The Life and Letters of Lafcadio Hearn Volume II Part 14

Almost at the same time there came to me news from the Gulf of Mexico.

Perhaps you will remember that I wrote a novel about some islands there.

I used to pa.s.s my summers in those islands. They were about sixty miles from the city of New Orleans. Well, on October 4th, a storm burst over that coast, killing more than 2000 people. The island of Grand Isle was covered by the sea in the night; and everything--houses, trees, and people--carried away. Hundreds I used to know are dead. It is a year of storms and calamities, surely, in all parts of the world.

I will write a better letter later: I am writing now to answer your questions about those sentences:--

(i) "Choppy"--"chopped" or "chapped" by cold: "chapped hands"--hands of which the skin is _cracked_ by frost. "His hands are all chapped"--that is, all _roughened_ by frost. "Choppy" is not so often used as "chapped:" it is a poetical use of the word.

(ii) "He had torn the cataracts from the hills." You must remember here Winter is personified as a monstrous giant. "Cataracts" is used in the sense of "waterfalls." The waterfalls are frozen into solid ma.s.ses of ice. Winter, the giant, breaks them off, and hangs them round his waist.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

(iii) "And they clanked at his girdle like _manacles_" (from Latin _ma.n.u.s_, "hand") (you spelled the word wrong: it is "manacles").

"Manacles," iron fetters for the hands;--handcuffs. They are made in pairs, fastened together by a chain, and closed by a key. They _clank_ when they strike together,--(i. e.) make a ringing metallic noise--because they are of fine steel usually. The sound made by iron is "clank"--"_to_ clank" (verb), "_a_ clank" (noun). Why does Sh.e.l.ley use such a simile? Because Winter is like a jailer, like the keeper of a prison. He fastens up, or imprisons, the rivers, lakes, and ponds with ice. So he is described as a keeper of prisoners,--with manacles or handcuffs hanging to his waist, ready for use. Ice striking against ice makes a ringing noise, very much like iron--sometimes. The comparison is very strong.

And why does he put his chapped finger to his lip? To put the first finger on the lips is a sign for "Be silent!" "Do not speak!" In winter the world becomes silent. The birds are gone; the insects are dead.

P. S.

DEAR NIs.h.i.+DA,--I waited over last night to hunt up the quotation for you; and during the night my child was born. A very strong boy,--dark eyes and hair; he has some of my features, some of Setsu's.

Setsu is well enough to send kind words, and to tell you what I was intending to tell you myself,--how delighted we have all been to hear of your good health this year.

I intended to write more, but I am too tired for the moment,--as I have not been in bed for more than 24 hours. So for a little, good-bye,--best regards to you and yours always from

LAFCADIO HEARN.

TO SENTARO NIs.h.i.+DA

k.u.mAMOTO, November, 1893.

DEAR NIs.h.i.+DA,--Everybody is well up to date: the little boy looks prettier every day, and gives very little trouble. He scarcely cries at all. Many people come to look at him, and express surprise that he looks so much like a j.a.panese. But he is going to have a nose something like mine, certainly, when he grows up.

Setsu advises me to write you about another matter. I wanted, and tried several times since coming to k.u.mamoto, to have Setsu registered as my lawfully married wife, but the answer was always the same--that it was a difficult matter, and would have to be arranged in Tokyo, if at all. The day before yesterday, I made another attempt when registering the birth of the boy. The registry people said that as the parties came from Matsue, Izumo, they would only make the statement of the marriage by Matsue authority,--and that I had better write to Matsue. But at the same time, they said words to this effect: "The law is difficult for you. If you wish the boy to remain a j.a.panese citizen, you must register him in the mother's name only. If you register him in the father's name, he becomes a foreigner."

Of course we all want the child to be a j.a.panese citizen, as he will be the heir and stay of the old folks after I am dead--whether he goes abroad for a few years' study or no. Prudence seems to dictate the latter course. Yet the whole thing is a puzzle. By becoming myself a j.a.panese citizen, everything would be settled. Even that, however, is more difficult than it at first seemed. Again, I believe that I could become a j.a.panese citizen by making direct application to the Government;--but at the present time the result might not be for the best. An Englishman in Yokohama, who became a j.a.panese citizen, had his salary immediately reduced to a very small figure, with the observation: "Having become a j.a.panese citizen, you must now be content to live like one." I don't quite see the morality of the reduction; for services should be paid according to the market-value at least;--but there is no doubt it would be made. As for America, and my relatives in England, I am married: that has been duly announced. Perhaps I had better wait a few years, and then become a citizen. Being a j.a.panese citizen would, of course, make no difference whatever as to my relations in any civilized countries abroad. It would only make some difference in an uncivilized country,--such as revolutionary South America, where English or French or American protection is a good thing to have. But the long and the short of the matter is that I am anxious only about Setsu's and the boy's interests; my own being concerned only at that point where their injury would be Setsu's injury. I suppose I must trust to fate and the G.o.ds. If you can suggest anything good to do, however, I will be very grateful.

Every day, it strikes me more and more how little I shall ever know of the j.a.panese. I have been working hard at a new book, which is now half-finished, and consists of philosophical sketches chiefly: It will be a very different book from the "Glimpses," and will show you how much the j.a.panese world has changed for me. I imagine that sympathy and friends.h.i.+p are almost impossible for any foreigner to obtain,--because of the amazing difference in the psychology of the two races. We only guess at each other without understanding; and it is only a very keen guesser, indeed, of large experience, who can ever guess correctly. I have met no one else like you. Nothing is so curious as to sit down and talk for hours with a j.a.panese of the ordinary Tokyo modernized cla.s.s. You understand all he says, and he understands all you say,--but neither understands more than the words. The ideas behind the words are so different, that the more we talk the less we know each other. In the case of the students, I found myself obliged to invent a new method of teaching. I now teach my higher cla.s.ses psychologically. I give them lectures and dictations on various difficulties of the preposition, for example, starting out with the announcement that they must not allow themselves to think of the j.a.panese preposition at all....

I have followed this plan with great success in teaching the articles, the value of English idioms, etc., and the comparative force of verbs.

But it shows how hopeless for a stranger to see deeply into the j.a.panese mind. I am taking almost exactly the opposite ground to that of Lowell.

Faithfully ever, LAFCADIO HEARN.

TO OCHIAI

k.u.mAMOTO, January, 1894.

DEAR OCHIAI,--Many thanks for your kind letter, with its kind wishes,--and many happy New Years to you.

I have been very glad to hear of your success at school, and all the news about your reading. I think Mr. Nis.h.i.+da's plan is very wise and good. It is true that the lives of such men as Clive and Hastings--and above all Napoleon--are full of interest and romance, because they show the wonderful things that can be achieved by force of character united with great intellect,--Clive being the best man, morally, of the three.

But, on the other hand, it is sadly true that the genius and the courage of those three wonderful men were not employed in the n.o.blest way, but most often in a bad cause. Strong characters are very attractive, because those who read about them take pleasure in imagining what they would do if they had the same power and opportunity. But strong characters are only really admirable when they are employed in a good, just, n.o.ble cause. And of such characters, the number in Western history is few. Pericles, Miltiades, Epaminondas, were n.o.bler than Alexander; yet people like to read about Alexander, who was not a good man. Marcus Aurelius was n.o.bler than Caesar; but people like to read more about Caesar, because he was a great conqueror. And so on through all Western history. There is splendour and honour in brave fighting for what is right; but I do not think we ought to allow ourselves to praise brave fighting for what is wrong. Bravery is n.o.ble only when the object is n.o.ble. As a quality, it is not peculiar to man at all;--a wild bull is braver than any general. It is very n.o.ble to sacrifice one's life for a good cause--for love of parents, country, duty; but we ought not to admire the throwing away of life for an unjust cause. The real rule by which to measure what is admirable and what is despicable is the rule of Duty.

That is why I admire very, very much, all that was n.o.ble in the old j.a.panese life,--its moral code, its household religion, and its unselfishness. Everything is now pa.s.sing away. By the time you are as old as I now am, all j.a.pan will have been changed; and I think you will remember with regret the kindness and the simplicity of heart and the pleasant manners of the Old j.a.pan, that used to be all about you. The New j.a.pan will be richer and stronger and in many things wiser; but it will neither be so happy nor so kindly as the old.

Well, I trust you will have all possible success,--not only in your school-life, but in all your life to come. I have hopes you will do great and good things, and that I will hear of them.

Ever affectionately yours, LAFCADIO HEARN.

TO MASAn.o.bU OTANI

k.u.mAMOTO, March, 1894.

MY DEAR OTANI,--To study philology, with the idea of becoming a philologist, scarcely seems to me a hopeful undertaking for you.

Philology means a great deal, including the comparative study of languages; and it requires a very special natural gift in acquiring languages, to be of any very practical value to you. It would also require, I think, years of study in foreign universities. I am not quite sure what you mean by philology, and what your purpose in following that course would be. You might, of course, do as many do--take the literary and philological course at the university. But the question, to my mind, seems to be this: "What would be the practical value of such studies afterwards?" Do you wish to become a Professor of Philology? Do you wish to give your life to the scientific study of languages? If you do, are you quite sure you have the particular kind of talent required (for, remember, everybody cannot become a philologist any more than everybody can become a mathematician)?

[Ill.u.s.tration: A GROUP OF GRADUATES OF THE MIDDLE SCHOOL

1 Mr. Hearn 2 Mr. Nis.h.i.+da 3 The old teacher of Chinese Cla.s.sics]

The truth is, I do not know enough about your circ.u.mstances and intentions and abilities to advise you well. I can only tell you _in a general way_ what I think.

I think you ought not to study what would not be of _practical_ use to you in after-life. I am always glad to hear of a student studying engineering, architecture, medicine (if he has the particular moral character which medicine requires), or any branch of applied science.

I do not like to see all the fine boys turning to the study of law, instead of to the study of science or technology. Of course much depends upon the mathematical faculty. If you have that faculty, I would strongly advise you to direct all your studies toward a scientific profession--something really practical,--engineering, architecture, electricity, chemistry, etc. If you should ask which, I could not tell you, because I do not know your own highest capacities in such directions. I would only say,--"Whatever you are most sure of loving as a practical profession."

j.a.pan wants no more lawyers now; and I think the professions of literature and of teaching give small promise. What j.a.pan needs are scientific men; and she will need more and more of them every year.

To-day you are fortunate; but nothing in this world is sure. Suppose you were obliged suddenly to depend entirely on your own una.s.sisted power to make money,--would it not then be necessary to do something practical?

Certainly it would. And _according to the rarity of your abilities_ would be your remuneration,--your money-making power. Even the Queen of England obliged her children to learn professions.

Now scientific men are still comparatively rare in j.a.pan. The science-cla.s.ses in the colleges are small. Many students begin the study,--but they find it hard for them, and give it up. Nevertheless, it is _just because it is hard_ that it is so important and of such high value to the person who masters it. If you were my son, or brother, I would say to you, "Study science,--applied science; study for a practical profession." As for languages and other subjects, you can study them whenever you please. The practical knowledge is the only important knowledge now,--and your whole life will depend upon your present studies.

You asked whether philology was difficult. Science _is_ difficult,--really difficult; but everything worth having in this world is difficult to get, exactly in proportion to its value. The only question, I think, should be, "What study will be most useful to me all through life?" But not whether it is difficult. What is important to know is always difficult to learn. Philology is difficult; practical science is difficult;--both are very difficult. But philology would never be of much use to you, unless you have a natural genius for language-study. And science would be of immense value to you, whether you have any genius or not. You will need, however, as I said before, mathematical study to fit you for that. And I would also remind you of this:--

Hundreds of students leave the university without any real profession, and without any practical ability to make themselves useful. All cannot become teachers, or lawyers, or clerks. They become _sos.h.i.+_, or they become officials, or they do nothing of any consequence. Their whole education has been of no real use to them, because it has not been _practical_. Men can succeed in life only by their ability to _do_ something, and three fourths of the university students can _do_ nothing. Their education has been only _ornamental_.

Faithfully yours, LAFCADIO HEARN.

TO SENTARO NIs.h.i.+DA

k.u.mAMOTO, April, 1894.

DEAR NIs.h.i.+DA,--You are becoming a very _indifferent_ correspondent, if one should judge by scarcity of letters,--so I suppose I am not to hear from you again until something extraordinary happens. So runs the world away from a man. But never shall I be able to understand the people of "the most Eastern East."

Well, I have been to Kompira,--in a _fune-fune_ to Tadotsu, thence by rail to the wonderful, quaint old town. We took Kaji along. He never cries now, and behaved so well that on all the railroads and steamers people fell in love with him and played with him. He made the acquaintance of many politicians, of surveyors, of some silk merchants, of two captains, of a naval surgeon, of many gentle women, of the _miko_ at Kompira, and--I am sorry to say--of some geisha. However, that was because he was very young, and did not know. I hope when he gets bigger he will be more reserved with his smiles. One thing showed his good taste: he was especially attracted by the two young _miko_, who were really very sweet and pretty,--the prettiest I ever saw, and he made one of them smile even during her dance. I have sent a better picture of him.

I should much rather be in a country-school again. However, so far as I can see, the same trouble is going to find its way into all the public schools, and stay there, until some means be devised of removing schools altogether from the domain of politics by something like the American system. The American system is imperfect; but it has at least this merit,--that the leading citizens and merchants of a place can act as boards of directors, and that the temporary officials proper cannot meddle directly in school matters at all. Thus the school interests are taken care of by those most directly concerned in their welfare, and not by strangers. Each community supports its own school by a general tax.