The Fall (Camus novel)
The
Fall (French: La Chute)
is a philosophical novel
by Albert Camus.
First published in 1956, it is his last complete work of fiction. Set in Amsterdam, The Fall consists of a series of dramatic monologues
by the self-proclaimed "judge-penitent" Jean-Baptiste Clamence, as he
reflects upon his life to a stranger. In what amounts to a confession, Clamence
tells of his success as a wealthy Parisian defense lawyer who was highly
respected by his colleagues. His crisis, and his ultimate "fall" from
grace, was meant to invoke, in secular terms, the fall
of man from the Garden
of Eden. The Fall explores themes of
innocence, imprisonment, non-existence, and truth. In a eulogy to Albert Camus,
existentialist philosopher Jean-Paul
Sartre described the novel as
"perhaps the most beautiful and the least understood" of Camus'
books.
Setting
Clamence
often speaks of his love for high, open places — everything from mountain peaks
to the top decks of boats. "I have never felt comfortable," he
explains, "except in lofty surroundings. Even in the details of daily
life, I need to feel above". Then it is paradoxical that Clamence
leads his cher ami away from the human symmetries of a picturesque town
to sit on a level, seaside expanse. The location of Amsterdam, as a city below
sea-level, therefore assumes particular significance in relation to the
narrator. Moreover, Amsterdam is generally described in The Fall as a
cold, wet place where a thick blanket of fog constantly hangs over the crowded, neon-light-lined
streets. Beside the atmosphere (which could be established almost anywhere
else) the city also was chosen by Camus for a more peculiar reason. In the
opening pages Clamence casually remarks,
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Have
you noticed that Amsterdam's concentric canals resemble the circles of hell?
The middle-class hell, of course, peopled with bad dreams. When one comes
from the outside, as one gradually goes through those circles, life — and
hence its crimes — becomes denser, darker. Here, we are in the last circle.
(Camus 23)
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The
"last circle of hell" is the site of Amsterdam's red-light district
and the location of a bar named Mexico City, which Clamence frequents
nightly, and where the bulk of his narrative gradually unfolds. (The bar, Mexico
City, did exist in Amsterdam.) The setting thus serves to illustrate,
literally and metaphorically, Clamence's fall from the heights of high-class
Paris society to the dark, dreary, Dantesque underworld of Amsterdam, where
tortured souls wander aimlessly among each other. Indeed, critics have explored
at length the parallels between Clamence's fall and Dante's descent through Hell in the Inferno
(see Galpin, King).
It
is also significant, particularly as Camus develops his philosophical ideas,
that the story develops against the backdrop of the Second
World War and the
Holocaust. Clamence tells us that he lives
only a short distance from Mexico City, in what was — formerly — the Jewish
Quarter, "until our Hitlerian brethren
spaced it out a bit. ... I am living on the site of one of the greatest crimes
in history" (Camus 281). The naming of the bar also recalls the
destruction of the Aztec civilization whose ruined capital has been supplanted
by modern Mexico City.
Among
other things, The Fall is an attempt to explain how humankind could be
capable of perpetrating such evils.[citation needed]
Synopsis
Life in Paris
The
novel opens with Clamence sitting in the bar Mexico City casually
talking to a stranger — the reader, some would say — about the proper way to
order a drink; for here, despite the cosmopolitan nature of Amsterdam, the
bartender refuses to respond to anything other than Dutch. Thus, Clamence
serves as interpreter and he and the stranger, having discovered that they are
fellow compatriots who, moreover, both hail from Paris, begin discussing more
substantive matters.
Clamence
tells us that he used to lead an essentially perfect life in Paris as a highly
successful and well-respected defence lawyer. The vast majority of his work
centred around "widow and orphan" cases, that is, the poor and
disenfranchised who otherwise would be unable to provide themselves with a
proper defence before the law. He also relates anecdotes about how he always
enjoyed giving friendly directions to strangers on the streets, yielding to
others his seat on the bus, giving alms to the poor, and, above all, helping
the blind to cross the street. In short, Clamence conceived of himself as living
purely for the sake of others and "achieving more than the vulgar
ambitious man and rising to that supreme summit where virtue is its own
reward" (Camus 288).
Late
one night when crossing the Pont Royal on his way home from his
"mistress", however, Clamence comes across a woman dressed in black
leaning over the edge of the bridge. He hesitates for a moment, thinking the
sight strange at such an hour and given the barrenness of the streets, but
continues on his way nevertheless. He had only walked a short distance when he
heard the distinct sound of a body hitting the water. Clamence stops walking,
knowing exactly what has happened, but does nothing — in fact, he doesn't even
turn around. The sound of screaming was
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repeated
several times, [as it went] downstream; then it abruptly ceased. The silence
that followed, as the night suddenly stood still, seemed interminable. I
wanted to run and yet didn't move an inch. I was trembling, I believe from
cold and shock. I told myself that I had to be quick and felt an irresistible
weakness steal over me. I have forgotten what I thought then. "Too late,
too far..." or something of the sort. I was still listening as I stood
motionless. Then, slowly, in the rain, I went away. I told no one. (Camus
314)
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Despite
Clamence's view of himself as a selfless advocate for the weak and unfortunate,
he simply ignores the incident and continues on his way. He later elaborates
that his failure to do anything was most probably because doing so would have
required him to put his own personal safety in jeopardy.
Several
years after the apparent suicide of the woman off the Pont Royal — and an
evidently successful effort to purge the entire event from his memory —
Clamence is on his way home one autumn evening after a particularly pleasing
day of work. He pauses on the empty Pont des Arts and reflects:
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I
was happy. The day had been good: a blind man, the reduced sentence I had
hoped for, a cordial handclasp from my client, a few generous actions and, in
the afternoon, a brilliant improvisation in the company of several friends on
the hard-handedness of our governing class and the hypocrisy of our leaders.
... I felt rising within me a vast feeling of power and — I don't know how to
express it — of completion, which cheered my heart. I straightened up and was
about to light a cigarette, the cigarette of satisfaction, when, at that very
moment, a laugh burst out behind me. (Camus 296)
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Clamence
turns around to discover that the laughter, of course, was not directed at him,
but probably originated from a far-off conversation between friends — such is
the rational course of his thought. Nevertheless, he tells us that "I
could still hear it distinctly behind me, coming from nowhere unless from the
water." The laughter is thus alarming because it immediately reminds him
of his obvious failure to do anything whatsoever about the woman who had
presumably drowned years before. The unlucky coincidence for Clamence here is
that he is reminded of this precisely at the moment when he is congratulating
himself for being such a selfless individual. Furthermore, the laughter is
described as a "good, hearty, almost friendly laugh," whereas, mere
moments later, he describes himself as possessing a "good, hearty
badger" (Camus 297). This implies that the laughter originated within
himself, adding another dimension to the inner meaning of the scene. That
evening on the Pont des Arts represents, for Clamence, the collision of his
true self with his inflated self-image, and the final realization of his own
hypocrisy becomes painfully obvious.
A
third and final incident initiates Clamence's downward spiral. One day while
waiting at a stoplight, Clamence finds that he is trapped behind a motorcycle
which has stalled ahead of him and is unable to proceed once the light changes
to green as a result. Other cars behind him start honking their horns, and
Clamence politely asks the man several times if he would please move his
motorcycle off the road so that others can drive around him; however, with each
repetition of the request, the motorcyclist becomes increasingly agitated and
threatens Clamence with physical violence.
Angry,
Clamence exits his vehicle in order to confront the man when someone else
intervenes and "informed me that I was the scum of the earth and that he
would not allow me to strike a man who had a motor-cycle [sic] between his legs and hence was at a disadvantage"
(Camus 303-4). Clamence turns to respond to his interlocutor when suddenly the
motorcyclist punches him in the side of the head and then speeds off. Without
retaliating against his interlocutor, Clamence, utterly humiliated, merely
returns to his car and drives away. Later, he runs through his mind "a
hundred times" what he thinks he should have done — namely strike his
interlocutor, then chase after the motorcyclist and run him off the road. The
feeling of resentment gnaws away at him, and Clamence explains that
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after
having been struck in public without reacting, it was no longer possible for
me to cherish that fine picture of myself. If I had been the friend of truth
and intelligence I claimed to be, what would that episode have mattered to
me? It was already forgotten by those who had witnessed it. (Camus 305)
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Clamence
thus arrives at the conclusion that his whole life has in fact been lived in
search of honour, recognition, and power over others. Having realized this, he
can no longer live the way he once did.
Crisis
Clamence
initially attempts to resist the sense that he has lived hypocritically and
selfishly. He argues with himself over his prior acts of kindness, but quickly
discovers that this is an argument he cannot win. He reflects, for example,
that whenever he had helped a blind man across the street — something he
especially enjoyed doing — he would doff his hat to the man. Since the blind
man obviously cannot see this acknowledgement, Clamence asks, "To whom was
it addressed? To the public. After playing my part, I would take my bow"
(Camus 301). As a result, he comes to see himself as duplicitous and
hypocritical.
This
realization precipitates an emotional and intellectual crisis for Clamence
which, moreover, he is unable to avoid, having now discovered it; the sound of
laughter that first struck him on the Pont des Arts slowly begins to permeate
his entire existence. In fact, Clamence even begins laughing at himself as he
defends matters of justice and fairness in court. Unable to ignore it, Clamence
attempts to silence the laughter by throwing off his hypocrisy and ruining the
reputation he acquired therefrom.
Clamence
thus proceeds to "destroy that flattering reputation" (Camus 326)
primarily by making public comments that he knows will be received as
objectionable: telling beggars that they are "embarrassing people,"
declaring his regret at not being able to hold serfs and beat them at his whim, and announcing the publication
of a "manifesto exposing the oppression that the oppressed inflict on
decent people." In fact, Clamence even goes so far as to consider
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jostling
the blind on the street; and from the secret, unexpected joy this gave me I
recognized how much a part of my soul loathed them; I planned to puncture the
tyres of wheelchairs, to go and shout 'lousy proletarian' under the
scaffoldings on which labourers were working, to smack infants in the subway.
... the very word 'justice' gave me strange fits of rage. (Camus 325)
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To
Clamence's frustration and dismay, however, his efforts in this regard are
ineffective, generally because many of the people around him refuse to take him
seriously; they find it inconceivable that a man of his reputation could ever
say such things and not be joking. Clamence eventually realizes that his
attempts at self-derision can only fail, and the laughter continues to gnaw at
him. This is because his actions are just as dishonest: "In order to
forestall the laughter, I dreamed of hurling myself into the general derision.
In fact, it was still a question of dodging judgment. I wanted to put the
laughters on my side, or at least to put myself on their side" (Camus
325).
Ultimately,
Clamence responds to his emotional-intellectual crisis by withdrawing from the
world on precisely those terms. He closes his law practice, avoids his former
colleagues in particular and people in general, and throws himself completely
into uncompromising debauchery; while humankind may be grossly hypocritical in
the areas from which he has withdrawn, "no man is a hypocrite in his
pleasures" (Camus 311 – a quotation from Samuel Johnson). Debauchery (women
and alcohol) does prove a temporarily effective means of silencing the
laughter--the biting sense of his own hypocrisy--because, as he explains, it
thoroughly dulls his wits. Unfortunately, he finds himself unable to maintain
this lifestyle due to personal failings that he describes as follows:
"...my liver and an exhaustion so terrible that it still has not left me
(?)"
Life in Amsterdam
The
last of Clamence's monologues takes place in his apartment in the (former)
Jewish Quarter, and recounts more specifically the events which shaped his
current outlook; in this regard his experiences during the Second World War are
crucial. With the outbreak of war and the fall of France, Clamence considers
joining the French Resistance,
but decides that doing so would ultimately be futile. He explains,
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The
undertaking struck me as a little mad ... I think especially that underground
action suited neither my temperament nor my preference for exposed heights.
It seemed to me that I was being asked to do some weaving in a cellar, for
days and nights on end, until some brutes should come to haul me from hiding,
undo my weaving and then drag me to another cellar to beat me to death. I
admired those who indulged in such heroism of the depths but couldn't imitate
them. (Camus 342)
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Instead,
Clamence decides to flee Paris for London, and takes an indirect route there,
moving through North Africa; however, he meets a friend while in Africa and
decides to stay and find work, eventually settling in Tunis. But after the
Allies land in Africa,
Clamence is arrested by the Germans and thrown into a concentration camp —
"chiefly [as] a security measure," he assures himself (Camus 343).
While
interned, Clamence meets a comrade, introduced to the reader only as "Du
Guesclin", who had fought in the Spanish
Civil War, was captured by "the Catholic
general", and now found himself in the hands of the Germans in Africa.
These experiences subsequently caused the man to lose his faith in the Catholic
Church (and perhaps in God as well); as a form of protest Du Guesclin announces
the need for a new Pope — one who will "agree to keep alive, in himself and
in others, the community of our sufferings" — to be chosen from among the
prisoners in the camp. As the man with "the most failings," Clamence
jokingly volunteers himself, but finds that the other prisoners agree with his
appointment. As a result of being selected to lead a group of prisoners as
"Pope," Clamence is afforded certain powers over them, such as how to
distribute food and water and deciding who will do what kind of work.
"Let's just say that I closed the circle," he confesses, "the
day I drank the water of a dying comrade. No, no, it wasn't Du Guesclin; he was
already dead, I believe, for he stinted himself too much" (Camus 343-4).
Clamence
then relates the story of how a famous fifteenth-century painting, a panel from
the Ghent Altarpiece
known as The Just Judges,
came into his possession. One evening a regular patron of Mexico City
entered the bar with the priceless painting and sold it for a bottle of jenever to the bartender who, for a time, displayed the piece
prominently on the wall of his bar. (Both the man who sold the painting and the
now-vacant place on the wall where it hung are cryptically pointed out at the
beginning of the novel.) However, Clamence eventually informs the bartender
that the painting is in fact stolen, that police from several countries are
searching for it, and offers to keep it for him; the bartender immediately
agrees to the proposal. Clamence attempts to justify his possession of the
stolen painting in a number of ways, primarily "because those judges are
on their way to meet the Lamb, because there is no lamb or innocence any
longer, and because the clever rascal who stole the panel was an instrument of
the unknown justice that one ought not to thwart" (Camus 346). The full
story of the Ghent Altarpiece and the "Just Judges" panel, along with
its role in Camus' novel, is told in Noah Charney's 2010 book, Stealing the
Mystic Lamb: the True Story of the World's Most Coveted Masterpiece.
Finally,
Clamence employs the imagery of the Ghent Altarpiece and The Just Judges
to explain his self-identification as a "judge-penitent". This
essentially espouses a doctrine of relinquished freedom as a method of enduring
the suffering imposed on us by virtue of living in a world without objective
truth and one that is therefore, ultimately meaningless. With the death
of God, one must also accept by extension
the idea of universal guilt and the impossibility of innocence. Clamence's
argument posits, somewhat paradoxically, that freedom from suffering is
attained only through submission to something greater than oneself. Clamence,
through his confession, sits in permanent judgment of himself and others,
spending his time persuading those around him of their own unconditional guilt.
The novel ends on a sinister note: "Pronounce to yourself the words that
years later haven't ceased to resound through my nights, and which I will speak
at last through your mouth: "O young girl, throw yourself again into the
water so that I might have a second time the chance to save the two of
us!" A second time, eh, what imprudence! Suppose, dear sir, someone
actually took our word for it? It would have to be fulfilled. Brr...! the water
is so cold! But let's reassure ourselves. It's too late now, it will always be
too late. Fortunately!"
References
Text
- Camus, Albert. (2004). The Plague, The Fall, Exile and the Kingdom, and Selected Essays. Trans. Justin O'Brien. New York: Everyman's Library. ISBN 1-4000-4255-0
Secondary
sources
- Aronson, Ronald (2004). Camus & Sartre: The Story of a Friendship and the Quarrel that Ended It. University of Chicago Press. ISBN 0-226-02796-1.
- Galpin, Alfred (1958). "Dante in Amsterdam". Symposium 12: 65–72.
- King, Adele (1962). "Structure and Meaning in La Chute". PMLA 77 (5): 660–667.
In the novel, Clamence mentions "sailors' bars in the
Zeedijk". In the 1950s, a bar called Mexico City was located much
near the Zeedijk, at Warmoesstraat 91. Camus visited the area in October 1954,
when a Dutch acquaintance took him on a tour of "hidden" locations in
Amsterdam.
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