让我奇怪的是，你为什么会去模仿你父亲的主要性格特征。 我不明白他对你本该是一个儆戒，怎么反而成了你的典范，解释除非是大凡两个人有了仇隙，其间必定存在某种难兄难弟的纽带，某种同气相求的呼应[142a]。我猜想，由于某种同类相斥的奇怪法则，你们互相憎恶，这不是因为两人间的许多不同，而是因为在某些方面你们俩何其相似乃尔[142b]。1893年6月，你离开牛津，没拿到学位并拖了一堆债。 这本是小事一桩，无奈在有你父亲那种收入的人眼里可是非同小可。你父亲给你写了一封信，口气非常之狠恶刻毒，不堪入耳。你回他的信则处处有过之而无不及[142c]，当然也就更加不可原谅，结果你因为这封信而极为自豪。记得很清楚你带着那最不可一世的神情对我说过，能在你父亲的“老本行”上击败他。还真不假呢。可那是一个什么样的行当！这又是怎样的一种竞争啊！你曾常常嘲笑你父亲，住在你表兄弟家时，会跑出去到附近的旅馆写些脏话连篇的信寄给他。你恰恰也对我干下同样的事。你三天两头地在餐馆同我吃午餐，不高兴了或者闹了一场，接着就跑到怀特俱乐部，给我写一封满纸尽是恶语脏话的信。你和你父亲不同的只有一点，那就是你特地差人把信送过来后，过几个钟头会亲自跑到我房间来，不是来道歉，而是来看我是否在萨瓦伊定了正餐，如果没有，为什么没有。 有时你来时那无礼的信还没读呢。记得有一次你要我请你的两个朋友，有一个我从未谋面，到皇家咖啡座午餐。我照办，还应你的特别要求，预定了一桌特别豪华的午餐。记得厨师是特地请来的，酒也是专门安排的[142d]。可你非但不出席午餐会，还送一封骂人的信到咖啡座来给我，时间安排得刚刚好在我们等了你半个钟头后信才到。我读了第一行，明白说的是什么，就把信放进衣袋，向你的朋友解释说，你突然病了，信中接下来说的是病的症状。事实上，我是等到那天晚上在泰特街整装要用正餐时，才读那信的。正当我看着那满纸污浊，无限悲哀地寻思你怎么写得出这像癫痫病人口吐的白沫一样的文字时，仆人进来说你在楼下厅里等着，非常着急要见我五分钟。我马上传话叫你上来。你来了，我承认那副模样又惊又怕，脸色苍白，求我出主意帮忙，因为你听说从兰姆雷来了个人，是律师，在卡多根广场一带打听你的消息，你怕是自己牛津旧事重发，或什么新麻烦找上门来了。我安慰你，告诉你，而且事后证明说对了，那很可能不过是哪家商店的账单罢了，并让你留下来吃饭，同我共度那个晚上。对那封令人发指的信你一句话没说。我也不说，只把它当作是一个坏脾气的一个坏症状算了。这话再也没提起过。两点半给我写了封讨厌的信，同日七点一刻飞跑过来求我帮助、要我同情，这是你生活中再平常不过的行径了。在这些习惯上，正如在其它习惯上，你大大超越了你父亲。当他写给你的那些令人厌恶的信在法庭上公开读出时，他自然感到惭愧，装着哭了。要是你给他的那些信被他本人的辩护律师读出来的话，那大家都会感受到更为可憎可怕的恶毒。你不单单就文字风格而言在“他的老本行上把他击败了”，在攻击方式方面，也完全叫他望尘莫及[142e]。你动用了公用电报，还有明信片。我想你或许应该把这类骚扰人的方式留给像阿尔弗莱德?伍德这类人，他们收入的唯一来源就靠这个。不是吗？对于他和他的阶级，这是谋生的职业，而对于你，这是取乐的消遣，一项非常邪恶的消遣。通过那些信、由于那些信，你使我得面临这种种，可你还是没改掉这笔墨骂人的恶习，仍然把它看作你的能耐之一，还用到了我朋友身上，那些在我关押期间对我好的朋友，如罗伯特?舍拉德还有别的人。你这真丢人。当罗伯特?舍拉德听到我说不希望你在《法兰西信使》上发表任何有关我的文章，不管附不附上我写给你的那些信，这时你本来应该感激他才是，因为他确证了我对这件事的意愿，无意间也免得你越陷越深，给我造成更多的痛苦。你必须记住，一封居高临下、平庸不堪的信，吁求对一个“被击倒的人”采取“公平游戏”规则，这对英国报纸还行。它秉承了英国报刊出版界对艺术家态度的老传统。但在法国，这样的语气就会让我遭人取笑，让你被人看不起。任何文章，要是我不知道它的目的、格调、论述方式等等，是不会允许将它发表的。在艺术上，好的动机一点价值也没有。所有不好的艺术都是好的动机造成的。
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Nor is Robert Sherard the only one of my friends to whom you have addressed acrimonious and bitter letters because they sought that my wishes and my feelings should be consulted in matters concerning myself, the publication of articles on me, the dedication of your verses, the surrender of my letters and presents, and such like. You have annoyed or sought to annoy others also.
在我的朋友中，被你写信恶骂的也不止是罗伯特?舍拉德一个，就因为他们要求在同我有关的事上征求我的意见，照顾我的感情，比如发表谈论我的文章、把你的诗题献给我、把我的书信和礼物交出来，等等。你还骚扰了，或者图谋骚扰另外一些人。
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Does it ever occur to you what an awful position I would have been in if for the last two years, during my appalling sentence, I had been dependent on you as a friend? Do you ever think of that? Do you ever feel any gratitude to those who by kindness without stint, devotion without limit, cheerfulness and joy in giving, have lightened my black burden for me[144a], have visited me again and again, have written to me beautiful and sympathetic letters, have managed my affairs for me, have arranged my future life for me, have stood by me in the teeth of obloquy, taunt, open sneer or insult even? [144b] I thank God every day that he gave me friends other than you. I owe everything to them. The very books in my cell are paid for by Robbie out of his pocket-money. From the same source are to come clothes for me, when I am released. I am not ashamed of taking a thing that is given by love and affection. I am proud of it. But do you ever think of what my friends such as More Adey, Robbie, Robert Sherard, Frank Harris, and Arthur Clifton,[144.1] have been to me in giving me comfort, help, affection, sympathy and the like[144c]? I suppose that has never dawned on you. And yet —if you had any imagination in you—you would know that there is not a single person who has been kind to me in my prison-life, down to the warder who may give me a good-morning or a good-night that is not one of his prescribed duties—down to the common policemen who in their homely rough way strove to comfort me on my journeys to and fro from the Bankruptcy Court under conditions of terrible mental distress—down to the poor thief who, recognising me as we tramped round the yard at Wandsworth, whispered to me in the hoarse prison-voice men get from long and compulsory silence: “I am sorry for you; it is harder for the likes of you than it is for the likes of us”—not one of them all, I say, the very mire from whose shoes you should not be proud to be allowed to kneel down and clean[144d].
不知你到底想过没有，过去两年，在我苦刑加身期间，要是把你当作朋友倚靠，那境况会有多么糟糕？这一点你到底想过没有？对那些人，不知你从来有过一丝感激之情没有？他们毫不吝啬自己的善意，为朋友竭尽全力，以付出为乐以给予为喜，为我减轻了那郁郁不可终日的重负[144a]，一次又一次地来看我，写给我美好动听、充满同情的信，为我操持有关事务，安排未来的生活，甚至在我为千夫所指、被万人唾骂之时，他们与我并肩而立[144b]。每一天我都感谢上帝，给了我那些除你以外的朋友。一点一滴我都得感谢他们。就连我牢房里的书，也都是罗比用他的零花钱买的。出狱时，我的衣服也将由他提供。一件东西，如果是出于爱和关心给我的，那我受之无愧。我以此为荣。但你想过没有，这些朋友，比如穆尔?艾狄、罗比、罗伯特?舍拉德、福兰克?哈利斯、还有阿瑟?克里福顿，他们给我安慰、帮助、关爱、同情等等，这些人对我都意味着什么[144c]？我猜想你根本就没明白过。然而——假如你还有一丁点想象力的话——你会懂得，在我囚禁生活中对我好的每一个人，下至在例行公务之外向我道一声“早安”或“晚安”的狱吏——下至普普通通的警察，在我心烦意乱被带着来回奔忙于破产法庭的途中，他们以那种朴实的、粗线条的方式尽力想安慰我——下至那个可怜的盗贼，当我们在瓦兹华斯院子里走步放风时，他认出我来，便用狱中人那长期被迫沉默而落下的沙哑嗓音，轻声对我说：“我替你难过，这日子对你们这种人比对我们要更难熬啊。” ——我说，这些人一个个，要是允许你跪下来给他们擦去鞋上的污泥，你都该觉得脸上有光才是[144d]。
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Have you imagination enough to see what a fearful tragedy it was for me to have come across your family? What a tragedy it would have been for anyone at all, who had a great position, a great name, anything of importance to lose[145a]? There is hardly one of the elders of you family—with the exception of Percy, who is really a good fellow—who did not in some way contribute to my ruin.
不知你的想象力够不够让你明白，碰上你一家人，对我是多么可怕的一个悲剧？ 不管对谁，只要他有地位，有名声，有任何重要的什么需要爱惜[145a]，这都会是一个什么样的悲剧啊！你家族年长的人当中——除了珀西，他可真是个好人——有谁不是促成我毁灭的一分子？
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I have spoken of your mother to you with some bitterness. And I strongly advise you to let her see this letter, for your own sake chiefly. If it is painful to her to read such an indictment against one of her sons, let her remember that my mother, who intellectually ranks with Elizabeth Barrett Browning, and historically with Madame Roland[146a],[146.1] died broken-hearted because the son of whose genius and art she had been so proud, and whom she had regarded always as a worthy continuer of a distinguished name[146b], had been condemned to the treadmill for two years. You will ask me in what way you mother contributed to my destruction. I will tell you. Just as you strove to shift onto me all your immoral responsibilities, so your mother strove to shift on to me all her moral responsibilities with regard to you. Instead of speaking directly to you about your life, as a mother should, she always wrote privately to me with earnest, frightened entreaties not to let you know that she was writing to me. You see the position in which I was placed between you and your mother. It was one as false, as absurd, and as tragic as the one in which I was placed between you and your father. In August 1892, and on the 8th of November in the same year, I had two long interviews with your mother about you. On both occasions I asked her why she did not speak directly to you herself. On both occasions she gave the same answer: “I am afraid to: he gets so angry when he is spoken to.” The first time, I knew you so slightly that I did not understand what she meant. The second time, I knew you so well that I understood perfectly. (During the interval you had had an attack of jaundice and been ordered by the doctor to go for a week to Bournmouth, and had induced me to accompany you as you hated being alone.) But the first duty of a mother is not to be afraid of speaking seriously to her son. Had your mother spoken seriously to you about the trouble she saw you were in July 1892 and made you confide in her it would have been much better, and much happier ultimately for both of you. All the underhand and secret communications with me were wrong. What was the use of your mother sending me endless little notes, marked “Private” on the envelope, begging me not to ask you so often to dinner, and not to give you any money, each note ending with an earnest postscript “On no account let Alfred know that I have written to you”? What good could come of such a correspondence[146c]? Did you ever wait to be asked to dinner? Never. You took all your meals as a matter of course with me. If I remonstrated, you always had one observation: “If I don’t dine with you, where am I to dine? You don’t suppose that I am going to dine at home?” It was unanswerable. And if I absolutely refused to let you dine with me, you always threatened that you would do something foolish, and always did it. What possible result could there be from letters such as your mother used to send me except that which did occur[146d], a foolish and fatal shifting of the moral responsibility on to my shoulders? Of the various details in which your mother’s weakness and lack of courage proved so ruinous to herself, to you, and to me, I don’t want to speak any more, but surely, when she heard of your father coming down to my house to make a loathsome scene and create a public scandal, she might then have seen that a serious crisis was impending, and taken some serious steps to try and avoid it? But all she could think of doing was to send down plausible George Wyndham[146.2] with his pliant tongue[146e] to propose to me—what? That I should “gradually drop you”!
我曾心中有气地同你说起过你母亲，我力劝你，这封信一定要让她看，主要是为了你的缘故。 假如读着这样一封控诉她一个儿子的信，令她痛苦的话，就让她想想我的母亲吧。我母亲，才气同伊丽莎白?巴雷特?布朗宁相匹，历史地位与罗兰夫人并重[146a]，然而却伤心而死，就因为她以儿子的才华和艺术为荣，一心认为家声门风能在他手里传扬光大[146b]，没想到儿子却被判了刑服两年苦役。你问我为什么你母亲是促成我毁灭的一分子，我这就告诉你。就像你力图把你所有不道德的责任全往我身上推那样，你母亲也力图把她对于你的所有道德责任全往我身上推。她非但不像一个当母亲的应该做的那样，直接同你谈你的生活问题，反而总是私下写信给我，一本正经、诚惶诚恐地央求我别让你知道她给我写信。你看夹在你母子之间，我陷进了怎样的境地。虚假、荒唐、悲惨，一如陷在你和你父亲之间。在1892年8月，以及同年11月8日，我跟你母亲就你的事有过两次长谈。 两次我都问她为什么不把事情直接同你说。两次她都这样回答：“我怕，一说他就大发脾气。” 第一次时我对你了解得很少，不明白她话里的意思。等到了第二次，我对你就很了解了，她的意思就全明白了。（在这期间，你曾有一次黄疸病发，医生要你去伯恩茅斯住一个星期，因为不喜欢一个人呆着，说动我陪你去了。）但是作为母亲，首要责任是不能害怕认真严肃地同儿子谈话。倘若在1 8 9 2年7月你母亲能认真严肃地跟你谈谈她所看到的关于你的问题，并使你对她吐露真情，那事情就好办得多了，最终你们双方也都会愉快得多。一切鬼鬼祟祟向我诉说的做法都是错的。你母亲这样做有什么用呢？不断地往我这边寄些短信，信封上注明“私信”，求我别这么经常请你吃饭，别给你钱，每次信都要一本正经地附上一句 “千万别让阿尔弗莱德知道我写信给你”。如此地写信递条子有什么好处呢[146c]？你有哪次是等人来请才去吃饭的？从来没有。你认为同我吃的餐餐饭食都是理所当然的。要是我规劝了你几句，你总有话说：“如果不同你吃，那我上哪儿吃去？你总不会要我在家里吃吧？” 这叫人无话可答。如果我决绝地不让你同我进餐，你总是威胁要干出什么蠢事来，而且总是真的干了。像你母亲屡屡写给我的这些信，会有什么结果呢？结果不外乎，而且果不其然[146d]，是愚蠢而又致命地把道德责任推到了我的肩膀上。你母亲的怯弱，事实证明对她本人、对你、对我，具有如此的毁灭性，其间种种细节我不想再多说了。但是，在她听到你父亲来我家大吵大闹﹐当众出我的丑时，谅必已经明白事情眼看要闹大了，难道就不能认真采取一些步骤来化解吗？可她想得出的，就是叫个巧舌如簧的乔治?怀恩德汉，凭他的不烂之舌[146e]来向我提出——什么呢？要我“渐渐地把你放掉”！
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As if it had been possible for me to gradually drop you! I had tried to end our friendship in every possible way, going so far as actually to leave England and give a false address abroad in the hopes of breaking at one blow a bond that had become irksome, hateful, and ruinous to me[147a]. Do you think that I could have “gradually dropped” you? Do you think that would have satisfied your father? You know it would not. What your father wanted, indeed, was not the cessation of our friendship, but a public scandal. That is what he was striving for[147b]. His name had not been in the papers for years. He saw the opportunity of appearing before the British public in an entirely new character, that of the affectionate father. His sense of humour was roused. Had I severed my friendship with you it would have been a terrible disappointment to him, and the small notoriety of a second divorce suit, however revolting its details and origin, would have proved but little consolation to him.[147.1] For what he was aiming at was popularity, and to pose as a champion of purity, as it is termed, is, in the present condition of the British public, the surest mode of becoming for the nonce a heroic figure[147c]. Of this public I have said in one of my plays that if it is Caliban for one half of the year, it is Tartuffe for the other,[147.2] and your father, in whom both characters may be said to have become incarnate, was in this way marked out as the proper representative of Puritanism in its aggressive and most characteristic form. No gradual dropping of you would have been of any avail, even had it been practicable. Don’t you feel now that the only thing for your mother to have done was to have asked me to come to see her, and had you and your brother present, and said definitely that the friendship must absolutely cease? She would have found in me her warmest seconder, and with Drumlanrig and myself in the room she need not have been afraid of speaking to you. She did not do so. She was afraid of her responsibilities, and tried to shift them on to me. One letter she did certainly write to me. It was a brief one, to ask me not to send the lawyer’s letter to your father warning him to desist. She was quite right. It was ridiculous my consulting lawyers and seeking their protection. But she nullified any effect her letter might have produced by her usual postscript: “On no account let Alfred know that I have written to you.
好像有可能让我把你渐渐放掉似的！我曾千方百计要结束你我的友谊，不惜离开英国，给个在外国的假地址，希望能一举斩断这已经变得可憎可恶、将把我引上绝路的交往[147a]。你说我是能够把你“渐渐放掉”而不放吗？你说这样你父亲就心满意足了吗？你知道不是这么回事的。你父亲要的，的确不是你我中断友谊，而是当众闹出条丑闻。他盘算着的就是这个[147b]。他名字没见诸报端已有些年头了，于是看准这是个机会，好以一个全新的形象，一个慈父的形象，出现在不列颠大众眼前。他来劲了。我要是同你一刀两断，那可真要叫他大失所望，即使二度离婚的官司，不管其始末曲直有多令人恶心，所赢得的小小臭名，充其量也难以自慰。因为他求的是出名走红，而装扮成一个所谓的纯洁世风的卫道士，以时下英国公众的水平论，是成为一时英雄的不二法门[147c]。我在一个剧本里说了，这公众，如果上半年是残忍的卡利班，那下半年就是伪善的答尔丢夫。而你父亲可说是成了这两种性格的化身，这样一来，就被目为咄咄逼人、最典型的清教徒主义的当然代表了。渐渐把你放掉，即使行得通，也于事无补。难道你现在还不这样认为吗，你母亲该做的唯有请我过去同她见面，你和你哥哥也要在场，毫不含糊地提出这段友谊必须一刀两断？那她就会发觉，对她的提议我是最衷心拥护不过了，而且有你哥哥和我在场，也用不着怕同你说话了。她没这么做。她这是怕负责任，想往我身上推。当然她的确给我写过一封信，短短的，要我别再往你父亲处写律师信警告他罢手。她说得倒很对。我真荒唐，去找律师商量，求他们保护。但那封信可能产生的效果，却被她用那句惯常的附言抵消了：“千万别让阿尔弗莱德知道我写信给你。”
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You were entranced at the idea of my sending lawyers’ letters to your father, as well as yourself[148a]. It was your suggestion. I could not tell you that your mother was strongly against the idea, for she had bound me with the most solemn promises never to tell you about her letters to me, and I foolishly kept my promise to her. Don’t you see that it was wrong of her not to speak directly to you? That all the backstairs-interviews with me, and, the area-gate correspondence[148b] were wrong? Nobody can shift their responsibilities on anyone else. They always return ultimately to the proper owner[148c]. Your one idea of life, your one philosophy, if you are to be credited with a philosophy, was that whatever you did was to be paid for by someone else: I don’t mean merely in the financial sense—that was simply the practical application of your philosophy to everyday life—but in the broadcast, fullest sense of transferred responsibility. You made that your creed. It was very successful as far as it went. You forced me into taking the action because you knew that your father would not attack your life or yourself in any way, and that I would defend both to the utmost, and take on my own shoulders whatever would be thrust on me. You were quite right. Your father and I, each from different motives of course, did exactly as you counted on our doing. But somehow, in spite of everything, you have not really escaped. The “infant Samuel theory,” as for brevity’s sake one may term it, is all very well as far as the general world goes. It may be a good deal scorned in London, and a little sneered at in Oxford, but that is merely because there are a few people who know you in each place, and because in each place you left traces of you passage[148d]. Outside of a small set in those two cities, the world looks on you as the good young man who was very nearly tempted into wrong-doing by the wicked and immoral artist, but was rescued just in time by his kind and loving father. It sounds all right. And yet, you know you have not escaped. I am not referring to a silly question asked by a silly juryman, which was of course treated with contempt by the Crown and by the Judge. No one cared about that. I am referring perhaps principally to yourself. In your own eyes, and some day you will have to think of your conduct, you are not, cannot be quite satisfied at the way in which things have turned out. Secretly you must think of yourself with a good deal of shame. A brazen face is a capital thing to show the world, but now and then when you are alone, and have no audience, you have, I suppose, to take the mask off for mere breathing purposes. Else, indeed, you would be stifled[148e].
