TŌKYŌ, January, 1904.
DEAR MR. TANABE,--I received your kind New Year's greeting, and your
good letter; and if I have delayed so long in replying, it has been only
because, for some weeks past, I have not had five minutes to spare.
I was much touched by the sad news about your little girl,--and I
can understand all that one does not write about such matters. Some
nine years ago, I very nearly lost my little boy: we sat up with him
night after night for weeks, always dreading that he was to be taken
from us. Fortunately he was saved; but the pain of such an experience
is not easily forgotten. As a general rule, the first child born to
young parents is difficult to bring up. With the next, it is very
different;--perhaps you will be more fortunate later on. One has to be
brave about such matters. When Goethe was told of the death of his only
son, he exclaimed: "Forward--over the dead!" and sat down to write,
though the blow must have been terrible to him,--for he was a loving
father.
I suppose that Mr. Ibaraki will soon be coming back to Japan. He
deserves much success and praise;--for he had great obstacles to
overcome as a student, and triumphed over them. I do not know who
told him that I was going to England; but several persons were
so--incorrectly--informed. Whether I shall go or not remains for the
present undecided.
Of course the real philosophy of "Undine" is the development of what
Germans call "the Mother-Soul" in a young girl. By marriage and
maternity certain beautiful qualities of character are suddenly evolved,
which had remained invisible before. The book is a parable--that is why
it has become a world-classic.
What you tell me about your reading puzzles me a little. One must
read, I suppose, whatever one can get in the way of English books at
Kanazawa. Still, if my advice be worth anything, I should especially
recommend you to avoid most of the current novel literature--except as
mere amusement. The lasting books are few; but one can read them over
so many times, with fresh pleasure every time. I should think, however,
that Stevenson would both please and profit you,--the last of the great
nineteenth-century story-tellers.