The Liar | Jean Cocteau|translated by Peter Meyer

I want to tell the truth. I like the truth. But it (the truth) doesn't like me. That's
the real truth; truth doesn't like me. As soon as I speak it, it turns round and
attacks me. I look as though I'm lying and everyone glares at me. Yet I'm a
simple person and I don't like lies. I swear it. Lies always cause trouble, you
catch your feet and stumble and fall and everyone laughs at you. If I'm asked a
question, I want to say what I think. I want to tell the truth. Then, I don't know
what happens. I get worried, frightened, afraid of being ridiculous and I lie. I
lie. It's done. It's too late to go back. And once you've started to lie, everything
else follows on. It's not very pleasant, I promise you. It's so easy to tell the
truth. It's a luxury for lazy people. You're sure not to make mistakes later and
you'll have no more worries. It's embarrassing on the spot, for the moment, at
the time. But me! The devil takes a hand. It's not a steep slope. It's a
switchback that sweeps you off and takes your breath away, stops your heart
and ties it up inside you.
If I'm in love, I say I'm not, and if I'm not, I say I am. You can guess what
follows. Might as well get your revolver out and be done with it. No! It's
useless lecturing myself, standing in front of the wardrobe mirror and
repeating: You won't lie again. You won't lie again. You won't lie again. I do. I
do. I do. I lie about little things and big ones. If I happen to tell the truth, once,
by chance, by surprise, it changes, crumples, shrivels up, grins and becomes a
lie. The smallest details conspire together and prove I've lied. It's not that I'm a
coward... In my own home I always find the right answer and work out what
moves to make. But when I'm not, I'm paralysed, I don't say a word. They treat
me as a liar and I shut up. I could say: You're lying. I can't find the strength. I
let myself be insulted and I'm bursting with fury. This fury accumulates and
builds up inside me and turns into hatred.
I'm not wicked. In fact I'm good. But I only have to be treated as a liar and I'm
choked with hatred. People are right. I know they're right, I deserve being
insulted. But there it is. I didn't want to lie and I can't stand people not
understanding I'm lying against my will and it's the devil urging me on. Oh, I'll
change! I have changed. I'll stop lying. I've found a system to stop lying, to stop
living in the appalling chaos of lies. It's like an uncleaned room, barbed wire at
night, the endless corridors of dreams. I'll be cured. I'll escape. Anyway I'm
proving it to you. Here, in public, I'm accusing myself of my crimes and
exposing my vice. Don't think I enjoy exposing my vice and my frankness is the
height of vice. No, no. I'm ashamed. I hate my lies and I'd go to the end of the
world to avoid having to con- fess them. What about you? Do you tell the
truth? Do you deserve to listen to me? Here I am, accusing myself, and I
haven't even wondered if the court's capable of judging me, condemning me,
pardoning me.
You ought to lie! All of you, you ought to lie, lie the whole time and like lying
and believe you're not lying. You ought to lie to yourselves. That's the essence
of it. I don't lie to myself. I'm frank enough to admit I lie, that I am a liar. You,
you're cowards. You were listening to me. You were thinking: poor fool! And
you were taking advantage of my frankness to conceal your own lies. I've got
you! Do you know why I've told you I was lying and I like lies? It wasn't true.
The only point was to draw you into a trap, to understand. Im not lying. I never
lie. I hate lies and lies hate me. I only lied when I told you I was lying.
Now I see from your faces you're appalled. Every one of you would like to
leave, you're frightened I might challenge you.
You told your husband you went to your dressmaker yesterday. You told your
wife you were dining at the club. It's not true. Not true. Not true. Deny it if you
dare. Tell me I'm lying, if you dare. Treat me as a liar, if you dare. No-one stirs?
Perfect. I knew what I was doing. It's easy to accuse other people. Easy to
embarrass them. You tell me I'm lying, but you are! Marvellous! I never lie. Do
you understand! Never. If I do happen to lie, it's to be kind... to avoid hurting
people, to avoid a scene. White lies. Of course one has to lie. Lie a little...
occasionally. What? You said something? Oh! I thought... no... because... I'd
think it strange if you blamed me for this kind of lie. Coming from you it would
be odd. As you lie to me and I never lie.
Now, the other day... No, you wouldn't believe me. Anyway lying.. lying is
magnificent. Look... imagine an unreal world and believe in it. Tell a lie! It's
true that truth has its own reality and it amazes me. Truth. There's nothing to
choose between the two of them. Maybe lying wins... though I never lie.
What? I've lied? Oh, yes. I lied when I told you I was lying. Did I lie when I told
you I was lying or when I told you I wasn't? A liar! Me? In fact I don't know any
more. I'm getting confused. It's a funny world. Am I a liar? I wonder. It's more
that I am a lie. A lie that always tells the truth.