TŌKYŌ, April, 1898.
DEAR McDONALD,--Just after having posted my letter (dated 11th, but
mailed 14th) yours came, together with the most precious photographs. My
warmest thanks, not only for them, but also for the friend's inscription
upon them, which adds to their preciousness. But--see how mean I am!--I
hope for _at least_ one more,--the one with the full-dress hat _on_. You
don't like it; but I just love it, and I hope you will save one for me.
The two you sent are admirable: I am going to put the large one in a
frame.
Shall I climb Fuji? Perhaps; but I know that at this blessed moment I
could not do it. I am too soft now. Must harden up first in the sea; and
then, please the gods, I'll climb with you. The climb is simply horrid;
but the view is a compensation.
I don't know what to do with you--after that remark about Loti. Unless I
can manage in the next three years to write something very extraordinary
indeed, I fear you will be horribly disappointed some day. You should
try to consider me as a _tenth-rate_ author, until the literary world
shall have fixed my place. And don't for a moment imagine me modest in
literary matters. I am Satanically proud--not modest at all. If I tell
you that much of my work is very bad, I tell you so, not because I am
modest, but because, as a professional writer, I can see bad execution
where you would not see it unless I pointed it out to you. It is like
an honest carpenter, who knows his trade, and will tell his customer:
"That isn't going to cost you much, because the work is bad. See! this
is backed with cheap wood underneath! It looks all right only because
you don't know how we patch up these things."
Ever most affectionately,
LAFCADIO HEARN.