KŌBE, April, 1896.
DEAR NISHIDA,--It made me happy to get your letter, and to hear
from you that you think I am beginning to understand the Japanese a
little better. My other books have had success in Europe as well as
America;--the leading French review (_Revue des Deux Mondes_) had a
long article about me; and the _Spectator_, the _Athenæum_, the _Times_
and other English journals have been kind. Still, I am not foolish
enough to take the praise for praise of fact,--feeling my own ignorance
more and more every day, and being more pleased with the approval of
a Japanese friend than with the verdict of a foreign reviewer, who,
necessarily, knows nothing to speak of about Japan. But one thing _is_
encouraging,--namely, that whatever I write about Japan hereafter will
be widely read in Europe and elsewhere,--so that I may be able to do
good. My first book is being translated into German.
I got a beautiful letter from Mr. Senke the other day, to which he has,
I trust, by this time the answer,--in which I told him that I hope to
see Matsue and Kizuki again in about another month. Setsu, mother, and
the boy come with me. Kazuo is now much better--except morally;--he is
more mischievous than ever. I want him to have as much of the sea this
summer as he can bear. And I want to swim at Kizuki and Mionoseki, and
to talk to you all I can--without tiring you.
I have been away. I have been at Ise, Futami, and nearly a week in
Ōsaka. Ise disappointed me a little. The scenery is superb; but
I like Kizuki better. At Ise there is so much money,--such enormous
hotels,--such modernization: the place did not _feel_ holy to me, as
Kizuki did. Even the _miko_ won't show their faces for less than five
yen. Besides, it was bitterly cold, and hurt my lungs. I came back sick.
Ōsaka delighted me beyond words. Excepting Kyōto, it is certainly
the most interesting city on this side of Japan. And I could never
tell you how Tennōji delighted me--what a queer, dear old temple.
I went to Sakai, of course,--and bought a sword, and saw the grave of
the eleven samurai of Tosa who had to commit _seppuku_ for killing some
foreigners,--and told them I wished they could come back again to
kill a few more who are writing extraordinary lies about Japan at this
present moment. I would rather live a month in Ōsaka than ten years
free of rent in Tōkyō.
Speaking of Tōkyō reminds me to tell you that my engagement with
the university is not yet assured. Day before yesterday I had a letter
from Professor Toyama that my becoming a Japanese citizen had raised
a difficulty "which," he wrote, "we must manage to get over somehow."
I wrote him that I was not worried about the matter, and had never
allowed myself to consider it very seriously,--hinting also that I would
not accept any low salary. What he will next write I don't know, and
don't very much care. If Matsue were a little warmer in winter I should
rather be teaching there. Indeed I think that even after a few years in
Tōkyō, I should be asking to get back to Matsue; and in any event
I hope to make a home there. If I can get such a _yashiki_ as I had--I
mean buy one for my own home--Matsue would be a very happy place to work
and study in. Besides, if my health keeps fair, I can hope eventually
to be able to travel in the coldest winter months, and then the Matsue
climate would make no difference for me. In summer it is delicious. Even
Setsu now thinks it better to live in the interior; and I shall be glad
to escape from the open ports. I have seen enough of the foreigners
here, and like them less than ever.
I should certainly like Mr. Asai very much, from your charming account
of him; and, at any rate, I expect to see both you and him within
forty days from this writing. If you think he would like a copy of
"Kokoro" it will make me very happy to send him one. As he has studied
philosophy, however, I don't know what he will think of the chapters
on the Idea of Preëxistence and the Worship of Ancestors. You know the
school of thought that I follow is bitterly opposed; and I believe it is
not honestly taught in any English establishment. In one or two American
universities it is partly taught; but only the French have given it
really fair attention abroad.