TO SENTARŌ NISHIDA
Kōbe, January, 1895.
Dear Nishida,—I have just written to Mr. Senke, to apologize for delay in sending my annual contribution—which I had hoped to be able to do as a Japanese citizen. But this may give me a chance to write again, when I get naturalized.
The Governor of Hyōgo did a very strange thing—informed the British Consul that I was to make a declaration in writing, presumably before the Consul, that I intended to be faithful to the Emperor of Japan, and to obey the laws. I did make the declaration; and the Consul is kind enough to forward it. But I believe he is doing this out of personal kindness; for I do not think it is according to English ideas, much less English laws, for a Consul to accept such a declaration at all. Indeed, what was asked was equivalent to requesting the English Consul to accept an English subject’s renunciation of allegiance to Queen Victoria,—and I am astonished that the Consul, who is a rigid disciplinarian, in this case allowed me to submit to him any declaration on the subject. One thing is sure, that others who want to become Japanese subjects are going to have plenty of trouble. These measures are entirely new, and quite different to anything ever before exacted—for example, in the case of Warburton and other Kōbe residents who became Japanese subjects, perhaps for business reasons.
I am thinking of building Setsu a house, either in Kōbe or Kyōto. When I say Kōbe, I mean Hyōgo, really; for I cannot well afford to buy land at $40 to $70 per tsubo in the back streets of Kōbe. In Hyōgo, I can do better. Setsu and I both agree that Kōbe is warmer than Kyōto; but, except for the winter months, I should rather live in Kyōto than in any part of Japan. Tōkyō is the most horrible place in Japan, and I want to live in it just as short a time as possible. The weather is atrocious;—the earthquakes are fearsome;—the foreign element and the Japanese officialism of Tōkyō must be dreadful. I want to feel and see Japan: there is no Japan in Tōkyō. But in spite of all I say, Setsu thinks of Tōkyō just as a French lady thinks of Paris. After she has passed a winter there, perhaps she will not like Tōkyō so much. I imagine that she thinks the Tōkyō,—the really beautiful Tōkyō—of the old picture-books, and the bank-bills, still exists. Then she knows all the famous names—the names of the bridges and streets and temples,—and these are associated in her mind with the dramas and the famous stories and legends of Japan. Perhaps I should love Tōkyō just as much as she does, if I knew the history and the traditions of the country as well.
LAFCADIO HEARN’S FAVOURITE DWELLING-HOUSE
You will be pleased to hear that my books are attracting considerable attention now in England. It is very hard to win attention there, but much more important than to win it in America. “Out of the East” has made more impression in England than my first book did. I don’t know what will be said of “Kokoro:” it is a terribly “radical” book—at variance with all English conventions and beliefs. However, if you and my few Japanese friends like it, I shall be happy.
I wish you were here to eat some plum-pudding with me.
Oh! I forgot to tell you that Finck, who wrote that book about Japan, is rather celebrated (perhaps celebrated is too strong a word—well known is better) as the author of a book called “Romantic Love and Personal Beauty.”