Dear McDonald,—I ought to have answered you about the subject of investment the other day; but I thought it would be better to wait. However, now I think (I have just received your telegram, and I confess it made me uncomfortable) that I had better write my feelings frankly. I suppose that, being naturally born to bad luck, I shall lose my small savings in the ordinary course of the world’s events; but I would prefer this prospect to the worry of mind that I should have about any investment. In fact, rather than stand that worry again (I have had it once) I should prefer to lose everything now. The mere idea of business is a horror, a nightmare, a torture unspeakable. The moment I think about business I wish that I had never been born. I can assure you truthfully that I would rather burn a five hundred dollar bill than invest it,—because, having burned it, I could forget all about it, and trust myself to the mercy of the gods. Even if I had Jay Gould behind me, to pull me up every time I fell, I should not have anything to do with business. Even to have to write you this letter makes me wish that all the business in the world could be instantly destroyed. I am afraid to explain more. I think I won’t go to Yokohama on Friday next—but later,—well, what’s the use of writing more—you will understand how I feel. Ever most faithfully,
Lafcadio Hearn.
TO MITCHELL McDONALD
Tōkyō, February, 1898.
Dear McDonald,—When I saw that big envelope, I thought to myself, “Lord! what a lot of h—l I am going to get!” You see my conscience was bad. I was wrong not to have told you long ago of my peculiar ’phobia. And inside that envelope there was only the kindest of kind letters,—proving that you understood me perfectly well, and forthwith putting me at ease.
I read the prospectus with great interest (by the way, I am returning it, because, as it is still in the state of a private document, I think it is better that I do not keep it); and I am proud of my friend. He can do things! “Canst thou play with Leviathan like a bird? Or canst thou bind him for thy handmaidens?” No, I can’t, and I am not going to try; but I have a friend in Yokohama—an officer of the U. S. Navy—he plays with Leviathan, and makes him “talk soft, soft words”—indeed he even “presses down his tongue with a cord.” Well, I should like you to be as rich as you could be made rich, without having worry. But as for me!—the greatest favour you can ever do me is to take off my hands even the business that I have—contracts, and the like,—so that I need never again remember them. Besides, if I were dead, you are the one I should want to be profiting by my labours. Then every time you set your jaw square, and made them “fork over,” my ghost would squeak and chipper for delight,—and you would look around to see where the bats came from.
Well, next week I’ll try to get down. In fact I feel that I must go to Yokohama, for various reasons besides imposing upon a certain friend there. To-day I have been packing up my book all the time from morning until now—so as to send by registered letter.
About “the best.” You are a dreadful man! How could you think that I had got even halfway to the bottom. I have only drunk three bottles yet; but that is a shameful “only.” Three bottles in one month is simply outrageous; and I look into the glass often to observe the end of my nose. That “best” is too seductive.
With affectionate thanks for kindest letter,
Faithfully ever,