit. —  Out  of  all  this  enormous  and  unspeakably  cruel contradiction,  what  is  to  come?  A  golden  age,  some say.  But  what  good  will  that  do  us?  —  and  what good  will  it  do  any  one  —  since  it  must  pass  accord ing  to  inevitable  laws?  — I  understand  the  laws,  their results.  But  what  is  their  meaning?  What  is  right  ? What  is  wrong?  Why  should  there  be  laws  at  all? (I  must  try  to  get  James  Hinton's  "Mystery  of Pain,"  to  see  if  he  can  throw  any  light  on  the  mat ter.) We  are  all  tired  of  Kumamoto.  I  must  try  to  get out  of  it  this  year  or  next  year.  I  am  almost  certain, however,  that  I  had  better  go  to  America  for  a  time. One  does  not  isolate  one's  self  from  the  Aryan  race without  paying  the  penalty.  You  could  not  know what  it  means,  unless  you  had  borne  it  long;  —  the condition  is  unspeakable.  You  say  I  work  well.  If I  did  not,  I  should  go  insane,  or  become  a  prey  to nervous  disease.  Perhaps  the  suffering  has  been good  in  this  —  that  it  has  forced  me  to  literary  dis cipline  which  I  could  not  otherwise  have  obtained. To  write  three  volumes  in  five  years  (for  my  new book  is  almost  done)  really  means  a  good  deal  — teaching  besides.  But  Kumamoto,  what  with  earth quakes,  robbers,  and  thunderstorms,  is  my  realiza tion  of  a  prison  in  the  bottom  of  hell.  I  would  be glad  of  half  the  salary  with  half  as  much  more  peace of  mind. Is  it  selfish  to  tell  you  my  feelings?  It  would  be, perhaps,  if  you  were  feeling  gloriously  well,  —  but 380  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN as  you  also  have  some  trouble,  —  perhaps  more suffering  from  illness  than  you  ever  speak  of,  —  you will  have  the  grim  comfort  of  knowing  that  one  not sick  at  all  thinks  of  your  existence  as  the  seventh heaven,  —  as  the  life  of  Haroun  Al  Raschid,  —  as the  luxury  of  the  most  fortunate  of  the  fortunate khalifs  of  Bagdad. Faithfully,  with  best  wishes, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  I  did  a  man  unwittingly injustice  —  gross  injustice!  —  in  my  last  letter  to you.  Fardel's  handwriting  is  so  bad,  that  I  really mistook  his  meaning,  and  am  delighted  to  find  that his  declaration  of  position  was  exactly  the  opposite to  what  I  had  made  him  say,  and  what  vexed  me  at the  time  so  much  that  I  drafted  a  protest.  He  has not  yet,  as  I  feared,  been  devoured  by  the  Philis tines.  But  the  prejudice  of  which  he  spoke,  and  my comments  thereon,  seem  to  be  as  I  put  them. This  was  really  all  I  meant  to  say,  and  I  hope  no one  but  you  saw  my  horrible  mistake.  You  might scold  me  severely  for  it,  and  I  should  be  as  sub missive  as  Kipling's  "Mowgli"  when  he  took  his whipping  like  a  man. I've  learned  nearly  all  of  Kipling's  ballads  by heart,  and  am  every  day  more  and  more  amazed at  their  power.  If  you  have  only  read  them  once, try  a  second  reading,  and  see  how  they  strike  you. They  gain  every  time.  I  must  have  read  them  over ten  times.  The  way  they  get  into  memory  comes  in sleep.  I  wake  up  repeating  such  lines  as  —  . TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  381 There's  a  wheel  on  the  Horns  of  the  mornin',  an*  a  wheel  on  the edge  of  the  Pit, And  a  drop  into  nothing  beneath  you,  as  straight  as  a  beggar  can spit  .  .  . What  a  curious  sense  of  individual  knowledge the  thing  gives.  Every  man  in  these  ballads  is  a different  character,  and  yet  intensely  real.  The "Mandalay"  ballad  is  the  utterance  of  a  dreamy, good-natured  trooper,  —  "Gunga  Din"  is  that  of  an aggressive  brute,  —  "The  Widow's  Party"  is  that of  the  sullen,  hard,  bulldog  soldier,  —  "Troopin'" and  others  represent  totally  different,  light,  jolly characters.  Great  is  K. L.  H. September  12,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  Your  letter  certainly does  place  the  treaty  in  a  most  unfavourable  light, as  regards  Things-as-they-are.  And  I  suppose  that is  the  only  way  to  look  at  the  matter  after  a  gen eration:  Things-as-they-should -be  having  gone  to oblivion.  Also  you  rather  quickly  dispose  of  my supposition  about  the  supreme  future  power  of invested  foreign  capital.  Well,  I  suppose  it  is  the last  grip  of  the  jiujutsu;  and  my  article  still  holds good,  in  that  event.  But  there  are  two  strong  possi bilities —  no,  three — against  the  treaty  going  into operation :  — (1)  That  other  European  powers  will  agree  to no  such  terms,  —  and  that  the  United  States  will very  energetically  oppose  them. (2)  That  the  foreign  colonies  will  make  their claims  heard  to  some  purpose  in  an  effectual  protest. 882  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN (3)  That  the  sense  of  the  Japanese  nation,  the instinct  of  the  masses,  will  oppose  the  treaty  as  on former  occasions — blindly — in  spite  of  any  and  all reasoning. Besides,  there  is  the  war-sphinx  whose  questions have  not  yet  been  answered. No,  I  did  not  intend  to  take  part  with  the  officials. I  did  not  even  think  of  them.  I  thought  emotion ally  of  the  common  people  only  —  those  who  would suffer  —  the  fairy -folk  who  perform  miracles  on  a diet  of  rice,  with  their  "pathetic  pleasures"  (Pater), their  innocent  faith,  their  love  of  the  dead,  their little  shrines,  their  temples  —  the  antique  world which  has  not  yet  vanished,  nor  been  injured  by ridicule  of  shallow-pated  missionaries.  I  thought of  these  toiling  in  stinking  factories,  under  foreign employ;  —  I  thought  of  utilitarian  transformation and  destruction  (artistically)  of  the  porcelain  and lacquer  industries; — I  thought  of  all  the  horrors of  American  industrial  life  forced  into  Japan.  .  .  . I  shall  always  love  the  common  Japan:  there  is plenty  of  it  — 40,000,000  of  it.— You  should  really live  among  it  alone  for  a  year,  —  and  you  would  not feel  lonely.  It  is  only  after  a  long  time  that  the lonesomeness  comes.  If  the  treaty  could  save  this life  intact,  I  should  be  glad.  But  I  fear  that  the future  demoralization  of  Japan  is  to  be  effected  by Japanese  in  frock-coats  and  loud  neckties.  That  will be  infinitely  worse. I  can't  stand  them.  I  must  get  out  of  the  country for  a  time.  I  feel,  much  more  than  you  could  have thought,  your  words  about  "white  men."  Yes,  I TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  383 would  rather  work  for  white  men  of  almost  any kind  —  though  there  are  mean  kinds  enough  —  than under  these.  .  .  . I'm  glad  I  have  a  young  man  in  the  house.  He is  wonderfully  handy,  and  makes  the  most  beautiful toys  for  the  child  I  ever  saw. You  did  n't  congratulate  me  on  the  sake-cup. Perhaps  such  presents  are  very  common.  Don't  tell me  the  missionaries  get  them,  or  I  shall  "howl  a whoop,  and  with  the  howlment  of  the  whoop  shall yip  a  yawp!" How  is  this  definition  by  a  Japanese  student?  — "A  friend  is  one  person  to  whom  we  can  tell  all  our suspicions.'9 Faithfully,  with  best  wishes, LAFCADIO. September  22,  1894.    ' DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  — If  I  did  not  feel  a  certain awe  of  you,  I  should  say  "What  a  dear  fellow  you are!"  You  knew  that  sake-cup  was  a  farce  —  it  is No.  5  and  cost  $1.25.  But  you  were  too  sweet  to tell  me.  The  Japanese  friend  to  whom  I  wrote  an exquisite  message  for  the  Governor  of  Shimane, couched  in  high-court  style,  was  much  less  con siderate.  He  frankly  laughed  at  me  and  at  the sake-cup,  and  told  me  also  about  an  Evangelical temperance  society  having  been  embarrassed  by  the Imperial  gift  of  a  sake-cup  of  silver.  .  .  .  Ah  bah! all  this  world  is  illusion. I  have  definitely  accepted  the  Kobe  offer,  and anticipate  misery.  Still,  any  sort  of  change  is  a 884  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN relief.  After  the  Prophet  lay  upon  his  left  side  for three  hundred  and  ninety  days  to  bear  the  iniquity of  the  house  of  Israel,  he  was  quite  glad  to  lie  three hundred  and  ninety  days  on  his  right  side  to  bear the  calamity  of  the  house  of  Judah ;  and  he  was  grate ful  to  the  Lord. I  have  just  sent  off  my  eleventh  paper,  finishing my  second  book  on  Japan,  as  I  am  limited  to  70,000 words.  I  suggested  for  a  title,  "Out  of  the  East." (Ex  Oriente  lux?)  .  .  . And  now  I  shall  try  at  least  to  get  material  for open -port  sketches. "In  Yokohama"  is  a  Buddhist  paper,  —  a  con versation  with  an  old  priest.  Amenomori  helped  me magnificently  with  it  —  answering  questions  in  the most  beautiful  way.  His  MS.  is  a  wonder  in  itself. Any  man  who  can  write  such  English  as  Ameno mori,  and  think  so  profoundly,  ought  to  be  able  to render  the  "  Tao-te-king  "  into  perfect  French.  May the  Buddha  forgive  me  for  all  the  wrong  I  have  done others  in  thought  and  word,  and  charge  up  my  sin to  the  illusions  and  bewilderments  of  this  beastly universe ! I  sent  an  Atlantic  the  other  day.  The  last  instal ment  of  "Philip  and  his  Wife"  seems  to  me  almost a  miracle.  I  would  also  recommend  the  paper  on Plato  —  conventionally  managed,  but  within  narrow limits  extremely  clever.  .  .  . If  I  did  not  have  to  work  to  keep  up  I  should  be very  unhappy  at  all  this.  In  the  whole  United States  there  is  now  not  one  single  publication  of  the first-class  entirely  under  liberal  control.  Is  the  case TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  385 any  better  in  England, — when  Frederic  Harrison must  write  side  by  side  with  the  Right  Reverend Jack-in-the-Box,  —  and  an  essay  by  Spencer  must be  controverted  by  His  Grace  the  Archbishop  of Croquemitaine,  — and  the  Gladstone  Skeleton  must be  dragged  into  utterance  as  a  respectable  denuncia tion  of  Huxley's  common-sense?  Is  the  whole  world going  back  into  the  dark  ages  again,  —  through  the mere  demoralizing  effect  of  that  centralization  of wealth  and  of  conventionalism  following  upon  the solidification  or  stratification  of  society?  How much  better  seem  to  me  the  wild  days  of  Mormon evangelization  in  America, — of  the  Freelove  pha lansteries, — of  Brook  Farm  and  the  Oneida  Com munity,  — of  Hep  worth  Dixon's  "  Spiritual  Wives  " ! Humbug,  of  course,  but  what  a  finely  fluid  aspira^ tional  condition  of  society  the  whole  thing  meant, —  even  with  "Mr.  Sludge,  the  Medium"  thrown in!  Anything  is  better  than  the  crystallization  of ideas,  the  hardening  of  conventions,  the  recognized despair  of  thinkers  to  oppose  the  enormous  weight and  power  of  Philistinism.  "You!" — said  a  Jew to  me  long  ago  (a  Jew  with  Heine's  soul,  and therefore  now  dead  and  double-damned) — "You fight  society.  Oh,  you  fly!  the  elephant's  foot  will crush  you  without  feeling  you." — What  matter! In  those  days  being  supremely  an  ass  as  well  as a  fly,  I  thought  I  could  overturn  the  universe.  I was  a  new  Archimedes:  the  lever  was  enthusiasm! all  radicals  were  my  brothers,  and  had  I  been in  Russia  I  might  have  tried  to  blow  up  the Czar. 386  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN All  this  reminds  me  that  Fardel,  replying  to  a  let ter  as  to  whether  he  could  take  my  place  here  (he says  he  can),  writes  to  me  quite  needlessly  about  the Eurasian  question  and  about  his  "martyrdom  in fighting  seven  years  against  a  social  wrong,"  —  the Eurasian  party  representing  the  wrong.  He  has become  evidently  fige.  .  .  .  Thinking  over  the matter,  I  cannot  help  admiring  the  d — d  Jesuits. There  race-feeling  is  trampled  out  of  a  man's  soul; — there  the  conventions  of  society  are  subjected  ut terly  to  one  spiritual  though  fanatical  idea;  —  there is  religious  democracy  —  equality — fraternity ;  — there  no  moral  question  is  caught  up  as  a  hypo crite's  mask  for  race-hate.  I  almost  wish  I  could believe,  and  hie  me  to  a  monastery,  or  preach  Rome on  the  banks  of  the  Amazon. Oh!  this  is  a  blue  letter, — and  you  have been  so  kind, — sending  telegrams  and  everything! Never  mind,  I'll  try  to  make  it  up  to  you  some  day. I  am  going  to  try  to  flee  soon. With  best  regards  and  ever  so  many  warm  thanks, LAFCADIO  HEARN. October  2,  1894. /•DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — Thanks  for  the  Spec tator.  I  liked  the  poem,  and  would  like  to  read  that interesting  book  by  Crooke.  I  used  to  get  every thing  of  that  kind. Writing  now  about  Watson,  I  can  only  remember the  impression  of  the  poem  thus :  — (1)  Attention  —  (2)  concentration  of  mind  on  sub ject —  (3)  impression  of  commonplace  correctness TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  887 with  certainty  of  a  last  surprise  —  (4)  ^surprise  in last  stanza  —  little  ghostly  thrill  of  pleasure. But  —  I  could  not  remember  what  the  pleasure was  without  reading  the  poem  again.  I  have  the memory  of  a  sensation,  not  the  memory  of  a  thought. And  this  is  the  way  Watson  generally  impresses  me — except  in  the  "Dream  of  Man,"  which  is  a  mas terpiece  of  fancy,  but  a  weak  piece  of  verse.  (I think  there  are  fully  a  score  of  bad  lines  in  it.) Wherefore  Watson  seems  to  me  one  of  those  that will  never  reach  beyond  the  verge  of  greatness. Really,  we  have  no  more  great  poets  now.  Swin burne  only  reechoes  himself  in  the  frost  of  his  age. Henley  approaches  Watson  in  power, — but  power of  a  different  sort,  rather  realistic.  Lang  and  Dob- son  are  exquisite — but  it  is  all  rococo — stucco and  paint.  Civilization  is  stagnant:  there  are  none of  tEose  motions  which  stir  below  the  vast  surface, — no  race-feelings, — therefore  none  of  the  large sensations  which  made  the  song  of  the  past.  Amer ica  has  no  poets  of  high  degree, — nor  France, — nor  any  other  country  just  now.  The  beauty  is going  out  of  human  life — only  tones,  faint  shades, faint  ghostly  thrills  remain,  betimes  to  make  one remember  that  which  has  departed. The  book  on  India  might  suggest  a  book  on  Japan. I  think  there  would  be  no  money  in  it,  though:  — there  is  no  money  in  anything  but  fiction,  —  and that  only  for  a  few.  However,  what  struck  me  after reading  the  article  was  this:  —  "What  a  book  I could  NOW  write  about  a  Roman  Catholic  country, like  Mexico,  after  having  lived  in  Japan."  In  order 388  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  flEARN to  write  well  about  Catholicism,  one  must  have studied  paganism  outside  of  it.  The  whole  poetry of  the  thing  then  appears.  Who  can  really  feel  the poetry  of  the  Bible  except  the  man  who  is  not  a Christian?  Well,  isn't  it  the  same  way  with  other matters?  Roman  Catholicism  in  some  Latin  coun tries, —  with  its  vast  world  of  ghosts,  saints,  evil and  good  spirits  at  each  man's  elbow, — its  visions, its  miracles,  its  skulls  and  bones  enshrined  in  sil ver  and  gold, — its  cruelties  and  consolations, — its lust-exasperating  asceticisms  that  create  tempta tions, —  surely  to  understand  it  all  one  must  have felt  either  the  life  of  the  pagan  or  polytheistic Orient,  or  understand  profoundly  the  polytheism  of the  antique  West.  A  book  on  Latin  life  —  studied through  polytheistic  feeling,  sympathetic  feeling —  would  certainly  be  a  novelty.  Strange  sensations might  be  evoked, — new  even  to  the  nineteenth century.  Eyer  faithfully, LAFCADIO. We're  beginning  to  pack  up.  I'm  sick — not attending  school,  just  pleasantly  sick.  I  thank  the Gods  therefor. Oh!  I  am  rather  angry  with  the  Gods.  I  have been  fighting  their  battles;  but  they  don't  listen  to me  any  more.  Perhaps  they  are  all  rusu — away  in Korea — and  did  not  hear. October  9,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — Having  a  moment's  leis ure,  permit  me  to  say  that  your  last  letter  is,  ac- TO  BASEL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  589 cording  to  synthetic  philosophy,  contrary  to  scien tific  position.  The  examples  you  cite  by  Dr.  Tylor would  prove  exactly  the  contrary  to  the  theory  they are  intended  to  sustain.  The  incoherent  character of  the  myth  in  New  Zealand  folk-lore,  compared with  the  coherent  character  of  a  similar  myth  in Sanscrit  folk-lore,  would  argue  the  priority  for  New Zealand,  if  it  argued  anything  at  all  —  that  is  to say,  at  least,  it  would  argue  that  the  myth  re tained  its  primitive  form  among  the  savages  and  lost it  among  the  civilized  —  supposing  a  community  of origin,  which  is  disputable  and  improbable. The  fact  seems  to  me  to  be  simply  this,  that modern  philology — seriously  to  its  own  cost  —  still ignores  the  application  of  evolution  to  sociology. Tylor  has  been  severely  criticized  on  this  head; but  nearly  all  the  big  philologists  and  no  small number  of  the  folk-lorists  remain  in  the  same  posi tion.  Philologists  as  a  special  class  have  not  had until  within  very  late  years  any  reason  to  trouble themselves  about  the  tendency  of  modern  philo sophy;  and  they  have  stuck  to  the  theories  of  the Middle  Ages:  the  idea  of  an  Eden-centre,  whence radiations  of  development,  and  the  absurd  theory of  a  degradation  of  man  from  a  high  state  of  arm- in-arm- walking- with-God  knowledge.  All  this  must be  changed ;  for  the  philologist  of  to-day  who  under takes  the  serious  mastery  of  the  new  philosophy gains  power  to  smash  out  of  existence  ninety-nine of  every  hundred  theories  brought  up  by  men  of  the Edkins  species.  It  is  a  great  pity  that  Tylor  and others  will  stick  at  the  spiritual  side  of  evolution  — 890  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN like  Max  Miiller.  The  fact  necessarily  delays  pro gress,  compelling  a  process  of  investigation  as  con trary  to  the  natural  order  of  things  as  looking through  the  large  end  of  a  telescope.  To  accurately judge  any  folk-lore  or  myth,  we  must  begin  with the  evolutional  order  of  fancies, — the  beliefs  about shadows  preceding  all  beliefs  in  ghosts, — and  the beliefs  in  ghosts  preceding  the  belief  in  Gods.  And the  proofs  of  the  truth  of  this  system  are  in  Japan all  about  us. Of  course  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the  study  of borrowings  is  not  of  the  highest  importance.  I think  the  introduction  to  your  "Kojiki"  is  most probably  right  in  every  particular  as  to  the  unre corded  antiquity  of  Chinese  influence.  Still,  I  am not  sure.  Coming  from  a  common  stock,  the  resem blance  of  a  Japanese  to  a  Chinese  myth  would  not involve  the  belief  that  the  one  was  borrowed  from the  other.  Let  me  cite  an  example.  The  belief  in the  Nukelcubi  I  myself  discovered  in  Japan  (not  first, perhaps,  but  I  found  it  and  studied  it).  Well — in  a little  French  book  (translated  mostly  from  ancient Chinese)  "LesPeuples  Etrangers  comme  des  Anciens Chinois"  (Leroux's  "  Bibliotheque  Orientale ")  I find  the  same  superstition  mentioned,  illustrated with  curious  Chinese  engravings.  Must  I  infer  that the  Japanese  borrowed  this  myth  from  China? Certainly  not,  —  and  I  believe  the  contrary.  Such superstitions  are  of  the  most  primitive  class,  and were  probably  held  by  this  people  ten  thousand years  before  coming  to  Japan.  I  use  big  figures. But  we  must  now  accept  the  fact  of  man's  existence TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  391 on  the  planet,  as  Man  (not  ape)  for  more  than 500,000  years. I  am  sure  that  if  you  would  read  systematically Spencer's  first  volume  of  Sociology  you  would  find reasons  for  agreeing  with  me.  But  of  course  you would  have  to  confess  all  religions  as  religions  mere evolutional  growths  out  of  childish  fear  and  fancy. Hence  it  requires  courage  to  take  the  position  pub licly. LAFCADIO. P.  S.  '.  .  .  Wrote  note  to  Aldrich — hoping  you will  see  him.  Gave  him  your  address.  He  is  all  that you  would  like  and  nothing  that  you  would  dislike. (His  first  letter  from  Kobe  on  taking  up  news paper  work  there.  Rec'd  at  the  Yaami  Hotel, Kyoto,  14th  Oct.  1894.) DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — I  can't  guess  whom  to  be vexed  with  —  you  or  Mason;  but  I  have  been  feel ing  resentful.  Both  of  you  knew,  or  ought  to  have known,  that  I  was  in  the  Kwakto-Jigoku  for  two years,  but  neither  of  you  would  move  a  pen  to  help me  out  of  it.  Well,  I  suppose  you  consulted  over together  (unfair!  —  two  against  one!)  and  concluded it  was  best  to  let  me  stick  it  out.  And  it  was, — since  it  forced  me  out  of  a  service  which  has  become unbearable.  Still,  I  feel  a  little  mad  at  you  both. For  either  of  you  I  should  have  broken  my  back  to help  if  necessary,  without  waiting  for  finely  detailed explanations. 392  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Yes,  and  I  hold  the  black  end  of  the  poker  always in  correspondence!  Ay  de  mi!  Still,  you  are  much better  in  that  regard  than  Mason  and  others. Mason  writes  monthly, — with  business  regularity, though  happily  not  with  a  business  soul.  You  do write  oftener,  much  oftener;  but  not  often  enough. I  am  getting  exacting,  you  see. My  associate  in  the  Chronicle  is  Secularian.  He is  a  young,  vigorous  Scotchman,  of  the  half -dark type,  —  grev  eyes  and  black  hair.  I  liked  him  at first  shake-hands,  which  is  a  great  thing.  We  shall get  along  socially.  About  the  financial  question, I  can't  see  glory  ahead,  —  but  I  am  with  clean- souled  Englishmen  anyhow. I  met  a  missionary  on  the  boat  running  to  Kobe and  liked  him — the  first  of  his  kind.  A  great  big fellow,  six  feet  three  —  and  fresh-hearted,  and  frank, and  innocent  as  a  boy.  I  explained  some  things  to him,  and  showed  him  some  which  he  had  never looked  at  (such  as  Japanese  sake),  and  almost  felt fond  of  him.  What  a  pity  such  men  can  find  no better  calling!  He  had  had  his  troubles,  too,  — tried  to  win  hearts,  and  learned  to  wonder  whether gratitude  existed  in  the  Japanese  soul. Hotels  here  infernally  dear  —  four  to  seven  dol lars  a  day.  Still,  if  you  pass  Kobe  after  I  am  settled here,  I  shall  expect  a  call.  In  another  fortnight  all will  be  arranged;  and  I  shall  be  well  able  to  make you  cosy  with  us. I  cannot  think  less  of  Loti's  genius.  .  .  .  Cold blooded  he  seems  of  course,  and  personally  detest- TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  393 able  he  very  probably  is,  and  his  life  not  at  all limpid  by  our  standards.  But  what  matter!  Drop the  shell  of  the  man,  — the  outer  husk,  on  which  the vices  are  mere  lichen-growths;  —  and  within  glows the  marvellous,  subtle,  luminous- winged  soul  of  the Latin  race, — of  Latin  art,  —  of  Latin  love  of  life and  youth  and  all  things  beautiful.  I  will  select pages  from  the  "Fleurs  d'Ennui,"  from  "Le  Roman d'un  Spahi,"  from  "Le  Mariage  de  Loti,"  —  and defy  any  other  living  man  to  equal  them.  Neither our  De  Quinceys  nor  our  Coleridges  nor  our  Byrons could  have  written  such  things  —  prose  more  poet ical  than  all  English  poetry — prose  more  lumin ous  and  penetratingly  sweet  than  Tennyson's  best verse.  (De  Nerval  is  the  only  other  who  has  ap proached  Loti.)  Of  course  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that an  art  wholly  based  upon  nervous  susceptibility  is the  ultimate  art.  It  cannot  be.  But  we  need  it. The  spiritual  is  based  on  the  physical;  the  moral  is based  on  the  physical;  the  aspirational  is  based  on the  physical.  We  need  such  instrumentation.  We need  the  means.  The  purification  will  come  later. At  present  we  have  the  highest  aspirations,  the deepest  potentialities, — we  Northern  men.  But however  much  better  morally  we  flatter  ourselves to  be,  we  are  still,  all  of  us, — Russians,  English,  or Scandinavians, — mere  sucking  babes  in  the  know ledge  of  art  as  compared  with  the  Latins.  An  Italian fruit-vendor  has  more  sense  of  beauty  than  a  mem ber  of  our  Parliament,  —  a  beggar  of  Piedmont more  musical  sense  than  the  average  graduate  of an  English  musical  college. 394  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN Oh !  the  book  by  De  Rosny  does  not  belong  to  the Maisonneuve  Collection,  but  to  the  Leroux  Collec tion.  De  Rosny  has  nothing  in  the  former.  The former  (of  which  I  sent  only  one  poor  sample)  has all  the  Breton  literature,  including  songs  and  music, —  Maspero's  translations  of  the  old  Egyptian ghost-stories,  the  Hitopadesa,  and  a  host  of  things. But  both  collections  are  worth  having. Ever  yours, LAFCADIO. KOBE,  October  23,  1894. DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN,  —  You  asked  for  my  other address,  which  I  enclose  in  Japanese  —  but  I  don't think  it  will  be  good  for  more  than  six  months,  as  I hope  to  build  a  house  here  this  winter, — fit  even to  receive  the  Emeritus  Professor  of  Japanese  in the  Imperial  University  of  Japan.  My  present  home is  a  nondescript  building,  foreign  upstairs  and  in digenous  downstairs — barring  the  benjo; — the  up stairs  rooms  are  fixed  for  stoves  and  are  warm,  and I  have  indulged  in  a  debauchery  of  cheap  carpets, mattings,  and  furniture.  My  employer  and  his  wife were  very  good  to  us; — Mrs.  H.  has  been  petted and  helped  and  invited  about,  and  everything  was got  for  us  at  a  bargain. I  think  this  a  very  pleasant  position — the  most pleasant  I  ever  had  in  my  life;  for  I  am  treated  not as  an  employee,  but  as  a  directing  spirit  in  the  office, and  as  a  brother  outside  of  it.  Of  course  I  don't know  how  long  I  shall  feel  this  way.  Human  nature is  full  of  surprises.  But  for  the  time  being  it  is  very TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  893 pleasant;  and  I  would  not  exchange  the  place  for  a government  post  at  any  price.  Perhaps  I  shall think  differently  later.  Faut  jamais  dire,  "Fontaine, Je  ne  boirai  plus  de  ton  eau!" Curious.  The  proprietor  began  this  paper  with only  1000  yen,  and  worked  it  up  to  a  good  property. His  little  wife  helps  him  at  proof-reading;  and before  I  came,  they  alone  ran  the  whole  paper  — no  reporters  or  assistants.  It  was  terrible  work  for one  man,  and  I  could  not  do  it.  Young  is  hearty and  juvenile  in  appearance  —  serious,  pleasant  face —  dark  beard  —  used  to  be  a  proof-reader  on  the Saturday  Review,  for  which  post  some  culture  is necessary.  Is  a  straight  thorough  English  radical. We  are  in  perfect  sympathy  upon  all  questions. I  wrote  to  Mason  yesterday  that  Thomas  Bailey Aldrich  is  to  visit  Japan  this  fall.  I  should  like  you to  know  America's  greatest  "literary  man"  (if  we except  Holmes  and  James).  He  is  a  very  polished gentleman;  and  knows  Europe  by  heart,  for  he  has been  a  great  traveller.  You  ought,  I  am  sure,  to pass  a  pleasant  hour  or  two  with  him.  He  would sit  at  your  feet  in  the  matter  of  the  higher  scholar ship;  and  you  would  enjoy  his  knowledge  of  per sons  and  places. I  think  your  copy  of  "Glimpses"  has  been  await ing  you  at  Tokyo. Faithfully  —  without  reproaches  for  not  touching at  Kobe, LAFCADIO. 396       LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN November  3,  1894.  "» DEAR  CHAMBERLAIN, — I  got  your  last  delightful letter  in  its  Japanese  envelope.  You  thought  it was  a  poor  letter;  but  what  you  generally  think poor  I  find  unusual  interest  in.  There  is  a  deal  of concentrated  penetrative  observation  in  those  hast ily  written  notes  of  yours  which  sinks  into  my  mind, and  is  apt  to  reappear  again,  after  many  days,  in some  essay  of  mine  —  having  by  that  time  become so  much  a  part  of  my  own  thought  that  I  find  it difficult  to  establish  the  boundary-line  between meum  and  tuum.  Of  course  one  must  have  lived  a long  time  in  the  country  to  feel  your  letters  in  this way. Aldrich  is  at  the  Grand  Hotel,  or  was,  until  time of  this  writing.  I  dropped  him  a  note,  expressing the  hope  that  he  would  meet  you  and  Mason. He  can  talk  Italy  to  you. I  am  glad  you  agree  about  the  Italian  and  French character  — the  depth,  subtlety,  and  amazing  latent power  of  the  former;  the  Greek  cast  of  the  latter. Yes,  I  don't  think  we  should  disagree  much  —  ex cept  as  to  my  firm  conviction  of  the  artistic  and moral  value  of  sensuality.  You  know  in  this  nine teenth  century  we  are  beginning  to  make  war  upon even  intellectual  sensuality,  the  pleasure  in  emo tional  music,  the  pleasure  in  physical  grace  as  a study,  the  pleasure  in  coloured  language  and  musical periods.  I  doubt  if  this  is  right.  The  puritanism of  intellect  is  cultivated  to  the  gain  of  certain  de grees  of  power,  but  also  to  the  hardening  of  char acter, —  ultimately  tending  to  absolute  selfishness TO  BASIL  HALL  CHAMBERLAIN  897 and  fixity  of  mental  habit.  Too  deeply  fixed  in  the cause  of  life  are  the  pleasures  of  sense  to  be  weeded out  without  injury  to  the  life-centres  themselves and  to  all  the  emotions  springing  from  them.  We cannot  attack  the  physical  without  attacking  the moral;  for  evolutionally  all  the  higher  intellectual faculties  have  their  origin  in  the  development  of  the physical.  .  .  . I  send  you  an  Atlantic.  Tell  me  how  you  like  it, my  little  dream. LAFCADIO  HEARN. LETTERS  TO  W.  B.  MASON II LETTERS  TO   W.   B.   MASON KYOTO,  July  24,  1892. DEAR  MASON,  —  Here  I  am  imprisoned  by  bad weather.  It  was  lucky  for  me,  however  that  I  re solved  after  all  to  make  for  Kyoto  first,  as  a  fright ful  storm  has  been  raging  off  the  Izumo  coast. Still  I  have  till  10th  September  free,  and  hope  to be  in  Oki  early  next  month.  The  exquisite  beauty of  this  little  hotel  compensates  somewhat  for  the bad  weather.  The  house  dates  only  from  the  sev enth  Meiji;  but  it  is  a  curiosity  of  beauty  and  inge nuity.  Kano  recommended  it  as  the  most  original hotel  in  Kyoto.  It  is  too  charming  to  refer  any  globe trotter  to;  they  could  not  by  any  possible  chance understand  it.  The  people  are  rich:  the  house  is small;  and  only  a  few  choice  guests  are  received. I  liked  my  Japanese  hotel  in  Kobe,  however,  — the  Tokiwasha.  Magnificent  double  room  —  one end  fronting  the  harbour;  the  other  dominating  the roofs  of  the  city, — and  doves  nesting  in  the  eaves. How  beautiful  Kobe  is!  More  than  Yokohama. And  the  more  I  see  of  the  open  ports  the  more  I  feel convinced  that  the  Japanese  character  is  too  es sentially  individual  and  strong  to  be  overwhelmed by  foreign  influence.  Everything  characteristically and  charmingly  Japanese  accentuates  immensely  at the  open  ports,  as  if  in  defiance  of  foreign  aggres- 402  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN sion.  Architecture  improves  by  becoming  at  once larger  —  yet  more  Oriental.  —  It  gave  me  a  sharp indescribable  sensation  to  meet  Englishmen  and Scotchmen  again  after  two  years  in  the  interior. Even  a  rather  cheeky  clerk  who  wanted  to  sell  me "a  medicated  flannel"  (may  the  Gods  d — n  medi cated  flannel)  seemed  to  me  a  superb  creature. The  old  Scotch  accent  touched  me  as  the  sound  of Scotch  bagpipes  touched  hearts  in  India.  I  took  my wife  into  some  of  the  stores.  She  had  never  seen  a foreign  shop  before:  it  was  a  fairy  world  for  her. A  Scotch  merchant  was  amused  at  her  interest  in simple  things,  and  gave  her  a  pretty  present.  He was  a  grim  man,  too;  but  I  liked  him  for  that,  and bought  many  things  from  him.  My  wife  asked  me this  question,  "Why  is  it  that  you  only  smile  when you  talk,  and  all  these  other  foreigners  don't  smile —  only  their  eyes  smile?"  "That,"  I  answered, "is  because  I  have  lived  so  long  alone  among  Jap anese."  And  I  became  aware  that  my  ways  must have  seemed  a  little  odd  to  these  serious  Highland ers  and  growling  Britons.  But  that  day  they  all appeared  lovable.  "Absence,"  etc. I  have  been  looking  at  the  obi  of  Kyoto.  We have  quite  as  fine  kimono-silks  in  Kumamoto, — Osaka  fabrics,  I  think,  —  but  the  obi  are  wonderful. Still,  although  far  prettier  to  the  eye,  and  much more  costly,  they  don't  compare  with  the  solid enduring  rich  plainness  of  Hakata  work.  I  want  to see  the  temples;  but  I  don't  want  to  see  them  on gloomy  days;  and  it  keeps  raining;  and  I  am  ex tremely  angry  to  no  purpose  with  the  weather. TO  W.   B.  MASON  403 Do  you  want  to  find  out  anything  about  Kyoto? If  you  do,  write  to  me  right  speedily.  I  will  be  here another  week.  And  I  want  to  see  that  village  where the  women  are  all  gigantic  and  rosy  and  comely, and  carry  great  weights  on  their  heads  — the  nurses of  Emperors.  Also  Nara.  I  want  to  live  in  Kyoto. And  study  Buddhism.  But  I  live  in  a  city  where they  have  no  temples  and  no  gods — nothing  but soldiers  and  the  noise  of  bugles. Ever  faithfully, LAFCADIO  HEARN. KYOTO.  July  30.  1892.    1 DEAR  MASON, — There  is  a  sickening  weight  in the  air  —  that  kind  of  atmospheric  pressure  which makes  people  despondent  and  full  of  the  idea  that something  Awful  is  going  to  happen.  I  can't  think; I  can't  enjoy  anything;  I  can't  say  that  I  liked Kyoto  as  much  as  I  expected. First  of  all,  I  was  tremendously  disappointed  by my  inability  to  discover  what  Loti  described.  He described  only  his  own  sensations:  exquisite,  weird, or  wonderful.  Loti's  "Kioto:  La  Ville  Sainte"  has no  existence.  I  saw  the  San-ju-san-gen-do,  for example:  I  saw  nothing  of  Loti's  —  only  recognized what  had  evoked  the  wonderful  goblinry  of  his imagination. And  I  tried  after  three  days  of  temples.  I  had waited  until  the  weather  was  fine  to  look  at  them. Well,  I  was  not  much  impressed.  Doubtless  be cause  I  have  become  too  familiar  with  temples. The  new  Hongwanji  I  don't  care  about.  It  is  only 404  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN large  and  loud.  A  Kamakura  temple  is  worth  a dozen  Hongwanji's.  Of  course  the  ropes  of  women's hair  are  touching  spectacles.  But  those  only  inter ested  me. The  finest  temple  to  my  mind,  in  every  way,  is the  Chion-in — where  the  mighty  bell  is.  The  whole is  magnificently  right  and  harmonious,  without being  vulgar.  But  the  finest  thing  —  except  the divine  gardens  —  of  the  Chion-in,  is  the  glorious gate,  with  the  extraordinary  images  and  frescoes upstairs.  These  are  being  defaced  by  brutal  visit ors  :  no  watch  is  kept  to  prevent  human  beasts  from disfiguring  the  wall-paintings.  How  hopelessly  in different  Buddhism  has  become  about  preserving its  own  glorious  past!  Shinto,  on  the  other  hand, guards  everything  with  rigid  scrutiny,  and  compels respect.  Really,  I  am  not  of  those  (now)  who  regret the  handing-over  of  old  Buddhist  temples  to  Shinto. Shinto  has  been  able  to  preserve  what  I  feel  sure Buddhism  would  not  have  had  the  nerve  to  protect. The  more  I  see  of  Shinto,  the  more  I  respect  it. Then  I  am  tired  of  looking  only  at  screens  — faded out  of  recognizability  —  painted  by  Kano  Some thing,  and  the  chozubachi  in  which  Hideyoshi washed  his  hands.  Vast  is  the  multitude  of  these. Buddhist  temples  have  lost  individuality  for  me. They  resemble  each  other  like  the  faces  of  Japanese students.  What  I  am  not  ever  tired  of  seeing  —  and what  is  worth,  I  think,  a  mention  in  the  Guide- Book,  is  the  beauty  of  the  Buddhist  gardens.  The gardens  of  the  temples  are  more  interesting  than the  temples.  Also  the  temple  avenues  and  courts TO  W.  B.  MASON  405 beautify  and  expand  the  city — catch  and  keep  the sun,  and  seem  to  make  the  air  brighter. It  is  at  night  that  Kyoto  is  most  beautiful.  The street-scenes,  the  lamps,  the  delight  of  the  lantern files  viewed  from  the  Shijo-Ohashi  along  the  Shijo- Gawara:  this  is  fantastically  beautiful. As  for  industries,  I  took  note  only  of  obi-silks, porcelain,  and  metal- work.  The  last  took  my  breath away.  I  could  not  afford  to  buy  anything  there. The  house  is  small.  The  room  in  which  guests are  received  is  hung  with  exhibition-certificates and  medal-cases  containing  medals  from  differ ent  European  and  American  exhibitions.  Visitors are  kindly  received  and  shown  everything.  One who  has  not  studied  the  subject  should  first  see the  process,  in  order  to  appreciate  the  delicacy and  difficulty  of  the  manufacture.  I  enclose  the card. A  visit  to  the  Awata-ware  factory  of  Sobei  Kin- kozan  also  pleased  me.  European  taste,  I  fear,  is spoiling  the  manufacture;  but  there  are  lovely things  there.  What  impressed  me  most  was  the delicious  colour.  I  bought  ten  plates  for  four  dol lars.  Visitors  can  see  everything  done. The  great  display  of  obi-silks  ought  to  delight foreigners.  There  are  Kyoto  obi  worth  a  hundred yen  each.  Besides  the  expensive  obi,  there  is  a  beauti ful  cheap  stuff  for  obi,  called  ito-nishiki,  one  factory of  which  I  visited  (Yoshida,  Sangencho).  It  is  a mixture  of  cotton,  silk,  and  gold  thread.  Foreigners ought  to  like  this  stuff.  It  is  used  chiefly  for  obi  for children  and  young  girls;  and  the  best  designs  are 406  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN all   large,  or  rather  large — storks,  flowing  water, tortoises,  clouds,  etc.,  in  gold  and  colours. The  good  folks  of  the  Nikkoya  will  give  you  the best  pair  of  rooms  in  the  hotel  if  you  come  down here  with  your  family  in  winter.  They  will  also furnish  you,  if  you  desire,  excellent  foreign  cooking from  the  neighbouring  Tokiwa  hotel,  and  good  Bass's ale.  There  are  no  chairs  —  but  I  suppose  you  don't care;  and  beautiful  low  tables  are  used  to  serve  the food  (foreign  food)  upon,  instead  of  a  zen. I  fear  this  letter  is  dull,  and  of  no  use  —  even suggestively;  but  the  weight  of  the  air  is  platinum vapour  ized. Sincerely  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. P.  S.  You  write  most  delightful  letters;  but  I have  n't  the  faintest  ghost  of  an  idea  who  you  are. I  don't  know  whether  I  ought  even  to  try  to  find out.  It  is  more  charming  to  know  one's  friends  as amiable  ghosts  thus. Don't  be  shocked!  The  force  of  Lowell's  "Soul of  the  Far  East"  is  daily  growing  on  me.  I  can't combat  his  views  within  myself  as  I  was  wont  to  do : I  find  so  much  that  only  his  book  attempts  with any  success  to  explain.  I  am  about  to  be  converted. There  are  times  I  feel  so  hopeless  about  every thing  in  Japan  that  I  would  like  to  leave  it  if  I  had no  one  else  to  care  for.  Especially  when  I  meet insolent  clerks  who  have  learned  impertinence  and Christianity  at  the  Doshisha,  —  when  I  see  Christ ian  cathedrals,  —  when  I  find  Christian  teachers TO  W.  B.   MASON  407 among    the  "Japanese   instructors  of   the  higher schools. Therefore  great  Kyoto  pleases  me  far  less  than Izumo.  One  little  country  village  of  the  west  coast delights  my  soul  more.  After  all,  my  whole  study must  be  the  heart  of  the  commonest  people.  The educated  class  repel  me.  It  is  impossible  to  make friends  among  them,  and  pure  madness  to  expect sympathy.  Did  you  read  Smith's  hideous  book "Chinese  Characteristics"?  I  sometimes  think education  is  Chinafying  the  new  generation. My  hope  for  the  next  two  years'  work  will  be  to make  a  heart-work  on  Buddhism.  But  I  must  have highly  intelligent  help.  Can  I  get  it?  There  is  the puzzle.  The  educated  Japanese  is  insulted  if  asked a  question  about  Buddhism. L.  H. SHIMATA;  MIONOSEKI,  SHIMANB,  August  31, 1892. DEAR  MASON,  —  I  have  been  waiting  here  for  a good  steamer  to  Bakkan,  and  must  wait  four  days more.  After  all  my  discontent  with  Kyushu,  I  am homesick  for  a  little  house  in  Tetorihonmachi,  the dogs,  the  magazines,  the  books,  the  letters,  etc. After  all  this  wandering,  Kumamoto  seems  very much  better  than  it  did  before.  I  pass  most  of  the time  here  swimming  in  the  harbour.  There  is  nothing else  to  do  except  to  make  the  miko  dance  at  the Miojinja,  or  to  listen  to  the  geisha. A  funny  thing  happened  yesterday.  A  menagerie tried  to  come  to  Mionoseki;  and  among  the  proper ties  was  an  alleged  Kudan.  Scarcely  had  the  Kudan 408  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN arrived  when  there  came  a  stiff  breeze  from  Daisen, accompanied  by  sounds  of  distant  thunder.  The IKannushi  declared  the  God  of  Mionoseki  was offended  by  the  presence  of  the  Kudan  and  ordered the  people  away,  and  they  returned  by  the  same steamer. I  thought  Mionoseki  was  the  only  place  where chickens  and  hens'  eggs  were  not  suffered  to  enter; but  I  find  at  lya  the  same  custom,  inspired  by  the same  tradition.  My  friends  at  Matsue  sent  me yesterday  a  box  of  ducks'  eggs  from  lya  —  other wise  I  should  be  rather  badly  off  for  nutriment, lya  is  not  far  from  Yasugo  where  the  same  De ity  —  Koto-Shiro-Nushi-no-Kami  —  is  worshipped with  directly  contrary  observances; — Yasugo  is famous  for  eggs  and  chickens.  The  inhabitants declare  that  the  best  way  of  serving  the  God  is  to kill  and  devour  his  enemies. All  along  my  journey  I  have  been  tormented  by an  insane  desire  to  steal  other  people's  servants. The  temptation  was  very  strong  at  Kyoto,  where  the hotel  maidens  are  veritable  Tennin;  but  I  did  not yield  to  it  till  I  got  to  Oki.  At  Oki  we  found  a  pretty Shizoku  boy  working  in  the  hotel  as  a  servant  of people  who  had  once  been  retainers  of  his  family. We  stole  him,  and  I  am  now  teaching  him  how  to swim.  He  is  so  intelligent  that  I  cannot  think  of having  him  only  as  a  servant.  When  we  know  more of  him,  we  may  do  something  else  for  him. Ever  truly  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. TO  W.    B.  MASON  409 KOBE  (en  route  to  Oki). DEAR  MASON, — I'm  writing,  as  usual,  upon  the floor,  which  does  not  improve  the  look  of  a  letter. Nara  was  a  charming  experience  —  all  except  the hotel  at  which  I  stopped  (Uoya)  and  in  which  I  saw some  curious  things. While  the  face  of  the  Nara  Daibutz  has  no  such possible  beauty  as  that  of  the  Kamakura  image, the  whole  effect  is  something  never  to  be  forgotten —  especially  in  connexion  with  the  colossal  build ing.  I  am  glad  I  saw  it.  Of  course  I  saw  Kasuga and  fed  the  deer  and  beheld  the  miko  dance.  The dance  is  an  infinitely  more  complicated  affair  than that  of  the  Kitzuki  miko,  who  are  not  children,  but tall  young  women ;  but  it  was  very  pleasing,  and  the flower-beauty  of  the  child-dancers  sweet  beyond expression.  No  geisha  have  such  charm, — for  ob vious  reasons  cannot. I  collected  a  number  of  o-fuda,  mamori,  etc.,  for the  Professor  in  both  Kyoto  and  Nara,  and  at  the Giant  temple  also  got  a  couple  of  ex  voto,  —  gro tesquely  ugly  in  themselves,  but  touching  in  connex ion  with  the  faith  which  created  them.  An  inter esting  Nara  deity  is  that  one  who  listens  only  to  one prayer.  "O  Lord,  just  grant  this  little  thing,  and I'll  never  trouble  you  with  another  prayer  of  any sort  as  long  as  I  live!"  This  shocks  Christian  super stition;  but  how  deliciously  human  and  natural  it  is! I  forgot  to  bring  the  Guide-Book  with  me,  —  so I  can't  decide  whether  you  wrote  about  the  use made  of  the  bed  of  the  Shijo-Gawara  at  Kyoto  on summer  nights.  Little  bamboo  bridges  lead  from 410  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN either  bank  to  the  dry  spaces,  and  there  much  yuki and  lemonade  is  sold,  and  all  is  a  maze  of  lanterns, like  a  swarming  of  fireflies.  It  is  very  pretty. Do  you  know  that  the  iron  cauldron  in  which  Ishi- kawa  Gogemon  was  cooked  alive  in  boiling  oil  is (said  to  be)  exhibited  at  the  Daibutz  temple  at Nara?  But  besides  the  cauldron  you  see  dried  mer maids  and  dragons  —  wherefore  I  do  not  believe. Another  thing  worth  mentioning  about  Nara,  if you  have  not  already  mentioned  it,  is  the  manufac ture  of  what  are  called  Nara  Ningyo.  These  things are  much  esteemed  by  the  Japanese  and  some  very clever  bits  of  rough  wood-carving  may  be  occasion ally  found  among  them.  But  to  appreciate  them  the foreigner  ought  to  be  previously  acquainted  with the  conventional  Darumas,  Shojos,  and  other grotesqueries  of  Japanese  art:  then  he  can  admire the  hasty  cleverness  of  the  wood-cutting.  I  bought some  trifles. The  foreigners  spoil  these  places  in  some  respects, but  perhaps  they  also  help  to  preserve  the  grand  old trees  and  groves  by  their  liberal  patronage  and  un affected  admiration  of  what  they  can  understand and  like. Among  my  memories  of  Kyoto  are  dreams  of sweet  faces  and  voices.  There  is  an  inexpressible gentleness,  refined  kindness  and  sympathy  about Kyoto  women,  I  imagine. Still,  I  long  for  the  primitive  west  coast,  where speech  is  ruder  and  ways  simpler  and  nothing  good can  be  had  to  eat,  —  but  where  the  ancient  Gods live  still  in  hearts,  and  the  lamps  of  the  Kami  are TO  W.   B.   MASON  411 kindled  nightly  in  every  home,  and  where  there  are some  gods  so  extraordinary  that  I  dare  not  write about  them  at  all,  lest  unkind  things  be  said  about the  Japanese. Here  Pan  is  dying. Ever  sincerely, LAFCADIO  HEARN. MOJI  (en  route  for  Oki  —  wonder  if  I  shall  ever  get  there!) August  6,  1892. DEAR  MASON, — Here  I  am  at  Moji, — landed from  Saikyo  Maru,  and  waiting  for  the  Sakai steamer  due  at  2  A.  M.  I  could  not  follow  my  first plan  of  visiting  Miyajima  and  other  places,  as  the railroad  was  hopelessly  broken.  So  I  have  a  chance to  write. My  second  stay  at  Kobe  spoiled  the  pleasant impression  of  the  first.  I  saw  more  of  the  foreigners and  longed  to  get  away  from  them  again.  This proved  difficult,  as  I  could  only  go  by  the  N.  Y.  K. steamer,  without  waiting;  a  splendid  steamer,  but patronized  extensively  by  foreigners,  four  Chinese foreigners  likewise.  There  were  three  beautiful  deer on  board,  in  large  wooden  cages,  destined  for  Shang hai; — they  made  plaintive  sobbing  noises,  and  I firmly  believe  they  were  Kasuga  deer, — though  I could  not  find  out.  The  voyage  was  pleasant  enough ; but  I  prefer  the  dangerous  little  Japanese  steamers where  you  can  squat  down  on  deck  in  a  yukata  and smoke  a  little  brass  pipe,  and  become  agreeably acquainted  with  everybody.  The  N.  Y.  K.  is  a chapter  in  the  modernization  of  Japan  which  I  am 412  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN tired  of  seeing.  Professor  Chamberlain  spoke  to  me about  the  variability  of  one's  feelings  toward  Japan being  like  the  oscillation  of  a  pendulum:  one  day swinging  toward  pessimism  and  the  next  to  optim ism.  I  have  this  feeling  very  often,  and  I  suppose you  must  have  had  it  many  times.  But  the  pes simistic  feeling  is  generally  coincident  with  some experience  of  New  Japan,  and  the  optimistic  with something  of  Old  Japan.  It  is  a  whole  year  since  I had  a  real  thrill  of  pleasure  in  people,  —  such  as I  could  often  obtain  in  Izumo.  Everything  seems  so factitious  this  side.  Even  the  dancing  of  the  miko at  Kasuga  impressed  me  only  as  a  pretty  show  given for  money :  the  solemn,  dignified  Kagura  of  Kitzuki never  danced  for  money,  had  the  charm  of  religion, as  well  as  the  respectability  of  primitive  tradition to  recommend  it.  I  liked  Kitzuki  better  than  all  I saw  on  this  side:  though  I  cannot  say  why  in  a  short letter.  The  reading  of  the  Professor's  "Kojiki"  of course  had  something  to  do  with  it  —  prepared one's  mind  for  the  impressions  of  the  place.  A  peas ants'  country  temple  to  the  God  of  Silkworms  in terested  me  more  than  the  Kiomidzu  of  Kyoto.  — But  with  what  hideous  rapidity  Japan  is  moderniz ing,  after  all !  —  not  in  costume,  or  architecture,  or habit,  but  in  heart  and  manner.  The  emotional nature  of  the  race  is  changing.  Will  it  ever  become beautiful  again?  Or  failing  to  become  attractive, can  it  ever  become  sufficiently  complex  to  make  a harmony  with  the  emotional  character  of  the  West? It  is  really  a  very,  very,  very  hard  thing  to  study, is  the  Japanese  soul.  And  ever  so  much  of .  what TO  W.   B.   MASON  413 I  wrote  in  my  forthcoming  volume  of  Japanese sketches  seems  now  to  me  wrong, — now  that  I have  lived  so  long  out  of  Izumo.  I  see  no  literary inspiration  ahead.  I  can  imagine  no  means  of  con soling  myself  except  by  plunging  into  the  study  of Buddhism  —  making  a  sort  of  prose-poem  that  no Japanese  will  ever  look  at.  But  who  —  not  a  mad man  —  should  try  to  write  a  book  for  Japanese  to read,  after  having  acquired  some  knowledge  of  things  ? Well,  they  have  no  reason  to  love  us  en  masse, at  least.  Here,  across  the  strait,  is  the  city  bom barded  by  us;  —  and  all  along  the  lines  of  railroad the  old  gods  seem  to  be  passing  away;  and  the people  are  losing  their  good  manners,  their  graces, their  pretty  ways,  by  foreign  contact;  and  the  scale of  living  is  always  rising.  We  bombarded  unhappi- ness  into  the  country  —  beyond  any  doubt.  Force sowed  the  seed;  the  future  will  gather  the  black crop.  In  the  eternal  order  of  things,  I  suppose  it  is inevitable  that  every  race  should  be  made  as wretched  as  possible;  and  all  who  cannot  accept wretchedness  as  a  necessary  part  of  life  must  be exterminated.  But  again,  in  the  eternal  order  of things,  what  is  the  use?  What  .is  even  the  use  of  the life  of  a  solar  system — evolution,  dissolution, — re- evolution,  re-dissolution,  forever  more?  Really Buddhism  alone  gives  us  any  consolatory  ideas  on the  subject;  but  it  is  now  vulgar  to  mention  Buddh ism  to  the  Japanese. The  weather  to-day  is  very  gloomy.  So  is  this letter  from L.  H. 414  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN SAIGO,  August  17, 1892.  "' DEAR  MASON,  —  I  am  already  tired  of  the  island of  Saigo  or  Dogo,  and  am  going  to  try  for  better luck  at  the  Dozen  Islands.  It  is  very  hard  to  see anything  here;  and  I  solemnly  suspect  there  is nothing  to  see  —  except  natural  scenery.  That  is nice  —  well,  nice  is  not  the  word:  there  is  much wild  grim  beauty.  But  the  roads  are  so  atrocious, and  the  distances  so  appalling,  that  even  the  inhab itants  of  Saigo,  as  a  rule,  know  nothing  about  the interior. I  went  to-day  to  the  celebrated  lake  of  Sainoike, where  the  Bateiseki  stone  is  said  to  abound.  I  had to  wait  two  days  to  go, — because  there  was  a  little wind;  and  with  ever  so  little  wind,  travelling  along this  coast  in  a  boat  is  really  dangerous.  The  rocks rise  sheer  from  the  water,  and  beetle  frightfully overhead,  and  are  worn  into  all  sorts  of  shapes  by the  waves.  We  skirted  there  for  about  an  hour, occasionally  passing  a  pretty  cove,  with  some  grey thatched  houses, — fishermen's  houses, — and  then landed  at  a  bank  of  shingle.  The  infinity  of  boulders was  disheartening  to  see, — much  more  dishearten ing  to  walk  upon.  With  every  incoming  wave,  the shingle  moved,  and  when  the  wave  receded,  the sound  was  like  heavy  volley-firing.  After  stumbling and  swearing  for  five  minutes,  we  got  to  the  grass beyond  the  shingle,  and  advanced  into  a  sort  of little  circular  valley — close  to  the  beach  (the  crater, I  think,  of  some  enormously  ancient  volcano). There  I  saw  a  large  shallow  pool  of  fresh  water,  with a  few  plants" — water-lilies,  etc.,  floating  in  it.  I TO_W.   B.  MASON  415 wanted  to  enter  it,  and  try  how  deep  it  was;  but the  people  would  not  hear  of  it.  They  said  monsters and  deities  guarded  it. — All  this  was  very  disap pointing.  I  asked  about  the  black  stone,  and  was told  it  came  from  a  mountain  overhanging  the  lake —  all  covered  with  scrubby  growths  and  pathless. So  I  returned.    I  heard  of  a  celebrated  shrine  of Jizo.  I  prepared  to  visit  it;  and  was  told  it  had  been burned  twenty  years  ago.  But  the  news  of  its  burning was  known  only  to  some  few  people  —  so  slow  does news  travel  here.    I  enclose  a  photo,  giving  one glimpse  of  Saigo.    There  is  one  pretty  temple,  Zen- ryoji,  on  a  hill  above  the  town  —  Jodo-shu-nen  — the  gift  of  a  wealthy  citizen.  I  hope  to  get  folk-lore in  Oki;  but  there  is  nothing,  I  imagine,  to  attract the  tourist  —  except  the  absence  of  missionaries: that  is  something. Very  truly, L.  HEARN. HISHIMUBA,' —  which  is  in  the  Island  of  Nakashima, in  the  Archipelago  of  Oki,  August  21,  1892. DEAR  MASON, — Leaving  Saigo  by  a  Japanese sailing  boat  —  could  n't  catch  the  nasty  little steamer  —  we  re-entered  the  harbour  called  Hishi- minato  day  before  yesterday.  It  is  very  picturesque, —  the  entrance  to  the  harbour.   First  one  passed  a lot  of  extraordinary  islands  —  Komori,  "The  Bat," with  a  cavern  in  it  or  rather  through  it;  —  and  Sa- buro  and  Futamatta  and  others.    Entering   from Saigo,  one  has  Nishinoshima  on  the  right  and  Na kashima  on  the  left.  The  scenery  on  the  Nakashima 416  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN side  is  especially  impressive,  —  a  sort  of  natural  bas tion  work, — the  mockery  of  a  colossal  Japanese fortress. Anciently  there  were  no  robbers  in  Oki.  Quite recently  robbers  have  appeared  in  Saigo, — strang ers  from  other  ports, — but  in  Dozen,  folk  still sleep  with  doors  and  windows  open,  holding  rob bers  to  be  impossible.  They  believe  in  foxes,  — not in  thieves.  There  are  about  1000  people  in  Hishi- mura,  and  only  one  policeman  for  this  and  all  the neighbouring  villages.  There  is  never  any  fighting or  serious  offences,  —  although  immorality  con siderably  prevails,  as  in  all  open  ports,  —  whereby public  health  and  good  temper  do  not  appear  to suffer.  But  the  horrible  stories  told  by  the  Japanese themselves  about  Oki  morals  are  not  true — any more  than  the  stories  about  phantom  islands  and men  who  walk  about  without  heads. I  went  yesterday  to  Amagori  —  Nishinoshima — where  is  the  tomb  of  Gotoba-Tenno.  It  is  about one  ri  by  boat  from  Hishimura,  —  very  pretty scenery,  and  lonesome.  At  the  Ujigami  of  the  little village  of  Amamura,  I  got  a  queer  ex  voto  for  the Professor.  At  a  short  distance  from  the  village, you  see  the  tomb  of  the  Emperor,  enclosed  by  a high  paling,  and  shadowed  by  pine  trees.  The  pic ture  in  the  Oki  book  I  am  going  to  send  you  will give  a  good  idea  of  the  scene.  Lonely,  shadowy,  and not  without  melancholy  charm. In  Amamura  there  is  a  house  called  Ama-no- Shikikaro-no-Iye.  He  was  anciently  Choja,  and  the exiled  Emperors  used  to  visit  him;  and  in  the  family TO  W.  B.  MASON  417 are  said  to  be  preserved  the  cups  of  silver  the  august guests  were  wont  to  drink  from,  and  many  other relics,  —  which,  by  the  way,  were  on  exhibition  at the  last  Tokyo  Exposition.  But  the  present  de scendant  and  representative  of  the  ancient  Choja is  very  old,  poor,  and  ill, — is  expected  to  die  soon, —  and  visitors  cannot  see  the  relics  now. I  got  some  folk-lore  here  —  only  a  little.  Will  try to-morrow  at  TJrago. The  highest  mountain  in  Oki  is  said  to  be  Tako- hizan-Nishinoshima,  on  top  of  which  there  is  a shrine  of  Gongen-sama,  very  famous.  Ghostly  fires are  said  to  come  from  the  sea  and  visit  the  moun tain  at  certain  times.  The  ascent  is  not  difficult  — except  for  the  roughness  of  the  path. So  plentiful  is  the  cuttlefish  off  these  islands  that native  boats  have  been  broken  and  swamped  by  the weight  of  one  catch.  .  .  . The  scenery  in  Dozen  is  far  more  attractive  than in  Dogo  (Saigo).  I  think  it  really  beautiful  —  sail ing  through  this  group  in  a  small  fishing- vessel.  I love  Oki  —  with  all  its  barrenness  and  bleakness, and  would  rather  live  there  (in  summer)  than  in any  part  of  Japan  I  know.  Everywhere  the  food  is ample  and  surprisingly  good. There  is  one  drawback,  —  the  atrocious  smells inevitable  to  the  cuttlefish  industry.  They  are really  awful;  and  I  don't  think  either  you  or  the Professor  would  willingly  endure  them.  Only  at Hishimura  there  are  no  dreadful  smells  at  all  —  at least  none  while  I  was  there. I  was  disappointed  about  folk-lore.    The  best  of 418  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN any  Oki  folk-tales  I  got  outside.  In  Oki  the  new generation  refuse  to  talk  about  their  old  traditions. "Oh! — that  was  when  we  were  all  savages  (yaban)99 —  they  say.  Somehow  or  other  I  fancy  people  are apt  to  become  less  good-hearted  when  they  begin to  mock  their  old  beliefs,  their  old  gods,  etc.  ... Ever  most  truly, •  %-r^  LAFCADIO  HEARN. URAGO,  OKI,  August  24,  1892.   " DEAR  MASON, — Returning  to  Urago,  of  which  I wrote  you  in  my  first  letter  from  Oki,  I  had  more chance  of  studying  the  place.  It  is  very  queer,  and very  primitive.  There  are  two  hundred  and  fifty houses,  from  which  I  judge  the  population  to  be  at least  1500  —  children  swarm.  At  Saigo  the  Oki folk  are  accustomed  to  see  men-of-war,  but  nobody ever  saw  a  foreigner  before  at  Urago,  wherefore  the population  climbed  upon  the  roofs  to  look  at  me. They  were  as  kind  and  gentle  and  absurdly  trust fully  honest  as  if  the  world  had  only  been  just  made and  they  were  the  first  inhabitants  thereof. On  the  way  to  Urago  —  from  Hishimura  —  I stopped  at  the  funny  little  village  of  Beppu,  in Nishinoshima.  You  can  imagine  how  primitive  it is  from  the  fact  that  at  the  only  Yadoya  in  the  place kwashi  are  represented  by  dried  peas,  and  there  is no  real  tea  in  the  village  —  I  think.  There  is  a shrine  of  Godaigo  at  Beppu,  on  the  top  of  a  small but  very  steep  hill,  shadowed  by  pines.  The  shrine is  only  a  little  wooden  miya,  containing  a  metal mirror,  and  an  earthen  vessel. TO  W.  B.  MASON  419 Before  embarking  on  the  Oki-Saigo,  I  have  the good  luck  to  find  an  Oki  family  in  Saikai,  who  give me  much  information.  I  have  already  got  a  lot  of Oki  folk-lore.  I  must  try  to  include  an  Oki  sketch in  my  book  if  I  can :  the  trip  will  pay  me  in  many ways.  I  doubt  if  it  would  pay  the  globe-trotter communis,  or  mere  sight-seers. Last  night  a  steamer  came  and  lay  before  the window, — the  Nagasaki.  Immediately,  instead  of working,  captain  and  crew  sat  down  on  deck  to  a feast  of  sake  and  divers  condiments.  And  a  multi tude  of  women  went  on  board  into  all  the  cabins  and orifices  of  the  ship.  And  the  people  did  eat  and  drink right  joyously  until  daylight,  — but  without  ruffian ism  or  much  noise.  And  some  queer  things  were said.  At  midnight  there  were  still  three  men  on deck,  and  a  mochi-seller.  One  man  had  drunk  so much  sake  that  he  could  only  enunciate  with  dif ficulty  words  to  this  effect:  —  "Women  as  for, please  me  not.  Sake  is  the  best  thing  in  this  fleeting world."  Whereupon,  another  man  said,  "To  eat and  drink  as  for,  I  little  care.  W7oman  is  the  supreme thing  in  this  temporary  world."  Then  he  went below.  And  the  third  man  opened  his  mouth  and said, — having  finished  the  last  mochi  in  the  box of  the  mochi-seller,  and  having  said  words  of  scorn to  the  mochi-seller  because  he  had  no  more,  — "Sake  as  for,  and  women  as  for,  I  care  nothing. Mochi  are  the  most  excellent  things  in  this  miserable world."  And  the  mochi-seller  promised  to  bring more  mochi  to-night,  —  when  I  shall  be  in  Oki. Now  if  I  had  invented  this,  it  would  be  common- 420  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN place  enough;  but  being  true,  it  illustrates  human nature  quite  oddly  enough  perhaps  to  make  you smile.  Wherefore  it  is  written. L.  H. TETORIHOUMACHI,  KUMAMOTO,  September  10,  1892. DEAR  MASON,  —  I  missed  the  steamer  at  Sakai (the  agents  are  liars!),  and  had  to  cut  across  the country  for  the  third  time  by  kuruma.  I  first  tried the  Okayama  route;  but  it  has  been  so  badly  dam aged  by  rains  that  the  police  warned  me  against it,  and  I  shifted  to  the  Onomichi  route,  via  Kura- shiki,  where  I  caught  a  train  for  Onomichi  after three  days  of  mountain  travel.  The  experience  was hard,  but  interesting; — I  saw  a  lot  of  things  that would  interest  the  Professor,  and  that  I  will  write to  him  about  later  on  —  regarding  o-fuda  and mamori.  Some  of  the  scenery  was  exquisite.  I tried  to  buy  guide-books  for  you  everywhere,  but there  were  none.  I  got  home  only  two  hours  ago, to  find  your  charming  letter  awaiting  me. Before  I  say  anything  else,  let  me  protest  against that  Doshisha  correspondent  of  yours.  No  foreigner can  tell  you  more  about  Izumo  than  I  can.  The information  seems  to  me  intended  as  a  sort  of  slur upon  Mr.  Senke  — though  I  may  be  mistaken.  The man  referred  to  is  a  priest  and  has  simply  a  repu tation  as  an  uranai  or  fortune-teller:  there  are  lots of  such.  I  have  been  at  Kakeya,  but  never  thought the  matter  worth  bothering  about,  —  only  a  few peasants  know  of  the  man  in  the  neighbourhood  of Matsue.  My  Izumo  servant,  O-Yone  (she  is  from TO  W.   B.  MASON  421 Imaichi,  not  far  from  Kakeya),  knows  about  him, because  her  father  once  got  his  fortune  told  by  the old  priest. But  to  mention  such  a  man  in  connexion  with Senke,  or  a  parallel,  is  an  insult  to  a  very  refined gentleman,  the  son  of  Baron  Senke  whom  you  doubt less  know.  .  .  .  The  more  I  learn  of  Kitzuki,  the grander  the  old  temple  seems.  All  through  Iwani, Tottori,  Bingo,  Hoki,  Oki,  Okayama,  the  o-fuda of  the  mighty  shrine  whiten  in  a  million  rice-fields, and  occupy  countless  Kamidama.  The  mere  fact that  I  was  received  at  the  temple  has  been  a  talis man  for  me.  Everywhere  Shinto  priests  treat  me with  extraordinary  kindness.  I  thought  the  Kitzuki material  worth  more  than  two  hundred  printed pages  for  my  book.  All  the  famous  Shoguns  and Emperors  left  their  gifts  there.  There  is  nothing  so good  as  Kitzuki  in  Kyoto, — nothing.  It  is  hal lowed  by  all  the  oldest  traditions  of  the  race.  And then  to  mention  its  princely  chief  in  connexion  with a  vulgar  country  bonsan  and  fortune-teller,  really stirs  my  bile.  —  As  for  the  fortune-teller  you  will find  a  much  more  interesting  one  in  Yokohama,  in a  tiny  Jizo-Do,  near  the  hundred  steps  —  an  old priest  of  the  Jodi  sect,  whom  I  used  often  to  visit. But  the  idea  of  Izumo  peasants  worshipping  a bonsan  is  supremely  absurd!!  .  .  . What  I  saw  at  Sakai  that  charmed  me  for  nearly a  whole  night  was  a  magnificent  bon-odori  by  the whole  population  of  stevedores  and  longshoremen • —  labourers  far  more  robust  than  you  see  at  Yoko hama.  Imagine  nearly  a  thousand  superb  peasants, 422  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN men  and  women,  fantastically  attired,  singing  the weirdest,  wildest,  sweetest  song, — full  of  quaverings and  fractional  notes  impossible  to  write;  all  the  hands and  feet  sounding  together  in  the  measure  of  a dance  that  never  ceased  until  daylight.  I  have  seen manybon-odori, — the  dance  differs  in  almost  every village,  as  well  as  the  air.  But  except  the  great Honen-odori  at  Kitzuki,  when  Mr.  Senke  called  out some  five  hundred  dancers,  I  never  saw  so  impress ive  a  scene  as  that  at  Sakai.  Even  the  famous West  Indian  dances  were  far  less  singular  and haunting.  But  the  music  and  the  movement  of  the Izumo  and  Oki  dances  are  extremely  complicated, and  very  difficult  to  describe.  Even  the  Matsue people  and  other  city  folk  cannot  easily  learn  the tunes  of  these  dances.  I  wish  I  had  had  a  musician with  me  capable  of  writing  down  the  notes.  It would  be  very  difficult,  however,  because  the  notes are  to  a  great  extent  fractions  of  notes. ,•  By  the  way,  I  forbid  my  pupils  to  use  the  word "idol."  Its  original  Greek  meaning  was  beautiful; but  it  has  an  offensive  missionary-meaning  to-day, and  its  use  in  connexion  with  Buddhism  is  mon strously  unjust.  Buddhist  priests  do  not  worship "idols,"  though  they  teach  respect  for  the  images in  their  temples,  which  are  symbols  only.  Your correspondent  is  horrid  with  his  "idol"! Yes,  I  think  Irving  will  make  a  public  hit  with Arnold's  Japanese  drama.  What  would  please  you and  me,  or  at  least  seem  artistically  congruous, would  not  perhaps  have  such  a  chance  with  the public.  Something  purely  and  perfectly  Japanese TO  W.   B.   MASON  423 and  artistic  would  not  be  understood.  The  public taste  in  theatrical  matters  is  still  more  incompre hensible  sometimes  than  the  public  taste  in  regard to  new  books.  It  is  a  special  art  —  and  not  a  very lofty  one  —  to  divine  the  plebs  in  these  things.  Who ever  has  the  natural  gift  to  do  it  while  still  young, can  get  rich  without  much  trouble.  .  .  . I  almost  forgot  to  tell  you  about  my  travelling with  a  party  of  Naval-Academy  students  from  Ono- michi  to  Kure.  What  magnificent  boys !  I  fell  quite in  love  with  all  of  them.  They  have  a  teacher (Norman),  and  he  has  very  little  work.  If  that place  ever  becomes  vacant,  I  would  sacrifice  some thing  to  get  it.  To  be  able  to  teach  such  splendid fellows  would  be  a  pleasure  indeed.  And  I  fancy  the Japanese  professors  would  be  good  fellows  all  —  * being  naval  men.  I  have  two  ex-Doshisha  colleagues here  and  —  well,  I  won't  say  anything  more. Ever  truly, LAFCADIO  HEARN. .  .  .  My  stolen  boy  promises  well.  He  learned to  swim  in  about  five  days  —  very  nicely.  He  is now  installed  in  my  home. May  28,  1892. DEAR  MASON, —  .  .  .  Since  we  began  to  corre spond  I  have  also  made  the  epistolary  acquaintance of  Friend  Dening,  which  is  another  relief  to  the  utter isolation  of  the  Japanese  exile.  A  fact  that  impressed me  strongly  is  that  neither  of  you,  in  writing,  seems to  have  much  to  say  about  the  personality  of  the 424  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN man,  —  though  Dening's  analysis  of  his  work,  as an  ethical  influence  and  otherwise,  was  very  inter esting.  But  I  suspect  Kipling  does  not  show  per sonal  peculiarities  strongly;  —  I  would  imagine him  to  be  quite  an  ordinary  positive  character  to outward  seeming, — one  of  those  Lowell  talks  about who  make  themselves  strongly  felt  even  without saying  anything  when  they  go  into  a  room.  By  the way,  I  absolutely  adore  his  work.  I  have  read  most of  his  books  four  or  five  times  over;  and  some  partic ular  stories  much  oftener.  I  like  nearly  everything; and  even  what  I  don't  like,  I  re-read  and  wonder  at. I  sent  some  other  letters  to  the  Mail.  One  about Snodgrass  was  suppressed  altogether;  and  I  am getting  tired  fighting  with  my  hands  tied  by  their absurdly  unjust  "blasphemy"  limit.  Lecky,  whom Brinkley  praised  warmly  in  an  editorial  note  some months  ago,  speaks  of  the  theological  conception  of God  as  "considerably  worse"  than  the  theological conception  of  the  Devil.  He  says  also  that  men  "suc ceed  in  persuading  themselves  that  their  divinity would  be  extremely  offended  if  they  hesitated  to ascribe  to  him  the  attributes  of  a  friend."  (Vol.  i  — pp.  96-97,  Appleton's  ed.)  I  wonder  what  Brinkley thinks  of  that.  I  am  very  fond  of  parts  of  Lecky; though  his  theory  of  intuitional  morality  leaves  him far  behind  the  colossal  intellect  of  Herbert  Spencer, and  though  he  is  by  no  means  wholly  impartial.  .  .  . By  the  way,  I  feel  quite  pleased  with  that  little address  of  Sir  Edwin's  to  the  Ladies'  Educational Association.  It  was  really  very  pretty,  and  large, and  anti-theological.  He  is  not,  apparently,  in- TO  W.   B.  MASON  425 clined  to  pose  here  as  a  Christian,  in  spite  of  his "Light  of  the  World," — so  that  sop  to  Cerberus may  have  prejudiced  me  too  much  against  him. In  your  last  letter  you  referred  to  Bourget.  Did you  ever  read  "Le  Calvaire"  by  young  Octave Mirbeau?  If  not,  try  to  get  it:  I  wish  I  had  a  copy to  send  you.  It  is  the  most  terrible  picture  of physical  slavery  to  a  woman  I  ever  read;  —  Manon Lescaut  turned  professional  prostitute,  with  a  lit erary  man  for  souteneur.  Perhaps  it  will  shock you  a  little,  —  unless  you  have  a  dash  of  Latin blood  in  you  (I  don't  mean  shock  your  prudery, but  your  Northern  manhood).  I,  who  am  three fourths  Latin,  understand  it.  A  Scandinavian  rarely reaches  such  an  abyss,  though  his  passions  are stronger:  — he  is  more  apt  to  turn  upon  the  sub- jector,  and  tear  her  to  pieces.  It  takes  the  Latin to  visit  Le  Calvaire,  or  to  let  Daudet's  Sapho  trail him  through  all  infamy  into  ruin.  But  we  all  know there  are  women  neither  beautiful  nor  witty  having a  magnetic  something,  —  a  sort  of  sexual  electricity, —  that  means  damnation  to  whomsoever  they  touch even  with  the  tips  of  a  finger. I  have  two  French  novels  only,  —  perhaps  you have  not  yet  read  them.  Zola's  "L'Argent,"  and Loti's  last  "Le  Livre  de  la  Pitie,"  etc.  (a  volume  of sketches  really).  The  latter  contains  a  piece  called "  Reve,"  which  I  made  a  very  rough  translation  of for  the  Mail.  Would  you  not  like  to  read  it  in  the original?  The  other  pieces  are  not  up  to  his  usual manner.  Zola's  book  is  powerful.  It  is  also  at  your service  if  you  have  it  not. 426  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN My  book  is  to  be  called  (unless  the  publishers  at the  last  moment  desire  another  title)  "Glimpses of  Unfamiliar  Japan."  I  have  dedicated  it  to Mitchell  McDonald  and  to  the  Professor.  Not  with out  some  doubt  as  to  whether  the  Professor  would like  being  thus  placed  in  apposition.  But  I  trust  it is  all  right.  If  not,  let  me  know.  McDonald  was a  rare  friend  to  me.  ...  In  the  West  Indies  only I  found  such  another.  But  these  kindnesses  make eternal  friendships,  after  the  little  obligation,  or rather  the  little  part  of  the  great  obligation  has  been settled.  I  thought  at  first  of  putting  other  names in  the  dedication;  but  I  can't  very  well.  I  reserve that  for  a  new  book.  ... The  vacation  is  coming,  and  I  think,  after  all,  I must  spend  part  of  it  in  Kyoto,  and  part  in  some sea-village.  I  love  swimming.  The  best  place  I know  for  it  is  Mionoseki, — where  you  can  jump out  of  the  window  into  fourteen  feet  of  water.  But things  are  upset.  I  can't  get  my  contract  renewed till  the  idiotic  Diet  decides  matters;  it  is  being renewed  only  by  patches  of  months.  They  want me  for  another  year;  but  nobody  knows  what  the villains  in  Tokyo  are  going  to  do.  It  makes  one feel  like  a  soshi:  every  blow  given  to  a  member  of the  opposition  evokes  from  my  soul  a  sympathetic "Ha!" Ever  most  faithfully  yours, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  MASON, — This  letter  is  for  the  Professor, by  rights;  but  as  he  said  to  me  that  you  represent TO  W.   B.    MASON  427 him  in  every  particular,  I  am  going  to  burthen  you with  it, — as  well  as  with  some  other  things.  .  .  . I  enclose  also  a  ningyo  sold  at  the  place,  because it  represents  Inari  with  the  attributes  of  Daikoku, and  although  a  toy,  illustrates  the  manner  in  which any  popular  Shinto  Deity  can  absorb  Buddhist  in fluence  and  steal  Buddhist  property. The  rest  of  the  things  doubtless  explain  them selves  —  except  the  Nobori,  or  little  paper  flags. I  took  these  little  paper  flags  from  before  wayside shrines  on  the  mountain  road  between  Yonago  and Onomichi.  They  are  marked  simply  with  the  age  of the  petitioner  —  the  prayer  remains  secret  in  the heart.  It  is  thought  sufficient  to  tell  the  Deity: "A  woman  of  22  years."  He  knows  the  rest. These  shrines  are  intensely  interesting.  I  read Eastlake's  papers  on  "  Equine  Deities  "  and  upon  the "Kirin"  with  considerable  disappointment.  In  the heart  of  the  mountains,  Bato-Kwannon  explains herself  very  simply.  She  is  simply  the  divinity  who protects  horses  and  cattle.  And  the  peasants  erect before  her  shrine  sotoba  giving  her  this  role,  and requesting  her  to  take  care  of  their  live-stock,  and to  protect  them  from  all  harm. Passing  through  the  cholera  region,  it  was  touch ing  to  see  how  each  parish  called  upon  its  ujigami to  prevent  the  advent  of  the  plague.  At  the  border line  between  parish  and  parish  the  mamori  of  the local  divinity  were  planted,  with  a  prayer  to  hinder the  pestilence  from  advancing  further.  The  Japan ese  language  does  not  personify  Death  or  Plague: yet  here  was  the  evidence  of  a  personification  in 428  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN thought.  The  pest  comes  by  the  road:  therefore  the Gods  must  guard  the  road.  The  Pest  will  not  come by  the  rice-fields  because  the  road  is  too  bad. In  the  rice  fields  of  all  the  Ken  I  traversed,  the o-fuda  of  the  Izumo  Taisha  prevailed.  However, I  saw  what  I  never  saw  in  Izumo — through  Hoki and  Tottori  and  Okayama  Kens  —  a  sandara  placed over  the  top  of  each  mamori  to  protect  it  from  the rain.  I  also  saw  charms  mounted,  having  a  little awning  over  them.  I  also  saw  written  prayers  for the  souls  of  domestic  animals,  —  requests  that  the dumb  servant  might  enter  into  Paradise.  This  was pretty.  Continually  on  one  bit  of  road,  my  jin- rikisha  men  turned  aside  to  avoid  hurting  snakes! In  America  everybody  would  be  trying  to  kill  the poor  creatures.  They  were  so  little  afraid  that they  would  lift  their  heads  to  look  at  us,  after  we passed  by, — instead  of  trying  to  hide.  They  are excellent  guardians  of  fields  too.  The  passion  to kill  them  abroad  has  produced  evil  results  —  espe cially  in  the  West  Indies.  .  .  . The  temple  Kwan-ze-on-dera  near  Dazaifu  is  the most  interesting  which  I  have  seen  since  leaving Kamakura.  The  art  is  the  same :  the  art  of  a  very remote  epoch  full  of  force  and  strangeness. I  don't  know  if  you  observed  that  Herbert  Spencer in  his  recent  "Inductions  of  Ethics:  Individual Life"  (the  concluding  part  of  vol.  i,  "  Principles  of Morality")  gives  "particular  hell' 'to  Friend  Dening and  the  Mombusho.  However,  it  is  rather  a  com pliment  even  to  get  a  little  hell  from  Spencer. Moreover,  Dening  stands  on  the  same  plane  with TO  W.   B.   MASON  429 Gladstone,  who  is  savagely  criticized  for  his  Hel lenic  tendencies  in  the  same  volume.  What  consoles one  for  these  severities  is  the  delightful  assertion that  in  order  to  find  the  virtues  which  we  imagine to  be  Christian,  we  must  go  to  countries  which  are not  Christian,  and  among  people  who  are  not  highly civilized.  And  this  statement  is  gloriously  capped by  the  declaration  that  the  only  hope  for  future morality  is  that  Western  civilization  will  be  able  to rise  at  last  to  the  moral  level  now  occupied  by  vari ous  nations  of  naked  savages!  Whoop!  Hurrah!! If  you  put  anything  new  in  the  Guide-Book  about the  Honmyoji  temple  near  Kumamoto,  you  might add  that  a  very  painful  spectacle  is  to  be  witnessed there  almost  daily:  multitudes  of  fox-possessed coming  to  invoke  the  aid  of  Kato  Kiyomasa.  The sight,  however,  is  horrible:  I  hope  never  to  see  it again. With  regards,  ever, LAFCADIO  HEARN. October  18,  1892. DEAR  MASON, — How  delightful  it  would  be  to see  the  Professor  here !  —  I  think  I  could  make  him comfortable  (for  Kumamoto) :  with  beefsteak,  pota toes,  roast  chicken,  and  Bass's  ale.  .  .  .  But  I'm afraid  the  prospect  is  too  good  to  be  true :  what  we want  to  happen  in  this  world  never  happens. Well,  well,  —  I  hope  I  did  not  make  any  serious mistake  about  the  matter  of  animal-souls.  Here is  a  text  from  an  inscription  of  Bato-Kwannon  by the  roadside  among  the  mountains,  near  Kama- 430  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN mura :  "  Bato-Kwan-  ze-on-Bosatsu-gin-ba-bodai- han-ye."  It  might  have  been  rendered  wrong  for  me : tell  me  when  you  write  again  how  you  would  trans late  it.  As  for  the  little  ceremony  at  the  death  of animals,  I  know  only  this.  At  my  neighbour's house  a  dog  died  which  the  people  were  fond  of:  it was  buried  under  a  tree;  —  a  number  of  incense- rods  were  set  in  the  ground  above  the  grave,  and the  women  and  children  of  the  family  joined  their hands  and  murmured  little  prayers  over  the  grave. I  thought  it  strange  and  asked  my  wife,  who  told me  it  was  not  strange:  that  it  was  commonly  done in  Izumo, — and  I  suppose  elsewhere, — by  people who  were  fond  of  their  animals.  I  enquired  of  my cook,  —  who  was  a  long  time  a  yoshi  of  hyakusho, and  came  to  me  in  consequence  of  the  death  of  his people.  He  said,  however,  that  in  his  part  of  the country  that  was  not  done.  My  wife  is  a  samurai, and  knows  the  customs  of  the  country  but  little. Still,  there  is  the  evidence  of  the  Bato-Kwannon inscription,  of  her  assertion  that  in  Izumo  the  little prayer  is  often  said,  and  of  what  I  saw  done  myself. Moreover,  my  mother-in-law,  who  knows  much more  of  the  old  customs  than  the  rest  of  my  folks, tells  me  this:  When  a  cow  dies,  a  little  drawing  of it  is  made  on  paper — white  — black — or  black-and- white,  —  according  to  the  colour  of  the  cow,  — and  the  age  of  the  cow  is  written  on  the  paper, —  and  this  is  pasted  with  rice-paste  on  the  door  of a  Kwannon-do, — and  a  little  prayer  is  said  "ushi bodai  no  tame." My  servant  0-Yone,  from  Imai-ichi,  knows  no- TO  W.   B.   MASON  431 thing  about  these  things,  nor  my  boy  from  Oki.  But my  wife's  family  (a  very  illustrious  family  in  old days  in  Matsue)  knows  much  about  them;  and although  I  have  never  seen  the  performance  in  the Izumo  country,  I  saw  it  elsewhere,  and  the  Bato- Kwannon  in  Tottori-Ken.  All  this  would  seem  to indicate  that  the  custom  was  once  much  more  gen erally  practised  than  now.  But  other  evidence  on the  subject  is  needed,  and  I  shall  try  to  obtain  it. Your  wife's  statement  convinces  me  that  the  facts I  obtained  are  insufficient  to  base  any  general  state ment  upon. Now  about  another  matter  of  interest  to  the Professor.  In  no  part  of  Oki  could  I  hear  of  an  inu- gami-mochi,  —  though  I  made  thoroughly  search ing  enquiries,  and  even  questioned  the  police.  But the  fox-superstition  takes  curious  shapes  there,  and is  very  strong. Therefore,  the  statement  printed  in  "Things Japanese,"  from  a  Japanese  physician,  on  the  au thority  of  an  alleged  Oki  peasant,  puzzled  me.  I have  been  making  enquiries  since,  and  my  mother- in-law  tells  me  this:  There  are  no  "goblin-dogs" in  the  beliefs  of  the  west  coast;  but  in  Iwami  (and perhaps  in  Oki)  the  term  inu-gami  is  used  for  hito- kitsune.  I  take  it  to  be  a  euphemism.  There  is  among the  peasantry  an  idea  that  the  fox  (hito-kitsune) takes  shapes  something  like  an  itachi  (weasel), sometimes  like  other  creatures;  keeping  its  other form  invisible.  But  it  is  very  difficult  to  define  the beliefs  —  not  merely  because  there  are  at  least  three varieties  of  ghost  foxes,  but  because  the  beliefs 432  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN about  them  differ  everywhere;  and  scarcely  two peasants  tell  the  same  thing.  I  was  helped  in  these researches  in  Izumo  by  a  fellow  teacher,  who  ques tioned  numbers  of  peasants  for  me. I  am  told  the  name  of  the  main  island  of  Oki  is simply  Dogo,  not  Saigo,  as  I  imagined  and  heard in  Oki.  Saigo  is  only  the  town.  I  can  only  decide these  contradictions  by  the  book.  Rein  calls  the big  island  Oki,  but  he  was  never  there.  I  have written  an  enormous  mass  of  stuff  about  Oki:  it  is nearly  finished,  but  I  am  in  doubt  about  its  value. With  best  regards  ever  from LAFCADIO  HEARN. November  1,  1892. DEAR  MASON,  —  ...  You  delighted  me  with a  hope  of  seeing  you  here  at  No.  34.  I  think  I  can make  you  cosy.  Are  you  accustomed  to  a  Japan ese  house?  I  have  no  chairs  and  tables  a  I9  Euro- peen;  but  everything  else  is  possible.  I  can  give  you good  seiyo-ryori,  whiskey,  Bass,  or  Guinness.  And I  would  like  very  much  to  see  your  son.  Besides,  I want  to  know  you.  I  have  asked  Mr.  Kano  about you :  he  does  not  remember  the  name.  I  have  never seen  anything  of  you  except  your  charming  letters; and  I  am  beginning  to  doubt  whether  you  exist except  as  a  Soul.  To  talk  of  retiring  into  your "former  obscurity,"  when  the  Professor  returns, means  of  course  silence,  —  for  the  mystery  of  you has  always  been.  But  I  have  become  too  much accustomed  to  your  letters,  and  it  would  be  quite bad  of  you  to  stop  them.  So  I  hope  you  won't. TO  W.   B.   MASON  433 I  am  horribly  sorry  you  did  nothing  with  your book-material.  You  ought  to  do  something  lovely. Who  can  do  justice  to  Japan  without  sympathy; and  how  many  writers  on  Japan  have  a  grain  of  it? Conder  perhaps  has,  and  there  the  line  stops.  Even the  author  of  "Japanese  Women  and  Girls"  has  no deep  comprehension  of  things.  But  what  a  horribly difficult  thing  it  is  to  write  about  Japan.  The  effort in  itself  dries  me  up.  I'm  afraid  you'll  find  my  book heavy.  I  can't  venture  to  imagine  soul-play:  the motives  and  thoughts  escape  me  as  individualities; I  get  glimpses  of  them  in  generalities  only.  I'm trying  now  to  write  stories:  it  is  the  hardest  work I  ever  tried  to  do,  and  I  fear  the  result  will  be  flat. —  And  you,  who  know  so  much  more  about  the Japanese  than  I,  hesitate.  That  is  not  encouraging. I  saved  at  least  four  fifths  of  my  first  impressions ; but  in  correcting  them,  they  began  to  contract  and dry  up  in  a  way  that  told  me  I  had  let  emotion  run away  with  me.  Self-restraint  is  very  hard  at  first  in Japan :  later  on  all  impulse  and  inspiration  fail,  and there  is  only  a  dead  grind.  Yet  the  result  of  the grind  has  more  value  in  certain  ways.  What  wor ries  me  is  the  absence  of  feeling,  —  the  want  of something  to  stir  one  profoundly  when  his  know ledge  of  the  country  is  sufficient  to  prevent  illusion. And  it  won't  come.  I'm  afraid  it  will  never  come any  more.  I  must  content  myself  with  the  queer, the  curious,  the  artless,  —  or  attempt  a  work  on Buddhism,  which,  as  you  say,  would  require  much time  and  money. It  occurred  to  me,  however,  to  ask  you  to  help 434  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN me  in  an  easy  way  —  by  writing  me  a  few  lines about  anything  touching  or  noble  in  common  every day  life  which  you  might  happen  to  see  without wishing  to  use.  A  maidservant,  a  child  at  school, an  aged  man  dying  among  the  memories  of  the  past and  the  disorders  of  the  present,  a  bit  of  kindness by  the  roadside,  —  any  "heart-thing,"  —  I  would like  to  know.  I  collect  all  I  can,  and  write  them, and  put  them  in  drawers.  In  time  they  work  them selves  out.  For  instance,  I  have  a  servant's  death written, — but  I  want  to  get  a  beginning  for  it,  — a  sacrifice  if  possible.  What  I  mean  is  this:  In  an idle  hour  if  you  hear  or  see  something  in  Japanese real  life  that  would  suggest  to  you,  —  "Hearn would  like  to  see  that,"  —  then  a  line  or  two  might inspire  me  with  a  whole  sketch. I  can't  get  much  chance  to  study  life  in  Kuma- moto.  I  don't  like  the  Kyushu  people  —  the  com mon  people.  In  Izumo  all  was  soft,  gentle,  old- fashioned.  Here  the  peasants  and  the  lower  classes drink  and  fight  and  beat  their  wives  and  make  me mad  to  think  that  I  wrote  all  the  Japanese  were angels.  .  .  . Ever  faithfully,  with  a  strong  protest  against  the sin  of  vanishing  into  obscurity, LAFCADIO  HEARN. DEAR  MASON, —  ...  I  have  just  read  that  most frightful  book  by  Kipling,  "The  Light  that  Failed," where  he  speaks  of  the  horror  of  being  in  London without  money.  Nobody  can  even  dimly  imagine —  no,  not  with  a  forty  horse-power  imagination  — TO  W.   B.   MASON  435 what  the  horror  is,  if  he  has  n't  been  there.  And  I have  —  in  London,  Cincinnati,  New  York,  Mem phis,  New  Orleans,  Savannah  —  not  to  speak  of other  places.  Repeated  experiences  make  it  worse: you  never  can  get  used  to  it.  I  would  not  return  to  a great  civilized  city  again  without  money  to  save  my life  from  a  tiger.  Hell  is  realized  there.  No :  if  ever I  have  to  leave  Japan,  I  shall  sail  straight  south  into some  old  tropical  port;  —  any  crumbling  Spanish town,  any  village  of  half-naked  savages,  any  im aginable  land  of  cannibals  and  pagans,  where  the winter  is  not,  is  a  million  times  better  to  live  in  than a  world's  capital  without  money.  "What  a  fool  I was  not  to  go  and  live  among  savages  when  I  was nineteen  years  old,"  was  my  first  thought  when  I passed  my  first  week  in  a  West  Indian  cabin  in  a mountain  district.  Money!  —  And  yet  I  must  look sharp  after  money  now;  for  whatever  happens,  I must  fix  my  little  woman  and  her  folks  all  right  first. It  will  puzzle  me,  too.  They  are  Izumo  samurai  — old-fashioned  —  know  as  little  about  business  as  I do,  which  is  a  most  awful  thing  to  say  about  them. I  suspect  real  estate  is  the  only  thing  —  and  that in  their  own  country  of  Izumo,  where  things  have less  changed.  .  .  . I  understand  your  horror  of  Zola;  but  I  think  it is  a  literary  duty  to  stomach  the  horror,  and  discern the  curious  mental  phenomenon  behind  it  —  the mind  that  sees  and  hears  vice  as  Dickens  saw  and heard  eccentricity.  Now,  if  you  have  not  read "Germinal,"  there  is  a  treat  for  you:  the  tremen dous  personifications  of  machinery,  devouring  hu- 436  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN man  life.  And  if  you  have  not  read  "L'Attaque du  Moulin"  (in  "Les  Soirees  de  Medan")  there  is another  treat  for  you.  I  am  going  to  send  you  a third  treat  —  "Le  Reve" —  by  Zola.  Read  it:  it will  not  shock  you  at  all.  It  is  full  of  curious beauties. In  which  of  Kipling's  books  is  "The  Finest  Story in  the  World?"  —  I  never  read  it,  though  I  ordered Kelly  &  Walsh  to  send  me  everything  that  Kipling ever  wrote  or  will  write  (only,  not  American  pirated editions).  I  feel  I  still  underrate  Kipling.  He  grows bigger  every  day  to  me,  —  looms  up  colossally,  — reaches  out  like  a  stupendous  shadow,  over  half  a planet  at  once.  But  oh!  the  hardness  of  the  tone  — the  silent  cynicism  of  facts  —  the  self -repression —  the  "matter-of-course"  way  of  seeing  things  — the  extraordinary  objectivity  and  incomprehensible subjectivity  cruel  as  fate!    What  a  most  damnable thing  civilization  is! — must  be,  to  create  such  a writer.  What  complexities  of  suffering,  of  knowledge, of  penetration,  of  toleration,  of  all  accursed  experi ence,  and  all  diabolical  intuition  are  summed  up in  that  one  young  life!  What  a  revelation  of  the ghostliness  of  matter!  .  .  .  Goodness!  how  small  it makes  me  feel  to  read  that  man;  how  blind  I  am, —  how  stupid  I  am,  —  what  an  egregious  ass  I  am to  waste  a  page  upon  what  that  mind  hurls  into half-a-line! Don't  read  "Fantome  d'Orient:"  I  got  it  the other  day,  and  have  been  disgusted  astonishingly. Something  is  now  the  matter  with  Loti.  I  don't know  what.  For  all  such  men  there  is  one  certain TO  W.   B.   MASON  437 danger.  Their  work  depends  for  its  value  upon marvellous  super-sensitiveness  to  impressions:  thus it  is  rather  physiological  than  psychological  —  in the  higher  senses.  Now  feelings  begin  to  dull  as  we glide  away  from  "the  tropic  clime"  of  youth.  Then, unless  the  mind  has  been  trained  to  higher  things, there  is  only  dust  and  ashes.  And  there  is  only  dust and  ashes  in  "Fantome  d'Orient," — nerves  morbid, feeling  turned  in  upon  itself,  no  longer  responding to  the  spiritual  ghostly  touch  of  cosmic  things. I  think  the  novel  by  Mirbeau  you  refer  to  is  the sequel  of  the  other  ("Le  Calvaire") ;  but  I  never  saw it.  I  expect  enormous  things  from  Zola's  forth coming  "Debacle."  He  is  stupendous  at  painting battles. I  hope  to  write  a  Buddhist  book  within  the  next two  years  —  something  quite  different  from  any thing  ever  before  attempted.  But  the  obstacles  are colossal.  It  is  so  difficult  to  reach  the  people  —  to get  at  the  popular  heart  with  system.  The  more  a Japanese  is  educated,  on  the  other  hand,  the  further he  is  from  you.  The  delicious  Japanese  child's  life globes  into  yours,  vibrates  with  it:  the  distance between  the  European  and  the  schooled  adult  is vast  as  the  interspaces  between  suns.  I  despair betimes. With  best  regards, Ever  yours, L.  HEARN. LETTERS  TO  MRS.  HEARN Ill LETTERS  TO  MRS.  HEARN July  12,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA, — To-day  we  have  not  much  sun light,  but  I  and  Kazuo  swam  as  usual.  Kazuo played  a  torpedo  in  the  water.  [Hearn  means  a play  of  his  boy,  who  pulled  his  legs  from  under  the water  while  swimming.l  He  is  growing  clever  in swimming,  to  my  delight.  We  had  a  long  walk yesterday.  We  bought  a  little  ball  and  bell  for  the cat  whose  life  I  had  saved  and  brought  home.  The stone-cutter  is  showing  me  his  design  of  the  Jizo's face.  Shall  I  let  him  carve  the  name  of  Kazuo Koizumi  somewhere  on  the  idol?  I  can  see  how  glad the  Yaidzu  people  would  be  to  see  the  new  idol. We  have  too  many  fleas  here.  Please,  bring  some flea-powder  when  you  come.  But  this  little  delight ful  cat  makes  us  forget  the  fleas.  She  is  really  funny. We  call  her  Hinoko. Plenty  of  kisses  to  Suzuko  and  Kiyoshi  from PAPA. July  25,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA, —  Your  sweet  letter  at  hand.  I am  glad  of  it.  So  Ume  San  [Professor  Ume  of  the Imperial  University]  has  built  his  own  new  house. We  shall  go  together  to  see  him  at  his  home.  Kazuo swam  into  a  deeper  sea  first  yesterday;  he  swam  five times  toward  a  boat  at  quite  a  distance.  He  is  grow ing  more  strong  and  clever  in  swimming  every  day. 44*  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN He  is  terribly  black  now.  The  weather  is  lovely  and cool.  We  gave  a  name  to  Kazuo's  boat,  "Hinoko Maru."  OsakiSan  [Otokichi's  daughter]  made  little flag  for  the  boat.  As  I  informed  you  already,  the  cat is  called  "Spark,"  and  her  little  eyes  burn  like sparks.  Sweet  word  to  everybody  at  home  from PAPA. August  1,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA, — Yesterday  we  had  a  real  big wave,  of  the  height  of  summer  season.  Otokichi swam  with  Kazuo,  as  he  was  afraid  for  Kazuo  to  go alone.  The  sea  began  to  groan  terribly  since  noon; and  at  evening  the  billows  grew  bigger,  and  al most  reached  the  stone  wall.  It  is  difficult  to  swim this  morning  also,  but  I  expect  that  the  sea  will  be calmer  in  the  afternoon. The  little  baby  sparrow  which  I  already  wrote you  about  had  been  pretty  strong  for  the  last  three days ;  but  under  the  sudden  change  of  weather  it  was taken  ill. Last  evening  Otokichi  bought  two  sharks.  Kazuo studied  their  shapes  carefully;  and  it  was  the  first experience  for  him.  Otokichi  cooked  nicely  for  our supper  shark's  meat,  which  was  white  and  excellent. I  take  some  milk  in  the  morning. August  10, 1904. LITTLE  MAMMA  SAN,  —  This  morning  we  had  a pleasant  swimming,  the  sea  being  warm.  Kadzuo did  not  swim  so  well  as  before,  but  I  think  he  will improve  in  a  few  days.  I  noticed  his  wearing  a  tiny TO  MRS.   HEARN  443 charm,  and  asked  him  what  it  meant.  He  answered that  mother,  from  her  anxiety  for  him,  had  told  him to  wear  it  whenever  he  go  a-swimming.  Iwao  swam a  little.  He  will  become  a  good  swimmer. time  [Otokichi's  son]  is  now  a  grown  man  and even  married.  His  wife  is  kind  and  lovely.  This year  Otokichi  looks  a  little  older  than  before.  As to  the  rampart  here,  it  was  the  old  one  that  had got  some  damage;  the  new  one  is  very  strong.  It is  a  pity  that  those  ducks  and  doves  are  seen  no more. Loving  words  from  Papa  to  dear  Mamma  and Grandmother. August  13,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA  SAMA, —  The  weather  is  good always.  The  other  guest  at  Otokichi's  has  gone;  I am  glad  of  it.  The  wife  of  Otokichi  is  ill,  and  moved to  Tetsu's  house.  I  believe  she  is  getting  better. Otoyo  called  on  us.  Her  husband,  I  am  told,  was called  to  the  front,  and  also  the  tobacco-shop  keeper whom  you  know.  Yaidzu  has  sent  her  seventeen soldiers  out  to  Manchuria. To-day  the  sea  is  high,  but  rather  calm.  Kazuo and  Iwao  with  their  Papa  swam.  Iwao  is  improving in  swimming;  he  has  learned  how  to  float  well.  I am  sure  he  will  soon  master  the  art  thoroughly.  I felt  so  hot  and  lazy;  but  Papa's  belly,  like  Hotei- sama's  [the  big-bellied  God  of  Comfort],  is  growing rather  small. The  festival  is  held  to-day.  "  Yarei,  yare,  Haya," we  hear  the  musical  voice.  The  sacred  car  of  the 444  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN festival  I  expect  to  pass  by  the  house  this  afternoon. Sweet  word  to  Kiyoshi,  and  kisses  to  "Aba,  Aba" [so  he  called  Suzuko,  his  last  girl,  as  she  muttered "  Aba,  Aba"],  from  their PAPA. August  14,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA  SAMA,  —  The  festival  is  over.  It was  interesting  last  evening.  But  they  did  not give  the  dance.  In  view  of  the  war,  they  withheld this  year  to  raise  fund  for  such  kind  of  merry making. It  was  with  great  delight  that  I  received  your lovely  letter  last  night. This  morning  the  waves  were  so  high  that  Oto- kichi  San  helped  me  in  my  getting  into  the  water; and  it  was  too  difficult  to  take  the  boy  with  me. We  shall  walk  to  Wada  this  afternoon.  The  day is  fine  indeed.  The  boys  are  regular  in  their  daily study.  I  teach  Kadzuo  reading  only.  In  the  morn ing  I  teach  him  and  Niimi  teaches  Kadzuo.  In  the afternoon  we  exchange  our  pupils. My  kisses  to  dear  Suzuko  and  Kiyoshi,  and  kind words  to  Mamma  and  Grandmother. August  15,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA,  —  We  had  an  Extra  last  night. Great  victory!  We  had  our  own  celebration  here, drinking  lemonade  and  eating  ice.  But  we  had  no other  extra  after  that.  To-day  we  had  a  little  wave, but  plenty  jelly-fishes.  We — Kazuo,  Niimi,  and  I — were  bitten  by  them.  Last  night  we  took  a  short TO  MRS.   HEARN  445 walk,  and  went  to  the  shrine  of  the  Yamatodake god.  Kazuo  caught  a  black  dragon-fly.  We  have  too many  fleas  here,  but  not  many  mosquitoes.  The boys  are  happy.  Otokichi  goes  always  with  them into  the  water.  Iwao  is  learning  how  to  swim,  but it  is  rather  difficult,  as  the  waves  are  pretty  big.  The road  toward  Wada  has  been  ruined  by  the  rush  of waves.  "Osemi"  [big  cicada]  is  singing.  I  think Kiyoshi  must  be  lonesome  at  home.  Kisses  to  "Aba, Aba"  from PAPA. August  16,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA,  —  The  weather  is  fine  lately,  but there  are  large  waves.  Kazuo  is  always  happy.  The baby  of  Otetsu  grows  big  and  strong.  It  tumbles down,  and  often  tries  to  fly.  " Osemi"  sings  only at  morning,  and  not  when  the  sun  is  very  hot.  It is  not  like  the  cicada  at  Okubo  Mura.  Papa  and  his boy  grow  perfectly  brown. I  fancy  that  Okubo  Mura  must  be  fine  with  the new  leaves  of  the  banana  tree,  and  also  with  the  new bamboo  leaves. "Tsukutsukuboshi"  [a  kind  of  cicada],  I  think, must  be  singing  in  the  home  garden.  Sweet  words to  everybody  at  home. August  17,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA,  —  Your  welcome  letter  at  hand. It  reached  me  this  morning  to  my  delight,  and  I can  explain  my  joy  with  it  in  my  Japanese.  You must  never  think  of  any  danger  which  might  occur 446  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN to  your  boy;  I  hope  you  do  not  worry  about  him. I  have  n't  gone  to  the  sea  at  night  this  year  yet. Otokichi  and  Niimi  take  good  care  of  Kazuo.  He is  perfectly  safe,  although  he  often  swims  in  deep water.  He  is  so  afraid  of  the  jelly-fishes  this  summer, but  he  swims  and  plays  all  the  same.  It  was  such  a lovely  thing,  this  charm  of  the  Narita  temple.  I feel  lonely  sometimes;  I  wish  I  could  see  your  sweet face.  It  is  difficult  to  sleep  on  account  of  the  thick fleas.  But  as  I  have  a  delightful  swim  in  the  morn ing,  I  usually  forget  the  misery  of  the  night.  I  take a  little  hand  bath  in  a  ridiculously  little  tub  for  the last  two  or  three  evenings. Good  words  to  everybody  at  home  from PAPA. August  18,  1904. LOVELY  LITTLE  MAMMA  SAMA, —  The  charm  of Narita  Sama  [a  famous  Buddhist  temple  at  Narita] to  hand.  I  gave  it  to  Otokichi,  who  was  very  glad. His  wife  is  now  a  little  better. Thank  you  for  the  shirts  you  kindly  sent  me.  But please  rest  assured  that  I  do  not  feel  cold  any  more ; I  am  now  quite  strong;  I  have  got  a  fresh  layer  of skin  by  virtue  of  the  salt  water. I  beseech  you,  Mamma  Sama,  that  you  will  take care  of  your  own  self.  You  must  be  so  very  busy  to look  after  the  masons  and  carpenters  engaged  in  the repair-works. I  was  busy  to-day,  because  the  publishers  sent  me the  proofs.  But  I  have  finished  the  work.  The  boys are  strong  and  lovely.  They  enjoy  themselves  much TO  MRS.   HEARN  447 in  the  sea  and  have  become  black.  Otokichi  is  kind to  them.  They  study  every  day. Good-bye!  loving  words  to  lovely  Mamma  and Grandmother.  Kisses  to  the  children. August  19,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA  SAMA,  —  Your  lovely  letter  to hand.  I  am  glad  to  hear  that  the  carpenters  and masons  are  at  work.  This  morning  the  sea  was  very rough,  and  I  could  not  go  for  swimming.  So  we intend  to  take  walk  to  Wada  with  Otokichi. Do  you  remember  that  little  lame  girl  in  this  vil lage?  What  a  pity  it  was  to  see  her!  She  has  now much  grown  up.  Then  the  boy  in  our  next-door neighbour  has  become  as  big  as  I  was  and  goes  to school.  He  learns  very  well.  It  is  two  years  since. Is  n't  it  wonderfully  rapid  that  all  young  people grow  up? Iwao  will  finish  his  first  English  book  very  soon; there  but  remain  4  or  5  pages  more  to  be  studied.  I have  ordered  Kadzuo  to  write  these  underlined letters. I  am  giving  just  a  moderate  work  to  Kadzuo  and he  does  it  well.  It  is  just  the  reviewing,  not  the  new lesson.  When  we  return  to  Tokyo,  I  shall  give  him new  lessons.  At  present  he  is  diligent  in  penmanship, letter-writing,  writing  his  diary,  and  English  read ing,  so  I  do  not  press  upon  him.  Nor  do  I  force  Iwao, for  he  does  his  half  an  hour's  study  very  well.  It  is simply  lovely  to  see  them  learn  well. We  have  collected  a  great  number  of  pebbles  and put  them  on  our  window-sill.  Every  day  Papa's 448  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN pocket  in  the  sleeve  is  filled  with  pebbles.  What lovely,  innocent,  and  pitiable  creatures  the  children are! Good-bye!  and  looking  forward  to  the  time  of seeing  Mamma's  lovely  face, KOIZUMI  YAKUMO. August  20,  1904. f\  LITTLE  MAMMA,  —  Yesterday  we  went  to  Wada, where  we  had  our  lunch;  and  there  I  taught  Kazuo. He  was  delighted  to  catch  the  crabs.  Iwao  is  be ginning  to  learn  how  to  swim.  The  house  at  Wada has  been  mended  a  little.  The  tea  we  had  there  is always  good;  and  I  am  told  that  the  tea  is  home made,  which  might  be  the  reason  of  its  excellence. Fuji  was  seen  clearly  last  evening.  We  cannot  swim this  morning,  as  the  sea  is  so  high.  It  was  so  hot last  night  we  could  not  shut  the  doors.  But  the weather  is  always  good.  Iwao  let  his  crabs  walk  on the  roofs  of  Otokichi's  house;  and  they  walked  and walked.  During  the  night  those  crabs  tried  to  bite into  the  box  of  our  soap,  but  it  was  beyond  their power  to  open  the  tin  cover.  How  sorry!  From PAPA. August  21,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA,  —  Otokichi  gave  us  plenty  of pears  in  a  tray  yesterday,  as  it  was  the  day  of  Bon. I  believe  it  was  to  thank  you  for  your  gift  of  the charm  the  other  day.  We  went  to  Wada  to-day  and had  lunch  there.  Iwao  learns  well  how  to  swim; and  he  has  no  fear  whatever,  and  takes  delight  in TO  MRS.   HEARN  449 the  deeper  water.  He  will  be  soon  a  fine  swimmer. Otokichi  is  very  kind  to  us.  We  have  no  big  wave, the  sea  being  calm;  the  colours  of  the  sky  and  Fuji Mountain  are  perfectly  lovely.  And  there  is  no speck  of  cloud.  Otokichi  got  a  bright  little  boy  as helper,  and  he  calls  him  Kumakichi.  The  boy  is lovely.  Iwao  is  really  black  now,  hard  to  explain; and  you  will  not  know  him  when  you  see  him.  The boys  catch  dragon-flies  and  grasshoppers,  they  laugh, they  gather  stones,  they  play  cards,  they  eat  much and  sleep  well.  Papa  is  splendid  too.  But  he  cannot walk  on  the  stones  of  the  shore  barefooted.  I  wear straw  sandals  when  I  go  to  Wada,  and  strange  shoes Otokichi  made  when  I  swim. Sweet  words  to  the  old  woman  and  children  at home  from PAPA. August  22,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA  SAMA,  —  Your  sweet  letter  and magazines  at  hand.  I  thank  you  for  them.  Last night  I  finished  my  reading  of  proofs  of  my  Ameri can  book,  and  also  of  that  of  Mr.  Takada's  article. And  I  sent  them  out  by  mail  this  morning.  Last night  we  had  a  little  walk,  and  dropped  into  the shooting  gallery  together.  The  target,  is  called "Port  Arthur;"  and  there  stands  a  figure  of  a Russian  soldier.  Iwao  hit  the  Russian  soldier. I  must  catch  the  mail-hour.  Gomen,  gomen! YAKUMO  KOIZUMI. 450  LETTERS  OF  LAFCADIO  HEARN August  23,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA,  —  Last  night  we  had  a  great katsuo-fishing.  *  The  boat  of  Tetsu's  husband  with the  other  five  boats  returned  at  evening.  And  all the  people  helped  them.  There  in  Tetsu's  boat  were one  thousand  seven  hundred  katsuo-fishes.  One  fish is  sold  for  twenty  sen.  Under  the  torch-light  the people  are  landing  the  fishes  from  the  boats.  It  is so  interesting  to  see  them. The  jelly-fishes  are  perfectly  terrible  this  morn ing.  Papa  was  bitten  by  them.  The  sea  is  as  a  hell on  their  account.  I  do  not  like  them  at  all.  How ever,  the  weather  is  fine.  We  went  to  take  a  walk with  the  boys  last  night,  and  we  heard  the  frogs singing.  The  boys  are  so  sweet.  Niimi  is  kind  and good  to  them.  In  one  word,  everything  is  first-rate, except  those  jelly-fishes.  Good-bye,  Mamma  Sama. Sweet  words  to  everybody  at  home  from PAPA. August  24,  1904. LITTLE  MAMMA,  —  Yesterday  it  was  so  hot;  the thermometer  rose  to  ninety-one  degrees.  However, the  winds  blew  from  the  sea  at  night.  And  this morning  the  waves  are  so  high,  I  only  take  a  walk. Otoyo  gave  the  boys  plenty  of  pears.  Last  evening, Kazuo  and  Iwao  went  to  a  shooting  gallery  for  fun. We  drank  soda  and  ginger  ale,  and  also  ate  ice. Iwao  has  finished  his  first  reader;  it  seems  that learning  is  not  hard  for  his  little  head  at  all.  He studied  a  great  deal  here.  And  he  is  learning  from Mr.  Niimi  how  to  write  Japanese  characters. TO   MRS.   HEARN  451 Just  this  moment  I  received  your  big  letter.  I am  very  glad  to  hear  how  you  treated  the  snake  you mentioned.  You  were  right  not  allowing  the  girls to  kill  it.  They  only  fear,  as  they  don't  understand that  it  never  does  any  harm.  I  believe  it  must  be a  friend  of  Kami-sama  in  our  bamboo  bush. Mr.  Papa  and  others  wish  to  see  Mamma's  sweet face.  Good  words  to  everybody  at  home. YAKUMO. LITTLE  MAMMA,  —  Gomen,  gomen:  [Forgive  me:] I  thought  only  to  give  a  little  joy  as  I  hoped.  The Jizo  I  wrote  you  about  is  not  the  thing  you  will  find in  the  graveyards;  but  it  is  the  Jizo  who  shall  guard and  pacify  the  seas.  It  is  not  a  sad  kind;  but  you do  not  like  my  idea,  so  I  have  given  up  my  project. It  was  only  Papa's  foolish  thought.  However,  poor Jizo-sama  wept  bitterly  when  it  heard  of  your  answer tome.  I  said  to  it,  "I  cannot  help  it,  as  Mamma  San doubted  your  real  nature,  and  thinks  that  you  are a  graveyard  keeper.  I  know  that  you  are  the  saviour of  seas  and  sailors."  The  Jizo  is^crying  even  now. PAPA. Gomen,  gomen: "The  Jizo  idol  is  shedding  stone-tears." [The  letter,  as  usual,  was  illustrated  with  his own  picture ;  this  time  the  picture  was  a  broken  idol shedding  bean-like  "stone  tears."  The  Jizo  he  took such  an  interest  in  was  not  a  graveyard  keeper,  but it  stood  on  the  shore  as  the  calmer  of  the  wild  sea, as  the  Yaidzu  Sea  is  always.] INDEX Accent,  in  connection  with  rhyme, 208,  209. Ainu,  the  religion  of,  25. Akasaka,  328. Akizuki  of  Aidzu,  Professor  of  Chi nese,  birthday  festival  of,  73,  88, 89;  a  visit  from,  258;  a  type  of  the ideal  old  Samurai,  315. Aldrich,  Thomas  Bailey,  165,  391,  395, 396. Amamura,  Japanese  village,  416. Amenomori,  Nobushige,  384. American,  magazines,  34;  physiog nomy,  46. Amiel,  Henri  Frederic,  72. Anarchists,  372. Ancestral,  memories,  inheritance  of, 213;  tendencies,  influence  of,  221, 222;  tendencies,  genius  explained by,  256;  ghosts,  267. Andersen,  Hans  Christian,  201. Anderson,  William,  156. Animals,  souls  of,  338,  429-431. Anstey,  F.,  pseud.     See  Guthrie. Archery,  Japanese,  304,  305,  337,  339. Architecture,  Gothic,  Hearn  on,  xxvii; Gothic  and  Greek,  24;  in  Italy,  J  60; at  open  ports,  402. Arnold,  Sir  Edwin,  110;  his  Japanese drama,  422;  address  of,  to  the  La dies'  Educational  Association,  424. Arnold,  Matthew,  his  criticism  of Wordsworth,  218. Arrows  of  prayers,  13. Art,  Japanese,  snow  in,  56;  idealism in,  109,  110;  Japanese,  old  and  new, 118,  119;  Eastern  and  Western, some  peculiarities  in,  explained  by sexual  idea,  122;  Japanese,  con trast  presented  in,  217;  Japanese and  Greek,  anatomy  plays  no  part in,  228,  229;  of  the  Latins,  as  illus trated  by  Loti,  393. Artist,  the,  his  duty  to  extract  the gold  from  the  ore,  xlvii. Artistic  sensitiveness  conjoined  with ferocity,  289-291. Asakichi,  Yasukochi,  student,  310, 315-318,  326. Aston,  William  George,  358. Atheists,  330. Atlantic  Monthly,  editor  of,  condemns use  of  Japanese  words,  105;  a  criti cism  in,  160;  articles  in,  293,  330; the  pay  given  by,  210;  goes  in  for fine  work,  210;  stories  of,  371. Autograph-hunters,  295,  296. Avalokitesvara  Sutra,  the,  348. Awata-ware  factory  at  Kyoto,  405. Ayame,  348. Babies,  Japanese,  177. Bacon,  Alice,  96,  433. Bacon,  Francis,  287. Baissac,  Charles,  his  Grammar  of  the Mauritian  Creole,  7. Ballads,  Daikokumai,  196,  335,  371, 375;  rhyme  in,  207, 225, 234;  of  Kip ling,  380,  381. Balzac,  Honore  de,  compared  with Zola,  157;  his  Conies  Drolatiques, 188,  189;  his  La  Belle  Imperia,  199. Bamboo,  Missy,  178. Bamboo  curtains,  163. Batchelor,  John,  on  the  religion  of  the Ainu,  25. Bateiseki  stone,  414. Bates,  Henry  Walter,  indifferent  to poetical  aspects  of  Nature,  151. Bath,  household,  use  of,  in  Japan,  148. Bathing  resorts,  Japanese,  13. Baths,  public,  Japanese,  singing  in, 250. Bato-Kwannon,  Japanese  divinity, 427,  429,  430,  431. Baudelaire,  Pierre  Charles,  his  use  of language,  xliv;  the  wonderful  in sanities  of,  135;  quoted,  186;  third among  the  Romantic  poets,  187; his  Fleurs  de  Mai,  224;  his  poem  on an  albatross,  228. Bears,  Japanese  custom  about,  838. Beauty,  the  worship  of,  197,  198;  of eyes  and  skin,  268-272. 454 INDEX Bells,  Hearn's  sensibility  to,  xxxvi. Beppu,  Japanese  village,  418. Beranger,  Pierre  Jean  de,  9. Bhagavad-Gita,  the,  314,  333. Bible,  the,  314,  368,  374. Biography,  the  favourable  and  the critical,  v. Bird,  Isabella  L.  (Mrs.  Bishop),  lii, 268;  on  the  religion  of  the  Ainu,  25. Birthday  festival,  Japanese,  73,  88, 89. Bjb'rnson,  Bjb'rnstjerne,  200. Black,  William,  215. Blackwood,  translations  of  Heine  in, 136,  137. Bland,  Mrs.  Edith  Nesbit  (E.  Nesbit), quoted,  230. Boat  song,  a  Japanese,  117. Boileau-Despreaux,  Nicolas,  164,  374. Bon-odori,  a  Japanese  dance,  421,  422. Books,  test  of,  desire  of  re-reading, xlv,  192. Borrow,  George,  hisThe  Bible  in  Spain, 259. Bouilhet,  Louis,  a  translation  from, by  Hearn,  210,  211. Bourget,  Paul,  425;  Hearn's  views  on, 49-55,  136. Bowring,  Edgar  Alfred,  his  transla tions  from  Heine,  137. Bows,  Japanese,  304,  305,  337,  339. Brachet,  Auguste,  his  Historical Grammar  and  Etymological  French Dictionary,  205,  206. Brahma,  311,  312,  314. Bridge-superstitions,  Japanese,  265. Brinkley,  — ,  424. Brower,  Edith,  her  Is  the  Musical Faculty  Masculine?,  293. Browning,  Robert,  xlvi,  173,  263. Buckle,  Henry  Thomas,  75. Buddhism,  Hearn  would  like  a  re vival  of,  17,  18;  vindicates  holiness of  womankind,  27;  value  of  a  re generation  of,  121;  Hearn  changes his  views  on,  128;  influence  of,  upon the  treatment  of  animals,  250;  state of,  in  Japan,  252,  253;  Nirvana,  284; indifferent  about  preserving  its  past, 404 ;  gives  us  consolatory  ideas  on  the meaning  of  life,  413;  and  idols,  422. Buddhist,  and  Shinto  deities,  28,  29; saying,  a,  40;  idea,  a,  104;  temple and  gardens,  404. Burchard,  Jean,  165. Burns,  Robert,  his  Auld  Lang  Syne, 240. Byron,  George  Gordon  Noel,  Baron, 263;  his  use  of  the  "rich  rhymes," 206;  quoted,  219;  had  passion,  force, and  imagination,  369. Canals  of  Mars,  377. Carlyle,  Thomas,  Hearn's  opinion  of, 121,  122;  his  statement  that  pain, etc.,  are  the  greatest  attraction  to men's  souls,  130. Carroll,  Lewis,  his  nonsense  books, 114. Catechism  of  Goux,  the,  362. Catholicism,  Roman,  one  must  live outside  it  to  understand  it,  388. Cats  in  Japan,  251. Caves  near  Kaka-ura,  18,  19. Chamberlain,  Basil  Hall,  on  Hearn's marriage,  viii;  his  Japanese  studies, lii;  on  Hearn's  belief  in  Ghosts,  Iv; his  Handbook  of  Colloquial  Japan ese,  6;  visits  Hearn,  67;  his  Japan ese,  71;  his  article  on  fans,  73;  on the  value  of  musical  terms  to  de scribe  colour,  110,  112;  on  the  use of  foreign  words,  105,  113,  116,  124; his  Classical  Poetry,  125,  255,  336; receives  advice  from  Hearn  as  to his  health,  126-128;  his  Thinqs Japanese,  148,  164,  168,  250,  266, 431;  on  rhyme  alternation,  193; criticizes  Hearn,  197,  217;  the  effect of  darkness  upon,  212;  his  compari son  about  Wordsworth,  228 ;  a  trans lation  by,  237;  his  translations  of Japanese  poems,  255;  has  trouble with  his  Japanese  assistants,  331; Hearn  occupies  his  house,  342- 362;  his  views  on  poetry,  368,  369; has  trouble  with  his  eyes,  371;  has throat  trouble,  377,  380;  his  kojiki, 390,  412;  Hearn  vexed  with,  391. Character,  effect  of  education  on,  52, 53. Charlevoix,  Pierre  Francois  Xavier  de, 324,  347. Chess,  246. Chesterfield,  Philip  Dormer  Stan hope,  Lord,  xx. Childhood,  feelings  of  earliest,  212. Children,  Japanese  love  of,  238,  296. China,  natural  friend  of  Japan,  118. Chinese,  the,  and  America,  93;  emi- INDEX 455 gration  of,  204 ;  their  daintiest poems  suggestive  rather  than  ex pressive,  205;  in  Kobe,  318,  319; their  myths,  389,  390. Chion-in,  Japanese  temple,  404. Christianity,  a  religion  of  hate,  14; Japan  has  nothing  to  gain  by,  39; our  ethics  have  outgrown,  39;  the name  must  be  discarded,  39,  40; and  Whittier,  149;  associated,  in Hearn's  mind,  with  hypocrisy,  154; Japanese  disgusted  at  its  many creeds,  253;  virtues  of,  found  in countries  not  highly  civilized,  429. Church,  the,  in  the  Middle  Ages,  48. Cincinnati,  Hearn's  life  in,  viii. Cities  which  city-haters  hate,  264. Civilization,  morally  not  all  we  be lieve  it,  14;  Hearn  doubts  that  it  is a  benefit,  57;  based  on  immorality, 326;  the  atrocities  of  modern,  372; morality  and  immorality  in,  377- 379;  is  stagnant,  387;  a  most  damn able  thing,  436. Civilization,  Western,  its  effect  on the  Japanese,  10;  behind  the  old Japanese,  32;  steeped  in  an  atmos phere  of  artificially  created  pas- sionalism,  79;  its  enormous  cost, 167;  the  material  side  of,  326,  327. Classic  school,  French  and  English, 374. Clifford,  William  Kingdon,  314. Climate,  Japanese,  25,  26,  171. Coleridge,  Samuel  Taylor,  218,  263, 284. Cologne  cathedral,  24. Colour,  in  words  and  letters,  xxxi- xxxiii,  105-107,  113;  Hearn's  sense of,  xxxiii;  musical  terms  descrip tive  of,  110,  112. Comedy,  Hearn's  views  on,  99,  100. Commune  in  1871,  paper  on,  303. Competition,  326,  327. Composition,  literary,  Hearn's  me thod  of,  42-44,  57-60. Composition,  a  composite,  107-109; on  the  Story  of  the  Three  Caskets, 132,  133. Compositions  of  Japanese  students, extracts  from,  191,  236,  237,  260, 261,  282,  283,  289,  323,  324,  328- 330,  333-336,  383. Conder,  Josiah,  162,  433. Convent  and  monastery,  the  words,  22. Conventions  of  life,  in  Open  Ports  cf Far  East,  262,  263;   in  Protestant countries,  263;  English  and  Ameri cans  go   to   Italy   and   France   to avoid,  264;  value  of,  264. onway,  Hugh,  pseud.   See  Fargus. orot,  Jean  Baptiste  Camille,  219. ostume,  Japanese,  in  hot  weather, 140,  141,  147,  373;  still  worn,  233. Coulanges,  Numa  Denis,  Fustel   de, his  La  Cite  Antique,  111,  286,  367. Courtesans  as  heroines,  198,  199. rawford,  Francis  Marion,  214,  215. reole,  dialects  and  grammars,  7,  362, 376;  pamphlets,  373;  compositions, 375. Crime,  in  the  light  of  evolutional  phi losophy,  222;  story  of  a,  289,  290. Curtis,  George  William,  his  Howadji in  Syria,  264. Daibutsu,  the,  at  Kamakura,  27. Daibutz,  temple  at  Nara,  409,  410. Daikoku,  Japanese  deity,  the  rat  as  a retainer  of,  29. Daikokumai,  281. Daikokumai  Ballads,  196,  335,  371, 375. Daizo  Koto  Chugakko,  the,  295. Dances,  miko,  300,  301,  407,  409,  412; at  festivals,   327;   bon-odori,   421, 422. Darwin,  Charles  Robert,  50,  51. Daudet,  Alphonse,  Hearn's  opinion  of, 136;  his  short  stories,  200. Death,  284. Decadence,  Hearn's  attitude  toward the  tendency  of  the  school  of,  xliv- xlvi,  307,  308. Deinbovitzu,  the  bard  of  the,  357. Deland,  Margaret,  her  Philip  and  his Wife,  293,  330,  384. Dening,  Walter,  23,  423,  424,  428. De  Quincey,  Thomas,  his  charm  van ished  for  Hearn,  148,  149. Dialects,  Creole,  7,  376. Dickens,  Charles,  435. Dickins,  F.  V.,  Loyal  League,  87. Dickson,  Walter  G.,  348. Dobson,  Austin,  387. Dogo,  island,  414,  432. Dogs,   Japanese   and   Western,    250, 251. Dostoievsky,  Fyodor  Mikhaylovitch, 55;  his  Crime  et  Chdtiment,  200. 456 INDEX Dozen  Islands,  the,  414,  416,  417. Drawings  of  Japanese,  contrasts  pre sented  in,  217.     See  Art. Dreams,  fear  in,  213,  214. Earthquakes,  133,  328,  350,  368,  375. Eastlake,  F.  W.,  his  Equine  Deities and  Kirin,  427. Eating,  Hearn  on,  127,  128,  130,  131. Eclectic,  the,  papers  in,  292,  303,  326. Education,  effect  on  character,  52,  53; defects  of  systems  of,  74-76;  case  of over-worked  student,  84;  highest, for  man  of  marked  capacity  only, 249;  sacrifices  made  for,  by  Japan ese,  319;  in  Japan,  makes  atheists, 330;  Government,  in  Japan,  340. Educational  system,  Western,  its  ob ject  to  delay  puberty  and  its  emo tions,  79;  Japanese,  98,  184,  258, 259;  English,  good  results  of,  150; Japanese,  reactionary  movement in,  217-249. Edwards,  Jonathan,  305. Edwards,  Osman,  letters  of  Hearn  to, quoted,  xlii-xlvi;  on  Hearn,  xlvii. Elizabethan  writers,  100. Elysium,  the  word,  146. Emotion,  Hearn  on  the  value  of,  xxx, 42;  expression  of,  and  music,  rela tion  between,  205;  Hearn  on  poetry and,  368,  369. England,  freedom  in,  286,  287. English,  self -suppression,  45,  46;  edu cational  system,  good  results  of, 150;  studies,  should  be  permitted  to most  gifted  Japanese  students  only, 325;  prints,  381;  classic  school,  371. Entrance  of  the  Prussians  into  Paris, paper  on,  292. Etajima,  176. Eternal  Feminine,  the,  Japanese  and Western  attitude  toward,  79,  125, 162,  163;  Hearn  proposes  to  write about,  122,  137. Evolutional  philosophy,  woman  and crime  seen  in  the  light  of,  221-223, 231;  some  thoughts  about,  351,  352; to  be  applied  to  philology,  389; religions  explained  by,  391. Eyes,  Hearn's,  vii,  294,  295;  beauty in,  268-270. Fairy  Tales,  Japanese,  311,  320. Fans,  religious,  73. Fardel,  — ,  380,  386. Fargus,  Frederick  John  (Hugh  Con- way),  his  Called  Back,  87. Festivals,  Japanese,  73,  88,  89,  170, 171,  327,  443,  444. Feuillet,  Octave,  283. Finns,  the,  are  truly  musical,  205. Fiske,  John,  253. FitzGerald,  Edward,  xx. Flaubert,  Gustave,  on  several  of  his works,  135,  187;  represents  the  ex travagance  of  the  Romantic  labori- ousness  of  art,  188. Folk-lore,  336,  337,  357,  371,  375,  389, 390,  417-418,  419. Foreign  words,  on  the  use  of,  xxxiii, 105,  113-117,  124,  125. Foreigners,  difficult  for  them  to  under stand  the  Japanese,  84,  220,  412, 437;  Japanese  hatred  of,  119,  120, 227;  teachers,  and  Japanese  stu dents,  235,  236, 247,  248;  have  trou ble  with  spirit  of  restlessness  in  the Japanese,  331;  lack  of  sympathy for,  in  Japan,  359. Fortier,  Alcee,  on  the  Louisiana  pa tois,  376. Fox,  superstition,  16,  431;  deities, 66,  67;  story,  123,  124,  294,  295; temples  and  rites  in  Shinto,  253; belief  in,  in  Dozen,  416;  the  fox- possessed,  429;  ghost,  431. France,  Anatole,  xlv,  xlvi. Freedom,  286,  287. French,  Orientalists,  358;  classic school,  374;  character,  396. Frenchmen,  lack  of  spirituality  in,  54, 55;  think  only  with  their  nerves, 63;  economical,  but  make  others spend  money,  318. Froude,  James  Anthony,  199,  304. Fuji,  mountain,  332. Funazamurai,  the  phrase,  138. Games,  commemorative,  184,  185. Gardens,  temple,  404. Gautier,  Theophile^  his  use  of  lan guage,  xliv;  his  Emaux  et  Camees, xliv,  134;  his  Musee  Secret,xlv,  63; Hearn's  views  on,  63,  64,  134,  135; quoted,  64,  92;  unequalled  as  a  pure artist,  186;  second  among  the Romantic  poets,  187;  Mallock  on, 197;  his  Arria  Marcella,  198;  alliter ation  in,  203;  some  books  of,  203, INDEX 457 204;  his  La  Morte  Amour euse,  223, 224;  his  tales  adapted  to  the  eye rather  than  to  the  ear,  371. Gayarre,  Charles,  130. Geisha,  171,  301,  407,  409. Genius,  that  a  book  should  gain  with every  reading,  the  sign  of,  xlv,  192; Hearn  a  believer  in,  256;  want  of, the  literary  curse  of  the  century, 256;  explainable  by  the  ancestral hypothesis,  256. Ghosts,  Ream's  belief  in,  Iv,  212- 215. Gladstone,  William  Ewart,  429. Globe  trotters,  91,  92,  365,  366. Goblin-dogs,  431. Goblins,  26,  27. God,  some  Japanese  views  on,  334, 335;  what  he  is,  unknown,  378; Lecky  on  the  theological  conception of,  424. Gods,  Japanese,  8,  28,  29,  46,  47,  100, 181,  375,  408-410,  413,  427-429. Goethe,  Johann  Wolfgang  von,  195, 263;  quoted,  238;  his  The  New Melusine,  264,  265. Gogol,  Nikolai  Vassilievitch,  200. Goka,  district  in  Yalsushiro,  338. Gothic  architecture,  xxvii,  24,  160. Government  schools  in  Japan,  225, 226. Greek,  architecture,  24;  church,  the, 49;  art,  198;  sculpture,  acquaint ance  with  anatomy  plays  no  part in,  228,  229;  fables,  308,  309. Greslon,  Robert,  50,  52. Griffis,  William  Elliot,  328. Griswold,  Rufus  Wilmot,  biographer of  Poe,  v. Guthrie,  Thomas  Anstey  (F.  Anstey), his  Giant's  Robe,  86. Gypsy  matters,  259,  260. Hachiman,  170. Hakodate,  Japanese  city,  311. Hall,  Captain  Basil,  361. Harper's  Magazine,  5. Harte,  Bret,  165. Hasegawa,  342,  359. Hattori,  Ichizo,  4. Hauk,  Minnie,  353. Haunters  in  Japan,  173,  174. Hayward,  Abraham,  his  translation  of Faust,  137. Hearn,  Lafcadio,  Stedman  on,  v;  mis- statements  and  legends  about  his life,  vi-x;  summary  of  the  facts  of his  life,  x;  number  and  richness  of his  letters  surprising,  xvii,  xx,  xxi; contrast  of  his  life  at  Izumo  and Kumamoto,  xviii;  conditions  com bined  to  make  of  him  a  creator of  famous  letters,  xx;  his  letters  a revelation  of  himself,  xxi-xxiii;  his letters  the  record  of  a  Man,  xxiii- xx v;  his  capacity  for  sacrifice  and  for fury,  xx  v;  shrunk  from  publicity  of personality,  xxv;  the  salient  quali ties  of  his  personality,  xxvi;  his life's  purpose  same  from  the  first, xxvi;  his  literary  models,  xxvii;  on Gothic  architecture,  xxvii,  24,  160; on  Victor  Hugo,  xxvii;  Noguchi  on, xxxi,  xxxix,  xl;  his  integration  of purpose  for  an  ideal  end,  xxviii, xxix;  his  sensitiveness,  xxix-xxxyiii; expended  great  labour  on  his  writing, xxx ;  on  the  colour,  form,  charac ter,  etc.,  of  words,  xxxi-xxxiii,  105- 107, 113;  his  sense  of  colour,  xxxiii; his  quickness  of  observation,  xxxiv; his  sensibility  to  sounds,  xxxvi;  his sensibility  to  smells,  xxxvii;  his  sen sibility  to  touch,  xxxvii;  his  timidity and  shyness,  xxxvii;  his  lack  of  ca pacity  to  fit  easily  into  the  social organization,  xxxviii;  sought  peace in  solitude,  xxxviii,  xxxix;  com pared  to  Akinari  Uyeda,  xxxix;  the innate  beauty  and  sensuous  image ry  of  his  work,  xl-xliv;  his  attitude toward  the  tendency  of  the  school of  decadence,  xliv-xlvi,  307,  308;  on the  artist,  xlvii;  Osman  Edwards on,  xlvii ;  his  reproductions  of  humble beauties,  xlviii;  sample  of  his  style on  sterner  matters,  xlix;  why  he first  went  to  Japan,  1;  his  first  im pressions  of  Japan,  li,  Hi;  his  inter pretation  of  Japan,  liii,  liv;  his  belief in  ghosts,  Iv,  212-215;  a  mystic, Ivi;  in  sympathy  with  Oriental faiths,  Ivi,  Iviii,  lix;  born  too  late  for an  anthropomorphic  vision  of  a deity,  Ivii;  a  believer  in  Spencer's theories,  Iviii,  221-223,  231;  desir ous  of  writing  a  good  book  upon Japan,  3;  desirous  of  obtaining  a place  in  a  private  family,  3,  5;  en chanted  with  Japan,  5, 13;  desirous 458 INDEX of  teaching  in  Japanese  school,  6,  7; on  Japanese  life  and  thought,  10, 11;  on  Mionoseki  and  Sakai,  12,  13; on  Japanese  morals,  religion,  and view  of  life,  14,  15;  his  religious views,  14,  17,  18,  27,  39,  40,  121, 128,  149,  154,  250,  252,  253,  284;  on the  educated  modernized  Japanese, 17 ;  on  homoeopathy,  17 ;  visits  Kaka- ura  and  the  neighbouring  caves,  18, 19;  on  Spanish  and  Japanese  music, 20,21;  on  tropical  climate,  21,  70; on  writing  Japanese  conversation, 23;  on  Gothic  and  Greek  architec ture,  24;  wishes  to  go  to  Manila,  20, 24,  70,  119,  320;  on  the  worship  of the  Needles  and  the  religion  of  the Ainu,  24,  25;  on  the  Japanese  cli mate,  25,  26;  on  the  goblin  wolf,  26, 27;  on  his  new  home  at  Kumamoto, 28;  on  Shinto  and  Buddhist  deities, 28,  29;  has  exhausted  capacity  for sensation  in  a  Japanese  city,  30,  59, 60;  on  the  old  Japanese  civilization, 32,  33;  the  financial  returns  from his  writings,  33,  34,  107,  209,  210, 359;  intends  to  try  English  pub' lishers  for  Japanese  sketches,  34, 41;  on  personality,  34,  35;  on  Ja panese  sensitiveness  and  placidity, 35-38;  detests  the  New  Japan,  38; his  home  life  in  Japan,  40;  remin iscences  of  his  early  life,  41,  48,  370; his  method  of  writing,  42-44,  57-60; on  Japanese  wedding  customs,  44, 45;  on  English,  American,  and  East ern  self-control,  45, 46;  on  Japanese vows,  46,  47;  on  Samurai  girls,  47; his  feeling  toward  Jesuits,  49,  386; on  the  evolution  of  sentiment,  50- 52;  on  the  effect  of  education  on character,  52,  54;  on  existence  of right  and  wrong,  53;  on  lack  of  spir ituality  in  Latin  races,  54,  55;  on faith  in  future  possibilities  beyond scientific  recognition,  55,  56;  on Japanese  writing,  63;  on  Dona  Luz, 64-66;  two  early  adventures  of, when  learning  Spanish,  65,  66;  on  a visit  from  Chamberlain,  67;  on Chamberlain's  Japanese,  71;  on the  new  Director,  76,  77;  on  the sexual  question  in  Western  and Eastern  civilizations,  77-81;  his treatment  by  the  Japanese,  82-84; on  the  approach  of  summer,  85,  86; his  story  of  the  manufactured  man, 87;  his  inability  to  write  a  Japanese novel,  88;  his  story  of  Lowell's  letter and  telegram,  94-96;  tires  of  Orien tal  life,  97;  his  views  on  comedy,  99, 100;  on  being  asked  to  write  for money,  100-102;  an  original  Bud dhist  idea  of,  104;  on  use  of  foreign words,  105,  113-117,  124,  125;  ex tracts  from  compositions  of  his  stu dents,  107-109,  132,  133,  191,  236, 237, 260, 261, 282, 283, 289,  323,  324, 328-330,  334-336,  383;  on  idealism in  art,  109,  110;  his  reading,  111, 347-349;  on  the  effect  of  words  upon the  mind,  114-117;  the  boat  song  he heard  at  Mionoseki,  117;  wishes  to spend  some  time  in  Spanish  and French  colonies,  119;  his  relation  to his  students,  120,  121;  on  eating, 127,  128,  130,  131;  gives  good  ad vice  to  Chamberlain,  126-1  £8; changes  his  views  on  Buddhism  and Shinto,  128;  gets  no  literary  mate rial  at  Kumamoto,  131;  pessimistic about  Japan,  132,  412;  on  various authors,  135, 136, 164, 165, 186-189, 199-201;  starts  on  a  trip  to  Naga saki,  139;  his  impressions  of  Naga saki,  140-142,  145,  146,  152,  153; on  Japanese  dress  in  hot  weather, 141,  147;  at  Misumi,  142;  his  day dreams,  143-145;  returns  to  Ku mamoto,  145;  on  typhoon  weather, 150;  gets  lost  in  the  mountains,  155; on  Japanese  smells  and  the  sense  of smell,  160, 161 ;  on  discovering  jewels in  inferior  poets,  161,  162;  his  work at  the  school,  165,  166,  168,  169; on  action  of  Christian  students  at Shinto  temple,  169;  the  Legend  of his  house,  173-176;  visit  of  Lco- chooan  students  to  the  school,  174; the  preliminary  training  of  his  stu dents,  175;  studies  Japanese  babies, 177;  a  sample  of  his  daily  life,  178- 182;  has  the  malaria,  184;  on  the commemoration  games,  184;  on fighting  the  Infinite,  191;  his  chil dren,  207,  208,  238,  239,  296-303, 321,  339,  362,  441-451;  always  in  a state  of  hope  for  a  new  sensation, 208;  forced  into  philosophical  writ ing  by  the  Atlantic,  210;  his  transla- INDEX 459 tion  of  Bouilhet's  The  Mummy,  210, 211;  his  knowledge  of  the  Japanese not  obtained  from  personal  obser vation,  220;  refuses  request  that  his family  become  English  citizens, 225;  hissed  on  the  street,  227;  would not  live  outside  Japan,  232,  233; thinks  of  taking  students  unto  his house,  235;  on  Japanese  and  foreign teachers,  234,  235;  makes  a  speech, 239;  affected  by  Auld  Lang  Syne, 240,  241;  pessimistic  perceptions  of, 243;  hates  indexing,  245,  246,  254; his  feelings  about  chess,  246;  blue over  reactionary  tendency  in  educa tion  in  Japan,  247-249;  profoundly religious,  252;  on  Chamberlain's translations  of  Japanese  poems, 255-257;  on  a  jiujutsu  school,  258, 259;  his  wife  keeps  back  H.  M.  & Co.  contract,  261;  Japanese  life  has unfitted  him  to  endure  conventions, 262;  on  beauty  in  eyes  and  skins, 268-272;  his  advice  to  students »so  to  course  of  study,  278,  279; r&ughts  of,  on  motion,  284,  285; 171  memory  of  a  day  of  travel  and  a Sftung  pilgrim,  287,  288;  his  story  of a  crime  and  a  serenade,  289-291; on  the  paper  on  the  Entrance  of the  Prussians  into  Paris,  292;  his method  of  reading,  293,  294;  and autograph-hunters,  295,  296;  his trip  to  Moji,  Tadotsu,  the  Kompira- uchi-machi,  296-303;  writes  a  meta physical  article  on  Japanese  mir rors,  303;  learns  to  shoot  with  the Japanese  bow,  304,  305,  337,  339; school-gossip  from,  305-307;  begins to  understand  Greek  fables,  308, 309;  on  Japanese  plurals,  309;  longs for  open  ports,  309,  310;  on  two  of his  students,  310,  811;  tempted  to go  to  Hakodate,  311 ;  suggests  a  new Japanese  Fairy  Tale  Series,  311, 820;  his  early  illusions  about  Japan gone,  313,  323;  on  the  Bible,  314; his  conversation  with  Osakichi, 315-318,  326;  and  Takagi,  318,  319; thinks  of  resigning  place  at  school and  talk  with  Sakurai,  321,  322;  on renewal  of  contract  with  school, 825, 426;  on  the  abolition  of  English studies  at  school,  325;  his  birthday, 332;  on  Nature,  332,  333;  thinks  he has  a  soul,  333;  at  Kamakura,  340; goes  to  Yokohama,  340-342;  comes out  of  his  solitude  and  is  impressed with  civilization,  340,  341;  at  To kyo,  342-362;  his  judgment  on  the open  ports,  343,  344;  on  morality and  duty,  344-346;  on  Tolstoiism, 352,  353;  his  dream  after  reading Carmen,  353,  354;  thoughts  sug gested  to,  by  the  Tokyo  Club,  354, 355;  his  manner  of  life  in  Chamber lain's  house,  355;  and  Mason,  at Otsu,  356;  uncertainty  of,  regarding future,  356,  357;  his  library  of  an cient  days,  357, 358;  impressions  re ceived  by,  from  living  in  Chamber lain's  house,  359-361;  his  account of  occurrences  of  his  trip,  363-367; his  grey  hair,  366;  affected  by  ner vous  lonesomeness,  368;  his  views on  masterpieces  and  inferior  poets, 369;  his  early  reading  of  the  At lantic  stories,  371,  372;  his  Impe rial  gift,  376,  383;  his  robber,  376; on  morality,  God,  and  right  and wrong,  377-379;  tired  of  Kuma- moto,  379;  on  Japanese  treaty,  381, 382;  on  future  demoralization  of Japan,  382;  accepts  Kobe  offer,  383; on  modern  Philistinism,  384,  385; his  views  on  philology  and  myths, 389-391 ;  takes  up  newspaper  work, 391;  vexed  with  Mason  and  Cham berlain,  391 ;  his  house  at  Kobe, 394;  his  work  on  paper  at  Kobe, 394,  395;  his  absorption  of  sub stance  of  Chamberlain's  letters,  396; at  Kyoto,  401-407;  disappointed  in Kyoto,  403;  at  Mionoseki,  407,  408; at  Kobe,  409-411;  at  Moji,  411- 413;  at  Saigo,  414,  415;  in  Old,  415- 420;  returns  to  Kumamoto,  420; anxious  to  meet  Mason,  432;  finds it  difficult  to  write  about  Japan, 433;  complains  of  the  absence  of anything  to  stir  his  feeling  in  Japan, 433;  asks  Mason  to  write  him  of things  touching  or  noble  in  every day  life,  434;  on  being  in  a  big  city without  money,  434,  435;  letters  of, to  Mrs.  Hearn,  441-451. Writings: Chita,  xli,  41,  96;  Dream  of  a Summer  Day,  The,  146;  Dust,  xlix; Future  of  the  Orient,  The,  239; 460 INDEX Glimpses  of  Unfamiliar  Japan,  xxxv, xxxvi,  li-liii,  99,  426;  Japan:  An Attempt  at  an  Interpretation,  liii; Japanese  Civilization,  liv;  Japan ese  Smile,  The,  30;  Jiujutsu,  183, 185,  233,  343;  Kokoro,  liv;  Kwai- dan,  xxxvi;  Making  of  Tilottama, The,  xlii;  Out  of  the  East,  384;  Red Bridal,  373;  Romance  of  the  Open Ports,  The,  343;  Some  Chinese Ghosts,  4;  Stone  Buddha,  155,  172, 185;  Wish  Fulfilled,  A,  377;  Youma, 8;  Yuko,  375. Hearn,  Mrs.,  71,  145,  176,  179,  232, 261,  299;  letters  to,  441-451. Heat,  139-141,  332,  367,  368,  373. Heine,  Heinrich,  his  Pilgrimage  to Kevlaar,  64;  the  nervous  power  in his  work,  99,  100;  translations  of, 136,  137. Henley,  William  Ernest,  387. Hepburn,  James  Curtis,  his  Japanese Dictionary,  23. Hinton,  James,  his  Mystery  of  Pain, 379. Hishiminato,  harbour  of,  415. Hishimura,  415-418. Hobbes,  Thomas,  287. Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell,  light  as  a poet,  165;  his  Elsie  Venner,  201;  on answering  autograph-hunters,  295, 296. Hommyoji  temple,  429. Homoeopathy,  17. Hongwanji,  the  new  Japanese  tem ple,  403. Horai  (the  Greek  word),  li,  146. Horai,  place  in  Japan,  174,  175. Horses  in  Japan,  250,  251. Hotels  in  Japan,  European  and  na tive,  141.  142;  at  Nagasaki,  141, 142,  152,  153;  at  Misumi,  142;  at Tadotsu,  299;  at  Toraya,  301;  at Hakodate,  311;  at  Kobe,  392,  401; at  Kyoto,  401;  at  Nara,  409. Howells,  William  Dean,  126,  215. Hugo,  Victor,  and  Gothic  architec ture,  xxvii,  24;  his  use  of  language, xliv;  compared  with  Heine,  64, wrote  from  an  overflowing  imagi nation  and  a  big  heart,  136;  first among  the  Romantic  poets,  187; carries  cosmic  emotion  in  his  sim plicity,  208. Humming,  the  word,  375. Huxley,  Thomas  Henry,  on   Shake speare,  308. Hyakkwan,  Japanese  village,  139. Ichigo,  338. Ideal,  the  highest  is  aspirational,  198. Idealism,  in  art,  109,  110;  the  old,  the fault  of,  159. Idol,  the  word,  422. Iki-ryo,  174-176. Inari,  66. Indexing,  Hearn  on,  245,  246,  254, 255. Individuality  among  the  Japanese, 10,  11,  163,  322,  323,  401. Individuation,  Spencer  on,  30;  cost  of, 90. Industrialism,  327. Infinite,  fighting  the,  191. Insects,  Japanese,  146. Insensibility,  comparative,  of  the Japanese,  102. Intellect,  sensuality  and  puritanism of,  396,  397. Italian,    cathedrals,    160; the,  396. Ito-nishiki,  a  Japanese  stuff, Iwao,  443-450. lya,  408. Izumo,  contrasted   with xviii;  feudal  life  of,  xviii,  xxxvi 'i,  li; artists  in,  8;  Hearn's  life  in,  11;  a household  ceremony  practised  in, 25;  a  superstition  of  the  peasantry in,  26;  a  wedding  custom  in,  44,  45; Hearn  kindly  treated  in,  82;  stu dents  of,  168;  crowds,  170;  games in,  184;  sincere  character  of  loyalty in,  190;  formality  in,  220;  all  soft, gentle,  old-fashioned  in,  434. James,  Henry,  on  Loti's  works,  61;  a marvellous  psychologist,  215. James,  J.  M.,  his  translation  of  the Discourse  upon  Infinite  Vision,  16. James,  Mrs.  T.  H.,  her  version  of  the Matsuyama  Kagami,  277. Japan,  reason  for  Hearn's  going  to, 1;  Hearn's  first  impressions  of,  li; the  Westerner's  impression  of,  Hi; Hearn's  interpretation  of,  liii,  liv; Hearn  desirous  of  writing  a  good book  upon,  3;  Hearn  enthusiastic about,  5;  life  in,  difficulty  of  com prehending,  6,  185,  202;  pottery  in, INDEX 4C1 8;  life  and  thought  in,  charm  of,  10, 11;  social  life  in,  individuality  in, 10,  11,  163,  322,  323,  401;  bathing resorts  in,  13;  music  in,  21;  climate of,  25,  26,  139-141,  171,  332,  367, 368,  373;  the  New,  38, 412;  soporific atmosphere  of,  42;  wedding  customs in,  44,  45;  missionaries  in,  47,  103, 104,  118,  147, 190;  fans  in,  73;  festi vals  in,  73, 88,  89, 170, 171,  327, 443, 444;  on  throwing  it  open  to  mixed residence,  93;  afraid  of  Russia,  118; China  her  natural  friend,  118;  mod ernization  of,  132,  226,  227,  254, 411,  412;  Hearn  pessimistic  about, 132,  412;  increase  of  crime  in,  138; steamers  of,  139,  140,  297-299,  411; use  of  the  household  bath  in,  148; smells  in,  160,  161,  266,  417;  stu dents  in,  165,  166,  168,  169,  174, 175,  225,  226,  234-236,  277-282, 278,  279,  284,  310,  311,  315-319, 325,  326,  328-330,  423;  students  in, extracts  from  their  compositions, 107-109,  132,  133,  191,  236,  237, 260,  261,  282,  283,  289,  323,  324, 328-330,  334-336,  383;  babies  in, 177;  earthquakes  in,  183,  328,  350, 368,  375;  revelations  of,  185;  Jin goism  in,  189;  disintegration  in,  191, 248;  presents  in,  224,  225;  singing  in public  baths  in,  250;  dogs  in,  250, 251;  cats  in,  251;  horses  in,  251,  252; state  of  religion  in,  252-254;  the passing  of  the  best  in,  254;  life  in, the  laissez-faire  of,  262;  Hearn's early  illusions  about,  gone,  313;  sys tem  of  morals  in,  cultivated  honour, loyalty,  and  unselfishness,  316;  edu cation  in,  84,  98,  184,  247-249,  258, 259,  319;  lack  of  sympathy  in,  for foreigners,  359;  treaty  of,  381,  382; future  demoralization  of,  382;  tem ples  in,  73,  403,  404,  409,  410,  415, 421,  428,  429;  shrines  in,  427; snakes  in,  428. Japanese,  the,  Hearn's  attitude  to ward,  xviii,  xix;  their  sense  of  the strange  and  grotesque,  xxvii;  re ligion  of,  liv,  14,  15,  25,  252-254; their  language,  difficulty  of  under standing,  6,  220;  unspeculative character  of,  10;  individuality  of, 10.  11,  163,  322,  323,  401;  their attitude  toward  foreign  faiths,  14; their  morals  and  religion,  compared with  those  of  the  Christians,  14; their  view  of  life,  14,  15;  their  creed of  preexistence  and  transmigration, 15;  the  educated,  modernized,  17; their  faint  resemblance  to  the  Lat ins,  23;  their  lack  of  personality,  31, 32;  civilization  of  the  old,  32,  33; their  sensitiveness,  35-38;  their  pla cidity,  36-38;  better  than  the  Chris tians,  39;  their  self-control,  45,  46, 247;  their  vows,  46,  47;  their  art, 56,  57,  118,  119,  228,  229;  their  su perstitions,  68,  69;  their  ideas  on the  sexual  question,  77-81, 163;  their treatment  of  Hearn,  82-84,  227;  dif ficulty  of  understanding  their  char acter,  84,  220,  412,  437;  their  lack  of power  to  think,  97,  98;  their  educa tional  system,  98,  184;  comparative insensibility  of,  102;  their  hatred  of Romish  missionaries,  103,  104;  their songs,  117,  206,  277,  278,  327;  their hatred  of  foreigners,  119,  120,  227; and  Buddhism,  151;  their  dress  in hot  weather,  140,  141,  147,  373;  a riddle  of,  201,  202;  daintiest  poems of,  suggestive  rather  than  expres sive,  205;  contrasts  presented  in their  drawings,  217;  their  costume still  worn,  233;  students  and  teach ers,  relations  between,  234-236; their  love  of  children,  238,  296;  a lullaby  of,  239;  mind  of,  and  Euro pean  mind,  difference  between,  244, 245,  247;  do  not  think  in  relations, 244,  247;  eyes  and  skin  of,  268-271; poems  of,  255;  their  women,  Loti on,  266-268;  bows  of,  304,  305;  lan guage  of,  plurals  in,  308;  sacrifices made  for  education  by,  319;  spirit of  restlessness  in,  331;  their  lack  of sentiment  for  Nature,  332,  333;  a people  with  no  souls,  333,  334;  bear custom  of;  338;  myths  of,  389,  390; custom  of,  at  death  of  animals,  429- 431. Jesuits,  48,  49,  386. Jewish  novelists,  55,  374. Jingoism  in  Japan,  189. Jinosuke,  Arakawa,  9. Jinrikisha,  the  word,  105. Jiujutsu  school,  a,  258,  259. Jizo,  18,  19,  44,  45,  415,  441,  451. Job,  Book  of,  quoted,  333. 462 INDEX Kadzuo,  441-450. Kaisuiyoku,  Japanese  bathing  resort, 13. Kaji,  the  Adventures  of,  296-303. Kaka-ura,  18,  19. Kamakura,  27,  340. Kami-sama,  the,  181. Kannushi,  the,  26,  174,  408. Karashishi,  67. Kasuga,  409,  412. Kawafuchi,  student,  311. Keats,  John,  263. Kingsley,  Charles,  his  Hereward,  116, 117;  his  Heroes,  369. Kiomidzu  of  Kyoto,  the,  412. Kipling,  Rudyard,  215;  Hearn's  praise of  his  works,  22,  23,  27,71,  110,424; I    quoted,  131, 185;  his  "  kingly  boys, " |    149;  of  those  favoured  by  the  Gods, f    159;  his  Rhyme  of  the  Three  Sealers, \    191-193,  195;  his  ballads,  242,  380, !  381;  his  The  Light  that  Failed,  434; the  complexities  summed  up  in, 436. Kitzuki,  409,  412,  421. Kobe,  beauty  of,  310,  401;  the  Sumi tomo  Camphor  Refinery  at,  318; t    Chinese  at,  318, 319;  Hearn  accepts r  offer  of  place  at,  383;  hotels  at,  392, 401;  Hearn's  second  stay  at,  411. Kojiki,  the,  246. Kojin,  28,  29. Kompert,  Leopold,  374. Kompira,  209. Kompira-uchi-machi,  299-303. Koteda,  Viscount  Yasusada,  Gov ernor  of  Izumo,  8,  258. Koto  Kyomasa,  Japanese  divinity, 429. Koto-shiro-nushi-no-kami,  13,  156, 408. Kumamoto,  contrasted  with  Izumo, xviii;  the  New  Director  at,  76,  77; Hearn  not  kindly  treated  in,  82; celebration  of  a  birth  in,  123;  Hearn gets  no  literary  material  in,  131; not  so  bad,  for  material,  as  Tokyo, 137;  policy  in,  to  conceal  things from  Hearn,  148;  his  work  at  the school,  165,  166,  168,  169;  school gossip,  305-307;  Hearn  thinks  of resigning  his  position  at,  321,  322; on  renewal  of  contract  with  the school,  325,  426;  on  the  abolition of  English  studies  at,  325;  is  a  pri son  in  the  bottom  of  hell,  379;  Hom- myoji  temple  near,  429;  not  much chance  to  study  life  in,  434.  See Students. Kuroda,  Shinto,  his  Outlines  of  the Mahay  ana,  351. Kwannon,  87,  209. Kyoto,  letters  of  Hearn  to  Mason, from,  391-397;  hotel  at,  401;  obi  at, 402,  405;  Hearn  disappointed  in, 403;  temples  at,  403,  404;  most beautiful  at  night,  405;  industries  at, 405 ;  pleases  Hearn  less  than  Izumo, 407;  women  at,  410. Kyushu,  school  in,  6;  nothing  to  see, hear,  or  feel  in,  59;  students  of,  168, 169;  crowds  of,  170. Labrunie,  Gerard  (Gerard  de  Nerval), his  Voyage  en  Orient,  135;  became mad  and  committed  suicide,  186, 187;  his  works,  186,  187;  his  Filles de  Feu,  375;  the  only  one  who  can approach  Loti,  393. Lamb,  Charles,  xx. Lang,  Andrew,  a  line  from  his  trans lation  of  Homer,  113;  his  transla tions  from  Gautier,  135,  203,  204; his  poetry,  stucco  and  paint,  387. Lanier,  Sidney,  his  The  Science  of Verse,  204. Latins,  lack  of  spirituality  in,  54,  55; charm  of  life  among,  119;  have  not developed  an  industrial  centre,  173. Law,  best  students  in  Japan  take  to, 310,  311. Lazarus,  Emma,  her  translations  of Heine,  137. Lecky,  William  Edward  Hartpole, 424. Le  Due,  Leouzon.  See  Leouzon  Le Due. Le  Fanu,  Joseph  Sheridan,  his  Bird of  Passage,  260;  his  My  Uncle  Silas, 260. Legend  of  Hearn's  house,  173-176. Legends,  71,  72. Leland,  Charles  Godfrey,  on  Borrow, 259,  260. Lemaitre,  Jules,  156. Lenormant,  Francois,  358. Leouzon  Le  Due,  Louis  Antoine,  his version  of  Kalewala,  354. j  Leroux,  Ernest,  book  on  Les  Peuples Strangers  comme  des  Anciens  Chi- INDEX 463 nois  in  his  Bibliotheque  Orientale, 390. Letters,  a  charm  of,  xviii,  xix;  spon taneous  and  non-spontaneous,  92. Letters  of  the  alphabet,  the  character of,  xxxii,  106. Letter- writers,  xix,  xx. Life,  object  of,  14,  15. Lisle,  Leconte  de,  187. Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth,  314. Loochooan  students,  174. Loti,  Pierre,  pseud.   See  Viaud. Louisiana  patois,  7,  376. Louys,  Pierre,  Hearn  on  the  tendency to  cruelty  in  his  work,  xliii,  xlvi. Lowell,  Percival,  his  The  Soul  of  the Far  East,  1,  9,  406;  his  observation that  the  Japanese  are  the  happiest people  in  the  world,  10;  his  Choson, 11;  less  intimate  with  the  common people  of  Japan  than  Hearn,  16,  17; Hearn  on  a  book  of,  30,  31 ;  story  of the  letter  and  telegram  of,  94-96; compared  to  tropical  fruits  ripened by  sun,  237;  says  the  Japanese  have no  individuality,  322,  323;  his  pa pers  on  Esoteric  Shinto,  348;  and the  canals  of  Mars,  377. Lullaby,  a  Japanese,  239. Macmillans,  the,  publishers,  33. Magazines,  American,  34;  pay  of,  34, 210. Mallock,  William  Hurrell,  morbid, 55;  on  Gautier,  197. Malory,  Sir  Thomas,  62. Man,  the  ideal,  how  figured,  231; smallness  of  all  connected  with, 243-245. Manila,  20,  21,  24,  70,  119,  320. Mars,  canals  of,  377. Martinique,  patois  of,  7;  story  of  ad venture  in,  273. Mason,  W.  B.,  208,  328,  336,  351,  353; does  not  like  Sacher-Masoch,  125, 126;  always  sane,  190;  criticizes Hearn,  220;  a  good  chess-player, 246;  a  beautiful  soul,  340;  fond of  movement,  346;  an  evening  at his  house,  351;  much  to  know  such a  man  as,  355,  356;  at  Otsu  with Hearn,  356;  a  remark  of,  358,  359; Hearn  vexed  with,  391;  letters  to, 401-437;  Hearn  anxious  to  meet, 432. Maspero,  Gaston  Camille  Charles,  358, 394. Materialism,  326,  327,  335. Mathematicians  and  poets,  155. Maupassant,  Guy  de,  various  books of,  22;  never  exceeded  his  Boule-de- Suif,  159;  never  possessed  deep  hu man  sympathy,  200;  his  L' Inutile Beaute,  367;  two  studies  of  insan ity  by,  367;  his  Des  Vers,  375. Mayoi,  the  word,  138. McDonald,  Mitchell,  426. Meido,  the,  15. Memory,  55,  56. Mercier,  Alfred,  on  the  Louisiana patois,  7,  376. Merimee,  Prosper,  55;  Beam's  opin ion  of,  135,  136;  his  Carmen,  199, 260,  353. Metal- work  at  Kyoto,  405. Metres,  new,  resulting  from  fusion  of tongues,  207.  See  Prosody. Miko,  cannot  rest  in  her  grave,  26; dance  of,  300,  301,  407,  409,  412. Miller,  Joaquin,  quoted,  161;  the  poor and  the  good  in,  161,  369. Milton,  John,  177,  263. Miojunja,  the,  13. Mionoseki,  12,  13,  16,  407,  408. Mirbeau,  Octave,  his  Le  Calvaire,  425; his  sequel  to  Le  Calvaire,  437. Missionaries,  and  Samurai  girls,  47; Romish,  Japanese  hatred  of,  103, 104;  reaction  against,  desired,  118; the  truth  not  told  about,  147;  at commemoration  games,  185;  pro perty  held  by,  190;  Beam's  opinion of,  190,  392. Mistral,  Frederic,  his  Mireille,  194. Misumi,  142,  143. Modernization,  of  educated  Japan ese,  17;  in  Japan,  Hearn  on  the effects  of,  132,  254,  411,  412;  illus trated  by  story  of  shopkeeper  with queue,  226,  227. Moji,  297,  411-413. Monastery  and  convent,  the  words, 22. Morality,  of  Japanese,  compared  with that  of  Christians,  14;  a  compara tive,  326;  how  shown,  344-346;  what is  it?  377-379. Motion,  cessation  of,  at  200  degrees below  zero,  284;  the  highest  forms of,  are  thoughts,  284,  285. 464 INDEX Munro,  — ,  his  Physical  Basis  of  Mind in  Relation  to  Evolution,  351. Murdoch,  James,  his  Ayame-San,  348. Murger,  Henri,  374. Music,  Spanish  and  Japanese,  20,  21 ; and  poetry,  204;  and  emotional speech,  profound  relation  between, 205;  of  a  bon-odori,  422;  German and  Italian,  219. Musical,  terms,  descriptive  of  colour, 110,  112;  experience,  a,  289,  290. Musset,  Alfred  de,  his  Rolla,  199. Myths,  389,  390. Nagasaki,  140-142, 145, 146, 152, 153, 310. Napier,  Mrs.,  8. Nara,  409-411;  Daibutz  temple  at, 409,  410;  Ningyo,  410. Nature,  nothing  steady  in,  171;  as conceived  by  Wordsworth,  218, 219,  227,  228;  how  we  see  the  beau ties  of,  218;  Japanese  lack  of  senti ment  for,  332,  333;  law  of,  377-379. Needles,  worship  of,  24. Nerval,  Gerard  de,  pseud.  See  La- brunie,  Gerard. Nesbit,  E.,  pseud.  See  Bland. New  Orleans,  Hearn's  life  in,  ix. Newspapers,  women  in,  77,  78;  of Yokohama,  190;  Hearn  at  work  on, ,  391. Nightmares,  213. Nihilists,  372. Nirvana,  284. Nishida,  Sentaro,  62,  63. Nitobe,  Inazo,  348. Noguchi,  Yone,  xxviii,  xxxi,  xxxix,  xl, li. Nominosukune,  9. Norse  writers,  201. Novelists,  French  and  other,  55. Novels,  English,  sexual  question  in, 77-80. Nukekubi,  the  belief  in,  390. Oba,  9. Obi,  402,  405. Occidental.   See  Western. Ofuda,  71,  72,  409,  421,  428. Oki,  naval  surgeon,  302. Oki,  Archipelago  of,  35,  408,  414-420, 432. Open  Ports  of  the  Far  East,  conven tions  of  life  in,  262, 263;  Hearn  longs for,  309,  310;  Hearn's  judgment  on, 343,  344;  everything  Japanese  ac centuates  at,  401. Oracles,  348. Orient,  the,  Hearn  tires  of  life  in,  97; an  education,  97;  system  of  morals in,  cultivates  honour,  loyalty,  un selfishness,  316. Oriental  literature,  358 Otokichi,  442-449. Otsu,  Hearn  and  Mason  at,  356. Pascal,  Blaise,  164,  177. Pater,  Walter,  on  the  love  of  the  ro mantics  for  the  exotic,  xxviii;  his Appreciations,  257;  his  essay  on Wordsworth,  283,  284. Patois,  Creole,  7,  376. Patti,  Adelina,  240. Pearson,  Charles  Henry,  166,  167, 204,  214;  has  no  pulse,  177. Personality,  Hearn's,  xxvi-xxix;  in Japanese,  31,  32;  nature  of,  34, 35. Pessimism,  Zola's,  the  probable  re sults  of,  159. Philistinism,  modern,  384,  385. Philology,  evolution  should  be  ap plied  to,  389. Physiognomies,  English,  American, and  Japanese,  45,  46. Placidity,  Japanese,  36-38. Plato,  287,  384. Poe,  Edgar  Allan,  the  legend  of,  v; his  passion  for  melodious  words,  xli. Poetry,  Hearn  on,  xlv,  368,  369;  the highest,  a  religion,  xlvii,  173;  of  the decadents,  307,  308.  See  also  Pros ody. Poets,  and  mathematicians,  155;  in ferior,  jewels  in,  161,  162;  great, none  to-day,  387. Polish  brigade  in  the  Franco-Prus sian  War,  story  of,  128-130. Pope,  Alexander,  Hearn's  views  on, 368,  369,  374. Pottery,  Rakuzan-yaki,  8. Preexistence,  Japanese  creed  of,  15. Presents,  Japanese,  224,  225. Prevost  d' Exiles,  Antoine  Frangois, his  Manon  Lescaut,  199. Proselytism  in  Japan,  15,  47. Prosody,  59,  193,  194,  203,  209,  223, 225,  233,  234.  See  Rhyme,  Rhythm, Music. INDEX 465 Protestant,  world,  bald  and  cold, 215;  countries,  conventions  in,  263. Provengal,  poetry,  194,  223,  225,  234; language,  194. Prudhomme,  Sully,  195,  210,  242. Puritanism  of  intellect,  396,  397. Queue,  story  of  the  shopkeeper  with, 226,  227. Race  feeling,  power  of,  128-130,  387. Races  of  the  West,  will  give  way  to those  of  the  East,  90,  91,  167. Rakuzan-yaki,  pottery,  8. Reactionary  movement  in  Japan, 118,  119,  189,  227,  247-249. Reade,  Henry  Charles,  215,  216. Reading,  Hearn's  method  of,  293, 294. Realism  in  literature,  135. Reichshoffen,  story  of  the  cuirassiers at,  129,  130. Rein,  Johannes  Justus,  432. Religion,  the  Japanese  moulded  by, liv;  of  the  Japanese,  compared  with Christianity,  14,  15;  of  the  Ainu, 25;  forms  of,  48;  and  superstition, utility  of,  68,  69;  in  Japan,  the present  and  the  future  of,  252-254; of  Tolstoi,  352,  353;  an  evolutional growth,  391.  See  Buddhism,  Chris tianity. Rhyme,  alternation  of,  193,  194,  206, 207,  223,  225;  the  rime  riche,  205, 206;  of  final  syllable,  206;  lawful and  unlawful,  in  connection  with accent,  208,  209;  feminine,  preced ence  given  to,  in  French  poetry, 233,  234. Rhythm  in  prose,  59. Rice-seeds,  magical,  13. Rich  rhymes,  205,  206. Richepin,  Jean,  the  abominations  of, 135. Riddle,  a  Japanese,  201,  202. Ritter,  F.  F.,  his  translation  of Brahma  from  Djellalleddin  Rumi, 311,  312,  314. Riu-Kiu,  Normal  School  of,  174. Romanism,  49. Romantic  School  of  French  literature, 135,  186-188,  197,  374. Rosny,  Leon  de,  394;  his  versions  of Japanese  poems,  255. Rossetti,    Dante   Gabriel,    164,  206, 263;    his    use    of    language,    xliv; quoted,  274;  Pater  on,  284. Rousseau,  Jean  Jacques,  164. Rumi,  Djellalleddin,  his  Brahma,  311, 312,  314. Ruskin,  John,  263,  353,  369. Russia,  feared  by  Japan,  118;  writers of,  Hearn's  liking  for,  200. Russians,  the  coming  race,  49,  64. Russo-Jewish  novels,  94. Sacher-Masoch,  Leopold  Ritter  von, 62,  76;  his  La  Mere  de  Dieu,  55;  not liked  by  Chamberlain  and  Mason, 125,  126. Saddharuma-Pundarika,  the,  314. Saigo,  414-416,  432. Sainoike,  lake  of,  414. Saint  Quentin,  his  Grammar  of  the Guyane  Creole,  7. Saintsbury,  George,  on  Proven  gal poetry,  194;  his  history  of  French literature,  203;  on  the  origin  of  al ternating  masculine  and  feminine rhymes,  223;  on  Gautier's  La  Morte Amoureuse,  223,  224;  on  Baudelaire and  Zola,  224;  on  Maupassant's Des  Vers,  375. Sakai,  12,  421. Sake-cup,  Imperial  gift  to  Hearn,  376, 383. Sakurai,  321,  322. Samurai,  girls,  47;  school,  a,  258,  259; old  ideal,  315. Sapporo  College,  195,  247. Satow,  Sir  Ernest  Mason,  347,  358. Scholars,  the  lighter  vein  in,  110,  111. School,  an  old  samurai,  258,  259. Schools,  government,  in  Japan,  225, 226;  in  Japan,  reactionary  move ment  in,  247-249. Schopenhauer,  Arthur,  355. Sculpture,  Greek,  acquaintance  with anatomy  plays  no  part  in,  228,  229. Seki-Baba,  265. Self-control,  Japanese,  45,  46,  247;  in Japanese  poems,  255. Senke,  Mr.,  420-422. Senses,  Hearn's  extraordinary  percip- iency  of,  xxxvii. Sensitiveness,  of  Hearn,  xxix-xxxviii; Japanese,  35-38. Sensualism,  some,  good  for  human nature,  198;  artistic  and  moral, value  of,  396,  397. 466 INDEX Sensuousness  of  Hearn,  xl-xlvi. Sentiment,  the  evolution  of,  50-52. Servian  poetry,  357. Setsubun,  the,  46. Sevigne,  Madame  de,  xx. Sex-idea,  in  Japanese  love  of  Nature, 163. Sexual  question,  in  Western  and  East-  j era  civilizations,  77-81;  in  its  rela tion  to  the  family,  92,  93. Shakespeare,  William,  Story  of  the Three  Caskets,  composition,  132, 133. Shelley,  Percy  Bysshe,  218,  263;  his use  of  the  "rich  rhymes,"  206. Shijo-Gawara,  the,  409. Shinigami,  a  Shinto  God,  375. Shinshu,  a  sect,  252,  253. Shinto,  rustic,  26;  and  Buddhist  dei ties,  difficult  to  distinguish  between, 29;  Hearn  changes  his  views  on, 128;  power  in,  128, 130;  has  native nobility,  253;  Shinigami,  a  God, 375;  preserves  its  past,  404. Shosei,  234,  235. Shoten,  29. Shrines,  Japanese,  427. Sikh  policemen  and  troopers,  147. Silkworms,  God  of,  412. Singing  in  public  baths  in  Japan,  250. Skin,  beauty  of,  270-272. Smell,  the  sense  of,  161. Smells,  Beam's  sensibility  to,  xxxvii; Japanese,  160,  161,  266,  417. Smith,  Alexander,  his  Edinburgh,  172. Smith,  Arthur  Henderson,  his  Chinese Characteristics,  407. Snakes  in  Japan,  428. Snow  in  Japanese  art,  56,  57. Songs,  a  Japanese  boat-song,  117; student,  206;  national,  240;  Auld Lang  Syne,  240,  241;  military,  241, 242;  a  song  sung  in  Martinique, 273;  at  the  Imperial  Wedding,  277, 278;  at  festivals  in  Japan,  327. Song-titles,  250. Soul,  the,  332-335;  of  animals,  338, 339,  429-431. Spanish,  music,  20;  language,  two  of Hearn' s  adventures  when  learning, 65,  66. Spencer,  Herbert,  9,  56,  74,  76,  85, 248,  326,  352,  391,  424;  Hearn  a  be liever  in  his  theories,  Iviii,  55;  his illustration  of  ancestral  memory, 256;  gives  "particular  hell"  to Dening,  428;  on  Christian  virtues found  in  countries  not  highly  civ ilized,  429. Spirituality,  lack  of,  in  Latin  races, 54,  55. Stamps,  286,  291,  292. Steamers,  Japanese,  139,  140,  297- 299,  411. Stedman,  Edmund  Clarence,  on Hearn  as  a  romantic  personality,  v. Steinmetz,  Karl  Friedrich  von,  129, 130. Stevenson,  Robert  Louis,  xx,  xli. Students,  Japanese,  extracts  from compositions  of,  107-109,  132,  133, 191,  236,  237,  260,  261,  282,  283, 289,  323,  324,  328-330,  334-336, 383;  lack  of  spontaneity  and  imagi nation  in,  165,  166,  168;  of  Kyushu and  Izumo,  168,  169;  Christian, action  of,  at  Shinto  temple,  169; Loochooan,  174;  Beam's,  175;  in government  schools,  225,  226;  be nevolence  exercised  toward,  234- 236;  their  celebration  of  the  Impe rial  Wedding,  277-282,  284;  Hearn advises  them  to  follow  a  course  of practical  science  rather  than  litera ture,  278,  279;  Yasukochi  Asakichi and  Kawafuchi,  310,  311;  the  best of  them  go  into  law,  31 1 ;  Hearn's conversation  with  Asakichi,  315- 318,  326;  sacrifices  made  for,  by parents,  319;  English  studies  should be  permitted  to  most  gifted  only, 325;  their  views  of  Japan  and  the West,  328-330;  of  Japanese  Naval Academy,  423. Student-songs,  mediaeval,  206. ,  Style,  simplicity  in,  62-64. Suffering,  necessary  to  full  develop ment  of  nervous  system,  238. I  Sumihito,  Arima,  258,  265. I  Superstition,  68,  69,  265,  338. !  Swift,  Jonathan,  156. Swinburne,  Algernon  Charles,  64;  his use  of  language,  xliv;  only  reechoes himself,  387. Symonds,  John  Addington,  111,  164, 263;  his  In  the  Key  of  Blue,  112;  his Renascence,  151;  a  want  of  some thing  in,  160. Sympathy  for  foreigners  in  Japan, lack  of,  359. INDEX 467 Tadotsu,  299. Taiko  Maru,  the  steamer,  139. Taine,  Hippolyte  Adolphe,  on  North ern  and  Latin  temperaments,  xlvi; his  great  artistic  weakness  lies  in his    judgment,    24;    his   study   of Napoleon,  367. Takagi,  318,  319. Taylor,  Bayard,  his  translation  of Faust,  137;  his  Larp,  201;  his  The Song  of  the  Camp,  369. Taylor,  Jeremy,  305. Teachers,  of  Hearn,  65,  66;  in  Japan, benevolence   of,    toward   students, 234-236;   foreign,   in  Japan,   247- 249.     See  Students. Temples,  Japanese,  73,  403,  404,  409, 410,  415,  421,  428,  429. Tempo  men,  38,  73,  97,  315. Tennyson,  Alfred,  Baron,  xlvi,  206; his    Idylls   of  the   King,   artificial, over-delicate    conservatory    work, 62;  quoted,  64,  160;  his  satire  on Bulwer  Lytton,  173. Thackeray,  W.  M.,  xx. Thomas,  — ,  his  grammar  of  the Trinidad  patois,  7. Thomas,  Edith  M.,  149,  153,  154. Thompson,   Maurice,    his  Atalanta's Race,  162. Thought,  the  highest  form  of  motion, 284,  285. Tithonus,  The  Story  of,  a  Composite Photograph,  107-109. Toda,  Mr.,  343. Tokyo,  341;  Hearn  at,  342-362;  the Tokyo  Club  at,  354. Tolstoi,  Leo,  55,  347;  his  religion,  352, 353. Tonsure,  symbolic,  376. Torio,  Viscount,  33. Touaregs,  346,  347. Touch,  Beam's  sensibility  to,  xxvii. Tourgueneff,  Ivan  Sergyeevitch,  200. Tradition,  power  of,  128-130. Transmigration,   Japanese   creed  of, 15. Tropics,  the,  music  in,  20;  effects  of the  climate  of,  21. Tylor,  Edward  Burnett,  389. Um£,  Professor,  441. Unitarianism,  39. University.  See  Kumamoto. Urago,  418-420. Urashima,  142-146. Lyeda,  Akinari,  Hearn  compared  to, Valera,  Juan,  22;  his  Dona  Luz,  64- 66. Viaud,  Julien  (Pierre  Loti),  63;  his Madame  Chrysantheme,  xlii,  1;  his Le  Roman  d'un  Enfant,  89;  his  pic tures  of  Kyoto,  110;  his  Roman  d'un Spahi,  115;  on  his  expiring  genius, 126,  436,  437;  a  judgment  upon, 133,  144;  partly  of  the  Romantic school,  135;  a  photograph  of,  138; reached  the  perfection  of  vital  Ro mantic  prose,  188;  his  works,  188; multitude  of  words  used  by,  to  ex press  smallness,  243;  his  Femmea Japonaises,  266-268;  his  Carmen Sylva,  274-276;  his  La  Ville  Sainte, 347,  348,  403;  his  Au  Maroc,  373; his  genius,  392,  393;  his  Le  Livre de  la  Pitie,  etc.,  425;  his  Fantome d'Orient,  436,  437. Vice  and  virtue,  53. Vows,  Japanese,  46,  47. Wada,  444,  447-449. Wales,  Hearn's  early  life  in,  370. Wallace,  Alfred  Russel,  indifferent  to poetical  aspects  of  Nature,  151. Warmth,  a  great  vibration,  284. Watson,  William,  xlvi,  173,  177;  his The  Dream  of  Man,  172,  387; Hearn's  views  on,  386,  387. Wedding,   Je  Imperial,  277-282, 284. Wedding  customs  in  Japan,  44,  45. Well  God,  the,  138. Welsh  language,  370,  373,  374. Wepfner,  Margaretha,  348. West,  its  appeal  to  Hearn,  341. West  Indian  steamer,  story  of  adven ture  on,  272,  273. West  Indies,  Hearn's  life  in,  ix,  21; climate  of,  70,  126. Western,  civilization,  old  Japanese far  in  advance  of,  32;  sexual  idea, 77-81,  163;  races,  will  give  way  to those  of  the  East,  90,  91;  civiliza tion,  its  enormous  cost,  167;  mind, and  Japanese,  difference  between, 244,  245,  247;  mind,  thinks  in  rela tions,  244,  247;  dogs,  250;  stand point  in  business  and  morals,  315- 468 INDEX 318;  life,  a  spiritual  and  a  material side  to,  325,  326;  lands,  woman  in, 327;  civilization,  not  so  moral  as some  savage  nations,  429. Whittier,  John  Greenleaf,  his  power of  awakening  sympathy  in  Beam, 149. Wilde,  Oscar,  173. Woman,  our  idea  of,  spiritualized  by evolutional  philosophy,  221-223, 231;  in  Western  lanas,  327. Wood-carving,  Japanese,  410. Words,  the  colour,  form,  character, etc.,  of,  xxxi-xxxiii,  105-107,  113; on  the  use  of  foreign,  xxxiii,  105, 113-117,  124,  125;  Ream's  sensi tiveness  to,  xli;  their  effect  on  the mind,  114-117;  Japanese  plurals  of, 308. Wordsworth,  William,  263;  not  so clear  as  Tennyson,  218;  on  his  an thropomorphism,  218;  on  the  way in  which  he  looks  at  Nature,  218, 219,  227,  228;  ever  found  London beautiful.  264;  Pater's  essay  on, 283,  284. Writing,  Hearn 's  method  of,  42-44, 57-60. Yasugo,  408. Yodogaioa  Maru,  the  steamer,  297- 299. Yokohama,    papers,    190;    bay,  310; Hearn  at,  340-342. Yriarte,  Charles  fimile,  on  Mediaeval Italy,  151;  his  Un  Condoltiere  au XVI  Siecle,  164. Yukionna,  the,  57. Zola,  fimile,  one  cannot  read  him twice,  22;  has  not  so  enduring  quali ties  as  older  authors,  136;  the  ideal ist  of  the  Horrible,  156;  compared with  Balzac,  157;  the  comparative value  of  his  books,  158;  what  good will  come  of  his  pessimism?  159; Saintsbury  on,  224;  on  religious  in fluences  in  literature,  263;  hisL'Ar- gent,  425;  sees  and  hears  vice  as Dickens  saw  and  heard  eccentri city,  435,  436;  stupendous  at  paint ing  battles,  437. BOOK UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  I<J3RARY