In the Orient intrigue has been cultivated as an art for ages, and it has been cultivated as an art in every country, no doubt. But the result of the adoption of constitutional government by a race accustomed to autocracy and caste, enabled intrigue to spread like a ferment, in new forms, through every condition of society,—and almost into every household. It has become an infinite net—unbreakable, because elastic as air, though strong enough to upset ministers as readily as to oust clerks.
Future prospects—? Dégringolade.
I feel sorry to say that I think I have been wrong about a good many of my sincere hopes and glowing predictions. Tōkyō takes out of me all power to hope for a great Japanese future. You know how easily a society in such a state can be manipulated by shrewd foreign influence. The race must give evidence of some tremendous self-purifying and self-solidifying power, before my hopes can be restored to their former rainbow hues. At present I think it can truthfully be said that every official branch of service shows the rapidly growing weakness that means demoralization. The causes are numerous—too numerous to mention,—inadequate pay being a large one, as the best men will not take positions at $15 or $20 a month. But the great cause is utter instability and discouragement. The P. O., the telegraph-service, the railroads, etc., all are in a queer state.
And I—am as a flea in a wash-bowl. My best chance is to lie quiet and wait the coming of events. I hope to see Europe, with my boy, some day.
Well, this is only private history to amuse E. H., to make Western by contrast to Eastern life seem more beautiful to him. Affectionately,
Lafcadio.
TO ELLWOOD HENDRICK
Tōkyō, May, 1897.
Dear E. H.,—I am still alive in alternations of gloom and sun. I anticipate now chiefly a national bankruptcy, or a war with Russia to upset my bank-account. There is a Buddhist text (Saddharma-Pundarika, chap. III, verse 125):—“The man whom they happen to serve is unwilling to give them much, and what he gives is soon lost. Such is the fruit of sinfulness.” It would be impossible, I imagine, that I should escape some future extraordinary experience of calamity. It is simply ridiculous,—can’t help seeing the absurdity of it. Otherwise I have sorrow.