TO MITCHELL McDONALD
Tōkyō, April, 1898.
Dear McDonald,—Your kindest letter came last night. I must confess to a feeling of remorse for transferring all my troubles to your broader shoulders,—a remorse tempered somewhat, of course, by the certainty that you find a pleasure in helping your friend, but nevertheless, a remorse. So pray do not do anything more than you find it pleasant and inexpensive to do.
We are under the weather for the moment. We shall not be able to profit by the holidays. I have escaped cold and all other troubles; but I could not escape the generally depressing influence of this chilly, sunless, muddy, slimy season. In other words, I feel too stupid to do anything. Probably the sight of the sun will make us all feel happy again.
Of course I shall be unhappy till I get your photos,—both military and civilian. I fear to ask too many; but all I can get, I want. Don’t hurry; but—don’t forget me, if you think I deserve to be remembered.
I am a little anxious lest war take you away from Japan, which would leave me less satisfied with this world than I now am. But I should like indeed to accompany you in a descent on Manila, and to chronicle events picturesquely.
I should never be able, however, to do anything so wonderful as did Loti in describing the French attack on the coast of Annam. It was the greatest literary feat ever done by a naval officer; but it nearly cost him his place in the navy, and did in fact suppress him for several years. In his reissue of the narrative I see that he was obliged to suppress the terrible notes on the killing.
Ever affectionately,
Lafcadio Hearn.