We arrived atthe house in which I lived. I would not ask him to come in with me, but walkedup the stairs without a word. He followed me, and entered the apartment on myheels. He had not been in it before, but he never gave a glance at the room Ihad been at pains to make pleasing to the eye. There was a tin of tobacco onthe table, and, taking out his pipe, he filled it. He sat down on the onlychair that had no arms and tilted himself on the back legs.

"If you'regoing to make yourself at home, why don't you sit in an arm-chair?" Iasked irritably.

"Why areyou concerned about my comfort?"

"I'm not," I retorted, "but only about my own. It makes me uncomfortable tosee someone sit on an uncomfortable chair. "

He chuckled,but did not move. He smoked on in silence, taking no further notice of me, andapparently was absorbed in thought. I wondered why he had come.

Until longhabit has blunted the sensibility, there is something disconcerting to thewriter in the instinct which causes him to take an interest in thesingularities of human nature so absorbing that his moral sense is powerlessagainst it. He recognises in himself an artistic satisfaction in thecontemplation of evil which a little startles him; but sincerity forces him toconfess that the disapproval he feels for certain actions is not nearly sostrong as his curiosity in their reasons. The character of a scoundrel, logicaland complete, has a fascination for his creator which is an outrage to law andorder. I expect that Shakespeare devised Iago with a gusto which he never knewwhen, weaving moonbeams with his fancy, he imagined Desdemona. It may be thatin his rogues the writer gratifies instincts deep-rooted in him, which themanners and customs of a civilised world have forced back to the mysteriousrecesses of the subconscious. In giving to the character of his invention fleshand bones he is giving life to that part of himself which finds no other meansof expression. His satisfaction is a sense of liberation.

我们走到我住的房子。我不想对他说什么“请进来坐”这类的客气话，而是一言不发地自己走上了楼梯。他跟在后面，踩着我的脚后跟走进我的住房。他过去从来没到我这地方来过，但对我精心布置的屋子连看也不看一眼。桌子上摆着一铁罐烟草，他拿出烟斗来，装了一斗烟。接着，他坐在一把没有扶手的椅子上，身体往后一靠，跷起椅子的前腿。

“要是你想舒服一下，为什么不坐在安乐椅上？”我忿忿地问道。

“你为什么对我的舒适这么关心？”

“我并不关心，”我反驳说，“我关心的是自己。我看见别人坐在一把不舒服的椅子上自己就觉得不舒服。”

他咯咯地笑了笑，但是没有换地方。他默默地抽着烟斗，不再理睬我；看来他正在沉思自己的事。我很奇怪他为什么到我这地方来。

作家对那些吸引着他的怪异的性格本能地感到兴趣，尽管他的道德观不以为然，对此却无能为力；直到习惯已成自然，他的感觉变得迟钝以后，这种本能常常使他非常狼狈。他喜欢观察这种多少使他感到惊异的邪恶的人性，自认这种观察是为了满足艺术的要求；但是他的真挚却迫使他承认：他对于某些行为的反感远不如对这些行为产生原因的好奇心那样强烈。一个恶棍的性格如果刻划得完美而又合乎逻辑，对于创作者是具有一种魅惑的力量的，尽管从法律和秩序的角度看，他决不该对恶棍有任何欣赏的态度。我猜想莎士比亚在创作埃古①时可能比他借助月光和幻想构思苔丝德梦娜②怀着更大的兴味。说不定作家在创作恶棍时实际上是在满足他内心深处的一种天性，因为在文明社会中，风俗礼仪迫使这种天性隐匿到潜意识的最隐秘的底层下；给予他虚构的人物以血肉之躯，也就是使他那一部分无法表露的自我有了生命。他得到的满足是一种自由解放的快感。

①莎士比亚戏剧《奥瑟罗》中的反面人物。

②《奥瑟罗》主人公奥瑟罗的妻子。