KŌBE, March, 1895.
DEAR CHAMBERLAIN,--About three days ago came the welcome books.
"The Cruise of the Marchesa" it would be difficult to praise too
highly. There are a few touches here and there slightly priggish, or
snobbish,--but the fine taste of the writer as a rule, his modesty as
a man of science, his compact force of expression, his appreciation of
nature, his astonishing capacity for saying a vast deal in a few words,
are indubitable, and give the book a very high literary place. The
engravings are lovely. The other book is an amazement. How any man could
seriously make such a book I can't possibly imagine. It is the most
disgraceful attempt of the sort I ever saw,--absolutely unreadable as
a whole: an almanac is a romance by comparison. Still I found a lot of
interesting facts by groping through it. I should scarcely like to trust
myself in Manila.
The Marchesa book is a delight, and will bear many readings. The general
impression is that both Sulu and the Celebes are paradises; but that
Dutch order is highly preferable to the condition of the isles under
Spanish domination (in theory). The necessity of dress-coats and _de
rigueur_ habits is the chief drawback, I should imagine, at a place like
Macassar. But the Malayan Dutch colonies must be delightful places. I
fear, however, that as in Java, the Christianization of the natives has
spoiled the field for folk-lore work.
The Ryūkyū chapters, with the illumination of your own pamphlet,
make a very pleasant, dreamy, gentle sensation. Half-China and
half-Japan under tropical conditions should create a particular
queerness quite different from our Dai Nippon queerness. I hardly
believe that the conditions will change so rapidly as those of Japan
proper. In such latitudes and such isolation changes do not come
quickly. There are little places on the west coast I know of where the
conditions must be still pretty near the same as they were a thousand
years ago.
I fear, however, my travelling days (except for business and monotonous
work) are nearly over. I'm not going to get rich. Some day I may hit the
public; but that will probably be when I shall have become ancient. I
feel just now empty and useless and a dead failure. Perhaps I shall feel
better next season. At all events I have learned that, beyond all doubt
and question, it is absolutely useless for me to try to "force work."
If the feeling does not come of itself from outside, one had better do
nothing.
I had a sensation the other day, though, which I want to talk to you
about. I felt as if I hated Japan unspeakably, and the whole world
seemed not worth living in, when there came two women to the house, to
sell ballads. One took her _samisen_ and sang; and people crowded into
the tiny yard to hear. Never did I listen to anything sweeter. All the
sorrow and beauty, all the pain and the sweetness of life thrilled and
quivered in that voice; and the old first love of Japan and of things
Japanese came back, and a great tenderness seemed to fill the place
like a haunting. I looked at the people, and I saw they were nearly all
weeping, and snuffing; and though I could not understand the words,
I could feel the pathos and the beauty of things. Then, too, for the
first time, I noticed that the singer was blind. Both women were almost
surprisingly ugly, but the voice of the one that sang was indescribably
beautiful; and she sang as peasants and birds and _semi_ sing, which
is nature and is divine. They were wanderers both. I called them in,
and treated them well, and heard their story. It was not romantic at
all,--small-pox, blindness, a sick husband (paralyzed) and children to
care for. I got two copies of the ballad, and enclose one. I should be
very glad to pay for having it translated literally:--if you think it
could be used, I wish you would some day, when opportunity offers, give
it to a Japanese translator. As for price, I should say five yen would
be a fair limit.
Would you not like me to return some day your version of the Kumamoto
Rōjō, and admirable translation? I preserve it carefully; and have
used some of the lines for a sketch in the forthcoming book. I rendered
nearly the whole into loose verse, but in spite of my utmost efforts, I
could do nothing with the best part of it; I could put no spirit into
the lines. My suggestion about it is because it is a very curious if not
a very poetical thing; and should you ever make an essay upon modern
Japanese military songs, it would be a pity not to include it. So it is
always carefully kept, not only for its own sake, but also in view of
such possible use.
I find it is still the custom when a _shinjū_ occurs to make a ballad
about it, and sing the same, and sell it. This reminds one of London.
Ballad customs seem to be the same in all parts of the world.
I shall soon return the books, with a copy of the next _Atlantic_. What
could I send you that you would like? I should suggest Rossetti, if
you do not know him well--for I think he ranks as high as Tennyson. I
have only Wallace among travellers. I have all of Fiske and Huxley and
Spencer and Clifford and the philosophy of Lewes. By the way, have you
read "Trilby"? I have read it several times over. It is a wonderful
book. The art of it escapes one at first reading, when one reads only
for the story.