TO BASIL HALL CHAMBERLAIN
Matsue, June, 1891.
Dear Mr. Chamberlain,—I am horribly ashamed to confess my weakness; but the truth must be told! After having lived for ten months exclusively upon Japanese fare, I was obliged to return (for a couple of days only!!!!) to the flesh-pots of Egypt. Having become sick, I could not recuperate upon Japanese eating—even when reënforced with eggs. I devoured enormous quantities of beef, fowl, and sausage, and fried solid stuffs, and absorbed terrific quantities of beer,—having had the good luck to find one foreign cook in Matsue. I am very much ashamed! But the fault is neither mine nor that of the Japanese: it is the fault of my ancestors,—the ferocious, wolfish hereditary instincts and tendencies of boreal mankind. The sins of the father, etc.
Do you know anything about Chōzuba-no-Kami? There are images of him. He has no eyes—only ears. He passes much of his time in sleep. He is angry if any one enters the koka without previously hemming,—so as to give him notice. He makes everybody sick if the place in which he dwells is not regularly cleaned. He goes to Kizuki and to Sada with the other gods once a year; and after a month’s absence returns. When he returns, he passes his hand over each member of the family as they go to the Chōzuba,—to make sure the family is the same. But one must not be afraid of the invisible hand. I think this kami is an extremely decent, respectable person, with excellent views on the subjects of morality and hygiene. I could not refuse him a lamp nor—for obvious reasons—the worship of incense.
I have not been able to travel yet far enough to find anything novel, but hope soon to do so. Meanwhile I am planning to make, if possible, not only a tour of Izumo, but also a very brief visit to Tōkyō in company with Mr. Nishida. Perhaps—I may be able to see both you and Mr. Lowell for a tiny little while—you will always have a moment to spare.
I am always haunted by a particularly sarcastic translation Mr. Lowell, in one of his books, made of the name of a gate,—“The Gate of Everlasting Ceremony.” (Only an American could have dared to make such a translation.) I have been through the Gate and into the Court of Everlasting Ceremony; but the gate is a marvellous swarming of carven dragons and water, and the court is full of peace and sweetness. Most truly,
Lafcadio Hearn.
TO BASIL HALL CHAMBERLAIN
Matsue, 1891.
Dear Professor Chamberlain,—Your welcome letter has just reached me, on the eve of a trip to Kizuki, and—unless extraordinary circumstances prevent—Oki islands. My guest has departed. He was so petted and made much of here, that I could not help regretting you also would not come. I think I could make you comfortable here,—even in regard to diet,—at any time when you could make the trip; and, as far as the people go, they would embarrass you with kindness. Your name here is—well, more than you would wish it to be.
Your last delightful letter I did not fully answer in my last, being hurried. What you said about the influence of health or sickness on the spiritual life of a man went straight to my heart. I have found, as you have done, that the possessor of pure horse-health never seems to have an idea of the “half-lights.” It is impossible to see the psychical undercurrents of human existence without that self-separation from the purely physical part of being, which severe sickness gives—like a revelation. One in good health, who has never been obliged to separate his immaterial self from his material self, always will imagine that he understands much which, even recorded in words, cannot be understood at all without sharp experience. We are all living two lives,—but the revelation of the first seems only to come by accident. There is an essay worth reading, entitled “Sickness is Health,”—dealing with the physical results of sickness only; but there is a much larger psychological truth in the title than the author of it, whose name I forget, ever dreamed of. All the history of asceticism and self-suppression as a religion, appears to me founded upon a vague, blundering, intuitive recognition of the terrible and glorious fact, that we can reach the highest life only through that self-separation which the experiences of illness, that is, the knowledge of physical weakness, brings; perfect health always involves the domination of the spiritual by the physical—at least in the present state of human evolution.