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On your return to town from the actual scene of the tragedy to which you had been summoned, you came at once to me very sweetly and very simply, in your suit of woe, and with your eyes dim with tears. You sought consolation and help, as a child might seek it. I opened to you my house, my home, my heart. I made your sorrow mine also, that you might have help in bearing it[23a]. Never, even by one word, did I allude to your conduct towards me, to the revolting scenes, and the revolting letter[23b]. Your grief, which was real, seemed to me to bring you nearer to me than you had ever been. The flowers you took from me to put on your brother’s grave were to be a symbol not merely of the beauty of his life, but of the beauty that in all lives lies dormant and may be brought to light.
从他们传召你去的悲剧现场一回到城里，你马上就到我这儿来，穿着丧服，泪眼盈盈的一派温良率真的模样，要人安慰、求人帮忙，像个小孩似的。 我对你敞开了我的房子，我的家，我的心。将你的悲痛当作自己的悲痛，这样也许能在你的沉沉哀痛中扶你一把[23a]。我甚至绝口不提你是怎么待我的，绝口不提那一幕幕不堪入目的吵闹和那一封不堪入耳的信[23b]。你那真切的悲哀，似乎带着你前所未有地靠近我。你从我这儿带去供在你哥哥坟上的鲜花，不止要成为他生命之美的象征，也要成为蕴藏于所有生命中并可能绽放的美的象征。
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