TŌKYŌ, June, 1899.
DEAR MITCHELL,--I reached my little Japanese house last night, carrying
with me a sort of special tropic atmosphere or magnetic cloud--composed
of impressions of hearts, hands, and minds dearer and altogether
superior to the things of this world. Are you not as Solomon who "made
silver to be in Jerusalem as stones, and cedars as the sycamore-trees
that are in the lowland for multitude"?
Presently I squatted down before my _hibachi_, and smoked and viewed the
landscape o'er--inverted in the pocket-lens of Dr. Bedloe, and invested
thereby with iridescences of violet and crimson and emerald. And it
occurred to me that the prismatic lights in question symbolized those
fairy-tints and illusions which the two of you wove around me while I
remained in the circle of your power. Spell it must have been--for I
cannot yet assure myself that I left Tōkyō only yesterday morning,
and not a month ago. The riddle reverses the case of Urashima;--I have
been trying to argue out the question whether happiness does really
make the hours shorter, or does rather stretch time infinitely, like
the thread of a spider. No doubt, however, the true explanation lies in
contrasts--the contrasts of the extraordinary change from real Japanese
existence to the American colonial circle of the year of grace 1899. It
is really, you know, like taking a single stride of a thousand years
in measure,--and the result is, of course, more bewildering than the
striding of Peter Schlemihl. He could only go from the Pole to the
Tropics in an afternoon--just now you are like old acquaintances who
come back at night to talk to us as if they had not been under the
ground for thirty years and more. Are you all quite sure down there that
you are alive? I believe _I_ am,--though I have to pinch myself betimes
to make sure. Then I have the evidence of that magnifying glass; and my
shoes tell me that I must have been out.
Yet more--I have two letters to send you. (They need no comment, other
than that which I have inscribed upon them.) I enclose them only because
I know that you want to see them.
By the way, I feel otherwise displeased with you. I could forgive you
for much besides getting off a moving train. _There was a pillar right
behind you_ as you stepped off. What would the not impossible Mrs.
Mitchell McD. of my wishes say to you for that!
Affectionately,
LAFCADIO.