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The poor are wiser, more charitable, more kind, more sensitive[59a] than we are. In their eyes prison is a tragedy in a man’s life, a misfortune, a casualty, something that calls for sympathy in others. They speak of one who is in prison as of one who is “in trouble” simply[59b]. It is the phrase they always use, and the expression has the perfect wisdom of Love in it. With people of our rank it is different. With us prison makes a man a pariah. I, and such as I am, have hardly my right to air and sun. Our presence taints the pleasures of others. We are unwelcome when we reappear[59c]. To revisit the glimpses of the moon[59.1] is not for us. Our very children are taken away. Those lovely links with humanity are broken. We are doomed to be solitary, while our sons still live. We are denied the one thing that might heal us and help us, that might bring balm to the bruised heart, and peace to the soul in pain[59d].
穷苦的人比我们更有智慧，更慈悲，更仁厚，更善解人意[59a]。在他们眼里，进监狱是人生的一出悲剧，一个不幸，一场灾祸，别人应该同情才是。一个人进了监狱他们只说是“出事了” [59b]。他们总是这么说的，话语间表露了完美的爱的智慧。而我们这种地位的人就不同了。一进监狱便遭人唾弃。我，像我目前这样，几乎连得到空气和阳光的权利也没有了。我们一出现便扫人家的兴。等到从监狱里放出来，就成了不受欢迎的人[59c]。再看看那时隐时现的月色都不行。我们的亲生孩子被带走了。人性天伦美好的纽带断了。我们的儿子还活在世上，而我们却难逃孤老独居的命运。就这一样本可以治愈我们的创伤、帮助我们振作、本可以让受伤的心纾解、让痛苦的灵魂安宁的亲情，却不让我们得到[59d]。
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