The old men are divine: I do not know any other word to express what they are. When you meet a horrid Japanese, though, there is a distorted quality about him that makes him a unique monster--he is like an awry caricature of a Western mean fellow, without the vim and push--solid contemptibility _in petto_. You can scarcely imagine what he may be. Every transition period has its peculiar monsters.
I wonder, wonder, wonder whether I shall see you again,--and walk up and down on that cocoanut matting,--and make noises through the speaking-tube leading to the composing-room. Perhaps I could make some sketches of American life better now--after having looked back at it from this distance of eight thousand odd miles....
DEAR NISHIDA,--It made me happy to get your letter, and to hear from you that you think I am beginning to understand the Japanese a little better. My other books have had success in Europe as well as America;--the leading French review (_Revue des Deux Mondes_) had a long article about me; and the _Spectator_, the _Athenæum_, the _Times_ and other English journals have been kind. Still, I am not foolish enough to take the praise for praise of fact,--feeling my own ignorance more and more every day, and being more pleased with the approval of a Japanese friend than with the verdict of a foreign reviewer, who, necessarily, knows nothing to speak of about Japan. But one thing _is_ encouraging,--namely, that whatever I write about Japan hereafter will be widely read in Europe and elsewhere,--so that I may be able to do good. My first book is being translated into German.
I got a beautiful letter from Mr. Senke the other day, to which he has, I trust, by this time the answer,--in which I told him that I hope to see Matsue and Kizuki again in about another month. Setsu, mother, and the boy come with me. Kazuo is now much better--except morally;--he is more mischievous than ever. I want him to have as much of the sea this summer as he can bear. And I want to swim at Kizuki and Mionoseki, and to talk to you all I can--without tiring you.
I have been away. I have been at Ise, Futami, and nearly a week in [=O]saka. Ise disappointed me a little. The scenery is superb; but I like Kizuki better. At Ise there is so much money,--such enormous hotels,--such modernization: the place did not _feel_ holy to me, as Kizuki did. Even the _miko_ won't show their faces for less than five yen. Besides, it was bitterly cold, and hurt my lungs. I came back sick. [=O]saka delighted me beyond words. Excepting Ky[=o]to, it is certainly the most interesting city on this side of Japan. And I could never tell you how Tenn[=o]ji delighted me--what a queer, dear old temple. I went to Sakai, of course,--and bought a sword, and saw the grave of the eleven samurai of Tosa who had to commit _seppuku_ for killing some foreigners,--and told them I wished they could come back again to kill a few more who are writing extraordinary lies about Japan at this present moment. I would rather live a month in [=O]saka than ten years free of rent in T[=o]ky[=o].