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I remember again, when an execution was put into my house, and my books and furniture were seized and advertised to be sold, and Bankruptcy was impending, I naturally wrote to tell you about it. I did not mention that it was to pay for some gifts of mine to you that the bailiffs had entered the home where you had so often dined. I thought, rightly or wrongly, that such news might pain you a little. I merely told you the bare facts[39a]. I thought it proper that you should know them[39b]. You wrote back from Boulogne in a strain of almost lyrical exultation. You said that you knew your father was “hard up for money,” and had been obliged to raise ￡1500 for the expenses of the trial, and that my going bankrupt was really a “splendid score” off him, as he would not then be able to get any of his costs out of me! Do you realise now what Hate blinding a person is[39c]? Do you recognise now that when I described it as an Atrophy destructive of everything but itself, I was scientifically describing a real psychological fact? That all my charming things were to be sold: my Burne-Jones drawings: my Whistler drawings: my Monticelli : my Simeon Solomons: my china: my Library with its collection of presentation volumes from almost every poet of my time, from Hugo to Whitman, from Swinburne to. Mallarme, from Morris to Verlaine; with its beautifully bound editions of my father’s and mother’s works; its wonderful array of college and school prizes, its editions de luxe, and the like; was absolutely nothing to you. You said it was a great bore: that was all. What you really saw in it was the possibility that your father might ultimately lose a few hundred pounds, and that paltry consideration filled you with ecstatic joy[39d]. As for the costs of the trial, you may be interested to know that your father openly said in the Orleans Club that if it had cost him ￡20,000 he would have considered the money thoroughly well spent, he had extracted such enjoyment, and delight, and triumph out of it all. The fact that he was able not merely to put me into prison for two years, but to take me out for an afternoon and make me a public bankrupt was an extra-refinement of pleasure that he had not expected. It was the crowning-point[39e] of my humiliation, and of his complete and perfect victory. Had your father had no claim for his costs on me, you, I know perfectly well, would, as far as words go, at any rate have been most sympathetic about the entire loss of my library, a loss irreparable to a man of letters, the one of all my material losses the most distressing to me. You might even, remembering the sums of money I had lavishly spent on you and how you had lived on me for years, have taken the trouble to buy in some of my books for me. The best all went for less than ￡150: about as much as I would spend on you in an ordinary week. But the mean small pleasure of thinking that your father was going to be a few pence out of pocket made you forget all about trying to make me a little return, so slight, so easy, so inexpensive, so obvious, and so enormously welcome to me, had you brought it about. Am I right in saying that Hate blinds people? Do you see it now? If you don’t, try to see it[39f].
我又记起来了，当要在我家执行破产令时，我的书和家具查封了登广告出售，破产在即，我自然写了信告诉你。我没说是因为要偿还我给你买礼物的款项，法警才进入这所你曾如此经常地在这儿进餐的房子。我想，不管想对了还是想错了，这消息也许会让你不好受一下。我只是把事情如实告诉你[39a]，觉得这些事理应让你知道[39b]。你从布伦回了一封信，听那口气高兴得简直像写抒情诗似的。说是你知道你父亲“缺钱”，不得已筹措了1500镑的诉讼费，我这一破产，真是让他 “大失一分”，因为没法从我这儿拿到一点诉讼费了！你现在明白了吗，仇恨可以把人蒙蔽到什么地步[39c]？你现在看出了吗，当我说仇恨是一种破坏性的萎缩，它除了本身，会破坏一切时，我是在科学地描述一个真确的心理事实？我所有的好东西都要卖掉了：伯恩－琼斯的画、韦斯勒的画、蒙蒂塞利的画、西米恩?所罗门的画、各种瓷器，还有我的藏书，里头有当今世界几乎每一位诗人作品的赠阅本：从雨果到惠特曼、从斯温伯恩到马拉美、从莫里斯到魏尔伦，还有我父母著作装订精美的版本，还有从小学到大学历次的奖章奖品，还有各式豪华版书籍等等。这一切在你眼里一钱不值。你说这无聊透了，就这样。你从中真正看到的，是你父亲最终可能要破财几百英镑，这鸡毛蒜皮的破费就让你乐不可支的[39d]。至于说诉讼费，你也许有兴致听听，你父亲曾在奥利安斯俱乐部公开说过，如果花上个20000英镑他会觉得太值得了，闹了一场，痛痛快快、高高兴兴来了个大获全胜。他不但让我在监狱里蹲了两年，还有一个下午让我当众出丑，宣布破产，这倒是他始料不及的锦上添花。我的羞辱，他的得意，莫过于此[39e]。如果不是你父亲要将诉讼费转嫁于我的话，那我心里再明白不过了，起码就口里说的听来，你无论如何会对我痛失所有藏书而深表同情的。对一个文学家来说，这是无可挽回的损失，在所有物质损失中，这是最令我心疼的。 记起这些年我是怎样大把大把地在你身上花钱，供你养你，你甚至可能会出点力为我买回一些书来。那些书最好的以不到150英镑全卖了：差不多是我平常一周内为你花的钱。可是一想到要从你父亲兜里掏出几个便士了，这琐屑卑微的快感令你忘记了去为我做出一点回报，一点小小的回报，这样的轻而易举、不花大钱，却又会这样的有目共睹，令我求之不得。我说仇恨蒙蔽了人的眼睛错了吗？你现在看到了吗？要是还没有，就瞪大眼睛看吧[39f]。
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