Confessions of a Judge Penitent (Song of Deception)

My female friends think they have the secret

To succeed with me where all the others failed

By the way, do you know what charm is?

It's a way of getting the answer yes

Without ever having to ask any clear question

Then things changed radically when a slim young woman dressed in black

(the damp between her dark hair and collar stirred me)

Threw herself off the Pont Neuf Bridge into the river

I heard the splash of the body striking the water below

Even at the first scream, I never once turned around

I kept walking

I made a point not to read the newspapers for the next three days

Look around, mon compatriote

Look at Holland!

Observe the Dutch lowlands!

The most beautiful negative landscape in the world

Everything horizontal and no relief

The space is colorless and all life is dead

But I am here living by my double code

What we call "basic truths" mon cher

Are the ones we discover after all the others

I must confess, though

I don't think there is a single person I ever loved

That I didn't eventually betray

And my most serious acts were the ones in which I was least involved

We have so many years separating us from our end

But one cannot die before confessing all one's lies

Or become like a dead man sleeping on his secret for the absolute murder of truth!

But for some who died, death itself is insufficient punishment that does not absolve

Let us remember salvation is to disappear indefinitely

And isn't the existence and purpose of God to protect the innocent?

I remain above but am not God

After she jumped, I started my fall - then out came my true colors

And me, Clamence, sitting here before you confess

I am at once the successful, merciful lawyer

And monstrously failed penitent judge

To stop the laughter I joined the general derision

Seeking refuge among the laughers to get them on my side

I exhibited no false sympathy or true empathy

(yet all the while secretly feeling I was still above)

I loathed the weak, shoved the blind on the street

Punctured tires of invalids, under worker's platforms shouted

"Lousy proletarians" and slapped infants in the subways

A perfect dream come true, to invalidate the human spirit

I learned God is not needed to create guilt or to punish

The very word justice sent me into a rage

Why, I asked, "Couldn't the poor take pity on the rich?

Exchange places in their minds for once and put themselves in their shoes

Instead of embarrassing people with their disgusting poverty?"

I would apply my well-deserved talents to defend the thief

To expose the crimes of the honest man

I started writing notices like "Ode to the Police"

"Praise and Glory to the Dictator"

And "Worship the Guillotine!"

Are you interested in more - perhaps my debaucheries, my dear friend?

I did not look to escape to a deserted island

There are no more!

Instead I became an immoral rain cloud

Scudding along the blue horizon of goodness

I sought refuge in the company of women

Who didn't condemn men's weakness

But were more inclined to humiliate or disarm their strength

This is why a woman is not the reward of the warrior

But that of the criminal

In the haven of a woman's bed she remains the last harbor -

All the remains of an earthly paradise

I thought I was in love, but no, I acted the fool

Having loved the parrot I went to bed with the serpent

But what matter?

In reality it was in a futile love affair with myself

I couldn't stomach one more time the unmade beds

Or hearing "La Vie en Rose"

I slept with harlots and became drunk for nights on end

O intoxication and lucidity!

Liberation with no obligations!

The bliss of solace I experienced

And to wake up in the dawn of glory

In a jungle with no past or future

The fog of orgies muffled the laughter

I looked forward to knowing I would die of my cure

Nothing remained except growing older

I was always the judge, and now the corrupt lawyer

I began siding with the outrages of the perpetrators

For example, consider the logic that there are always reasons

For murdering a man, while on the contrary

It is impossible to justify the victim for living

Cries of "Lord, why have thou forsaken me" became dust

Jesus knew he wasn't entirely innocent because look what happened to him!

But of what crimes he never knew

Don't we all climb our cross, mon cher, to be seen from a greater distance?

Since we are all judges - we are all guilty before one another

And isn't the keenest human torment to be judged without a law?

During the war I was mobilized

I was never called to the front

But only asked to join the retreating army

I escaped to Africa where I was captured

And interned in a German prisoner-of-war camp

Can you imagine the desert - the endless bleeding blue of the sky!

And the heat, the sun (the vertical sun), the flies, the sand, the eternal lack of water

I once stole and drank the water of a dying comrade

And was still elected the pope of the camp

Thus, mon cher, doesn't that prove that all empires and churches

Were born under the sun of death!

In a cathedral in Ghent all can now see

Van Eyke's Adoration of the Mystic Lamb

And the reproduced fake panel of the stolen "Just Judges"

The ones who trekked like the Magi to witness true innocence

(represented by the oversized lamb on the altar)

What a work of art!

Isn't it a hoax that makes you jump?

At one point all panels of the venerated work were stolen

Then rescued from a German salt mine after the big war

Then comically, a rogue stole the "Just Judges" panel again

Ah

It now belongs to me

Those "Just Judges" hung for many years in the Mexico City bar

So, the question is - to whom does it really belong?

Who should own this panel, now in my possession

That once was hung over the brown bar?

I can give you several reasons why it belongs here

The proprietor of the Mexico City bar

Certainly has as much claim to it as the archbishop of Ghent

Besides, who can tell the difference between the original and a fake?

In any event I dominate!

False judges are held up to the world's admiration but I know the true ones

Besides I have the chance of going to prison (an attractive idea in a way)

Show me the guide to our severe masters

O, where are our cruel and beloved leaders?

In short, you see the answer is to cease being free

And to obey, in repentance, a greater scoundrel than yourself

When we become all guilty that will be the true democracy!

Death is solitary and slavery collective

So the real democracy only exists among the dead

Remember the judgment you pass on others

Will eventually slap back in your face

I am on the mountain

I pity without absolving

I understand without forgiving, and above all I feel

At last I am finally being adored!

Look around, mon cher compatriote

And watch the absinthe color sky of a new breaking day

See my subjects painfully slip out of bed

A bitter taste in their mouths, to go to their joyless work

As if snow has suddenly caught fire I am intoxicated

With evil words, they make me happy to death!

But these are difficult propositions for a judge penitent

Whose offices are and will remain in the Mexico City bar

I always talked of freedom at breakfast and spread it on my toast

I used to chew it all day long until my breath was redolent of freedom

I even defended it two or three times, of course

Without having to die for it

But in the end all freedom is a court sentence

On a Paris bridge I realized I was afraid of freedom

The bridge, always back to the bridge

O, young woman throw yourself into the water again

So I may for a second time have the chance of saving both of us!

But brrr, the water's very cold so let us not worry

It's too late now

It will always be too late

Fortunately!