I. Society. Civilized society conspires to starve certain men to death.
It must do so in self-defence. There _are_ privileged men; I may become
one yet.
II. I have down on me the Church. By Church, you must not think of the
Roman, Greek, Episcopalian, etc., persuasions,--but all Christendom
supporting missionary societies, and opposing free-thinking in every
shape. Do not be deceived by a few kindly notes about my work from
religious sources. They are genuine,--but they signify absolutely
nothing against the great dead weight of more orthodox opinion. As
Professor Huxley says, no man can tell the force of a belief until he
has had the experience of fighting it. Good! Church and Society together
are pretty vigorous, you will acknowledge.
III. The English and American Press in combination,--the press that
represents critical opinion in London as well as in New York. Don't
mistake the meaning of notices. All, or nearly all, are managed by
the publishers. The policy is to praise the work--because that brings
advertisements. Society, Church, Press--that means a big combination,
rather. On my side I have a brave American naval officer--and the
present good will of the Japanese Government, which has been vaguely
aware that my books have been doing some good.
Now you may say, "How important the little mite thinks himself,--the
cynosure of the world!" But that would be hasty thinking. I am pretty
much in the position of a book-keeper known to have once embezzled,
or of a man who has been in prison, or of a prostitute who has been
on the street. These are, none of them, you will confess, _important_
persons. But what keeps them in their holes? Society, Church, and
public opinion--the Press. No man is too small to get the whole world's
attention _if_ he does certain things. Talent signifies nothing. Talent
starves in the streets, and dies in the ginhouse. Talent helps no one
not in some way independent of society. _Temporarily_, I _am_ thus
independent.
At this moment the pressure is very heavy--perhaps never will be much
heavier. Why? Because I have excited some attention,--because there is a
danger that I might succeed. You must not think I mean that everybody in
general, or anybody in special, _thinks out these thoughts_. Not at all.
Society, Church, and Press work blindly, instinctively,--like machinery
set in motion to keep a level smooth. The machinery feels the least
projection, and tries to flatten it out of existence,--without even
considering what it may be. Diamond or dung makes no difference.
But if the obstruction prove _too_ hard, it is lifted out of the way of
the machinery. That is where my one chance lies--in making something
solid that forces this kind of attention.
You might ask me, if I think thus, why dedicate a book to our friend
the doctor? That is a different matter. My literary work _cannot_ be
snubbed; and it goes into drawing-rooms where the author would be
snubbed. Besides, a doctor can accept what other people can't.
You see that there are many who come to Japan that want to see me; and
you think this is a proof of kindly interest. Not a bit of it. It is
precisely the same kind of curiosity that impels men to look at strange
animals,--a six-legged calf, for instance. The interest in the book is
in some cases genuine; the interest in the personality is of the New
York _Police Gazette_ quality. Don't think I am exaggerating. When I get
my fingers caught in the cogs, I can feel it.
So much for the ugly side of the question. Let us take the cheerful one.
_Every_ man who has new ideas to express, at variance with the habits
of his time, _has to meet the same sort of opposition_. It is valuable
to him. It is valuable _to the world at large_. Weakness can't work
or burst through it. Only strength can succeed. The man who does get
through has a right to be proud, and to say: "I am strong." With
health and time, I shall get through,--but I do feel afraid sometimes
of physical disaster. Of course I have black moments; but they are
also foolish moments--due to disordered nerves. I must just hammer
on steadily and let money quarrels go to the deuce, and sacrifice
everything to success. When you are in the United States you may be
able to help me with the business part of the thing--providing that
you understand exactly the circumstances, and don't imagine me to be a
possible Kipling or Stevenson. Not only am I a mere mite in literature,
but a mite that has to be put forward very, very cautiously indeed.
"Overestimate" me! well, I should rather say you did.
And now we'll leave theory for practice. I don't think you can do
anything now--anything at all. You _might_--but the chances are not
worth taking. You will be surprised to hear, I fancy, that the author
must see his proofs--not for the purpose of assuring himself that
the text is according to the copy, but for the purpose of making it
_different_ from the MS. Very few writers can perfect their work in
MS.; they cannot see the _colour_ and line of it, till it gets into
type. When a statue is cast, it is cast exactly according to the mould,
and shows the lines of the mould, which have to be removed: then the
polishing is done, and the last touches are given. Very slight work--but
everything depends upon it. So with artistic writing. It is by changes
in the printed form that the final effect is obtained. Exactness
according to the MS. means nothing at all; that is only the casting,--a
matter of course; and another man can no more look after your proofs
than he can put on your hat. Did you ever try the experiment of letting
a friend try to fit your hat comfortably on your own head? It can't be
done.
Health is good; sprain about well; book nearly through--sixteen chapters
written. Only, the flavour is not yet quite right.
Finally, dear friend, don't think, because I write this letter, that
I am very blue, or despondent, or anything of that sort. I am feeling
to-day unusually well,--and remember something said to me ten years
ago by a lady who at once detested me after our introduction. She said:
"A man with a nose like you should not worry about the future--he will
_bore_ his way through the world." I trust in my nose. With true love to
you,