1. Read the introduction to biopolitics. This is a concept by Foucault, but the definition is explained by someone else in short paper form. I put helpful/central passages in bold font. Look up words you don’t know and bring all your questions to class. When the text talks about ‘power,’ it means forms of governmental power or institutions (laws or rules in states, schools, hospitals, prisons, etc.). We will figure out the details together in class, but for your post formulate in your own words what biopolitics means, and describe it a bit more with the help of an example of your choice.
2. Read Kafka’s story. Apologies for the slightly longer text on a Thursday. Summarize the story briefly in your own words (answer the W-questions if you need a way to get started: Who? What? When? Where? Why?), then take a first stab at a (very brief) interpretation of the text: What do you think is it all about? Post all this here.
Biopolitics: An Overview (2013)
“To say that p o w e r t o o k p o s s e s s i o n o f l i f e in the nineteenth century, or to say that power at least takes life
under its care in the nineteenth century, is to say that it has, thanks to the play of technologies of discipline on the one
hand and technologies of regulation on the other, succeeded in covering the whole surface that lies between the organic and
the biological, between body and population. We are, then, in a power that has taken control of both the body and life
or that has, if you like, taken control of life in general – with the body as one pole and the population as the other.” ~
M. Foucault (1976:252-3)
“What we are dealing with in this new technology of power is not exactly society (or at least not the social body,
as defined by the jurists), nor is it the individual body. It is a new body, a multiple body, a body with so many heads
that, while they might not be infinite in number, cannot necessarily be counted. B i o p o l i t i c s d e a l s w i t h t h e
p o p u l a t i o n , w i t h t h e p o p u l a t i o n a s a p o l i t i c a l p r o b l e m , as a problem that is at once scientific and political,
as a biological problem and as power’s problem.” ~M. Foucault (1976:245)
Biopolitics is a complicated concept that has been used and developed in social
theory since Michel Foucault, to examine the strategies and mechanisms through which
human life processes are managed under regimes of authority over knowledge, power, and
the processes of subjectivation. As Thomas Lemke points out, a great deal of the inconsistency
with which the concept of biopolitics has been deployed in more recent decades results depending
upon whether one takes as their starting point the notion that life is the determining basis of
politics, or alternatively, that the object of politics is life. Meanwhile, as Nikolas Rose and Paul
Rabinow point out, the original interests in and conceptions of biopower drawn out by Foucault,
quite usefully, do not grapple with these opposing positions- something that has remained
underappreciated by many theorists who have worked to develop alternative conceptions of
biopower to match more contemporary phenomena. As Lemke states most clearly, Foucault avoids
this conflict by taking as his starting point the assumption that “life denotes neither the basis
nor the object of politics. Instead, it presents a border to politics- a border that should be
simultaneously respected and overcome, one that seems to be both natural and given but
also artificial and transformable” (2011:4-5). In what follows within this post, I attempt to pull
out the foundational underpinnings upon which Foucault began to develop a theory of biopolitics.
Paying attention to the historicizing treatment Foucault gives to a notion of power in relation to the
rise of biopolitics, I ultimately reflect upon present-day phenomena which have been taken by
scholars as signalling the movement and transformation of biopolitics into new forms and
trajectories.
In “The Birth of Biopolitics”, Foucault begins to theorize liberalism as a practice and as a
critique of government, the rise of which he argues is inseparable from the rise of biopolitical
technologies of governance, which have extended political control and power over all major
processes of life itself, through a transferral of sovereign power into “biopower”- that is,
technologies and techniques which govern human social and biological processes. Pointing
to the fact that liberal thought takes society, and not the state, as its starting point; it follows,
consequently, the critique of state governing institutions that is internal to liberalism must always, in
practice, be negotiating its legitimacy of governance in a relationship between changing internalities
and externalities foregrounded in the state, between self-governing “liberal” individuals and the
population. This results in liberalism’s necessary ability to take many forms and strategies for self-
rationalization. For example- the neoliberalism of the U.S., in which the logic of a free market
economy has been extended over non-economic domains of human social and biological
existence, so that we now conceive of a number of life processes, such as family and
reproduction, in economic terms.
The 17th-century historical rupture in the flow of power over life and death that occurred
with liberalism should be seen as more of an integration of sovereign power (the “right of the
sword”) into what Foucault calls “biopower”, as opposed to seeing the process as a moment of
disjuncture in which biopower came to replace the classical notion of sovereign power. As he writes
in “Society Must Be Defended” (1976:241),
“I think that one of the greatest transformations political right underwent in the
nineteenth century was precisely that, I wouldn’t say exactly sovereignty’s old right-
to take life or let live- was replaced, but it came to be complemented by a new right
which does not erase the old right but which does penetrate it, permeate it. This is
the right, or rather precisely the opposite right. It is the p o w e r t o ‘ m a k e ’ l i v e a n d ‘ l e t ’
d i e . The right of sovereignty was the right to take life or let live. And then this new
right is established: the right to make live and to let die.”
The effects of the process through which these mutations in the exercise of power occurred
can be characterized as having formed two opposite poles of a continuum. The first of these
occurred through the development of techniques that operated in and on the individual body as
apparatuses of discipline: and “that discipline tries to rule a multiplicity of men to the extent
that their multiplicity can and must be dissolved into individual bodies that can be kept
under surveillance, trained, used, and…punished” (Foucault 1976:242). This pole is referred to
as “anatamo-politics”, and it is chiefly concerned with the atomization of a collectivity for the
purpose of governance and productivity to a certain end. The second pole is of explicitly biopolitics,
concerning the whole of a population, with the ultimate effect being characterizable as “massifying,
that is directed not at man-as-body but as man-as-species” (1976:243). Said otherwise,
biopolitics takes population as its problematic, making it both scientific and political, “as a biological
problem and as power’s problem”.
What does all this mean in less-theoretical terms? To begin, it means that the
contemporary historical era in which we exist and have come to know in very particular
ways, is governed over by means of particular mechanisms that simultaneously operate on
our bodies and subjective selves, and on our collective relations taken as a whole- as a global
human race. “Biopower” can be understood as a social field of power and struggle, in which
the vital aspects of human life are intervened upon for the purpose of rationalizing regimes
of authority over knowledge, the generation of truth discourses about life, and the modes
through which individuals construct and interpellate subjectivities between a sense of self
and the collective.
With respect to populations and governance in the present day, scholars such as Lemke,
Rose and Rabinow emphasize the viability of Foucauldian biopolitics in understanding the operability
of truth discourses, or regimes of truth, when approaching the study of mutating biopolitical spaces
in the contemporary. These spaces, such as genomics and reproductive choice, represent
profound biopolitical efforts to exercise the power “to make live” and “let die”. As such,
questions concerning choice and every day modes of practice surface as the most critical issues when
theorizing the border that, according to Foucault, is posed by life, to politics, as it continues to
transform within both new and old biopolitical spaces like race, reproduction, medicine, health,
science, technology, and so on.
Sources:
1. M. Foucault. 1997. “The Birth of Biopolitics,” 73-79 in Ethics, Subjectivity, and Truth: P. Rabinow
and J.D. Faubion eds. New Press.
2. M. Foucault. 2003. Lecture 11, 17 March 1976, 239-264 in Society Must Be Defended: Lectures at
the College de France. Picador Press.
3. T. Lemke. 2011. Biopolitics: An Advanced Introduction. New York University Press.
4. P. Rabinow & N. Rose. 2006. “Biopower Today,” Biosciences 1(2):195-217.
Text source: https://anthrobiopolitics.wordpress.com/2013/01/21/biopolitics-an-overview/
1
Franz Kafka, In the Penal Colony (transl. by Ian Johnston on kafka.org)
“It’s a peculiar apparatus,” said the Officer to the Traveler, gazing with a certain admiration at the
device, with which he was, of course, thoroughly familiar. It appeared that the Traveler had
responded to the invitation of the Commandant only out of politeness, when he had been invited to
attend the execution of a soldier condemned for disobeying and insulting his superior. Of course,
interest in the execution was not very high, not even in the penal colony itself. At least, here in the
small, deep, sandy valley, closed in on all sides by barren slopes, apart from the Officer and the
Traveler there were present only the Condemned, a vacant-looking man with a broad mouth and
dilapidated hair and face, and the Soldier, who held the heavy chain to which were connected the
small chains which bound the Condemned Man by his feet and wrist bones, as well as by his neck,
and which were also linked to each other by connecting chains. The Condemned Man had an
expression of such dog-like resignation that it looked as if one could set him free to roam around the
slopes and would only have to whistle at the start of the execution for him to return.
The Traveler had little interest in the apparatus and walked back and forth behind the Condemned
Man, almost visibly indifferent, while the Officer took care of the final preparations. Sometimes he
crawled under the apparatus, which was built deep into the earth, and sometimes he climbed up a
ladder to inspect the upper parts. These were really jobs which could have been left to a mechanic,
but the Officer carried them out with great enthusiasm, maybe because he was particularly fond of
this apparatus or maybe because there was some other reason why one could not trust the work to
anyone else. “It’s all ready now!” he finally cried and climbed back down the ladder. He was
unusually tired, breathing with his mouth wide open, and he had pushed two fine lady’s
handkerchiefs under the collar of his uniform.
“These uniforms are really too heavy for the tropics,” the Traveler said, instead of asking some
questions about the apparatus, as the Officer had expected. “That’s true,” said the Officer. He
washed the oil and grease from his dirty hands in a bucket of water standing ready, “but they mean
home, and we don’t want to lose our homeland.” “Now, have a look at this apparatus,” he added
immediately, drying his hands with a towel and pointing to the device. “Up to this point I had to do
some work by hand, but from now on the apparatus should work entirely on its own.” The Traveler
nodded and followed the Officer. The latter tried to protect himself against all eventualities by saying,
“Of course, breakdowns do happen. I really hope none will occur today, but we must be prepared
for it. The apparatus is supposed to keep going for twelve hours without interruption. But if any
breakdowns do occur, they’ll only be very minor, and we’ll deal with them right away.”
“Don’t you want to sit down?” he asked finally, as he pulled out a chair from a pile of cane chairs
and offered it to the Traveler. The latter could not refuse. He sat on the edge of the pit, into which
he cast a fleeting glance. It was not very deep. On one side of the hole the piled earth was heaped up
into a wall; on the other side stood the apparatus. “I don’t know,” the officer said, “whether the
Commandant has already explained the apparatus to you.” The Traveler made an vague gesture with
his hand. That was good enough for the Officer, for now he could explain the apparatus himself.
“This apparatus,” he said, grasping a connecting rod and leaning against it, “is our previous
Commandant’s invention. I also worked with him on the very first tests and took part in all the work
right up to its completion. However, the credit for the invention belongs to him alone. Have you
heard of our previous Commandant? No? Well, I’m not claiming too much when I say that the
organization of the entire penal colony is his work. We, his friends, already knew at the time of his
2
death that the administration of the colony was so self-contained that even if his successor had a
thousand new plans in mind, he would not be able to alter anything of the old plan, at least not for
several years. And our prediction has held. The New Commandant has had to recognize that. It’s a
shame that you didn’t know the previous Commandant!”
“However,” the Officer said, interrupting himself, “I’m chattering, and his apparatus stands here in
front of us. As you see, it consists of three parts. With the passage of time certain popular names
have been developed for each of these parts. The one underneath is called the bed, the upper one is
called the inscriber, and here in the middle, this moving part is called the harrow.” “The harrow?” the
Traveler asked. He had not been listening with full attention. The sun was excessively strong, trapped
in the shadowless valley, and one could hardly collect one’s thoughts. So the Officer appeared to him
all the more admirable in his tight tunic weighed down with epaulettes and festooned with braid,
ready to go on parade, as he explained the matter so eagerly and, while he was talking, adjusted
screws here and there with a screwdriver.
The Soldier appeared to be in a state similar to the Traveler. He had wound the Condemned Man’s
chain around both his wrists and was supporting himself with his hand on his weapon, letting his
head hang backward, not bothering about anything. The Traveler was not surprised at that, for the
Officer spoke French, and clearly neither the Soldier nor the Condemned Man understood the
language. So it was all the more striking that the Condemned Man, in spite of that, did what he could
to follow the Officer’s explanation. With a sort of sleepy persistence he kept directing his gaze to the
place where the Officer had just pointed, and when the question from the Traveler interrupted the
Officer, the Condemned Man looked at the Traveler, too, just as the Officer was doing.
“Yes, the harrow,” said the Officer. “The name fits. The needles are arranged as in a harrow, and the
whole thing is driven like a harrow, although it stays in one place and is, in principle, much more
artistic. You’ll understand in a moment. The condemned is laid out here on the bed. First, I’ll
describe the apparatus and only then let the procedure go to work. That way you’ll be able to follow
it better. Also a sprocket in the inscriber is excessively worn. It really squeaks. When it’s in motion
one can hardly make oneself understood. Unfortunately replacement parts are difficult to come by in
this place. So, here is the bed, as I said. The whole thing is completely covered with a layer of cotton
wool, the purpose of which you’ll find out in a moment. The condemned man is laid out on his
stomach on the cotton wool—naked, of course. There are straps for the hands here, for the feet
here, and for the throat here, to tie him in securely. At the head of the bed here, where the man, as I
have mentioned, first lies face down, is this small protruding lump of felt, which can easily be
adjusted so that it presses right into the man’s mouth. Its purpose is to prevent him screaming and
biting his tongue to pieces. Of course, the man has to let the felt in his mouth—otherwise the straps
around his throat would break his neck.” “That’s cotton wool?” asked the Traveler and bent down.
“Yes, it is,” said the Officer smiling, “feel it for yourself.”
He took the Traveler’s hand and led him over to the bed. “It’s a specially prepared cotton wool.
That’s why it looks so unrecognizable. I’ll get around to mentioning its purpose in a moment.” The
Traveler was already being won over a little to the apparatus. With his hand over his eyes to protect
them from the sun, he looked at the apparatus in the hole. It was a massive construction. The bed
and the inscriber were the same size and looked like two dark chests. The inscriber was set about two
metres above the bed, and the two were joined together at the corners by four brass rods, which
almost reflected the sun. The harrow hung between the chests on a band of steel.
3
The Officer had hardly noticed the earlier indifference of the Traveler, but he did have a sense now
of how the latter’s interest was being aroused for the first time. So he paused in his explanation in
order to allow the Traveler time to observe the apparatus undisturbed. The Condemned Man
imitated the Traveler, but since he could not put his hand over his eyes, he blinked upward with his
eyes uncovered.
“So now the man is lying down,” said the Traveler. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs.
“Yes,” said the Officer, pushing his cap back a little and running his hand over his hot face. “Now,
listen. Both the bed and the inscriber have their own electric batteries. The bed needs them for itself,
and the inscriber for the harrow. As soon as the man is strapped in securely, the bed is set in motion.
It quivers with tiny, very rapid oscillations from side to side and up and down simultaneously. You
will have seen similar devices in mental hospitals. Only with our bed all movements are precisely
calibrated, for they must be meticulously coordinated with the movements of the harrow. But it’s the
harrow which has the job of actually carrying out the sentence.”
“What is the sentence?” the Traveler asked. “You don’t even know that?” asked the Officer in
astonishment and bit his lip. “Forgive me if my explanations are perhaps confused. I really do beg
your pardon. Previously it was the Commandant’s habit to provide such explanations. But the New
Commandant has excused himself from this honourable duty. The fact that with such an eminent
visitor”—the traveler tried to deflect the honour with both hands, but the officer insisted on the
expression—“that with such an eminent visitor he didn’t even once make him aware of the form of
our sentencing is yet again something new, which . . .” He had a curse on his lips, but controlled
himself and said merely: “I was not informed about it. It’s not my fault. In any case, I am certainly
the person best able to explain our style of sentencing, for here I am carrying”—he patted his breast
pocket—“the relevant diagrams drawn by the previous Commandant.”
“Diagrams made by the Commandant himself?” asked the Traveler. “Then was he in his own person
a combination of everything? Was he soldier, judge, engineer, chemist, and draftsman?”
“He was indeed,” said the Officer, nodding his head with a fixed and thoughtful expression. Then he
looked at his hands, examining them. They didn’t seem to him clean enough to handle the diagrams.
So he went to the bucket and washed them again. Then he pulled out a small leather folder and said,
“Our sentence does not sound severe. The law which a condemned man has violated is inscribed on
his body with the harrow. This Condemned Man, for example,” and the Officer pointed to the man,
“will have inscribed on his body, ‘Honour your superiors.’”
The Traveler had a quick look at the man. When the Officer was pointing at him, the man kept his
head down and appeared to be directing all his energy into listening in order to learn something. But
the movements of his thick pouting lips showed clearly that he was incapable of understanding
anything. The Traveler wanted to raise various questions, but after looking at the Condemned Man
he merely asked, “Does he know his sentence?” “No,” said the Officer. He wished to get on with his
explanation right away, but the Traveler interrupted him: “He doesn’t know his own sentence?”
“No,” said the Officer once more. He then paused for a moment, as if he was asking the Traveler for
a more detailed reason for his question, and said, “It would be useless to give him that information.
He experiences it on his own body.” The Traveler really wanted to keep quiet at this point, but he
felt how the Condemned Man was gazing at him—he seemed to be asking whether he could approve
of the process the Officer had described. So the Traveler, who had up to this point been leaning
back, bent forward again and kept up his questions, “But does he nonetheless have some general idea
4
that he’s been condemned?” “Not that either,” said the Officer, and he smiled at the traveler, as if he
was still waiting for some strange revelations from him. “No?” said the Traveler, wiping his forehead,
“then does the man also not yet know how his defence was received?” “He has had no opportunity
to defend himself,” said the Officer and looked away, as if he was talking to himself and wished not
to embarrass the Traveler with an explanation of matters so self-evident to him. “But he must have
had a chance to defend himself,” said the Traveler and stood up from his chair.
The Officer recognized that he was in danger of having his explanation of the apparatus held up for
a long time. So he went to the Traveler, took him by the arm, pointed with his hand at the
Condemned Man, who stood there stiffly now that the attention was so clearly directed at him—the
Soldier was also pulling on his chain—and said, “The matter stands like this. Here in the penal
colony I have been appointed judge. In spite of my youth. For I stood at the side of our Old
Commandant in all matters of punishment, and I also know the most about the apparatus. The basic
principle I use for my decisions is this: Guilt is always beyond a doubt. Other courts could not follow
this principle, for they are made up of many heads and, in addition, have even higher courts above
them. But that is not the case here, or at least it was not that way with the previous Commandant. It’s
true the New Commandant has already shown a desire to get mixed up in my court, but I’ve
succeeded so far in fending him off. And I’ll continue to be successful. You want this case explained.
It’s simple—just like all of them. This morning a captain laid a charge that this man, who is assigned
to him as a servant and who sleeps before his door, had been sleeping on duty. For his task is to
stand up every time the clock strikes the hour and salute in front of the captain’s door. That’s
certainly not a difficult duty—and it’s necessary, since he is supposed to remain fresh both for
guarding and for service. Yesterday night the captain wanted to check whether his servant was
fulfilling his duty. He opened the door on the stroke of two and found him curled up asleep. He got
his horsewhip and hit him across the face. Now, instead of standing up and begging for forgiveness,
the man grabbed his master by the legs, shook him, and cried out, ‘Throw away that whip or I’ll eat
you up.’ Those are the facts. The captain came to me an hour ago. I wrote up his statement and right
after that the sentence. Then I had the man chained up. It was all very simple. If I had first
summoned the man and interrogated him, the result would have been confusion. He would have lied,
and if I had been successful in refuting his lies, he would have replaced them with new lies, and so
forth. But now I have him, and I won’t release him again. Now, does that clarify everything? But time
is passing. We should be starting the execution, and I haven’t finished explaining the apparatus yet.”
He urged the traveler to sit down in his chair, moved to the apparatus again, and started, “As you see,
the shape of the harrow corresponds to the shape of a man. This is the harrow for the upper body,
and here are the harrows for the legs. This small cutter is the only one designated for the head. Is that
clear to you?” He leaned forward to the Traveler in a friendly way, ready to give the most
comprehensive explanation.
The Traveler looked at the harrow with a wrinkled frown. The information about the judicial
procedures had not satisfied him. However, he had to tell himself that here it was a matter of a penal
colony, that in this place special regulations were necessary, and that one had to give precedence to
military measures right down to the last detail. Beyond that, however, he had some hopes in the New
Commandant, who obviously, although slowly, was intending to introduce a new procedure which
the limited understanding of this Officer could not cope with.
5
Following this train of thought, the Traveler asked, “Will the Commandant be present at the
execution?” “That is not certain,” said the Officer, embarrassingly affected by the sudden question,
and his friendly expression made a grimace. “That’s why we need to hurry up. As much as I regret
the fact, I’ll have to make my explanation even shorter. But tomorrow, once the apparatus is clean
again—the fact that it gets so very dirty is its only fault—I could add a detailed explanation. So now,
only the most important things. When the man is lying on the bed and it starts quivering, the harrow
sinks onto the body. It positions itself automatically in such a way that it touches the body only
lightly with the needle tips. Once the machine is set in this position, this steel cable tightens up into a
rod. And now the performance begins. Someone who is not an initiate sees no external difference
among the punishments. The harrow seems to do its work uniformly. As it quivers, it sticks the tips
of its needles into the body, which is also vibrating from the movement of the bed. Now, to enable
someone to check on how the sentence is being carried out, the harrow is made of glass. That gave
rise to certain technical difficulties with fastening the needles securely, but after several attempts we
were successful. We didn’t spare any efforts. And now, as the inscription is made on the body,
everyone can see through the glass. Don’t you want to come closer and see the needles for yourself.”
The Traveler stood slowly, moved up, and bent over the harrow. “You see,” the Officer said, “two
sorts of needles in a multiple arrangement. Each long needle has a short one next to it. The long one
inscribes, and the short one squirts water out to wash away the blood and keep the inscription always
clear. The bloody water is then channeled here in small grooves and finally flows into these main
gutters, and the outlet pipe takes it to the pit.” The officer pointed with his finger to the exact path
which the bloody water had to take. As he began to demonstrate with both hands at the mouth of
the outlet pipe, in order to make his account as clear as possible, the Traveler raised his head and,
feeling behind him with his hand, wanted to return to his chair. Then he saw to his horror that the
Condemned Man had also, like him, accepted the Officer’s invitation to inspect the arrangement of
the harrow up close. He had pulled the sleeping Soldier holding the chain a little forward and was
also bending over the glass. One could see how with a confused gaze he also was looking for what
the two gentlemen had just observed, but how he didn’t succeed because he lacked the explanation.
He leaned forward this way and that. He kept running his eyes over the glass again and again. The
Traveler wanted to push him back, for what he was doing was probably punishable. But the Officer
held the Traveler firmly with one hand, and with the other he took a lump of earth from the wall and
threw it at the Soldier. The latter opened his eyes with a start, saw what the Condemned Man had
dared to do, let his weapon fall, braced his heels in the earth, and pulled the Condemned Man back,
so that he immediately collapsed. The Soldier looked down at him, as he writhed around, making his
chain clink. “Stand him up,” cried the Officer. Then he noticed that the Condemned Man was
distracting the Traveler too much. The latter was even leaning out away from the harrow, without
paying any attention to it, wanting to find out what was happening to the Condemned Man. “Handle
him carefully,” the Officer yelled again. He ran around the apparatus, personally grabbed the
Condemned Man under the armpits and, with the help of the Soldier, stood the man, whose feet kept
slipping, upright.
“Now I know all about it,” said the Traveler, as the Officer turned back to him again. “Except the
most important thing,” said the latter, grabbing the Traveler by the arm and pointing up high. “There
in the inscriber is the mechanism which determines the movement of the harrow, and this
mechanism is arranged according to the diagram on which the sentence is set down. I still use the
diagrams of the previous Commandant. Here they are.” He pulled some pages out of the leather
6
folder. “Unfortunately I can’t hand them to you. They are the most cherished thing I possess. Sit
down, and I’ll show you them from this distance. Then you’ll be able to see it all well.” He showed
the first sheet. The Traveler would have been happy to say something appreciative, but all he saw was
a labyrinthine series of lines, criss-crossing each other in all sort of ways. These covered the paper so
thickly that only with difficulty could one make out the white spaces in between. “Read it,” said the
Officer. “I can’t,” said the Traveler. “But it’s clear,” said the Officer.” “It’s very elaborate,” said the
Traveler evasively, “but I can’t decipher it.”
“Yes,” said the Officer, smiling and putting the folder back again, “it’s not calligraphy for school
children. One has to read it a long time. You too will finally understand it clearly. Of course, it has to
be a script that isn’t simple. You see, it’s not supposed to kill right away, but on average over a period
of twelve hours. The turning point is set for the sixth hour. There must also be many, many
embellishments surrounding the basic script. The essential script moves around the body only in a
narrow belt. The rest of the body is reserved for decoration. Can you now appreciate the work of the
harrow and the whole apparatus? Just look at it!” He jumped up the ladder, turned a wheel, and
called down, “Watch out—move to the side!” Everything started moving. If the wheel had not
squeaked, it would have been marvelous. The officer threatened the wheel with his fist, as if he was
surprised by the disturbance it created. Then he spread his arms, apologizing to the traveler, and
quickly clambered down, in order to observe the operation of the apparatus from below.
Something was still not working properly, something only he noticed. He clambered up again and
reached with both hands into the inside of the inscriber. Then, in order to descend more quickly,
instead of using the ladder, he slid down on one of the poles and, to make himself understandable
through the noise, strained his voice to the limit as he yelled in the traveler’s ear, “Do you understand
the process? The harrow is starting to write. When it’s finished with the first part of the script on the
man’s back, the layer of cotton wool rolls and turns the body slowly onto its side to give the harrow a
new area. Meanwhile those parts lacerated by the inscription are lying on the cotton wool which,
because it has been specially treated, immediately stops the bleeding and prepares the script for a
further deepening. Here, as the body continues to rotate, prongs on the edge of the harrow then pull
the cotton wool from the wounds, throw it into the pit, and the harrow goes to work again. In this
way it keeps making the inscription deeper for twelve hours. For the first six hours the condemned
man goes on living almost as before. He suffers nothing but pain. After two hours, the felt is
removed, for at that point the man has no more energy for screaming. Here at the head of the bed
warm rice pudding is put in this electrically heated bowl. From this the man, if he feels like it, can
help himself to what he can lap up with his tongue. No one passes up this opportunity. I don’t know
of a single one, and I have had a lot of experience. He first loses his pleasure in eating around the
sixth hour. I usually kneel down at this point and observe the phenomenon. The man rarely swallows
the last bit. He turns it around in his mouth and spits it into the pit. When he does that, I have to
lean aside or else he’ll get me in the face. But how quiet the man becomes around the sixth hour! The
most stupid of them begin to understand. It starts around the eyes and spreads out from there. A
look that could tempt one to lie down under the harrow. Nothing else happens. The man simply
begins to decipher the inscription. He purses his lips, as if he is listening. You’ve seen that it’s not
easy to figure out the inscription with your eyes, but our man deciphers it with his wounds. True, it
takes a lot of work. It requires six hours to complete. But then the harrow spits him right out and
throws him into the pit, where he splashes down into the bloody water and cotton wool. Then the
judgment is over, and we, the soldier and I, quickly bury him.”
7
The Traveler had leaned his ear towards the Officer and, with his hands in his coat pockets, was
observing the machine at work. The Condemned Man was also watching, but without understanding.
He bent forward a little and followed the moving needles, as the Soldier, after a signal from the
Officer, cut through his shirt and trousers with a knife from the back, so that they fell off the
Condemned Man. He wanted to grab the falling garments to cover his bare flesh, but the Soldier held
him up and shook the last rags from him. The Officer turned the machine off, and in the silence
which then ensued the Condemned Man was laid out under the harrow. The chains were taken off
and the straps fastened in their place. For the Condemned Man it seemed at first glance to signify
almost a relief. And now the harrow sunk down a stage lower, for the Condemned was a thin man.
As the needle tips touched him, a shudder went over his skin. While the Soldier was busy with the
right hand, the Condemned Man stretched out his left, with no sense of its direction. But it was
pointing to where the Traveler was standing. The Officer kept looking at the Traveler from the side,
without taking his eyes off him, as if he was trying to read from his face the impression he was
getting of the execution, which he had now explained to him, at least superficially.
The strap meant to hold the wrist ripped off. The Soldier probably had pulled on it too hard. The
Soldier showed the Officer the torn-off piece of strap, wanting him to help. So the Officer went over
to him and said, with his face turned towards the Traveler, “The machine is very complicated. Now
and then something has to tear or break. One shouldn’t let that detract from one’s overall opinion.
Anyway, we have an immediate replacement for the strap. I’ll use a chain—even though that will
affect the sensitivity of the movements for the right arm.” And while he put the chain in place, he
kept talking, “Our resources for maintaining the machine are very limited at the moment. Under the
previous Commandant, I had free access to a cash box specially set aside for this purpose. There was
a store room here in which all possible replacement parts were kept. I admit I made almost
extravagant use of it. I mean earlier, not now, as the New Commandant claims. For him everything
serves only as a pretext to fight against the old arrangements. Now he keeps the cash box for
machinery under his own control, and if I ask him for a new strap, he demands the torn one as a
piece of evidence, the new one doesn’t arrive for ten days, and it’s an inferior brand, of not much use
to me. But how I am supposed to get the machine to work in the meantime without a strap—no
one’s concerned about that.”
The Traveler was thinking: it’s always questionable to intervene decisively in strange circumstances.
He was neither a citizen of the penal colony nor a citizen of the state to which it belonged. If he
wanted to condemn the execution or even hinder it, people could say to him: You’re a foreigner—
keep quiet. He would have nothing in response to that, but could only add that he did not
understand what he was doing on this occasion, for the purpose of his traveling was merely to
observe and not to alter other people’s judicial systems in any way. True, at this point the way things
were turning out it was very tempting. The injustice of the process and the inhumanity of the
execution were beyond doubt. No one could assume that the Traveler was acting out of any sense of
his own self-interest, for the Condemned Man was a stranger to him, not a countryman and not
someone who invited sympathy in any way. The Traveler himself had letters of reference from high
officials and had been welcomed here with great courtesy. The fact that he had been invited to this
execution even seemed to indicate that people were asking for his judgment of this trial. This was all
the more likely since the Commandant, as he had now heard only too clearly, was no supporter of
this process and maintained an almost hostile relationship with the Officer.
8
Then the Traveler heard a cry of rage from the Officer. He had just shoved the stub of felt in the
Condemned Man’s mouth, not without difficulty, when the Condemned Man, overcome by an
irresistible nausea, shut his eyes and threw up. The Officer quickly yanked him up off the stump and
wanted to turn his head aside toward the pit. But it was too late. The vomit was already flowing
down onto the machine. “This is all the Commandant’s fault!” cried the officer and mindlessly rattled
the brass rods at the front. “My machine’s as filthy as a pigsty.” With trembling hands he showed the
Traveler what had happened. “Haven’t I spent hours trying to make the Commandant understand
that a day before the execution there should be no more food served. But the new lenient
administration has a different opinion. Before the man is led away, the Commandant’s women cram
sugary things down his throat. His whole life he’s fed himself on stinking fish, and now he has to eat
sweets! But that would be all right—I’d have no objections—but why don’t they get a new felt, the
way I’ve been asking him for three months now? How can anyone take this felt into his mouth
without feeling disgusted—something that a hundred man have sucked and bitten on it as they were
dying?”
The Condemned Man had laid his head down and appeared peaceful. The Soldier was busy cleaning
up the machine with the Condemned Man’s shirt. The Officer went up to the Traveler, who, feeling
some premonition, took a step backwards. But the Officer grasped him by the hand and pulled him
aside. “I want to speak a few words to you in confidence,” he said. “May I do that?” “Of course,”
said the Traveler and listened with his eyes lowered.
“This process and execution, which you now have an opportunity to admire, have no more open
supporters in our colony. I am its only defender, just as I am the single advocate for the legacy of the
Old Commandant. I can no longer think about a more extensive organization of the process—I’m
using all my powers to maintain what there is at present. When the Old Commandant was alive, the
colony was full of his supporters. I have something of the Old Commandant’s power of persuasion,
but I completely lack his power, and as a result the supporters have gone into hiding. There are still a
lot of them, but no one admits to it. If you go into a tea house today—that is to say, on a day of
execution—and keep your ears open, perhaps you’ll hear nothing but ambiguous remarks. They are
all supporters, but under the present Commandant, considering his present views, they are totally
useless to me. And now I’m asking you: Should such a life’s work,” he pointed to the machine,
“come to nothing because of this Commandant and the women influencing him? Should people let
that happen? Even if one is a foreigner and only on our island for a couple of days? But there’s no
time to lose. People are already preparing something against my judicial proceedings. Discussions are
already taking place in the Commandant’s headquarters, to which I am not invited. Even your visit
today seems to me typical of the whole situation. People are cowards and send you out—a foreigner.
You should have seen the executions in earlier days! The entire valley was overflowing with people,
even a day before the execution. They all came merely to watch. Early in the morning the
Commandant appeared with his women. Fanfares woke up the entire campsite. I delivered the news
that everything was ready. The whole society—and every high official had to attend—arranged itself
around the machine. This pile of cane chairs is a sorry left over from that time. The machine was
freshly cleaned and glowed. For almost every execution I had new replacement parts. In front of
hundreds of eyes—all the spectators stood on tip toe right up to the hills there—the condemned
man was laid down under the harrow by the Commandant himself. What nowadays is done by a
common soldier was then my work as the senior judge, and it was a honour for me. And then the
execution began! No discordant note disturbed the work of the machine. Many people did not look
9
any more at all, but lay down with closed eyes in the sand. They all knew: now justice was being
carried out. In silence people listened to nothing but the groans of the condemned man, muffled by
the felt. These days the machine no longer manages to squeeze a strong groan out of the condemned
man—something the felt is not capable of smothering. But back then the needles which made the
inscription dripped a caustic liquid which we are not permitted to use any more today. Well, then
came the sixth hour. It was impossible to grant all the requests people made to be allowed to watch
from up close. The Commandant, in his wisdom, arranged that the children should be taken care of
before all the rest. Naturally, I was always allowed to stand close by, because of my official position.
Often I crouched down there with two small children in my arms, on my right and left. How we all
took in the expression of transfiguration on the martyred face! How we held our cheeks in the glow
of this justice, finally attained and already passing away! What times we had, my friend!”
The Officer had obviously forgotten who was standing in front of him. He had put his arm around
the Traveler and laid his head on his shoulder. The Traveler was extremely embarrassed. Impatiently
he looked away over the Officer’s head. The Soldier had ended his task of cleaning and had just
shaken some rice pudding into the bowl from a tin. No sooner had the Condemned Man, who
seemed to have fully recovered already, noticed this than his tongue began to lick at the pudding. The
Soldier kept pushing him away, for the pudding was probably meant for a later time, but in any case
it was not proper for the Soldier to reach in and grab some food with his dirty hands and eat it in
front of the famished Condemned Man.
The Officer quickly collected himself. “I didn’t want to upset you in any way,” he said. “I know it is
impossible to make someone understand those days now. Besides, the machine still works and
operates on its own. It operates on its own even when it is standing alone in this valley. And at the
end, the body still keeps falling in that incredibly soft flight into the pit, even if hundreds of people
are not gathered like flies around the hole the way they used to be. Back then we had to erect a
strong railing around the pit. It was pulled out long ago.”
The Traveler wanted to turn his face away from the Officer and looked aimlessly around him. The
Officer thought he was looking at the wasteland of the valley. So he grabbed his hands, turned him
around in order to catch his gaze, and asked, “Do you see the shame of it?”
But the Traveler said nothing. The Officer left him alone for a while. With his legs apart and his
hands on his hips, the Officer stood still and looked at the ground. Then he smiled at the Traveler
cheerfully and said, “Yesterday I was nearby when the Commandant invited you. I heard the
invitation. I know the Commandant. I understood right away what he intended with his invitation.
Although his power might be sufficiently great to take action against me, he doesn’t yet dare to. But
my guess is that with you he is exposing me to the judgment of a respected foreigner. He calculates
things with care. You are now in your second day on the island. You didn’t know the Old
Commandant and his way of thinking. You are trapped in a European way of seeing things. Perhaps
you are fundamentally opposed to the death penalty in general and to this kind of mechanical style of
execution in particular. Moreover, you see how the execution is a sad procedure, without any public
participation, using a partially damaged machine. Now, if we take all this together (so the
Commandant thinks) surely one could easily imagine that that you would not consider my procedure
proper? And if you didn’t consider it right, you wouldn’t keep quiet about it—I’m still speaking the
mind of the Commandant—for you no doubt have faith that your tried-and-true convictions are
correct. It’s true that you have seen many peculiar things among many peoples and have learned to
10
respect them. Thus, you will probably not speak out against the procedure with your full power, as
you would perhaps in your own homeland. But the Commandant doesn’t really need that. A casual
word, merely a careless remark, is enough. It doesn’t have to match your convictions at all, so long as
it corresponds to his wishes. I’m certain he will use all his shrewdness to interrogate you. And his
women will sit around in a circle and perk up their ears. You will say something like, ‘Among us the
judicial procedures are different,’ or ‘With us the accused is questioned before the verdict,’ or ‘We
had torture only in the Middle Ages.’ For you these observations appear as correct as they are self-
evident—innocent remarks which do not impugn my procedure. But how will the Commandant take
them? I see him, our excellent Commandant—the way he immediately pushes his stool aside and
hurries out to the balcony—I see his women, how they stream after him. I hear his voice—the
women call it a thunder voice. And now he’s speaking: ‘A great Western explorer who has been
commissioned to inspect judicial procedures in all countries has just said that our process based on
old customs is inhuman. After the verdict of such a personality it is, of course, no longer possible for
me to tolerate this procedure. So from this day on I am ordering . . . and so forth.’ You want to
intervene—you didn’t say what he is reporting—you didn’t call my procedure inhuman; by contrast,
in keeping with your deep insight, you consider it most humane and most worthy of human beings.
You also admire this machinery. But it is too late. You don’t even go onto the balcony, which is
already filled with women. You want to attract attention. You want to cry out. But a lady’s hand is
covering your mouth, and I and the Old Commandant’s work are lost.”
The Traveler had to suppress a smile. So the work which he had considered so difficult was easy. He
said evasively, “You’re exaggerating my influence. The Commandant has read my letters of
recommendation. He knows that I am no expert in judicial processes. If I were to express an
opinion, it would be that of a lay person, no more significant than the opinion of anyone else, and in
any case far less significant than the opinion of the Commandant, who, as I understand it, has very
extensive powers in this penal colony. If his views of this procedure are as definite as you think they
are, then I’m afraid the time has come for this procedure to end, without any need for my humble
opinion.”
Did the Officer understand by now? No, he did not yet get it. He shook his head vigorously, briefly
looked back at the Condemned Man and the Soldier, who both flinched and stopped eating the rice,
went up really close up to the Traveler, without looking into his face, but gazing at parts of his jacket,
and said more gently than before: “You don’t know the Commandant. Where he and all of us are
concerned you are—forgive the expression—to a certain extent innocent. Your influence, believe
me, cannot be overestimated. In fact, I was blissfully happy when I heard that you were to be present
at the execution by yourself. This order of the Commandant was aimed at me, but now I’ll turn it to
my advantage. Without being distracted by false insinuations and disparaging looks—which could
not have been avoided with a greater number of participants at the execution—you have listened to
my explanation, looked at the machine, and are now about to view the execution. Your verdict is no
doubt already fixed. If some small uncertainties remain, witnessing the execution will remove them.
And now I’m asking you—help me with the Commandant!”
The Traveler did not let him go on talking. “How can I do that,” he cried. “It’s totally impossible. I
can help you as little as I can harm you.”
“You could do it,” said the Officer. With some apprehension the Traveler observed that the Officer
was clenching his fists. “You could do it,” repeated the Officer, even more emphatically. “I have a
11
plan which must succeed. You think your influence is insufficient. I know it will be enough. But
assuming you’re right, doesn’t saving this whole procedure require one to try even those methods
which may be inadequate? So listen to my plan. To carry it out, it’s necessary, above all, for you to
keep as quiet as possible today in the colony about your verdict on this procedure. Unless someone
asks you directly, you should not express any view whatsoever. But what you do say must be short
and vague. People should notice that it’s difficult for you to speak about the subject, that you feel
bitter, that, if you were to speak openly, you’d have to burst out cursing on the spot. I’m not asking
you to lie, not at all. You should only give brief answers—something like, ‘Yes, I’ve seen the
execution’ or ‘Yes, I’ve heard the full explanation.’ That’s all—nothing further. For that will be
enough of an indication for people to observe in you a certain bitterness, even if that’s not what the
Commandant will think. Naturally, he will completely misunderstand the issue and interpret it in his
own way. My plan is based on that. Tomorrow a large meeting of all the higher administrative
officials takes place at headquarters under the chairmanship of the Commandant. He, of course,
understands how to turn such a meeting into a spectacle. A gallery has been built, which is always full
of spectators. I’m compelled to take part in the discussions, though they fill me with disgust. In any
case, you will certainly be invited to the meeting. If you follow my plan today and behave
accordingly, the invitation will become an emphatic request. But should you for some inexplicable
reason still not be invited, you must make sure you request an invitation. Then you’ll receive one
without question. Now, tomorrow you are sitting with the women in the commandant’s box. With
frequent upward glances he reassures himself that you are there. After various trivial and ridiculous
agenda items designed for the spectators—mostly harbour construction—always harbour
construction—the judicial process comes up for discussion. If it’s not raised by the Commandant
himself or does not occur soon enough, I’ll make sure that it comes up. I’ll stand up and report on
today’s execution. Really briefly—just the report. Such a report is not really customary; however, I’ll
do it, nonetheless. The Commandant thanks me, as always, with a friendly smile. And now he cannot
restrain himself. He seizes this excellent opportunity. ‘The report of the execution,’ he’ll say, or
something like that, ‘has just been given. I would like to add to this report only the fact that this
particular execution was attended by the great explorer whose visit confers such extraordinary
honour on our colony, as you all know. Even the significance of our meeting today has been
increased by his presence. Should we not now ask this great explorer for his appraisal of the
execution based on old customs and of the process which preceded it?’ Of course, there is the noise
of applause everywhere, universal agreement. And I’m louder than anyone. The Commandant bows
before you and says, ‘Then in everyone’s name, I’m putting the question to you.’ And now you step
up to the railing. Place your hands where everyone can see them. Otherwise the ladies will grab them
and play with your fingers. And now finally come your remarks. I don’t know how I’ll bear the
tension up to then. In your speech you mustn’t hold back. Let truth resound. Lean over the railing
and shout it out—yes, yes, roar your opinion at the Commandant, your unshakeable opinion. But
perhaps you don’t want to do that. It doesn’t suit your character. Perhaps in your country people
behave differently in such situations. That’s all right. That’s perfectly satisfactory. Don’t stand up at
all. Just say a couple of words. Whisper them so that only the officials underneath you can just hear
them. That’s enough. You don’t even have to say anything at all about the lack of attendance at the
execution or about the squeaky wheel, the torn strap, the disgusting felt. No. I’ll take over all further
details, and, believe me, if my speech doesn’t chase him out of the room, it will force him to his
knees, so he’ll have to admit it: ‘Old Commandant, I bow down before you.’ That’s my plan. Do you
want to help me carry it out? But, of course, you want to. More than that—you have to.”
12
And the officer gripped the traveler by both arms and looked at him, breathing heavily into his face.
He had yelled the last sentences so loudly that even the Soldier and the Condemned Man were paying
attention. Although they couldn’t understand a thing, they stopped eating and looked over at the
Traveler, still chewing.
From the start the Traveler had had no doubts about the answer he must give. He had experienced
too much in his life to be able to waver here. Basically he was honest and unafraid. Still, with the
Soldier and the Condemned Man looking at him, he hesitated a moment. But finally he said, as he
had to, “No.” The Officer’s eyes blinked several times, but he did not take his eyes off the Traveler.
“Would you like an explanation,” asked the Traveler. The Officer nodded dumbly. “I am opposed to
this procedure,” said the Traveler. “Even before you took me into your confidence—and, of course,
I will never abuse your confidence under any circumstances—I was already thinking about whether I
was entitled to intervene against this procedure and whether my intervention could have the smallest
chance of success. And if that was the case, it was clear to me whom I had to turn to first of all—
naturally, to the Commandant. You clarified the issue for me even more, but without reinforcing my
decision in any way—quite the reverse. I find your conviction genuinely moving, even if it cannot
deter me.”
The Officer remained quiet, turned toward the machine, grabbed one of the brass rods, and then,
leaning back a little, looked up at the inscriber, as if he was checking that everything was in order.
The Soldier and the Condemned Man seemed to have made friends with each other. The
Condemned Man was making signs to the Soldier, although, given the tight straps on him, this was
difficult for him to do. The Soldier was leaning into him. The Condemned Man whispered something
to him, and the Soldier nodded. The Traveler went over to the Officer and said, “You don’t yet
know what I’ll do. Yes, I will tell the Commandant my opinion of the procedure—not in a meeting,
but in private. In addition, I won’t stay here long enough to be able to get called in to some meeting
or other. Early tomorrow morning I leave, or at least I go on board ship.” It didn’t look as if the
Officer had been listening. “So the process has not convinced you,” he said to himself, smiling the
way an old man smiles over the silliness of a child, concealing his own true thoughts behind that
smile.
“Well then, it’s time,” he said finally and suddenly looked at the Traveler with bright eyes which
contained some sort of demand, some appeal for participation. “Time for what?” asked the Traveler
uneasily. But there was no answer.
“You are free,” the Officer told the Condemned Man in his own language. At first the man did not
believe him. “You are free now,” said the Officer. For the first time the face of the Condemned Man
showed signs of real life. Was it the truth? Was it only the Officer’s mood, which could change? Had
the foreign Traveler brought him a reprieve? What was it? That’s what the man’s face seemed to be
asking. But not for long. Whatever the case might be, if he could he wanted to be truly free, and he
began to shake back and forth, as much as the harrow permitted.
“You’re tearing my straps,” cried the Officer. “Be still! We’ll undo them right away.” And, giving a
signal to the Soldier, he set to work with him. The Condemned Man said nothing and smiled slightly
to himself. He turned his face to the Officer and then to the Soldier and then back again, without
ignoring the Traveler.
13
“Pull him out,” the Officer ordered the Soldier. This process required a certain amount of care
because of the harrow. The Condemned Man already had a few small wounds on his back, thanks to
his own impatience.
From this point on, however, the Officer paid him hardly any attention. He went up to the Traveler,
pulled out the small leather folder once more, leafed through it, finally found the sheet he was
looking for, and showed it to the Traveler. “Read that,” he said. “I can’t,” said the Traveler. “I’ve
already told you I can’t read these pages.” “But take a close look at the page,” said the Officer, and
moved up right next to the Traveler in order to read with him. When that didn’t help, he raised his
little finger high up over the paper, as if the page must not be touched under any circumstances, so
that using this he might make the task of reading easier for the Traveler. The Traveler also made an
effort so that at least he could satisfy the Officer, but it was impossible for him. Then the Officer
began to spell out the inscription and then read out once again the joined up letters. “‘Be just!’ it
states,” he said. “Now you can read it.” The Traveler bent so low over the paper that the Officer,
afraid that he might touch it, moved it further away. The Traveler didn’t say anything more, but it
was clear that he was still unable to read anything. “ ‘Be just!’ it says,” the Officer remarked once
again.
“That could be,” said the Traveler. “I do believe that’s written there.” “Good,” said the Officer, at
least partially satisfied. He climbed up the ladder, holding the paper. With great care he set the page
in the inscriber and appeared to rotate the gear mechanism completely around. This was very tiring
work. It must have required him to deal with extremely small wheels. He had to inspect the gears so
closely that sometimes his head disappeared completely into the inscriber.
The Traveler followed this work from below without looking away. His neck grew stiff, and his eyes
found the sunlight pouring down from the sky painful. The Soldier and the Condemned Man were
keeping each other busy. With the tip of his bayonet the Soldier pulled out the Condemned Man’s
shirt and trousers which were lying in the hole. The shirt was horribly dirty, and the Condemned Man
washed it in the bucket of water. When he was putting on his shirt and trousers, the Soldier and the
Condemned Man had to laugh out loud, for the pieces of clothing were cut in two up the back.
Perhaps the Condemned Man thought that it was his duty to amuse the Soldier. In his ripped-up
clothes he circled around the Soldier, who crouched down on the ground, laughed, and slapped his
knees. But they restrained themselves out of consideration for the two gentlemen present.
When the Officer was finally finished up on the machine, with a smile he looked over the whole
thing and all its parts one more time, and this time closed the cover of the inscriber, which had been
open up to this point. He climbed down, looked into the hole and then at the Condemned Man,
observed with satisfaction that he had pulled out his clothes, then went to the bucket of water to
wash his hands, recognized too late that it was disgustingly dirty, and was upset that now he couldn’t
wash his hands. Finally he pushed them into the sand. This option didn’t satisfy him, but he had to
do what he could in the circumstances. Then he stood up and began to unbutton the coat of his
uniform. As he did this, the two lady’s handkerchiefs, which he had pushed into the back of his
collar, fell into his hands. “Here you have your handkerchiefs,” he said and threw them over to the
Condemned Man. And to the Traveler he said by way of an explanation, “Presents from the ladies.”
In spite of the obvious speed with which he took off the coat of his uniform and then undressed
himself completely, he handled each piece of clothing very carefully, even running his fingers over
the silver braids on his tunic with special care and shaking a tassel into place. But in great contrast to
14
this care, as soon he was finished handling an article of clothing, he immediately flung it angrily into
the hole. The last items he had left were his short sword and its harness. He pulled the sword out of
its scabbard, broke it in pieces, gathered up everything—the pieces of the sword, the scabbard, and
the harness—and threw them away so forcefully that they rattled against each other down in the pit.
Now he stood there naked. The Traveler bit his lip and said nothing. For he was aware what would
happen, but he had no right to hinder the Officer in any way. If the judicial process to which the
officer clung was really so close to the point of being cancelled—perhaps as a result of the
intervention of the Traveler, something to which he for his part felt duty-bound—then the Officer
was now acting in a completely correct manner. In his place, the Traveler would not have acted any
differently.
The Soldier and the Condemned Man at first didn’t understand a thing. To begin with they didn’t
look, not even once. The Condemned Man was extremely happy to get the handkerchiefs back, but
he couldn’t enjoy them very long, for the Soldier snatched them from him with a quick grab, which
he had not anticipated. The Condemned Man then tried to pull the handkerchiefs out from the
Soldier’s belt, where he had put them for safe keeping, but the Soldier was too wary. So they were
fighting, half in jest. Only when the Officer was fully naked did they start to pay attention. The
Condemned Man especially seemed to be struck by a premonition of some sort of significant
transformation. What had happened to him was now taking place with the Officer. Perhaps this time
the procedure would play itself out to its conclusion. The foreign Traveler had probably given the
order. So that was revenge. Without having suffered all the way to the end himself, nonetheless he
would be completely revenged. A wide, silent laugh now appeared on his face and did not go away.
The Officer, however, had turned towards the machine. If earlier on it had already become clear that
he understood the machine thoroughly, one might well get alarmed now at the way he handled it and
how it obeyed. He only had to bring his hand near the harrow for it to rise and sink several times,
until it had reached the correct position to make room for him. He only had to grasp the bed by the
edges, and it already began to quiver. The stump of felt moved up to his mouth. One could see how
the Officer really didn’t want to accept it, but his hesitation was only momentary—he immediately
submitted and took it in. Everything was ready, except that the straps still hung down on the sides.
But they were clearly unnecessary. The Officer did not have to be strapped down. When the
Condemned Man saw the loose straps, he thought the execution would be incomplete unless they
were fastened. He waved eagerly to the Soldier, and they ran over to strap in the Officer. The latter
had already stuck out his foot to kick the crank designed to set the inscriber in motion. Then he saw
the two men coming. So he pulled his foot back and let himself be strapped in. But now he could no
longer reach the crank. Neither the Soldier nor the Condemned Man would find it, and the Traveler
was determined not to touch it. But that was unnecessary. Hardly were the straps attached when the
machine already started working. The bed quivered, the needles danced on his skin, and the harrow
swung up and down. The Traveler had already been staring for some time before he remembered
that a wheel in the inscriber was supposed to squeak. But everything was quiet, without the slightest
audible hum.
Because of its silent working, the machine did not really attract attention. The Traveler looked over at
the Soldier and the Condemned Man. The Condemned Man was the livelier of the two. Everything
in the machine interested him. At times he bent down—at other times he stretched up, all the time
pointing with his forefinger in order to show something to the Soldier. For the Traveler it was
15
embarrassing. He was determined to remain here until the end, but he could no longer endure the
sight of the two men. “Go home,” he said. The Soldier might have been ready to do that, but the
Condemned Man took the order as a direct punishment. With his hands folded he begged and
pleaded to be allowed to stay there. And when the Traveler shook his head and was unwilling to give
in, he even knelt down. Seeing that orders were of no help here, the Traveler wanted to go over and
chase the two away.
Then he heard a noise from up in the inscriber. He looked up. So was the gear wheel going out of
alignment? But it was something else. The lid on the inscriber was lifting up slowly. Then it fell
completely open. The teeth of a cog wheel were exposed and lifted up. Soon the entire wheel
appeared. It was as if some huge force was compressing the inscriber, so that there was no longer
sufficient room for this wheel. The wheel rolled all the way to the edge of the inscriber, fell down,
rolled upright a bit in the sand, and then fell over and lay still. But already up on the inscriber another
gear wheel was moving upwards. Several others followed—large ones, small ones, ones hard to
distinguish. With each of them the same thing happened. One kept thinking that now the inscriber
must surely be empty, but then a new cluster with lots of parts would move up, fall down, roll in the
sand, and lie still. With all this going on, the Condemned Man totally forgot the Traveler’s order. The
gear wheels completely delighted him. He kept wanting to grab one, and at the same time he was
urging the Soldier to help him. But he kept pulling his hand back startled, for immediately another
wheel followed, which, at least in its initial rolling, surprised him.
The Traveler, by contrast, was very upset. Obviously the machine was breaking up. Its quiet
operation had been an illusion. He felt as if he had to look after the Officer, now that the latter could
no longer look after himself. But while the falling gear wheels were claiming all his attention, he had
neglected to look at the rest of the machine. However, when he now bent over the harrow, once the
last gear wheel had left the inscriber, he had a new, even more unpleasant surprise. The harrow was
not writing but only stabbing, and the bed was not rolling the body, but lifting it, quivering, up into
the needles. The Traveler wanted to reach in to stop the whole thing, if possible. This was not the
torture the Officer wished to attain. It was murder, pure and simple. He stretched out his hands. But
at that point the harrow was already moving upwards and to the side, with the skewered body—just
as it did in other cases, but only in the twelfth hour. Blood flowed out in hundreds of streams, not
mixed with water—the water tubes had also failed to work this time. Then one last thing went
wrong: the body would not come loose from the needles. Its blood streamed out, but it hung over
the pit without falling. The harrow wanted to move back to its original position, but, as if it realized
that it could not free itself of its load, it remained over the hole.
“Help,” the Traveler yelled out to the Soldier and the Condemned Man and grabbed the Officer’s
feet. He wanted to push against the feet himself and have the two others grab the Officer’s head
from the other side, so he could be slowly taken off the needles. But now the two men could not
make up their mind whether to come or not. The Condemned Man turned away at once. The
Traveler had to go over to him and drag him to the Officer’s head by force. At this point, almost
against his will, he looked at the face of the corpse. It was as it had been in his life. He could discover
no sign of the promised transfiguration. What all the others had found in the machine, the Officer
had not. His lips were pressed firmly together, his eyes were open and looked as they had when he
was alive, his gaze was calm and convinced. The tip of a large iron needle had gone through his
forehead.
16
* * *
As the Traveler, with the Soldier and the Condemned Man behind him, came to the first houses in
the colony, the Soldier pointed to one and said, “That’s the tea house.”
On the ground floor of one of the houses was a deep, low room, like a cave, with smoke-covered
walls and ceiling. On the street side it was open along its full width. Although there was little
difference between the tea house and the rest of the houses in the colony, which were all very
dilapidated, except for the Commandant’s palatial structure, the Traveler was struck by the
impression of historical memory, and he felt the power of earlier times. Followed by his companions,
he walked closer, going between the unoccupied tables, which stood in the street in front of the tea
house, and took a breath of the cool, stuffy air which came from inside. “The old man is buried
here,” said the soldier; “a place in the cemetery was denied him by the chaplain. For a long time
people were undecided where they should bury him. Finally they buried him here. Of course, the
Officer explained none of that to you, for naturally he was the one most ashamed about it. A few
times he even tried to dig up the old man at night, but he was always chased off.” “Where is the
grave?” asked the Traveler, who could not believe the Soldier. Instantly both men, the Soldier and
the Condemned Man, ran in front of him and with hands outstretched pointed to the place where
the grave was located. They led the Traveler to the back wall, where guests were sitting at a few
tables. They were presumably dock workers, strong men with short, shiny, black beards. None of
them wore coats, and their shirts were torn. They were poor, oppressed people. As the Traveler came
closer, a few got up, leaned against the wall, and looked at him. A whisper went up around the
Traveler—“It’s a foreigner. He wants to look at the grave.” They pushed one of the tables aside,
under which there was a real grave stone. It was a simple stone, low enough for it to remain hidden
under a table. It bore an inscription in very small letters. In order to read it the Traveler had to kneel
down. It read, “Here rests the Old Commandant. His followers, who are now not permitted to have
a name, buried him in this grave and erected this stone. There exists a prophecy that the
Commandant will rise again after a certain number of years and from this house will lead his
followers to a re-conquest of the colony. Have faith and wait!”
When the Traveler had read it and got up, he saw the men standing around him and smiling, as if
they had read the inscription with him, found it ridiculous, and were asking him to share their
opinion. The Traveler acted as if he hadn’t noticed, distributed some coins among them, waited until
the table was pushed back over the grave, left the tea house, and went to the harbour.
In the tea house the Soldier and the Condemned Man had come across some people they knew who
detained them. However, they must have broken free of them soon, because by the time the Traveler
found himself in the middle of a long staircase which led to the boats, they were already running after
him. They probably wanted to force the Traveler at the last minute to take them with him. While the
Traveler was haggling at the bottom of the stairs with a sailor about his passage out to the steamer,
the two men were racing down the steps in silence, for they didn’t dare cry out. But as they reached
the bottom, the Traveler was already in the boat, and the sailor at once cast off from shore. They
could still have jumped into the boat, but the Traveler picked up a heavy knotted rope from the boat
bottom, threatened them with it, and thus prevented them from jumping in.
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