第1章

De Profundis

Epistola In Carcare et Vinculus [0.1]

[January-March 1897]

H.M. Prison, Reading

自深深处

囚于铁窗锁链中的一封信

朱纯深译

雷丁监狱

1897年1-3月

Dear Bosie, After long and fruitless waiting I have determined to write to you myself, as much for your sake as for mine, as I would not like to think that I had passed through two long years of imprisonment without ever having received a single line from you, or any news or message even, except such as gave me pain[1a].

亲爱的波西：

经过长久的、毫无结果的等待之后，我决定还是由我写信给你，为了我也为了你。因为我不想看到自己在漫长的两年囚禁中，除了使我痛心的传闻外，连你的一行书信，甚至一点消息或口信都没收到[1a]。

Our ill-fated and most lamentable friendship has ended in ruin and public infamy for me[2a], yet the memory of our ancient affection is often with me[2b], and the thought that loathing, bitterness and contempt should for ever take that place in my heart once held by love is very sad to me[2c] and you yourself will, I think, feel in your heart that to write to me as I lie in the loneliness of prison-life is better than to publish my letters without my permission or to dedicate poems to me unasked, though the world will know nothing of whatever words of grief or passion, of remorse or indifference you may choose to send as your answer or your appeal[2d].

我们之间坎坷不幸、令人痛心疾首的友谊，已经以我的身败名裂而告结束[2a]。但是，那段久远的情意却常在记忆中伴随着我[2b]，而一想到自己心中那曾经盛着爱的地方，就要永远让憎恨和苦涩、轻蔑和屈辱所占据，我就会感到深深的悲哀[2c]。你自己心中，我想，将会感到，当我孤独地卧在铁窗内服刑时，给我写信要胜过未经许可发表我的书信、或者自作主张地为我献诗；虽然这样世人将一点也不知道你的所为，不管你选择怎样充满悲哀或激情、悔恨或冷漠的言辞来回应或者叫屈[2d]。

I have no doubt that in this letter in which I have to write of your life and of mine, of the past and of the future, of sweet things changed to bitterness and of bitter things that may be turned into joy, there will be much that will wound your vanity to the quick. If it prove so, read the letter over and over again till it kills your vanity. If you find in it something of which you feel that you are unjustly accused, remember that one should be thankful that there is any fault of which one can be unjustly accused[3a]. If there be in it one single passage that brings tears to your eyes, weep as we weep in prison where the day no less than the night is set apart for tears[3b]. It is the only thing that can save you[3c]. If you go complaining to your mother, as you did with reference to the scorn of you I displayed in my letter to Robbie, so that she may flatter and soothe you back into self-complacency or conceit, you will be completely lost. If you find one false excuse for yourself, you will soon find a hundred, and be just what you were before. Do you still say, as you said to Robbie in your answer, that I “attribute unworthy motives” to you Ah you had no motives in life. You had appetites merely. A motive is an intellectual aim. That you were “very young” when our friendship began Your defect was not that you knew so little about life, but that you knew so much[3d]. The morning dawn of boyhood with its delicate bloom, its clear pure light, its joy of innocence and expectation you had left far behind[3e]. With very swift and running feet you had passed from Romance to Realism. The gutter and the things that live in it had begun to fascinate you. That was the origin of the trouble in which you sought my aid,[3.1] and I, so unwisely according to the wisdom of this world, out of pity and kindness gave it to you. You must read this letter right through, though each word may become to you as the fire or knife of the surgeon that makes the delicate flesh burn or bleed. Remember that the fool in the eyes of the gods and the fool in the eyes of man are very different. One who is entirely ignorant of the modes of Art in its revolution or the moods of thought in its progress, of the pomp of the Latin line or the richer music of the vowelled Greek, of Tuscan sculpture or Elizabethan song may yet be full of the very sweetest wisdom. The real fool, such as the gods mock or mar, is he who does not know himself[3f]. I was such a one too long. You have been such a one too long. Be so no More. Do not be afraid. The supreme vice is shallowness. Everything that is realized is right. Remember also that whatever is misery to you to read, is still greater misery to me to set down. To you the Unseen Powers have been very good. They have permitted you to see the strange and tragic shapes of Life as one sees shadows in a crystal. The head of Medusa that turns living men to stone,[3.2] you have been allowed to look at in a mirror merely[3g]. You yourself have walked free among the flowers. From me the beautiful world of colour and motion has been taken away[3h].

毫无疑问这封信中所写的关于你还有我的生活，关于过去和将来，关于美好变成苦痛以及苦痛或可成为欢乐，个中很有一些东西会深深伤到你的虚荣心的。果真如此的话，那就一遍又一遍地把信重读吧，直到它将你的虚荣心除灭。假如发现信中有什么你觉得是把你冤枉了，记住应该感谢世上竟还有什么错失，可以使人因此受到指责而蒙受冤屈[3a]。假如信中有哪怕是一段话使泪花蒙上你的眼睛，那就哭吧，像我们在狱中这样地哭吧。在这儿，白天同黑夜一样，是留给眼泪的[3b]。只有这个能救你了[3c]。假如你跑到你母亲跟前告状，就像那次告我在给罗比的信中嘲弄你那样，让她来疼你哄你，哄得你又飘飘然得意忘形起来，那你就全完了。假如你为自己找了一个虚假的借口，过不久便会找到一百个，那也就同过去的你毫无二致了。你是不是还像在给罗比的回信中那样，说我“把卑劣的动机归咎”于你？啊！你的生活中可没有动机。你只有欲念而已。动机是理性的目标。说是在你我的友谊开始时你年纪还“很小”你的毛病不是少不更事，而是对生活懂得太多[3d]。少男岁月如晨曦初露，如鲜花初绽，可那纯洁清澈的光辉，那纯真向往的欢乐，已被你远远抛于脑后了[3e]。你脚步飞快的，早已从“浪漫”跑到了“现实”，迷上了这儿的阴沟以及生活在里边的东西。这就是你当初为什么会惹上麻烦，向我求助的；而我，以这个世界的眼光看是不明不智的，却出于怜悯和善意出手相助。你一定要把这封信通读，虽然信中的一词一语会让你觉得像外科医生的刀与火，叫细嫩的肌肤灼痛流血。记住，诸神眼里的傻瓜和世人眼里的傻瓜是大不一样的。艺术变革的种种方式或思想演进的种种状态、拉丁诗的华彩或元音化的希腊语那更丰富的抑扬顿挫、意大利托斯卡纳式的雕塑、伊丽莎白时代的歌调，对这些一个人可以全然不知，但却仍然充满最美妙的智慧。真正的傻瓜，诸神用来取乐或取笑的傻瓜，是那些没有自知之明的人[3f]。这样的傻瓜，我曾经当得太久了，你也已经当得太久了。别再当下去了。别害怕。恶大莫过于浮浅。无论什么，领悟了就是。同样记住，不管什么，你要是读着痛苦，那我使它形诸笔墨就更加痛苦。那些无形的力量待你是非常好的。它们让你目睹生活的种种怪异悲惨的形态就像在水晶球中看幻影一样。蛇发女怪美杜莎，她那颗能把活人变成顽石的头颅，允许你只要在镜中看就行[3g]。你自己在鲜花中了然无事地走了，而我呢，多姿多彩来去自由的美好世界已经被剥夺了[3h]。

I will begin by telling you that I blame myself terribly. As I sit here in this dark cell in convict clothes, a disgraced and ruined man, I blame myself[4a]. In the perturbed and fitful nights of anguish, in the long monotonous days of pain, it is myself I blame[4b]. I blame myself for allowing an unintellectual friendship, a friendship whose primary aim was not the creation and contemplation of beautiful things, to entirely dominate my life. From the very first there was too wide a gap between us. You had been idle at your school, worse than idle at your university.[4c] You did not realise that an artist, and especially such an artist as I am, one, that is to say, the quality of whose work depends on the intensification of personality, requires for the development of his art the companionship of ideas, and intellectual atmosphere, quiet, peace, and solitude[4d]. You admired my work when it was finished you enjoyed the brilliant successes of my first nights, and the brilliant banquets that followed them[4e] you were proud, and quite naturally so, of being the intimate friend of an artist so distinguished but you could not understand the conditions requisite for the production of artistic work. I am not speaking in phrases of rhetorical exaggeration but in terms of absolute truth to actual fact when I remind you that during the whole time we were together I never wrote one single line[4f]. Whether at Torquay, Goring, London, Florence or elsewhere, my life, as long as you were by my side, was entirely sterile and uncreative[4g]. And with but few intervals you were, I regret to say, by my side always.

一开头我要告诉你我拼命地怪自己。坐在这黑牢里，囚衣蔽体，身败名裂，我怪我自己[4a]。暗夜里辗转反侧，苦痛中忽睡忽醒，白日里枯坐牢底，忧心惨切，我怪的是自己[4b]。怪自己让一段毫无心智的友情，一段其根本目的不在创造和思考美好事物的友情，完完全全左右了自己的生活。从一开始，你我之间的鸿沟就太大了。你在中学就懒散度日，更甚于在大学时期[4c]。你并没有意识到，一个艺术家，尤其是像我这样的艺术家，也就是说，作品的质量靠的是加强个性的艺术家，其艺术的发展要求思想的默契，心智的氛围，安详悠静的独处[4d]。我的作品完成后你会钦佩赞赏：首演之夜辉煌的成功，随之而来辉煌的宴会，都让你高兴[4e]。你感到骄傲，这很自然，自己会是这么一位大艺术家的亲密朋友，但你无法理解艺术作品得以产生的那些必备条件。我不夸大其词，而是绝对实事求是地要你知道，在我们相处的那个时候，我一行东西都没写[4f]。无论是在托基、戈灵、伦敦、佛罗伦萨，还是其它地方，只要你在身旁，我就才思枯竭，灵感全无[4g]，而除了那么几次以外，我很遗憾地说，你总是呆在我身旁。

I remember, for instance, in September 93, to select merely one instance out of many, taking a set of chambers, purely in order to work undisturbed, as I had broken my contract with John Hare for whom I had promised to write a play, and who was pressing me on the subject[5a]. During the first week you kept away. We had, not unnaturally indeed, differed on the question of the artistic value of your translation of Salome,[5.1] so you contented yourself with sending me foolish letters on the subject. In that week I wrote and completed in every detail, as it was ultimately performed, the first act of An Ideal Husband. The second week you returned and my work practically had to be given up. I arrived at St Jamess Place every morning at 11.30, in order to have the opportunity of thinking and writing without the interruptions inseparable from my own household, quiet and peaceful as that household was[5b]. But the attempt was vain. At twelve o'clock you drove up, and stayed smoking cigarettes and chattering till 1.30, when I had to take you out to luncheon at the Caf Royal or the Berkeley. Luncheon with its liqueurs lasted usually till 3.30. For an hour you retired to Whites.[5.2] At tea-time you appeared again, and stayed till it was time to dress for dinner. You dined with me either at the Savoy or at Tite Street. We did not separate as a rule till after midnight, as supper at Williss[5.3] had to wind up the entrancing day. That was my life for those three months, every single day, except during the four days when you went abroad. I then, of course, had to go over to Calais to fetch you back. For one of my nature and temperament it was a position at once grotesque and tragic.

比如，就举许多例子中的一个吧，记得是在1893年9月，我在圣詹姆斯旅馆租了一套房间，这完全是为了能不受干扰地写作，因为我答应过约翰赫尔写个剧本却完不成合约，他正催着要稿呢[5a]。第一个星期你没来找我。我们就你的《莎乐美》译文的艺术价值意见不合，这的确并不奇怪。因此你就退而给我写些愚蠢的信纠缠这件事。那个星期我完成了《理想丈夫》的第一幕，所有的细节都写好了，同最终的演出本一样。可第二个星期你回来了，我简直就无法再动笔了。每天上午十一点半我就来到旅馆，为的是有机会想想写写，省得在自己家里，尽管那个家够安宁平静的，仍不可避免地会受到打搅[5b]。可是这份心思白费了。十二点你就驾着车来了，呆着抽烟聊天直到一点半，到那时我只好带你去皇家咖啡座或伯克莱用午餐。午餐加上甜酒，一顿通常吃到三点半。你到怀特俱乐部歇了一个钟头，等下午茶时分又出现了，一呆就呆到更衣用正餐的时候。你同我用餐，要么在萨瓦伊酒店要么在泰特街。照例我们要等到半夜过后才分手，因为在威利斯菜馆吃过夜宵后这销魂的一天不收也得收了。这就是我在那三个月过的生活，天天如此，除了你出国的四天外。当然我过后不得不到加来去把你接回国。具有我这样心地禀性的人，那情形既荒诞又具悲剧性。

You surely must realise that now You must see now that your incapacity of being alone your nature so exigent in its persistent claim on the attention and time of others your lack of any power of sustained intellectual concentration the unfortunate accident — for I like to think it was no more — that you had not yet been able to acquire the “Oxford temper” in intellectual matters, never, I mean, been one who could play gracefully with ideas but had arrived at violence of opinion merely — that all these things, combined with the fact that your desires and interests were in Life not in Art, were as destructive to your own progress in culture as they were to my work as an artist[6a] When I compare my friendship with you to my friendship with such still younger men as John Gray and Pierre Lous[6.1] I feel ashamed. My real life, my higher life was with them and such as they.

现在肯定你必得意识到这一点吧？你一个人是呆不住的：你的天性是这样迫切执拗地要求别人关心你，花时间陪你；还要看到你缺乏将心智持续地全神贯注的能力：不幸的偶然——说它偶然，因为我希望已不再如此——即你那时还无法养成在探索智性事物方面的“牛津气质”，我的意思是，你这个人从来就不能优雅地玩味各种意念，只会提提暴烈的门户之见——这一切，加上你的各种欲望和兴趣是在生活而不在艺术，两相巧合，对于你本人性灵教养的长进，跟对于我作为艺术家的创作工作，具有同样的破坏性。你现在必得明白这一点吧[6a]？把同你的友谊，跟同像约翰格雷和皮埃尔路易斯这样还要年轻的人的友谊相比时，我感到羞愧。我真正的生活，更高层次的生活，是同他们和像他们这样的人在一起的时候。

Of the appalling results of my friendship with you I dont speak at present[7a]. I am thinking merely of its quality while it lasted. It was intellectually degrading to me[7b]. You had the rudiments of an artistic temperament in its germ. But I met you either too late or too soon, I dont know which. When you were away I was all right. The moment, in the early December of the year to which I have been alluding, I had succeeded in inducing your mother to send you out of England, I collected again the torn and ravelled web of my imagination[7c], got my life back into my own hands, and not merely finished the three remaining acts of An Ideal Husband, but conceived and had almost completed two other plays of a completely different type, the Florentine Tragedy and La Sainte Courtisane,[7.1] when suddenly, unbidden, unwelcome, and under circumstances fatal to my happiness you returned[7d]. The two works left then imperfect I was unable to take up again. The mood that created them I could never recover[7e]. You now, having yourself published a volume of verse, will be able to recognise the truth of everything I have said here. Whether you can or not it remains as a hideous truth in the very heart of our friendship. While you were with me you were the absolute ruin of my Art, and in allowing you to stand persistently between Art and myself I give to myself shame and blame in the fullest degree[7f]. You couldnt know, you couldnt understand, you couldnt appreciate[7g]. I had no right to expect it of you at all. Your interests were merely in your meals and moods. Your desires were simply for amusements, for ordinary or less ordinary pleasures[7h]. They were what your temperament needed, or thought it needed for the moment. I should have forbidden you my house and my chambers except when I specially invited you[7i]. I blame myself without reserve for my weakness. It was merely weakness. One half-hour with Art was always more to me than a cycle with you. Nothing really at any period of my life was ever of the smallest importance to me compared with Art. But in the case of an artist, weakness is nothing less than a crime, when it is a weakness that paralyses the imagination.

同你的友谊所导致的恶果暂且不说[7a]。我只是在考虑那段友谊的内在质量。对于我那是心智上的堕落[7b]。你具有一种艺术气质初露时的萌芽迹象。但是我同你相遇，要么太迟要么太早了，我也说不清楚。你不在时我一切都好。那个时候，也就是我一直在说的那年十二月初，我劝得你母亲把你送出英国后，就重新拾起、再度编织我那支离破碎的想象之网[7c]，生活也重归自己掌握，不但完成了《理想丈夫》剩下的三幕，还构思并几乎完成了另外两个完全不同的剧本，《佛罗伦萨悲剧》和《圣妓》。而这时，突然之间，不召自来，不请自到，在我的幸福生死攸关的情形下，你回来了[7d]。那两部作品有待完稿，而我却无法再提笔了。创作它们的那份心境永远也无法失而复得了[7e]。你本人现在已有一本诗集出版，会承认我说的全是真话。不管你承不承认，这都是你我友谊的核心里一段不堪回首的真事。你同我在一起时便绝对是我艺术的克星，而竟然允许你执拗地隔在我和艺术之间，对此我羞愧难当，咎责难辞[7f]。回想起来，你无法知道，你无法理解，你无法体谅[7g]。而我一点也无权指望你能做到这些。你的兴趣所在，不外乎餐饭和喜怒。你的欲望所寄，不过是寻欢作乐，不过是平平庸庸或等而下之的消遣享福而已[7h]。这些是你禀性的需要，或认为是它一时的需要。我本来应该将你拒之门外，非特别邀请不得登门[7i]。我毫无保留地责怪自己的软弱。除了软弱还是软弱。半小时的与艺术相处，对于我总是胜过一整天地同你厮混。在我生命的任何时期，对我来说任何东西只要与艺术相比，便无足轻重了。但就一个艺术家而言，如果软弱使想象力瘫痪，那软弱就不亚于犯罪。

I blame myself again for having allowed you to bring me to utter and discreditable financial ruin. I remember one morning in the early October of 92 sitting in the yellowing woods at Bracknell with your mother. At that time I knew very little of your real nature. I had stayed from a Saturday to Monday with you at Oxford. You had stayed with me at Cromer for ten days and played golf[8a]. The conversation turned on you, and your mother began to speak to me about your character. She told me of your two chief faults, your vanity, and your being, as she termed it, "all wrong about money." I have a distinct recollection of how I laughed. I had no idea that the first would bring me to prison, and the second to bankruptcy[8b]. I thought vanity a sort of graceful flower for a young man to wear as for extravagance — for I thought she meant no more than extravagance—the virtues of prudence and thrift were not in my own nature or my own race. But before our friendship was one month older I began to see what your mother really meant. Your insistence on a life of reckless profusion[8c] your incessant demands for money your claim that all your pleasures should be paid for by me whether I was with you or not brought me after some time into serious monetary difficulties, and what made the extravagances to me at any rate so monotonously uninteresting, as your persistent grasp on my life grew stronger and stronger, was that the money was really spent on little more than the pleasures of eating, drinking, and the like. Now and then it is a joy to have ones table red with wine and roses, but you outstripped all taste and temperance[8d]. You demanded without grace and received without thanks[8e]. You grew to think that you had a sort of right to live at my expense and in a profuse luxury to which you had never been accustomed, and which for that reason made your appetites all the more keen, and at the end if you lost money gambling in some Algiers Casino you simply telegraphed next morning to me in London to lodge the amount of your losses to your account at your bank, and gave the matter no further thought of any kind.

我还怪自己让你给带到了经济上穷困潦倒、信誉扫地的穷途末路。我还记得1 8 9 2年1 0月初的一个上午，同你母亲一道坐在布莱克奈尔秋风渐黄的树林里。那时我对你真正的性格知道得很少，有一次在牛津同你从星期六呆到星期一，而你来过克莱默同我呆了十天打高尔夫球[8a]。我们的话题转到了你身上，你母亲开始跟我说起你的性格。她说了你的两大缺点：你虚荣，还有，用她的话说，“对钱财的看法大错特错”。我清楚记得当时我笑了，根本没想到第一点将让我进监狱，第二点将让我破产[8b]。我以为虚荣是一种给年轻人佩戴的雅致的花朵；至于说铺张浪费嘛——我以为她指的不过是铺张浪费——在我自己的性格中，在我自己的阶层里，并不见勤俭节约的美德。可是不等我们的交情再长一个月，我便开始明白你母亲指的到底是什么。你孜孜以求的是一种挥霍无度的生活[8c]，无休无止的要钱；说是你所有的寻欢作乐都得由我付账，不管我是否同你在一起。过些时候这就使我的经济陷入了严重的困难。你抓住我的生活不放，越抓越紧。总而言之，你的铺张挥霍对我来说是乏味透顶，因为钱说真的无非是花在口腹宴饮，以及诸如此类的行乐上。不时的让餐桌花红酒绿一下，可说是件赏心乐事，但你的无度却败坏了所有的品味和雅趣[8d]。你索取而无风度，接受而不道谢[8e]。你养成了一种心态，认为似乎有权让我供养，过着一种你从未习惯过的奢侈生活，而因为这一点，如此的奢侈又让你胃口更大。到后来要是在阿尔及尔的哪家赌场输了钱，第二天早上就干脆拍个电报到伦敦，要我把你输的钱如数存到你银行的户头上，事后便再也不见你提起。

When I tell you that between the autumn of 1892 and the date of my imprisonment I spent with you and on you more than 5000 in actual money[9a], irrespective of the bills I incurred, you will have some idea of the sort of life on which you insisted [9b]. Do you think I exaggerate My ordinary expenses with you for an ordinary day in London — for luncheon, dinner, supper, amusements, hansoms and the rest of it — ranged from 12 to 20, and the weeks expenses were naturally in proportion and ranged from 80 to 130. For our three months at Goring my expenses (rent of course included) were 1340. Step by step with the Bankruptcy Receiver I had to go over every item of my life. It was horrible. “Plain living and high thinking”[9.1] was, of course, an ideal you could not at that time have appreciated [9c], but such extravagance was a disgrace to both of us. One of the most delightful dinners I remember ever having had is one Robbie and I had together in a little Soho cafe, which cost about as many shillings as my dinners to you used to cost pounds. Out of my dinner with Robbie came the first and best of all my dialogues[9d].[9.2] Idea, title, treatment, mode, everything was struck out at a 3 franc 50 c. table-dhte[9e]. Out of the reckless dinners with you nothing remains but the memory that too much was eaten and too much was drunk. And my yielding to your demands was bad for you. You know that now. It made you grasping often at times not a little unscrupulous ungracious always. There was on far too many occasions too little joy or privilege in being your host. You forgot — I will not say the formal courtesy of thanks, for formal courtesies will strain a close friendship — but simply the grace of sweet companionship, the charm of pleasant conversation, that as the Greeks called it, and all those gentle humanities that make life lovely, and are an accompaniment to life as music might be, keeping things in tune and filling with melody the harsh or silent places[9f]. And though it may seem strange to you that one in the terrible position in which I am situated should find a difference between one disgrace and another, still I frankly admit that the folly of throwing away all this money on you, and letting you squander my fortune to your own hurt as well as to mine, gives to me and in my eyes a note of common profligacy to my Bankruptcy that makes me doubly ashamed of it[9g]. I was made for other things[9h].

我告诉你，从1 8 9 2年秋到我入狱那一天，看得见的我就同你以及为你花了不止5000英镑的现金[9a]，还不算付的账单呢。这样你对自己所坚持的是什么样的生活，就会明白一二了[9b]。你认为我是夸大其词吗？我与你一起在伦敦普普通通的一天的普普通通的花销——午餐、正餐、夜宵、玩乐、马车及其他——大概在12至20英镑之间，每周的花销相应的自然也就在80到130英镑之间。我们在戈灵的三个月，我的花费（当然包括房租）是1340英镑。一步一步的，我不得不同破产案的财产管理人回顾我生活中的每一个细节。太吓人了。“平实的生活，高远的理念”这一理想，当然了，你那时还无法体味[9c]，但如此的铺张奢侈却是令你我都丢脸的一件事。我记得平生最愉快的一顿饭是同罗比在索赫的一家咖啡馆吃的，所花的钱按先令算，数目同你我用餐时花的英镑差不多。同罗比的那顿饭使我写出了第一则也是最精彩的对话[9d]。意念、标题、处理方式、表达手法，一切全在一顿三法郎半的套餐上敲定[9e]。而同你的那些挥霍无度的餐宴之后，什么也没留下，只记得吃得太多、喝得太多了。你的要求我频频迁就，这对你很不好。你现在明白了。我的迁就使你更经常地伸手索要，有时很不择手段，每次都显得粗鄙低下。太多太多次了，宴请你而不觉得有多少欢乐或荣幸。你忘了——我不说礼貌上的道谢，因为表面的礼貌会令亲密的友情显得局促——我说的不过是好朋友相聚的雅趣、愉快交谈的兴致，那种希腊人称之为的东西；还有一切使生活变得可爱的人性的温馨，像音乐一样伴随人生的温馨，使万物和谐、使艰涩沉寂之处充满乐音的温馨[9f]。虽然你也许觉得奇怪，一个像我这样潦倒的人还会去分辨这样丢人和那样丢人的不同，但我还是要老实地承认，这么一掷千金地在你身上花钱，让你挥霍我的钱财，害你也害我；做这等蠢事对我来讲、在我看来，使我的破产带上了那种庸俗的由穷奢极欲而倾家荡产的意味，从而令我倍加愧怍[9g]。天生我材，另有他用[9h]。

But most of all I blame myself for the entire ethical degradation I allowed you to bring on me. The basis of character is will-power, and my will-power became absolutely subject to yours[10a]. It sounds a grotesque thing to say, but it is none the less true[10b]. Those incessant scenes that seemed to be almost physically necessary to you, and in which your mind and body grew distorted and you became a thing as terrible to look at as to listen to that dreadful mania you inherit from your father, the mania for writing revolting and loathsome letters your entire lack of any control over your emotions as displayed in your long resentful moods of sullen silence, no less than in the sudden fits of almost epileptic rage all these things[10c] in reference to which one of my letters to you, left by you lying about at the Savoy or some other hotel and so produced in Court by your fathers Counsel, contained an entreaty not devoid of pathos, had you at that time been able to recognise pathos either in its elements or its expression — these, I say, were the origin and causes of my fatal yielding to you in your daily increasing demands. You wore one out. It was the triumph of the smaller over the bigger nature. It was the case of that tyranny of the weak over the strong which somewhere in one of my plays I describe as being “the only tyranny that lasts.”[10.1]

但是我最怪自己的，是让你使我的道德完全堕落。性格的根基在于意志力，而我的意志力却变得完全臣服于你[10a]。听起来不可思议，但却是千真万确[10b]。那些接二连三的吵闹折腾，在你几乎是出于肉体的需要，可同时又使你的心灵和肉体扭曲，让你变成一个别人不敢听不敢看的怪物；你从你父亲那儿继承的那种可怕的狂躁，使你写出令人恶心的书信；你对自己的感情完全失去控制，要么郁郁寡欢长久的不言不语，要么如癫痫发作似的突然怒发冲冠。凡此种种性格扭曲、狂躁和情感失控[10c]，我在给你的一封信中都已提及——这信你把它随便丢在萨瓦伊或哪家旅馆，而让你父亲的辩护律师得以出示给法庭——那信中不无悲怆地恳求过你，假如你那时能认识什么是悲怆的心情和言辞的话——我说，这些就是我为什么会对你与日俱增的索求作出致命让步的根源所在。你会把人磨垮的。这是小的胜过大的。这是弱者的暴政压过了强者，在一出剧本的什么地方我说过这是 “唯一历久不衰的暴政”。

And it was inevitable. In every relation of life with others one has to find some moyen de vivre.[11.1] In your case, one had either to give up to you or to give you up[11a]. There was no other alternative. Through deep if misplaced affection for you through great pity for your defects of temper and temperament through my own proverbial good-nature and Celtic laziness through an artistic aversion to coarse scenes and ugly words through that incapacity to bear resentment of any kind which at that time characterised me[11b] through my dislike of seeing life made bitter and uncomely by what to me, with my eyes really fixed on other things, seemed to be mere trifles too petty for more than a moments thought or interest — through these reasons, simple as they may sound, I gave up to you always. As a natural result, your claims, your efforts at domination, your exactions grew more and more unreasonable. Your meanest motive, your lowest appetite, your most common passion, became to you laws by which the lives of others were to be guided always, and to which, if necessary, they were to be without scruple sacrificed[11c]. Knowing that by making a scene you could always have your way, it was but natural that you should proceed, almost unconsciously I have no doubt, to every excess of vulgar violence. At the end you did not know to what goal you were hurrying, or with what aim in view[11d]. Having made your own of my genius, my will power, and my fortune, you required, in the blindness of an inexhaustible greed, my entire existence. You took it. At the one supremely and tragically critical moment of all my life, just before my lamentable step of beginning my absurd action[11e], on the one side there was your father attacking me with hideous cards left at my club, on the other side there was you attacking me with no less loathsome letters. The letter I received from you on the morning of the day I let you take me down to the Police Court to apply for the ridiculous warrant for your fathers arrest was one of the worst you ever wrote, and for the most shameful reason. Between you both I lost my head. My judgment forsook me. Terror took its place[11f]. I saw no possible escape, I may say frankly, from either of you. Blindly I staggered as an ox into the shambles. I had made a gigantic psychological error. I had always thought that my giving up to you in small things meant nothing that when a great moment arrived I could reassert my will-power in its natural superiority. It was not so[11g]. At the great moment my will-power completely failed me. In life there is really no small or great thing. All things are of equal value and of equal size[11h]. My habit — due to indifference chiefly at first — of giving up to you in everything had become insensibly a real part of my nature. Without my knowing it, it had stereotyped my temperament to one permanent and fatal mood[11i]. That is why, in the subtle epilogue to the first edition of his essays, Pater says that “Failure is to form habits.”[11.2] When he said it the dull Oxford people thought the phrase a mere wilful inversion of the somewhat wearisome text of Aristotelian Ethics, but there is a wonderful, a terrible truth hidden in it. I had allowed you to sap my strength of character, and to me the formation of a habit had proved to be not Failure merely but Ruin[11j]. Ethically you had been even still more destructive to me than you had been artistically. 而这又是无可避免的。生活里，每一种人际关系都要找着某种相处之道。与你的相处之道是，要么全听你的要么全不理你[11a]，毫无选择余地。出于对你深挚的如果说是错爱了的感情，出于对你禀性上的缺点深切的怜悯，出于我那有口皆碑的好心肠和凯尔特人的懒散，出于一种艺术气质上对粗鲁的言语行为的反感，出于我当时对任何事物都能逆来顺受的性格特征[11b]，出于我不喜欢看到生活因为在我看来是不屑一顾的小事（我眼里真正所看的是另外一些事）而变得苦涩不堪的脾气——出于这种种看似简单的理由，我事事全听你的。自然而然的，你的要求、你对我的操控和逼迫，就越来越蛮横了。你最卑鄙的动机、最下作的欲望、最平庸的喜怒哀乐，在你看来成了法律，别人的生活总要任其摆布，如有必要就得二话不说地作出牺牲[11c]。知道大吵大闹一番你就能得逞，那么无所不用其极地动粗撒野，就是很自然的事了；我毫不怀疑你这么做几乎是无意识的。最终你不知道自己急急所向的是什么目标，或者心目中到底有什么目的[11d]。在尽情利用了我的天赋、我的意志力、我的钱财之后，贪得无厌的心蒙住了你的眼睛，竟要占据我的整个生活。你得逞了。在我整个生命最为关键也最具悲剧性的那个时刻，正是我要采取那可悲的步骤开始那可笑的行动之前[11e]，一边有你父亲在我俱乐部留下一些明信片恶语中伤我，另一边有你用同样令人恶心的信攻击我。在让你带着到警察局，可笑地去申请拘捕令将你父亲逮捕的那天早晨，我收到的那封信，是你所写的最恶毒的一封，而且是出于最可耻的理由。对你们两人，我不知如何是好。判断力不见了，代之而来的是恐惧[11f]。老实说，在你们的夹攻下，我欲逃无路，盲目地跌跌撞撞，如一条牛被拉向屠宰场。我对自己心理的估计大错特错了。我总以为小事上对你迁就没什么，大事临头时我会重拾意志力，理所当然地重归主宰地位。情形并非这样[11g]。大事临头时我的意志力全垮了。生活中说真的是分不出大事小事的。凡事大小轻重都一样[11h]。主要是由于最初的无动于衷，让那凡事听你的习惯很没有理性地成了我性格的一部分。不知不觉地，这成了我禀性的模式，成了一种永久的、致命的心态[11i]。这就是为什么佩特会在他的散文集第一版那言辞微妙的跋中说道：“失败就在于形成习惯。”当他说这话时，牛津的那些死脑筋们还以为，这话不过是故意将亚里士多德有些乏味的《伦理学》文字颠倒过来说罢了。可是话中隐含了一条绝妙的、可怕的真理。我允许你榨取我的性格力量，而对我来说，习惯的形成到头来不止是失败，而是身败名裂[11j]。你在道德伦理上对我的破坏更甚于在艺术上。

The warrant once granted, your will of course directed everything. At a time when I should have been in London taking wise counsel, and calmly considering the hideous trap in which I had allowed myself to be caught — the booby-trap as your father calls it to the present day—you insisted on my taking you to Monte Carlo, of all revolting places on Gods earth, that all day, and all night as well, you might gamble as long as the Casino remained open[12a]. As for me—baccarat having no charms for me—I was left alone outside to myself. You refused to discuss even for five minutes the position to which you and your father had brought me. My business was merely to pay your hotel expenses and your losses. The slightest allusion to the ordeal awaiting me was regarded as a bore. A new brand of champagne that was recommended to us had more interest for you[12b].

逮捕令一旦批了下来，你的意志当然就主宰一切了。当我本应在伦敦听取律师的高见，冷静地考虑一下我让自己一头钻进去的这个令人发指的圈套——你父亲至今一直称它为陷阱——你却硬要我带你去蒙特卡罗。在这天下首屈一指的肮脏地方，你好没日没夜地赌，只要赌场不关门[12a]。至于我呢，赌纸牌没兴致，就一个人留在门外头了。你不肯花哪怕五分钟时间同我讨论你和你父亲使我面临的处境。我的事不过是为你付旅馆的费用和赌债而已。只要稍稍提及我面临的严峻处境你就心烦，还不如人家向我们推荐的新牌香槟更让你感兴趣[12b]。

On our return to London those of my friends who really desired my welfare implored me to retire abroad, and not to face an impossible trial. You imputed mean motives to them for giving such advice, and cowardice to me for listening to it[13a]. You forced me to stay to brazen it out, if possible, in the box by absurd and silly perjuries. At the end, I was of course arrested and your father became the hero of the hour more indeed than the hero of the hour merely your family now ranks, strangely enough, with the Immortals for with that grotesqueness of effect that is as it were a Gothic element in history, and makes Clio the least serious of all the Muses, your father will always live among the kind pure-minded parents of Sunday school literature[13b], your place is with the Infant Samuel, and in the lowest mire of Malebolge[13.1] I sit between Gilles de Retz[13.2] and the Marquis de Sade[13.3][13c].

我们一回到伦敦，那些真正关心我安危的朋友恳求我避到国外，别去打一场无望的官司。你说他们这是居心不良，我要听他们的话便是胆小鬼[13a]。你逼我留下来，可能的话在审判席上靠荒唐愚蠢的谎言伪证顶住。最终当然是我被捕入狱，而你父亲则成了一时英雄。何止是一时英雄，你们家莫名其妙地跻身于神仙圣人之列。好像历史也带上了一点哥特式的离奇古怪，从而使历史和史诗之神克里奥成了众缪斯中最不正经的一位。靠着这份离奇古怪，结果是你父亲在主日学校的文学里将永远活在那些个心地和善纯良的父母之中[13b]，你将与少年塞缪尔并列，而在地狱最底层的污渎中，我将与崇拜撒旦的雷斯和性变态的萨德侯爵为伍[13c]。

Of course I should have got rid of you. I should have shaken you out of my life[14a] as a man shakes from his raiment a thing that has stung him. In the most wonderful of all his plays[14.1] schylus[14b] tells us of the great Lord who brings up in his house the lion-cub, the v, and loves it because it comes bright-eyed to his call and fawns on him for its food , . And the thing grows up and shows the nature of its race, , and destroys the lord and his house and all that he possesses. I feel that I was such a one as he. But my fault was, not that I did not part from you, but that I parted from you far too often. As far as I can make out I ended my friendship with you every three months regularly, and each time that I did so you managed by means of entreaties, telegrams, letters, the interposition of your friends, the interposition of mine, and the like to induce me to allow you back. When at the end of March 93 you left my house at Torquay I had determined never to speak to you again, or to allow you under any circumstances to be with me, so revolting had been the scene you had made the night before your departure[14c]. You wrote and telegraphed from Bristol to beg me to forgive you and meet you. Your tutor, who had stayed behind, told me that he thought that at times you were quite irresponsible for what you said and did, and that most, if not all, of the men at Magdalen were of the same opinion. I consented to meet you, and of course I forgave you. On the way up to town you begged me to take you to the Savoy. That was indeed a visit fatal to me. 当然了，我本该把你甩掉的。本该把你从我的生活中甩掉[14a]，就像从衣服上抖掉一根扎人的刺。古希腊的大剧作家埃斯库罗斯[14b]在他的一出最好的戏剧中给我们讲了一个大公的故事。他在自己家里养了一头小狮子，对它疼爱有加，因为那小家伙大公一叫就眼睛亮闪闪地跑过来，要东西吃时就朝他摇尾巴。等这家伙长大了，本相毕露，把大公本人、他的房子和财产全毁了。我觉得自己就跟那大公一样。但我的错不是没离开你，而是太经常离开你了。照我算来，每三个月我就想把同你的友谊断掉。而每次要同你一刀两断时，你总是通过哀求、电报、书信、你的或我的朋友来说情等诸如此类的手段，要我让你回来。在1 8 9 3年3月底你离开我在托基的家时，我下过决心从此不再和你说话，无论如何不让你跟我在一起，因为你离开前那天晚上大吵大闹了一通，实在叫人受不了[14c]。于是你就从布里斯托尔又是写信又是拍电报，求我原谅，同你再见面。你的导师没走，他告诉我说他觉得有时你无法对自己的说话做事负责，在莫德林学院的人，如果不是全部也大部分持有这种看法。我答应了见你，当然也原谅了你。在去城里的路上，你求我带你去萨瓦伊酒店。那一趟对我的确是致命的。

Three months later, in June, we are at Goring. Some of your Oxford friends come to stay from a Saturday to Monday. The morning of the day they went away you made a scene so dreadful, so distressing that I told you that we must part. I remember quite well, as we stood on the level croquet-ground with the pretty lawn all round us, pointing out to you that we were spoiling each others lives, that you were absolutely ruining mine and that I evidently was not making you really happy, and that an irrevocable parting, a complete separation was the one wise philosophic thing to do[15a]. You went sullenly after luncheon, leaving one of your most offensive letters behind with the butler to be handed to me after your departure. Before three days had elapsed you were telegraphing from London to beg to be forgiven and allowed to return. I had taken the place to please you. I had engaged your own servants at your request. I was always terribly sorry for the hideous temper to which you were really a prey[15b]. I was fond of you. So I let you come back and forgave you. Three months later still, in September, new scenes occurred, the occasion of them being my pointing out the schoolboy faults of your attempted translation of Salome.[15.1] You must by this time be a fair enough French scholar to know that the translation was as unworthy of you, as an ordinary Oxonian, as it was of the work it sought to render. You did not of course know it then, and in one of the violent letters you wrote to me on the point you said that you were under “no intellectual obligation of any kind” to me. I remember that when I read that statement, I felt that it was the one really true thing you had written to me in the whole course of our friendship. I saw that a less cultivated nature would really have suited you much better. I am not saying this in bitterness at all, but simply as a fact of companionship. Ultimately the bond of all companionship, whether in marriage or in friendship, is conversation, and conversation must have a common basis, and between two people of widely different culture the only common basis possible is the lowest level. The trivial in thought and action is charming. I had made it the keystone of a very brilliant philosophy expressed in plays and paradoxes[15c]. But the froth and folly[15d] of our life grew often very wearisome to me it was only in the mire that we met and fascinating, terribly fascinating though the one topic[15.2] round which your talk invariably centred was, still at the end it became quite monotonous to me[15e]. I was often bored to death by it, and accepted it as I accepted your passion for going to music-halls[15f], or your mania for absurd extravagances in eating and drinking, or any other of your to me less attractive characteristics, as a thing, that is to say, that one simply had to put up with, a part of the high price one paid for knowing you. When after leaving Goring I went to Dinard for a fortnight you were extremely angry with me for not taking you with me, and, before my departure there, made some very unpleasant scenes on the subject at the Albemarle Hotel, and sent me some equally unpleasant telegrams to a country house I was staying at for a few days. I told you, I remember, that I thought it was your duty to be with your own people for a little, as you had passed the whole season away from them. But in reality, to be perfectly frank with you, I could not under any circumstances have let you be with me. We had been together for nearly twelve weeks. I required rest and freedom from the terrible strain of your companionship. It was necessary for me to be a little by myself It was intellectually necessary. And so I confess I saw in your letter, from which I have quoted, a very good opportunity for ending the fatal friendship that had sprung up between us, and ending it without bitterness, as I had indeed tried to do on that bright June morning at Goring, three months before. It was however represented to me — I am bound to say candidly by one of my own friends to whom you had gone in you difficulty — that you would be much hurt, perhaps almost humiliated at having your work sent back to you like a schoolboys exercise that I was expecting far too much intellectually from you and that, no matter what you wrote or did, you were absolutely and entirely devoted to me. I did not want to be the first to check or discourage you[15g] in your beginnings in literature I knew quite well that no translation, unless one done by a poet, could render the colour and cadence of my work in any adequate measure devotion seemed to me, seems to me still, a wonderful thing, not to be lightly thrown away so I took the translation and you back. Exactly three months later, after a series of scenes culminating in one more than usually revolting, when you came one Monday evening to my rooms accompanied by two of your friends, I found myself actually flying abroad next morning to escape from you, giving my family some absurd reason for my sudden departure, and leaving a false address with my servant for fear you might follow me by the next train. And I remember that afternoon, as I was in the railway-carriage whirling up to Paris, thinking what an impossible, terrible, utterly wrong state my life had got into, when I, a man of world-wide reputation, was actually forced to run away from England, in order to try and get rid of a friendship that was entirely destructive of everything fine in me either from the intellectual or ethical point of view[15h] the person from whom I was flying being no terrible creature sprung from sewer or mire into modern life with whom I had entangled my days, but you yourself, a young man of my own social rank and position, who had been at my own college at Oxford, and was an incessant guest at my house[15i]. The usual telegrams of entreaty and remorse followed I disregarded them. Finally you threatened that unless I consented to meet you, you would under no circumstances consent to proceed to Egypt. I had myself, with your knowledge and concurrence, begged your mother to send you to Egypt away from England, as you were wrecking your life in London. I knew that if you did not go it would be a terrible disappointment to her, and for her sake[15j] I did meet you, and under the influence of great emotion[15k], which even you cannot have forgotten, I forgave the past though I said nothing at all about the future.

三个月后，是六月，我们在戈灵。有个周末你一些牛津的朋友来了，从星期六呆到星期一。他们临走的那天上午，你又当众大吵了一番。太可怕太气人了，我告诉你我们非分手不可。记得很清楚，我们站在平坦的槌球场上，四周是一片漂亮的草坪，我给你指出，我们正在互相作践对方，你绝对是在把我往绝路上拖，而我也明显地没让你真正幸福，一刀两断才是上策[15a]。午餐后你闷闷不乐地走了，给管家留了一封最恶语伤人的信，要他在你走后交给我。可不出三天，你又从伦敦拍电报来，求我宽恕，让你回来。我已租了那个地方让你高兴，照你的要求雇了你自己的仆人。那可怕的脾气总让我为你遗憾得不得了，你自己也深受其害[15b]。我喜欢你。因此就让你回来，原谅了你。又过了三个月，是九月，你又闹了几场，事缘我给你指出了你试译《莎乐美》中犯的小学生般的错误。你现在应该是个不错的法语学者，看得出那译文既配不上它想移译的原作，也配不上你这个普通的牛津生。你那时当然不知道了，给我写信谈论此事时言辞暴烈，在一封信中说过你对我“并无任何心智上的亏欠”。记得读这句话时，我觉得在我们的整个友谊中你写给我的就这个是真的。我看到一个教养较少的人对你真的会更合适得多。这么说绝无怨你怪你的意思，只是道出过从交往的事实而已。归根结底一切人际交往的纽带，不管是婚姻还是友谊，都是交谈，而交谈必须有一个共同的基础。如果双方的文化教养迥异，那唯一可能的共同基础只能建立在最低的层面上。思想和行为上的琐屑讨人喜欢。我曾用这一点来作为一个非常睿智的人生哲学的基石，在剧本和悖语[15c]中加以表达。但是我们生活中的蠢话傻事[15d]却常常变得令人烦不胜烦：我们只是在泥淖中相遇。你谈话时总是围绕着的那个话题虽然引人入胜，引人入胜得不得了，但到头来我还是觉得腻味[15e]。我常常被它烦得要死，但却接受了它，就像接受了你要去杂耍剧场[15f]的狂热，接受了你荒唐地大吃大喝的癖好，以及别的在我看来不那么有趣的脾气；也就是说，我干脆当它为一个不得不忍受的东西，当它为同你认识所要付出的高昂代价的一部分。离开戈灵后我到第纳德两周，你因为我没带上你而大为光火，在我动身前在阿尔伯玛尔旅馆就这事同我大闹了几场，搞得非常不愉快，而后又往我小住几天的一所庄园发了几封同样令人不快的电报。我记得跟你说过，你理应同家人相聚一阵，因为整个夏季你都是在别处过的。但是实际上，坦白地告诉你吧，我无论如何不能让你呆在我身边。我们在一起已经有十二个星期了，我需要休息，需要从与你相处那可怕的压力下解脱出来。我有必要自己一个人呆一阵子。是心智上的必要。因此我坦白，在你的信中，也就是上面所引的那封，我看到了一个非常好的机会，来了结你我之间突然冒出来的这段致命的友谊，让它了结而不留忿懑。这正是我三个月前在戈灵的那个明媚的六月上午的确想做的。然而却有话传来——我应该坦诚地说是我的一个朋友，你在落难时求助过他——说是假如我把你的译作像小学生的练习一样送回去，你会觉得很伤心，或许几乎是无颜见人，说是我在心智上对你太过苛求了，还说不管你写什么，做什么，你的心都是完完全全向着我的。你在文学中刚刚起步，我不想成为第一个刹你的车、泼你冷水[15g]的人。我知道得很清楚，除非是由一位诗人执笔，否则没有哪个译文可以说能充分地传达出我作品的色彩与节奏。心意的奉献在我看来过去是、现在仍然是一件不能轻言丢弃的好事。因此，我把你连同你的译文一起接了回来。刚好又是三个月过后，又是当众闹了几场，最后积聚成一场特别令人嫌恶的争吵。那是个星期一晚上，你由两个朋友陪着到我房间里来闹。第二天早晨，我简直是身不由己地躲开你飞逃出国，编了些荒唐的理由向家人说明我的仓促离去，给仆人留了个假地址，怕你搭下一班火车尾随而至。记得那天下午，我坐在火车车厢里向巴黎飞驶而去，心想自己的生活怎么会弄成如此一塌糊涂；我堂堂一个世界知名人士，竟然就这么被迫逃离英国，为的是甩掉一段友情，这友情在心智和道德上都会把我内心美好的东西破坏殆尽[15h]；这个我飞奔逃离的人，这个我同他纠缠了那么多日子的人，并非什么从阴沟泥潭里蹦到现代生活中的怪物，而是你本人，一个社会地位同我一样、上的是同一所牛津学院的年轻人，一个我的座上常客[15i]。同往常一样的那些哀求悔过的电报跟着就来了。我不予理睬。最后你威胁说，除非我答应见你，否则你绝不答应动身去埃及。我在你的同意和配合下，曾亲自央求你母亲送你离开英国到埃及去，怕你在伦敦把自己糟蹋坏了。我知道你要是不去，会令她大失所望的。看在她的份上[15j]我真的见了你。情之所至[15k]，甚至连你大概都忘不了的，我原谅了过去的一切，虽然将来会怎样我一句不说。

On my return to London next day I remember sitting in my room and sadly and seriously trying to make up my mind whether or not you really were what you seemed to me to be, so full of terrible defects, so utterly ruinous both to yourself and to others[16a], so fatal a one to know even or to be with. For a whole week I thought about it, and wondered if after all I was not unjust and mistaken in my estimate of you. At the end of the week a letter from your mother is handed in. It expressed to the full every feeling I myself had about you. In it she spoke of your blind exaggerated vanity which made you despise your home, and treat your elder brother — that candidissima anima—“as a Philistine” of your temper which made her afraid to speak to you about your life, the life she felt, she knew, you were leading about your conduct in money matters, so distressing to her in more ways than one of the degeneration and change that had taken place in you. She saw, of course, that heredity had burdened you with a terrible legacy, and frankly admitted it, admitted it with terror he is “the one of my children who has inherited the fatal Douglas temperament,” she wrote of you. At the end she stated that she felt bound to declare that your friendship with me, in her opinion, had so intensified your vanity that it had become the source of all your faults, and earnestly begged me not, to meet you abroad. I wrote to her at once, in reply, and told her that I agreed entirely with every word she had said. I added much more. I went as far as I could possibly go. I told her that the origin of our friendship was you in your undergraduate days at Oxford coming to beg me to help you in very serious trouble of a very particular character. I told her that your life had been continually in the same manner troubled[16b]. The reason of your going to Belgium you had placed to the fault of your companion in that journey, and your mother had reproached me with having introduced you to him. I replaced the fault on the right shoulders, on yours. I assured her at the end that I had not the smallest intention of meeting you abroad, and begged her to try to keep you there[16c], either as an honorary attach[16d], if that were possible, or to learn modern languages, if it were not or for any reason she chose, at least during two or three years, and for your sake as well as for mine.

记得我第二天回到伦敦，坐在房间里悲伤而又认真地思索着，你到底是不是我认为的那样，全是可怕的缺点，对己对人都是祸害一个[16a]，同你相处甚至相识，就要酿成致命之祸。整整一个星期，我都在想这事，捉摸着是不是真的看错了人，把你冤枉了。那个周末一封你母亲的信送来了。信中将我自己对你存有的每一个印象说得透彻无遗。说到你那盲目地自视甚高的虚荣心，这使你看不起自己的家，把你的兄长——那个老实人——看作市侩庸人；说到你的脾气使她不敢同你谈你的生活，她感到、她知道你过的那种生活；说到你在处理钱财事务上的行为，在在让她苦恼丧气；还说到你的变化和堕落。当然她看到了，遗传让你背上了一个可怕的性格负担，并且也坦白地承认、心怀恐惧地承认：他是“我孩子中继承了致命的道格拉斯家族禀性的那一个”，信中是这么说你的。最后她说她觉得只好挑明，你同我的交往依她看是大大加强了你的虚荣心，以致成为你一切过失的根源，并恳切地请求我别在国外同你会面。我马上给她回信，说我对她讲的每句话都完全同意。还加了许多，把我可能说的都说了。我告诉她，我们的友谊源自你在牛津读大学时，那时你碰上了非常特别又非常严重的麻烦，向我求助。我告诉她，你的生活仍旧如此，仍旧为同样的麻烦所困扰[16b]。你把去比利时的原因归咎于同行友伴的过失，你母亲就怪我把他介绍给你。我于是把责任放到了该放的肩膀上，那就是你的肩膀。我最后向她保证，我一点也没这意思要同你在国外见面，并央求她想法把你留在埃及[16c]，可能的话在使馆里供个荣誉官职[16d]，不行的话就在那里学习现代语言，或者以任何一个她认为合适的理由。但为你好也为我好，至少要留在那儿两三年。16

In the meantime you are writing to me by every post from Egypt. I took not the smallest notice of any of your communications. I read them, and tore them up. I had quite settled to have no more to do with you. My mind was made up, and I gladly devoted myself to the Art whose progress I had allowed you to interrupt. At the end of three months, your mother, with that unfortunate weakness of will that characterises her, and that in the tragedy of my life has been an element no less fatal than your fathers violence, actually writes to me herself — I have no doubt, of course, at your instigation — tells me that you are extremely anxious to hear from me, and in order that I should have no excuse for not communicating with you, sends me your address in Athens, which, of course, I knew perfectly well. I confess I was absolutely astounded at her letter. I could not understand how, after what she had written to me in December, and what I in answer had written to her, she could in any way try to repair or to renew my unfortunate friendship with you[17a]. I acknowledged her letter[17b], of course, and again urged her to try and get you connected with some Embassy abroad, so as to prevent your returning to England, but I did not write to you, or take any more notice of your telegrams than I did before your mother had written to me. Finally you actually telegraphed to my wife begging her to use her influence with me to get me to write to you. Our friendship had always been a source of distress to her not merely because she had never liked you personally, but because she saw how your continual companionship altered me, and not for the better still, just as she had always been most gracious and hospitable to you, so she could not bear the idea of my being in any way unkind — for so it seemed to her — to any of my friends. She thought, knew indeed, that it was a thing alien to my character. At her request I did communicate with you. I remember the wording of my telegram quite well. I said that time healed every wound but that for many months to come I would neither write to you nor see you. You started without delay for Paris, sending me passionate telegrams on the road to beg me to see you once, at any rate. I declined[17c]. You arrived in Paris late on a Saturday night, and found a brief letter from me waiting for you at your hotel stating that I would not see you. Next morning I received in Tite Street a telegram of some ten or eleven pages in length[17d] from you. You stated in it that no matter what you had done to me you could not believe that I would absolutely decline to see you you reminded me that for the sake of seeing me even for one hour you had travelled six days and nights across Europe without stopping once on the way you made what I must admit was a most pathetic appeal, and ended with what seemed to me a threat of suicide, and one not thinly veiled. You had yourself often told me how many of your race there had been who had stained their hands in their own blood your uncle certainly, your grandfather possibly many others in the mad, bad line from which you come.[17.1] Pity, my old affection for you, regard for your mother to whom your death under such dreadful circumstances would have been a blow almost too great for her to bear, the horror of the idea that so young a life, and one that amidst all its ugly faults had still promise of beauty in it[17e], should come to so revolting an end, mere humanity itself — all these, if excuses be necessary, must serve as my excuse for consenting to accord you one last interview. When I arrived in Paris, your tears, breaking out again and again all through the evening, and falling over your cheeks like rain as we sat, at dinner first at Voisins, at supper at Paillards afterwards[17.2] the unfeigned joy you evinced at seeing me, holding my hand whenever you could, as though you were a gentle and penitent child your contrition, so simple and sincere, at the moment made me consent to renew our friendship[17f]. Two days after we had returned to London, your father saw you having luncheon with me at the Cafe Royal, joined my table, drank of my wine, and that afternoon, through a letter addressed to you, began his first attack on me.

在这期间你从埃及不断给我写信，每班邮都有你的信。这些书信我全然不当回事，看过就撕了。不再跟你打交道我觉得很泰然。我决心已定，愉快地把自己献给艺术，那曾经让你把它给打断了的艺术。三个月后，你母亲亲自写信来了——很不幸，她个性中那典型的软弱，在我生活的悲剧中所起的致命作用不亚于你父亲的暴虐——我当然不怀疑是你叫她写的，她说你急得不得了要我写信给你，而为了使我不至于有借口不写，还把你在雅典的地址寄过来了。你的地址，我当然知道得再清楚不过了。坦白说看了她的信我目瞪口呆。真不明白，在她写了十二月份那封信后，在我回了她那封信后，到头来她怎么还会想法重修重建我同你的这段不幸的友谊[17a]。我没话讲，认收了她的信[17b]，又再次催她想法把你同海外的哪家大使馆挂钩，使你不会回到英国来。可我没给你写信，同接到你母亲的这封信以前一样，依然把你的电报不当回事。最终你竟打电报给我妻子，求她用她对我的影响使我写信给你。我们的交往从来就是一桩令她苦恼的事——这不光是因为她从来就不喜欢你这个人，还因为她看到了同你来往把我变成了怎样一个人，不是变得更好——可仍然，就像对你一贯的善意款待一样，她不忍心看到我对任何朋友有任何的不周，因为在她看来这是对朋友不周。她认为，她的确明白，我不是这种性格的人。在她的要求下我确实同你联系了。那封电报的词句我记得很清楚。我说时间愈合每一处伤口，但是在未来好几个月内我既不会写信给你也不会见你。你刻不容缓地动身前往巴黎，一路上给我发来激情洋溢的电报，求我无论如何见你一面。我婉言拒绝了[17c]。你在一个星期六晚上很迟才到了巴黎，在下榻的旅馆发现我给你的一封短信，说我不会见你的。第二天上午我在泰特街收到你的一封电报，长十到十一页[17d]。你在电报里说，不管你对我做了什么事，你都不相信我会永不见你。你说了，为了见我，哪怕是一个小时，你六天里昼夜兼程地横跨欧洲；你的电文，我必须承认，写得像一份哀婉凄绝的呼求，而结尾依我看又以自杀相威胁，一个不加掩饰的威胁。你自己常常告诉过我，你的家族中有多少人曾经双手沾满自己的鲜血；你的叔父无疑是一个，你的祖父可能又是一个，在你出身的这个狂乱败坏的家系里还有别的许多人呢。我可怜你，又碍于旧情，也出于对你母亲的尊重——你要是如此可怕地死去那对她的打击就太大了——还有那种恐怖之感，想到一个如此年轻的生命，尽管在在是缺点陋习但还存着美的希望[17e]，就要这么可怕地死于非命，同时还有人性本身——这一切，要是有必要找借口的话，就必定是我答应最后让你再见一面的借口了。当我到巴黎时，那天整个晚上，不管是在瓦松晚餐还是后来在帕拉德夜宵，你都哭得像个泪人儿似的；看到我时那份真心的欢乐、就像一个柔顺悔祸的小孩[17f]那样拉着我的手不放的样子，在当时显得那么单纯率真的悔过之意，这一切使得我答应与你重修旧好[17f]。我们回到伦敦两天后，你父亲看见我同你在皇家咖啡座午餐，便加入进来，喝了我的酒。当天下午通过一封给你的信，开始了他对我的第一轮攻击。

It may be strange, but I had once again, I will not say the chance, but the duty of separating from you forced on me. I need hardly remind you that I refer to your conduct to me at Brighton from October l0th to 13th, 1894. Three years ago is a long time for you to go back. But we who live in prison, and in whose lives there is no event but sorrow, have to measure time by throbs of pain, and the record of bitter moments. We have nothing else to think of. Suffering — curious as it may sound to you — is the means by which we exist, because it is the only means by which we become conscious of existing and the remembrance of suffering in the past is necessary to us as the warrant, the evidence, of our continued identity. Between myself and the memory of joy lies a gulf no less deep than that between myself and joy in its actuality. Had our life together been as the world fancied it to be, one simply of pleasure, profligacy and laughter, I would not be able to recall a single passage in it. It is because it was full of moments and days tragic, bitter, sinister in their warnings, dull or dreadful in their monotonous scenes and unseemly violence, that I can see or hear each separate incident in its detail, can indeed see or hear little else[18a]. So much in this place do men live by pain that my friendship with you, in the way through which I am forced to remember it, appears to me always as a prelude consonant with those varying modes of anguish which each day I have to realise nay more, to necessitate them even[18b] as though my life, whatever it had seemed to myself and to others, had all the while been a real Symphony of Sorrow, passing through its rhythmically-linked movements to its certain resolution, with that inevitableness that in Art characterises the treatment of every great theme.

也许说来奇怪，但是要我同你分手的责任，我不说这是机会，再次落在了我身上。该不用提醒了吧，我指的是你在1 8 9 4年10月10日到 13日在布莱顿对我的举止态度。三年了，要你回想可真是个不短的时间。但对我们这些在监牢里度日的人们，生活中不见人间的动静而只有悲哀，只能以肌体跳痛的顿挫、内心悲苦的短长来度量时日。我们没别的好想了。受苦——你听着也许会觉得好奇——就是我们得以存在的手段，因为只有通过它，我们才能有存在的意识；而记住受过的苦对我们是必要的，这是对我们身份继续存在的认可和证明。我与记忆中的欢乐之间，隔着一道深渊，其深不亚于我和现实的欢乐之间隔着的深渊。假如我们在一起的生活真的如世人所想象的那样，纯粹是享乐、挥霍和欢笑，那我就会一丁点也记不起来。正因为那生活时时刻刻都包孕着悲剧、痛苦、恶毒，一幕幕单调地重复着乏味可怕的吵闹和卑劣的暴力，所以那些事一件件一点点都历历如在眼前，切切似在耳边，说实在的别的什么就很少能看得到听得见了[18a]。这里的人们是如此的苦中度日，所以我同你的友谊，照我那样被迫去记住的样子，总显得像是一支序曲，与眼前变换着的痛苦一脉相承。这些痛苦每一天我都得体会领悟；不仅如此，甚至得靠它们度日[18b]；似乎我的生活，不管在我本人还是在别人眼里曾经是什么样子，从来就是一部真正的悲怆交响曲，一个乐章一个乐章有节奏地推向其必然的结局，一切是那样的必然，简直就是艺术上处理每个伟大主题的典型手法。

I spoke of your conduct to me on three successive days, three years ago, did I not I was trying to finish my last play at Worthing by myself. The two visits you had paid to me had ended. You suddenly appeared a third time bringing with you a companion whom you actually proposed should stay in my house. I (you must admit now quite properly) absolutely declined. I entertained you, of course I had no option in the matter but elsewhere, and not in my own home. The next day, a Monday, your companion returned to the duties of his profession, and you stayed with me. Bored with Worthing, and still more, I have no doubt, with my fruitless efforts to concentrate my attention on my play, the only thing that really interested me at the moment, you insist on being taken to the Grand Hotel at Brighton[19a]. The night we arrive you fall ill with that dreadful low fever that is foolishly called the influenza, your second, if not third attack. I need not remind you how I waited on you, and tended you, not merely with every luxury of fruit, flowers, presents, books, and the like that money can procure, but with that affection, tenderness and love[19b] that, whatever you may think, is not to be procured for money. Except for an hours walk in the morning, an hours drive in the afternoon, I never left the hotel. I got special grapes from London for you, as you did not care for those the hotel supplied, invented things to please you, remained either with you or in the room next to yours, sat with you every evening to quiet or amuse you[19c].

三年前我曾连续三天讲过你对我的举止态度，不是吗？那时我想一个人呆在沃辛，把最后一个剧本写完。你来过两次。走后又突然第三次出现，还带了一个人，竟说要在我的房子里逗留。我断然拒绝了（你现在必须承认我那样做是很对的）。我当然是接待了你们，在这事上我别无选择——但要在别的地方，不能在我家里。第二天是星期一，你的那个人回去办他的公务去了，你则留下来。沃辛呆腻了，而且我不怀疑，由于我毫无希望地想把注意力集中在剧本上，而那又是我当时唯一的兴趣所在，你更不耐烦了，硬要我带你去布莱顿的宏伟酒家[19a]。我们到的那个晚上你病倒了，就是那讨厌的低烧，人们糊里糊涂地称之为流感。这是你的第二次发作，如果不是第三次的话。用不着提醒你，当时我是怎样地伺候照顾你，不只是源源不断的水果鲜花、礼物书籍诸如此类用钱买得到的东西，还有那份感情、那份亲切、那份爱[19b]，不管你怎么想这些都是用钱买不来的。除了上午一个小时散步，下午一个小时驾车出去，我从未离开过旅馆。因为你不喜欢旅馆提供的葡萄，我就给你从伦敦买来特别的葡萄，还编造各种事情让你高兴，要不就守在你旁边，要不就呆在隔壁房间，每天晚上都坐着陪你，使你安静，逗你开心[19c]。

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 booksellers, 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]。

You concluded your letter by saying “When you are not on your pedestal you are not interesting. The next time you are ill I will go away at once.” Ah what coarseness of fibre does that reveal[21a] What an entire lack of imagination How callous, how common had the temperament by that time become “When you are not on your pedestal you are not interesting. The next time you are ill I will go away at once.” How often have those words come back to me in the wretched solitary cell of the various prisons I have been sent to. I have said them to myself over and over again, and seen in them, I hope unjustly, some of the secret of your strange silence. For you to write thus to me, when the very illness and fever from which I was suffering I had caught from tending you, was of course revolting in its coarseness and crudity but for any human being in the whole world[21b] to write thus to another would be a sin for which there is no pardon, were there any sin for which there is none[21c].

你在信的结尾说道：“你像尊偶像，没了底座就没意思了。下次你要是病了我马上走开。” 啊！活脱脱一副多么粗鄙的嘴脸[21a]！多么的缺乏想象力啊！那性情，到了那时候，变得多么无情，多么卑俗啊！ “你像尊偶像，没了底座就没意思了。下次你要是病了我马上走开。” 有多少次，在被关押过的各处监狱那凄凉的单人牢房里，这些话在我耳边响起过。我自言自语念着，一遍又一遍；在这些话中我看到了，但愿是冤枉了你，你奇怪的沉默背后的一些秘密。我为了照顾你而染上你的病，在我被高烧病痛折磨之际，你居然写了这些话给我，其粗鲁和鄙俗当然是令人心寒；但是普天之下[21b]，任何一个人写这样的信给另一个人，都是罪不可赦，如果天下还有不可赦之罪的话[21c]。21

I confess that when I had finished your letter I felt almost polluted, as if by associating with one of such a nature I had soiled and shamed my life irretrievably. I had, it is true, done so, but I was not to learn how fully till just six months later on in life. I settled with myself to go back to London on the Friday, and see Sir George Lewis personally and request him to write to your father to state that I had determined never under any circumstances to allow you to enter my house, to sit at my board, to talk to me, walk with me, or anywhere and at my time to be my companion at all. This done I would have written to you just to inform you of the course of action I had adopted the reasons you would inevitably have realised for yourself. I had everything arranged on Thursday night, when on Friday morning, as I was sitting at breakfast before starting, I happened to open the newspaper and saw in it a telegram stating that your elder brother, the real head of the family, the heir to the title, the pillar of the house, had been found dead in a ditch with his gun lying discharged beside him.[22.1] The horror of the circumstances of the tragedy, now known to have been an accident, but then stained with a darker suggestion the pathos of the sudden death of one so loved by all who knew him, and almost on the eve, as it were, of his marriage my idea of what your own sorrow would, or should be my consciousness of the misery awaiting your mother at the loss of the one to whom she clung for comfort and joy in life, and who, as she told me once herself, had from the very day of his birth never caused her to shed a single tear my consciousness of your own isolation, both your other brothers being out of Europe, and you consequently the only one to whom your mother and sister could look, not merely for companionship in their sorrow, but also for those dreary responsibilities of dreadful detail that Death always brings with it[22a] the mere sense of the lacrimae rerum, of the tears of which the world is made[22b], and of the sadness of all human things — out of the confluence of these thoughts and emotions crowding into my brain came infinite pity for you and your family. My own griefs and bitternesses against you I forgot. What you had been to me in my sickness, I could not be to you in your bereavement[22c]. I telegraphed at once to you my deepest sympathy, and in the letter that followed invited you to come to my house as soon as you were able. I felt that to abandon you at that particular moment, and formally through a solicitor, would have been too terrible for you.

坦白说在读了你的信后我觉得自己几乎是被玷污了，好像与这样一个人为伍，我已无可挽回地使自己的生命陷入了污秽和羞耻。没错，我已经陷进去了，可只有在六个月后，才知道陷得有多深。我打定主意那个星期五回伦敦，当面去见乔治刘易斯勋爵，请他写信给你父亲，说明我已下定决心无论如何不再让你进我的屋子、坐在我的饭桌旁、跟我讲话、同我散步，不管何时何地都绝不能与我在一起。这件事办好了，就会给你写信告知我所采取的行动；其中的理由谅你也心知肚明。星期四晚上我一切安排停当。星期五早晨上路前坐下来准备吃早餐，无意间翻开报纸，看到上面登了一则电文，说是你哥哥，你们真正的一家之主，爵位的继承人，家庭的栋梁，被发现死在一道沟里，身边是他发射后的空枪。这恐怖的悲剧，现在据知是意外事故，可当时却暗指另有蹊跷。这样一个谁见了谁喜欢的年轻人，几乎可以说是在成婚的前夜，却突然死了。如此悲惨的变故，使我想到你本人的哀伤会有多深、该有多深；使我意识到你母亲，她的幸福和欢乐之所寄的人失去了，那她会面临怎样的哀痛，她曾亲口告诉我，你哥哥从一落地就没让她掉过一滴眼泪；我也意识到你本人的孤单，因为你另外的两个兄弟都出门不在欧洲，所以你母亲和妹妹在哀恸中不但要靠你照应，还要靠你处理出了人命之后必不可免的大大小小令人伤心劳神的事务[22a]；一想到眼泪，一想到承载着这世界的泪水[22b]，一想到做人处世的种种哀愁——在这万千思绪百般情感的交汇之下，汹涌在我脑海中的便是对你及你家人的无限同情。对你的愤懑和怨恨我忘了。在我病重时你那样待我，在你痛失亲人之际我不能以牙还牙[22c]。我当即致电给你，表达我最深切的同情，并随后去信，邀请你一走得开就到我家来。我觉得在这一特殊时刻丢下你，通过律师正式的一刀两断，对你会是太可怕的一件事了。

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 brothers 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。

The gods are strange. It is not of our vices only they make instruments to scourge us.[24.1] They bring us to ruin through what in us is good, gentle, humane, loving[24a]. But for my pity and affection for you and yours, I would not now be weeping in this terrible place[24b].