What I want much is to get a little human sympathy and something quiet to do. Of course, I should like a university of all things,—but ... is it possible? I have a new book in MS.; but as I was expecting to go to America, I did not send it to the publisher. It will chiefly consist of ghost-tales.
My dear Fairy-Sister, I now am writing only to reach you as soon as possible,—to thank you, and to reassure you about myself. So please excuse this poor effort, and believe me most gratefully worshipful.
Lafcadio Hearn.
TO MRS. WETMORE
Tōkyō, 1903.
Dear Mrs. Wetmore,—Your letter from Virginia came, and made fires of hope burn up again, with changing vague colours,—like the tints of a fire of wreck-drift remembrance from the snowy winter of 1889. It has given me a great deal to think about—not merely as regards myself, but also as regards another and very dear person....
I am delighted to read President Jordan’s kind words. I shall write him a letter to-day, or to-morrow, enclosing it to you. From Johns Hopkins I have a reply, enclosed,—which does not promise much. I shall see what can be done there. But the Lowell Institute affair promises better. As for President Jordan, I should be glad to speak at Leland Stanford independently of salary, on the way going or coming—could no other arrangement be made. It strikes me, however, that there is danger of any and every arrangement being broken up. The power of certain religious bodies is colossal.
Spring would be the best time for me to go to America, if I can get through the spider-web now spun all around me. It would be the best time, because those lectures are taking handsome shape, towards a volume of 500 to 600 pp.; and it were a pity to leave anything unfinished before I go. Spring again would be the best time, because I am not yet so strong that I can face a down-East winter without some preparation. Spring would be the best time, because my fourth child is coming into the world. Spring would be the best time, because I am getting out a new book of ghost-stories, and would like to read the proofs here, in Japan. I think it were imprudent to go before spring.
I have to think seriously about the money-question—at 53, with a large family. To go to America alone means $500 U.S., and as much to return—that signifies 2000 yen; with which I can live in Japan for two years. Then there are the necessary expenses of living. To take my boy were a great risk. Had the Japanese Government been willing to pay me the vacation money they morally owed me (about 5600 yen), I could have done it. (They told me that I ought to be satisfied to live on rice, like a Japanese.) Then I must be sure of being able to send money home. At present there is no money certainly in sight. But here I can live by my pen. Since I was driven out of the university, I have not been obliged to drop even one sen of my little hoard. The danger is the risk to sight of incessant work; but that danger would exist anywhere, except perhaps in a very hot country. And sooner or later the Government must wake up to the fact that it was wicked to me.