Now, let one imagine a French revolutionist in the year 1788, who among
friends let fall the now well-known phrase, "the world will have no rest
till the last king is hanged with the guts of the last priest." The king
then still had all power, and, when the utterance is betrayed by an
accident, yet without its being possible to produce witnesses,
confession is demanded from the accused. Is he to confess or not? If he
denies, he lies and--remains unpunished; if he confesses, he is candid
and--is beheaded. If truth is more than everything else to him, all
right, let him die. Only a paltry poet could try to make a tragedy out
of the end of his life; for what interest is there in seeing how a man
succumbs from cowardice? But, if he had the courage not to be a slave of
truth and sincerity, he would ask somewhat thus: Why need the judges
know what I have spoken among friends? If I had _wished_ them to know, I
should have said it to them as I said it to my friends. I will not have
them know it. They force themselves into my confidence without my having
called them to it and made them my confidants; they _will_ learn what I
_will_ keep secret. Come on then, you who wish to break my will by your
will, and try your arts. You can torture me by the rack, you can
threaten me with hell and eternal damnation, you can make me so
nerveless that I swear a false oath, but the truth you shall not press
out of me, for I _will_ lie to you because I have given you no claim and
no right to my sincerity. Let God, "who is truth," look down ever so
threateningly on me, let lying come ever so hard to me, I have
nevertheless the courage of a lie; and, even if I were weary of my life,
even if nothing appeared to me more welcome than your executioner's
sword, you nevertheless should not have the joy of finding in me a slave
of truth, whom by your priestly arts you make a traitor to his _will_.
When I spoke those treasonable words, I would not have had you know
anything of them; I now retain the same will, and do not let myself be
frightened by the curse of the lie.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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