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After four or five days you recover, and I take lodgings in order to try and finish my play. You, of course, accompany me. The morning after the day on which we were installed I feel extremely ill. You have to go to London on business, but promise to return in the afternoon. In London you meet a friend, and do not come back to Brighton till late the next day, by which time I am in a terrible fever, and the doctor finds I have caught the influenza from you. Nothing could have been more uncomfortable for anyone ill than the lodgings turn out to be. My sitting-room is on the first floor, my bedroom on the third. There is no manservant to wait on one, not even anyone to send out on a message, or to get what the doctor orders. But you are there. I feel no alarm. The next two days you leave me entirely alone without care, without attendance[20a], without anything. It was not a question of grapes, flower, and charming gifts: it was a question of mere necessaries: I could not even get the milk the doctor had ordered for me: lemonade was pronounced an impossibility: and when I begged you to procure me a book at the bookseller’s, or if they had not got whatever I had fixed on to choose something else, you never even take the trouble to go there. And when I was left all day without anything to read in consequence, you calmly tell me that you bought me the book and that they promised to send it down, a statement which I found out by chance afterwards to have been entirely untrue from beginning to end. All the while you are of course living at my expense, driving about, dining at the Grand Hotel, and indeed only appearing in my room for money. On the Saturday night, you having left me completely unattended and alone since the morning, I asked you to come back after dinner, and sit with me for a little. With irritable voice and ungracious manner you promise to do so. I wait till eleven o'clock and you never appear. I then left a note for you in your room just reminding you of the promise you had made me, and how you had kept it. At three in the morning[20b], unable to sleep, and tortured with thirst, I made my way, in the dark and cold, down to the sitting-room in the hopes of finding some water there. I found you. You fell on me with every hideous word an intemperate mood, an undisciplined and untutored nature could suggest. By the terrible alchemy of egotism you converted your remorse into rage[20c]. You accused me of selfishness in expecting you to be with me when I was ill; of standing between you and your amusements; of trying to deprive you of your pleasures. You told me, and I know it was quite true, that you had come back at midnight simply in order to change your dress-clothes, and go out again to where you hoped new pleasures were waiting for you, but that by leaving for you a letter in which I had reminded you that you had neglected me the whole day and the whole evening, I had really robbed you of your desire for more enjoyments, and diminished your actual capacity for fresh delights. I went back upstairs in disgust, and remained sleepless till dawn, nor till long after dawn was I able to get anything to quench the thirst of the fever that was on me. At eleven o'clock you came into my room. In the previous scene I could not help observing that by my letter I had, at any rate, checked you in a night of more than usual excess. In the morning you were quite yourself. I waited naturally to hear what excuses you had to make, and in what way you were going to ask for the forgiveness that you knew in your heart was invariably waiting for you, no matter what you did; your absolute trust that I would always forgive you being the thing in you that I always really liked the best, perhaps the best thing in you to like. So far from doing that, you began to repeat the same scene with renewed emphasis and more violent assertion. I told you at length to leave the room: you pretended to do so, but when I lifted up my head from the pillow in which I had buried it, you were still there, and with brutality of laughter and hysteria of rage you moved suddenly towards me. A sense of horror came over me, for what exact reason I could not make out; but I got out of my bed at once, and bare-footed and just as I was, made my way down the two flights of stairs to the sitting-room, which I did not leave till the owner of the lodgings — whom I had rung for-had assured me that you had left my bedroom, and promised to remain within call, in case of necessity. After an interval of an hour, during which time the doctor had come and found me, of course, in a state of absolute nervous prostration, as well as in a worse condition of fever than I had been at the outset, you returned silently, for money: took what you could and on the dressing-table and mantelpiece, and left the house with your luggage. Need I tell you[20d] what I thought of you during the two wretched lonely days of illness that followed? Is it necessary for me to state that [20d] I saw clearly that it would be a dishonour to myself to continue even an acquaintance with such a one as you had showed yourself to be? That[20d] I recognised that the ultimate moment had come, and recognised it as being really a great relief? And that[20d] I knew that for the future my Art and Life would be freer and better and more beautiful in every possible way? Ill as I was, I felt at ease[20e]. The fact that the separation was irrevocable gave me peace. By Tuesday the fever had left me, and for the first time I dined downstairs. Wednesday was my birthday. Amongst the telegrams and communications on my table was a letter in your handwriting. I opened it with a sense of sadness over me. I knew that the time had gone by when a pretty phrase, an expression of affection, a word of sorrow would make me take you back. But I was entirely deceived. I had underrated you. The letter you sent to me on my birthday was an elaborate repetition of the two scenes, set cunningly and carefully down in black and white! You mocked me with common jests. Your one satisfaction in the whole affair was, you said, that you retired to the Grand Hotel, and entered your luncheon to my account before you left for town. You congratulated me on my prudence in leaving my sickbed, on my sudden flight downstairs. “It was an ugly moment for you,” you said, “uglier than you imagine.” Ah! I felt it but too well. What it had really meant I did not know: whether you had with you the pistol you had bought to try and frighten your father with, and that, thinking it to be unloaded, you had once fired off in a public restaurant in my company: whether your hand was moving towards a common dinner-knife that by chance was lying on the table between us: whether, forgetting in your rage your low stature and inferior strength, you had thought of some specially personal insult, or attack even, as I lay ill there: I could not tell. I do not know to the present moment. All I know is that a feeling of utter horror had come over me, and that I had felt that unless I left the room at once, and got away, you would have done, or tried to do, something that would have been, even to you, a source of lifelong shame[20f]. Only once before in my life had I experienced such a feeling of horror at any human being. It was when in my library at Tite Street, waving his small hands in the air in epileptic fury, you father, with his bully, or his friend, between us, had stood uttering every foul word his foul mind could think of, and screaming the loathsome threats he afterwards with such cunning carried out. In the latter case he, of course, was the one who had to leave the room first. I drove him out. In your case I went[20g]. It was not the first time I had been obliged to save you from yourself[20h].
过了四五天你康复了，我就出去租公寓住﹐想把剧本写完。你，当然了，就陪着我过来。安顿好的第二天早上，我觉得人非常难受。你有事得去伦敦，但答应下午回来。在伦敦你遇见了朋友，等到第二天很迟才回到布莱顿，到那时我已经烧得很厉害了，医生说是你的流感传给了我。谁要是病了，都会发现再没有比那套公寓更不方便的地方了。我的起居室在二楼，卧室在四楼。没有男仆伺候，连找个人递信，或者买医生吩咐的东西都没有。但有你在呢。我用不着担心。接下来两天，你把我孤零零的一个人撂在那儿，不管不顾[20a]，什么也没有。这不是什么葡萄鲜花礼物的问题，而是最基本的必需品的问题：我甚至连医生要我喝的牛奶都没有，柠檬水就更别提了。我求你到书店买本书，如果没有我要的，就挑一本别的，可你从来就舍不得到那里走一趟。结果我一整天没东西可读，这时你不动声色地告诉我，你买了书，他们答应要送过来的。这话我后来碰巧发现，从头到尾是一派胡言。在这期间你不用说，全是由我供养，马车进出，宏伟酒店的餐饭，全由我支付。的确，只是在要钱时才会在我房间里出现。那个星期六晚上，你把我一个人撂下不管已有一天了，我要你晚餐后回来，陪我坐一会儿。你没好气地答应了。我等到了十一点，可你就是不露面。我于是在你房间里留了个字条，只是提醒一下你的许诺，以及你是怎么守的约。下半夜三点[20b]，我睡不着，口渴难耐，就摸黑冒着寒冷下楼到起居室，想找点水喝。没想找到了你。你朝我破口大骂，用尽了只有一个狂野的、没教养的人才想得出的语言。在自我中心可怕的点化之下，你的愧悔变成了暴怒[20c]。你骂我自私，自己生病了还想要人陪；说我对你的消遣横加阻挠，想剥夺你享受生活的权利。你告诉我，而我也知道这话不假，你半夜里回来，不过是要换件衣服，又再出去继续寻你的欢作你的乐；可是给你留这么一封信，说你一整天一整夜把我放着不管，我实在是把你寻找更多欢乐的心境剥夺了，把你再去享受生活的兴味减低了。我嫌恶地回到楼上去，一夜未眠直到天亮。而天亮后很久我才弄到东西缓解一下发烧引起的口渴。十一点时分你来到我房间。通过你刚才的吵闹我不禁看出，由于那封信，我到底还是在你变本加厉放纵自己的一个夜里拦住了你。那天上午你倒是恢复了常态，我自然就等着听你要编出什么借口，看你要怎样请求你心里明白一定在等着的宽恕，不管你做了什么。你绝对地相信我永远会宽恕你的，说真的这是我最喜欢你的地方，或许也是你最讨人喜欢的地方。没想到你不但没这么做，反而又开始夜里的吵闹，用词更为激烈狂暴。我最后只好叫你出去，你也装着走出去了。可当我把埋在枕头里的头抬起来时，你还在那里，狞笑着以歇斯底里的狂怒突然向我蹿过来。我心中冒起一阵恐惧，到底是因为什么我也说不清，但我一跃而起，就这样光着脚跑下两层楼到了起居室，摇铃叫房东。直到房东说你已经不在我卧室，还答应需要的话随叫随到，我才走出起居室。这样过了一个小时，在这期间医生来过，发现我，当然啰，神情紧张衰弱不堪，烧得比刚发病时更厉害了。这时你一声不响地回来，取钱来了：把梳妆台和壁炉台上能找着的钱都拿了，带着你的行李离开了这房子。难道还用得着我说吗[20d]，在接下来两天病中欲唤无人的凄苦日子里，我拿你是怎么看的？难道还用得着说出来吗[20d]，我已清楚地看到，照你如此表现的为人，即使只是同你保持熟人关系，也是很丢人的一件事？难道还用说吗[20d]，我已认识到，该是最后了结的时候了，这可是真正的一大解脱？难道还用说吗[20d]，我知道，从今往后我的艺术和生活不管在哪方面都将更自由、更美、更好？虽病体虚弱，但内心舒畅[20e]。分手是义无返顾了，这使我觉得安宁平静。到了星期二，烧退了，我第一次在楼下用餐。星期三是我的生日。在桌上放着的电报书信中有一封你手书的信。我怀着一份伤感将它打开，心里知道自己再也不会因为一句好话、一句感人的话、一句哀愁的话而容你回来。可我完全上当了。我低估了你。你在我生日当天寄来的信是对前两场吵闹淋漓尽致的重复，处心积虑地、狡猾地写成白纸黑字！你用粗俗的嘲弄取笑我。你说，在整个事件中你得意的一招便是在动身回伦敦之前折回宏伟酒家，把吃的午餐算到我的帐上。你恭喜我还算聪明，从病床上跳开得快，逃下楼逃得快。“那可是你小命危险的一刻，”你说，“比你所想象的还要危险。” 啊！对这一点我可是深有体会。话里的真正意思我不知道：不知你是否带着那支买来要吓唬你父亲的手枪，有一次我陪着你在一个餐馆，你以为枪没上膛，在那儿还开了一枪；不知你当时是否在伸手，要操起一把碰巧搁在我们面前桌子上的普通餐刀；不知你是否盛怒中忘了你的个子体力都在我之下，趁我卧病在床想要来点特别的人身侮辱，甚至攻击；这些我都不知道。直到现在也不知道。我所知道的是当时心中腾起一股极度的恐惧，感到要不是马上离开房间躲避，你说不定会做出、或者想做出什么事来，铸成甚至是你本人的千古之恨[20f]。我平生在此之前只有一次经历过这种对一个同类的恐惧。那就是在泰特街我的书房里，你父亲和我，中间是他的帮凶，或者朋友，只见他那双小手在空中暴怒狂乱地挥舞着，站在那儿口中吐出他那颗肮脏的心能想得出的所有的肮脏话，嚎叫着作出令人恶心的威胁，这些威胁他后来又是如此狡猾地付诸行动。在那一次，当然是他，先离开房间的。我把他赶了出去。同你的这一次，是我先走[20g]。这不是第一次我觉得有责任救你一把，免得你自食其果[20h]。
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