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You were the only person who, and without in any way exposing yourself to scorn or danger or blame[47a], could have given another colour to the whole affair: have put the matter in a different light: have shown to a certain degree how things really stood. I would not of course have expected, nor indeed wished you to have stated how and for what purpose you had sought my assistance in your trouble at Oxford: or how, and for what purpose, if you had a purpose at all, you had practically never left my side for nearly three years. My incessant attempts to break off a friendship that was so ruinous to me as an artist, as a man of position, as a member of society even, need not have been chronicled with the accuracy with which they have been set down here[47b]. Nor would I have desired you to have described the scenes you used to make with such almost monotonous recurrence: nor to have reprinted your wonderful series of telegrams to me with their strange mixture of romance and finance[47c]; nor to have quoted from your letters the more revolting or heartless passages, as I have been forced to do. Still, I thought it would have been good, as well for you as for me, if you had made some protest against your father’s version of our friendship, one no less grotesque than venomous, and as absurd in its reference to you as it was dishonouring in its reference to me. That version has now actually passed into serious history: it is quoted, believed, and chronicled: the preacher has taken it for his text, and the moralist for his barren theme: and I who appealed to all the ages have had to accept my verdict from one who is an ape and a buffoon. I have said, and with some bitterness, I admit, in this letter that such was the irony of things that your father would live to be the hero of a Sunday-school tract: that you would rank with the infant Samuel: and that my place would be between Gilles de Retz and the Marquis de Sade.[47.1] I dare say it is best so. I have no desire to complain. One of the many lessons that one learns in prison is that things are what they are, and will be what they will be. Nor have I any doubt but that the leper of mediaevalism, and the author of Justine, will prove better company than Sandford and Merton.[47.2]
你本来是唯一的一个人，能在丝毫不必蒙羞冒险受辱[47a]的情况下，改变局面，令整个事件改观，在某种程度上反映出真相来的。我当然不期望、确实也不希望你和盘托出你当初是怎样、以及为了什么目的在牛津碰到麻烦后找上我求助的；或者，你是怎样、以及为了什么目的——如果你还真有什么目的的话——将近三年来简直是寸步不离我左右。这段交情对于我，作为一名艺术家、一个有地位的人，甚至是社会的一员，具有偌大的毁灭性；我屡屡要摆脱这交情，个中的始末曲直，本不用像现在这样细算流水帐的[47b]。我也不会要你把那些三天两头你几乎是必闹无疑的场面描述一遍；不会要你把打给我的那一连串绝妙的电报，那一派奇怪地交织着谈情和说钱的文字[47c]，重印出来；也不会要你像我曾经被迫所做的那样，从你的信中摘引那些更是不堪入耳、无情无义的段落。但我仍然认为，你要是能就你父亲的话提出抗议，那于我于你都是有好处的。你父亲对我们友谊的说词，既怪且毒，说到你时是那么荒唐可笑，说到我时又是那么血口喷人。这种说词现在竟然已加载正史：有人引证，有人相信，有人编纂；讲道者以此撰写他的布道文，卫道者以此作为他道德文章的主题。而我呢，曾经令老老少少心动的我呢，却要接受一个笨蛋小丑的判决。我承认，在这封信里，我曾不无苦涩地说过，事情的讽刺在于你父亲有生之年将成为主日学校小册子里头的英雄，你将与少年塞缪尔并列，而我将与雷斯和萨德侯爵为伍。我敢说这再好不过了。我无意抱怨。人在狱中学到了好多，其中之一就是：天下事，是怎样就怎样，该怎样会怎样。我也毫不怀疑，中世纪的麻风病人和《朱斯蒂娜》的作者将比《桑佛德与默顿》更好作伴。
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