In the Penal Colony
                               by Franz Kafka



   


'It's a curious device,' said the officer to the traveller, surveying with
a look almost of admiration the device with which he was of course so
familiar. The traveller appeared to have acted purely out of politeness in
complying with the commandant's request that he attend the execution of a
soldier condemned for insubordination and insulting a superior. Interest in
the execution was clearly not very great even within the penal colony
itself. At least, the only persons present in that deep sandy valley with
its barren slopes all around were, apart from the officer and the
traveller, the condemned man, a stolid, broad-mouthed individual with a
look of neglect about his hair and face, and a soldier who held the heavy
chain gathering up the little chains that were fixed to the condemned man's
ankles, wrists and neck as well as being fastened to each other by
interconnecting chains. In fact the condemned man had an air of such
doglike subservience as to suggest that one could have given him the run of
the surrounding slopes and a mere whistle would have fetched him back when
the execution was due to begin.
   The traveller was not greatly interested in the device, and his
uninvolvement was little short of obvious as he paced up and down behind
the condemned man while the officer attended to the final preparations, now
crawling underneath the device, which was sunk some way into the earth, now
climbing a ladder to inspect its upper parts. These were tasks that could
really have been left to a mechanic, yet the officer performed them with
enormous enthusiasm, either because he was a particular devotee of this
device or because there were other reasons why the work could be entrusted
to no one else. 'All ready now!' he called out at last, stepping down from
the ladder. He was dreadfully tired, his mouth hung wide open as he
breathed, and he had wedged two delicate lady's handkerchiefs inside the
collar of his uniform. 'They're too heavy for the tropics, those uniforms,'
said the traveller instead of, as the officer had expected him to, asking
questions about the device. 'That's right,' said the officer as he washed
the oil and grease from his hands on a towel and at the same time pointing
at the device. 'Up to now I've still had to do some things by hand, but
from here onwards the device is entirely automatic.' The traveller nodded
and followed the officer. To cover himself against all eventualities, the
latter added, 'We get the odd breakdown of course. I hope nothing will
happen today, but one has to be prepared for it; after all, the device is
required to run for twelve hours without interruption. But even if
breakdowns do occur they're only very minor and we repair them straight
away. Won't you take a seat?' he asked in conclusion, pulling a cane chair
out of a pile of such chairs and offering it to the traveller, who could
not refuse.
   He found himself sitting at the edge of a pit, into which he cast a
quick glance. It was not very deep. On one side of the pit the excavated
earth had been piled up to form an embankment; on the other side stood the
device. 'I don't know,' the officer said, 'whether the commandant has
already explained the device to you.' The traveller gestured vaguely, which
was all the officer wanted because now he could go ahead and explain the
device himself. 'This device,' he said, grasping a connecting-rod and
leaning his weight on it, 'is an invention of the late commandant's. I
worked on the very first experiments, and I was involved at every stage of
the job up to its completion, but the credit for the invention is his and
his alone. Have you heard of our late commandant? No? Well, I'm not
exaggerating when I say that the entire set-up here is his work. We, his
friends, knew when he died that the whole way the penal colony had been
constituted was so complete, so self-contained, that his successor, no
matter how many new projects he had in mind, would be able to alter nothing
of the original concept for many years at least. And we were right; the new
commandant has had to admit as much. What a shame you never knew our late
commandant! But,' the officer interrupted himself, 'here am I, blathering
on, and we have his device before us. It consists, as you see, of three
parts. Over the years each of those parts has acquired a popular name, as
it were. The bottom part is called the bed, the top part the scriber, and
this middle part, suspended between them, is known as the harrow.' 'The
harrow?' inquired the traveller. He had not been paying full attention; the
valley was without shade and trapped too much sun, which made it difficult
to collect one's thoughts. All the greater was his admiration for the
officer, who in his tight parade-ground tunic with its heavy epaulettes and
loops of brain was explaining his job with such enthusiasm while at the
same time, screw-driver in hand, also busying himself with the odd screw
here and there. The soldier appeared to be in much the same state as the
traveller. He had wound the condemned man's chain round both his wrists and
was leaning with one hand on his rifle, head flung back, paying no
attention to anything. The traveller was not suprised at this, because the
language the officer was speaking was French, which surely neither the
soldier nor the condemned man understood. It did, however, make all the
more remarkable the fact that the condemned man was nevertheless doing his
utmost to follow the officer's explanations. With a kind of drowsy
obstinacy he would direct his gaze wherever the officer happened to be
pointing, and when the latter was interrupted by a question from the
traveller he too, like the officer, turned to look in the traveller's
direction.
   'The harrow, yes,' said the officer. 'It's a good name. The needles are
set in the same pattern as on the harrow, and the whole thing is driven in
much the same way except that it stays in one place and works much more
neatly and efficiently. You'll get the picture in a moment. The condemned
man is laid on the bed here. You see, I want to describe the device first
and then afterwards have it go through the actual process. You'll be able
to follow it better then. Also one of the cogwheels in the scriber is
rather worn; it grates badly as it turns, and one can hardly hear oneself
speak; spares are difficult to get hold of here, unfortunately. Right,
here's the bed, as I was saying. It is completely covered with a layer of
cotton wool, you'll discover why later. The condemned man is laid on the
cotton wool on his stomach - naked, naturally; these straps here are for
his hands, his feet and his neck, to fasten him down. Here at the head end
of the bed, where as I've said the man starts off lying on his face,
there's this little stub of felt that can be easily adjusted to push right
into the man's mouth. The object of that is to prevent screaming and biting
of the tongue. The man has to take the felt, of course, because otherwise
the neck straps would break his neck.' 'That's cotton wool?' asked the
traveller, leaning forward. 'Oh, yes,' said the officer with a smile.
'Feel'. And he took the traveller's hand and passed it over the surface of
the bed. 'It's a specially treated type of cotton wool, which is why it
looks so different; I'll come back to what it's for in a moment.' The
device was beginning to capture the traveller's imagination; using his hand
to keep the sun out of his eyes, he stared up at it. It was a sizable
structure. The bed and the scriber were about equally large and resembled
two dark-coloured chests. The scriber was mounted some two metres above the
bed, and the two were joined at the corners by four brass rods that almost
shone in the sun. Suspended between the two chests on a steel trap was the
harrow. 
   The officer, who had hardly noticed the traveller's earlier
indifference, evidently sensed these first stirrings of interest and paused
in his elucidations to give the traveller time to view the device at his
ease. The condemned man aped what the traveller was doing except that,
being unable to put his hand over his eyes, he blinked upwards with his
eyes unprotected.
   'All right, the man's lying there,' said the traveller; he leant back in
his chair and crossed his legs.
   'Yes,' said the officer, tipping his cap back and passing a hand over
his hot face, 'now, listen to this! Both the bed and the scriber have their
own batteries, the bed for itself, the scriber for the harrow. As soon as
the man is fastened down, the bed is set in motion. It quivers with tiny,
very rapid jerks from side to side and at the same time up and down. You'll
have seen similar devices in sanatoria; the only difference is, with our
bed all the movements are painstakingly calculated; they have to be, to
mesh in with the movements of the harrow. But it's this part, the harrow,
that actually carries out the sentence.'
   'What is the sentence, in fact?' asked the traveller. 'You don't even
know that?' said the astonished officer, beginning to bite his lips.
'Forgive me - my explanations are perhaps a trifle muddled. I'm very sorry,
I really am. The commentary always used to be given by the commandant, but
the new commandant has been evading his duty in this respect. Still, that
so eminent a visitor as yourself' - the traveller tried with both hands to
parry this distinction, but the officer insisted - 'that so eminent a
visitor as yourself should not even have been told about the form our
sentence takes is yet another innovation on his part that -' There was an
oath on his lips, but he recovered himself and said merely, 'I wasn't
informed; it's not my fault. In point of fact I am the person best
qualified to explain our sentences because I have here' - he tapped his
breast pocket - 'the relevant drawings in the late commandant's own hand.'
   'Drawings in your own hand?' the traveller asked. 'Did he do everything,
then? Was he soldier, judge, mechanical engineer, chemist, draftsman?'
   'He certainly was,' said the officer, nodding with a fixed, thoughtful
look. Then he examined his hands; they did not seem to him clean enough to
touch the drawings; so he went to the bucket and washed them a second time.
Then he pulled out a small leather wallet and said, 'Our sentence doesn't
sound particularly severe. The condemned man has the law that he has broken
inscribed on his body with the harrow. This man, for instance - the officer
pointed to him - 'will have "Honour your superiors!" inscribed on his
body.'
   The traveller cast a quick glance at the condemned man; his head was
bowed as the officer pointed at him, and he appeared to be straining his
ears in an attempt to learn something, though it was evident from the
movement of his thick, pouting lips that he understood nothing. The
traveller had various questions in mind but at the sight of the man asked
only, 'Does he know his sentence?' 'No,' said the officer. He was about to
go on with his explanations, but the traveller cut him short again; he was
still for a moment as if expecting the traveller to volunteer some reason
for his question, then he said, 'There would be no sense in telling him. He
experiences it on his own body.' The traveller, who would have said no
more, became aware that the condemned man was looking at him, apparently to
ask whether he was able to sanction the process being described. The
traveller therefore bent forward again, having leant back in his seat, and
asked another question: 'But he knows that he has been sentenced?' 'He
doesn't know that either,' said the officer, smiling at the traveller as if
in anticipation of further strange disclosures on his part. 'You mean,'
said the traveller, passing a hand over his forehead, 'that even now the
man doesn't know how his defence was received?' He's had no opportunity to
defend himself,' said the officer, looking away as if he were talking to
himself and did not wish to humiliate the traveller with an account of
things that, to him, were self-evident. 'But he must have had an
opportunity to defend himself,' the traveller said, rising to his feet.
   The officer, recognizing the risk of a serious hold-up as far as his
explaining the device was concerned, went over to the traveller, placed an
arm in his, pointed to the condemned man, who was standing stiffly erect,
now that he was so obviously the centre of attention - also the soldier was
pulling on the chain - and said, 'It's like this. I hold the officer of
judge here in the penal colony. In spite of my youth. The reason being that
I used to help the late commandant with all the criminal cases, and I also
know the device better than anyone else. The principle on which I base my
decisions is: guilt is invariably beyond doubt. Other courts are unable to
abide by this principle because they consist of several persons and also
have higher courts above them. This is not the case here, or at least it
wasn't under the late commandant; the new one has shown signs of wanting to
meddle in my jurisdiction, but so far I have managed to ward him off, and I
shall continue to do so. You wanted to know about this case; it's as
straightforward as they all are. A captain laid a charge this morning to
the effect that this man, who is assigned to him as a servant and sleeps
outside his door, had been asleep on duty. Part of his duty, you see, is to
get up every time the hour strikes and salute the captain's door. A simple
enough duty, surely, but a very necessary one because for both watching
over and waiting on his superior the man has to remain alert. Last night
the captain wanted to check whether the servant was performing his duty.
Opening the door on the stroke of two, he found him curled up asleep. He
fetched the horsewhip and hit him in the face. Instead of then standing up
and apologizing the man seized his master round the legs, shook him, and
yelled, 'Drop that whip or I'll make mincemeat of you!' Those are the
facts. The captain came to me an hour ago; I wrote down his statement and
immediately after it the sentence. Then I had the man put in chains. It was
all very simple. Had I first called the man in and questioned him it would
only have led to confusion. He would have lied; when I succeeded in
refuting the lies he would have told fresh ones in their stead; and so on.
Now, though, I've got him and I won't let him go. Does that explain
everything? But time's getting on, we ought to be starting with the
execution, and I haven't finished explaining the device.' Urging the
traveller to resume his seat, he went back to the device and began, 'As you
can see, the harrow is in the shape of a man; here is the harrow for the
abdomen, here are the harrows for the legs. For the head there's just this
one little cutter. Is that clear?' He leant amiably towards the traveller,
ready to supply the fullest possible explanations.
   The traveller was looking at the harrow with a frown. The information
about the trial procedure had failed to satisfy him. He had to admit, of
course, that this was a penal colony, that therefore special measures were
called for, and that the procedure must be military throughout. On the
other hand he had placed a certain amount of hope in the new commandant,
who clearly intended, however slowly, to introduce a new form of procedure,
which was beyond this officer's limited understanding. Pursuing this train
of thought, the traveller asked, 'Will the commandant be attending the
execution?' 'It's not certain,' said the officer, embarrassed by the abrupt
question, his friendly features twisting into a grimace. 'That's why we
have to get a move on. I shall even, much against my will, have to cut
short my remarks. But I could fill in the details tomorrow, when the device
has been cleaned - that's the only trouble with it, that it gets in such a
mess. All right, just the essentials now. When the man is lying on the bed
and the bed has started vibrating, the harrow is lowered onto the body. It
sets itself automatically with the tips of the needles just touching the
body. Once it is set, this hawser tautens to form a rod. Now we're in
business. Outwardly the layman sees no difference between the punishments.
The harrow appears to operate quite uniformly, vibrating away and stabbing
its needles into the body as the body, itself quivering, is offered up by
the bed. Now, to enable everyone to study the execution of the sentence the
harrow is made of glass. Mounting the needles presented one or two
technical snags, but after a lot of experimenting we eventually managed it.
No effort was spared, you understand. And now everyone can watch through
the glass as the inscription is made on the body. Come over here, won't
you, and have a closer look at the needles.'
   The traveller got slowly to his feet, walked forward, and bent over the
harrow. 'You have here,' the officer said, 'two sorts of needle in a
multiple arrangement. Each long one has a short one beside it. The long one
writes, you see, and the short one squirts out water to wash away the blood
and keep the writing clear at all times. The blood water is then channelled
through a system of little gutters into this main gutter here and down the
drainpipe into the pit.' The officer's finger indicated the precise path
the mixture of blood and water must take. When in the interests of maximum
clarity he actually made as if to catch it in his cupped hands at the mouth
of the pipe, the traveller raised his head and, feeling behind him with one
hand, began to back towards his chair. He saw then to his horror that the
condemned man had likewise accepted the officer's invitation to inspect the
harrow at close quarters. He had pulled the sleepy soldier forward a little
way on the chain and was leaning over the glass. One could see him
searching with a puzzled look in his eyes for what the two gentlemen had
just spotted and, without the accompanying explanation, failing to find it.
He was leaning this way and that, running his gaze repeatedly over the
glass. The traveller wanted to push him back because he was surely
committing a punishable offence. The officer, however, restraining the
traveller with one hand, used the other to pick up a clod from the
embankment and hurl it at the soldier. The latter looked up with a start,
saw what the condemned man had dared to do, dropped his rifle, dug his
heels in, hauled the condemned man back so that he fell over, and stood
looking down at him as he writhed about in his clinking chains. 'Stand him
up!' the officer shouted, aware that the traveller was being very seriously
distracted by the condemned man. Indeed he was even leaning out over the
harrow again, taking no notice of it but merely trying to see what was
happening to the condemned man. 'Careful with him!' the officer shouted
again. He ran round the device, grasped the condemned man under the
armpits, and with the soldier's help, and after much slipping and sliding
on the condemned man's part, stood him on his feet.
   'Now I know all about it,' said the traveller as the officer came back.
'All but the most important thing,' the latter replied, grasping the
traveller's arm and pointing upwards. 'The scriber there houses the
machinery that governs the movements of the harrow, and that machinery is
geared up to match the drawing on which the sentence is set out. I still
use the late commandant's drawings. Here they are - he pulled several
sheets from the leather wallet - only I'm afraid I can't let you handle
them yourself; they're my most treasured possession. Sit down and I'll show
you them from here; you'll see everything perfectly.' He held up the first
sheet. The traveller would have liked to say something appreciative, but
all he could see was a maze of criss-cross lines covering the paper so
closely that it was difficult to make out the white spaces between. 'Read
it,' said the officer. 'I can't,' said the traveller. 'But it's quite
clear,' said the officer. 'It's most artistic,' the traveller said
evasively, 'but I can't decipher it.' 'Right,' said the officer, putting
the wallet away with a chuckle. 'This is no copybook calligraphy. It takes
a lot of reading. Even you could make it out in the end, I'm sure. It can't
be plain lettering, you see; it's not supposed to kill straight away but
only after a twelve-hour period, on average, with the turning-point
calculated to occur at the sixth hour. So the actual lettering has to be
accompanied by a great deal of embellishment. The text itself forms only a
narrow band running round the waist, the rest of the body being set aside
for flourishes. Are you in a position now, do you think, to appreciate the
work of the harrow and of the device as a whole? Well, watch!' He shinned
up the ladder, spun a wheel, called down, 'Out of the way, please!' and the
whole thing started working. Had the wheel not grated, it would have been
magnificent. As if the offending wheel had come as a suprise to him, the
officer threatened it with his fist, then spread his arms apologetically
for the traveller's benefit and came hurrying down the ladder to observe
the operation of the device from below. Something was still not right,
though only he was aware of it; he climbed up again, reached inside the
scriber with both hands, and then, to get down faster, instead of using the
ladder, slid down on of the poles and started yelling in the traveller's
ear as loudly as he could in order to make himself heard: 'Do you
understand the process? The harrow starts to write; as soon as it has
completed the first draft of the inscription on the man's back the
cotton-wool layer rolls round and turns the body slowly on to its side,
offering a fresh area for the harrow to work on. Meanwhile the parts
already inscribed are presented to the cotton wool, which being specially
treated immediately staunches the bleeding and prepares the way for a
deepening of the inscription. These teeth here along the edge of the harrow
then catch the cotton wool as the body rolls on round, hook it out of the
wounds, toss it into the pit, and the harrow can get to work again. So it
goes on, for the full twelve hours, writing deeper and deeper all the time.
For the first six hours the condemned man lives almost as before; he merely
suffers pain. After two hours the felt is removed because the man no longer
has the strength to scream. Here in this electrically-heated bowl at the
head end we put warm rice pudding, from which, if he wishes, the man can
help himself to as much as he can reach with his tongue. Not one of them
passes up the chance. I know of none, and my experience is considerable.
Not until around the sixth hour does the man lose his pleasure in eating. I
usually kneel down here at that point and observe the phenomenon. The man
seldom swallows the last bite, he simply turns it round in his mouth and
spits it into the pit. I have to duck then, otherwise I get it in the fact.
How quiet the man becomes, though, around that sixth hour! The dimmest
begin to catch on. It starts around the eyes. From there it gradually
spreads. A sight to make you feel like lying down beside him under the
harrow. Nothing else happens; the man is simply beginning to decipher the
text, pursing his lips as if listening. It's not easy, as you saw, to
decipher the text when looking at it; our man, remember, is doing it with
his wounds. There's a good deal of work involved, of course; he needs six
hours to complete the job. But then the harrow runs him right through,
hoists him up, and throws him into the pit, where he lands with a splash in
the blood water and cotton wool. Judgement is then complete, and we, the
soldier and I, shovel a bit of earth on top of him.'
   The traveller, one ear inclined towards the officer. stood with his
hands in his pockets, watching the machine in operation. The condemned man
was watching too, but uncomprehendingly. Bent forward slightly, he was
trying to follow the swaying needles when the soldier, at a signal from the
officer, took out a knife and slit the condemned man's shirt and trousers
open from behind so that they fell from his body; he tried to grab them as
they fell in order to cover his nakedness, but the soldier lifted him up
and shook the remaining rags off him. The officer stopped the machine, and
in the ensuing silence the condemned man was laid beneath the harrow. The
chains were removed and the straps done up instead, which for the condemned
man seemed at first almost to be a relief. The harrow now came down a
little lower, because this was a thing man. As the points made contact a
shudder was busy with his right - not knowing in which direction; but it
was towards where the traveller was standing. The officer was looking
steadily at the traveller from the side as if trying to tell from his face
what impression the execution, which he had now at least superficially
explained, was having on him.
   The strap that was meant to go round the wrist tore; probably the
soldier had pulled it too tight. The soldier held up the broken piece of
strap, appealing to the officer for help. The officer went over to him and
said, looking at the traveller, 'The machine is extremely complex;
something's bound to give here and there; one shouldn't let that cloud
one's overall judgement. In any case, for the straps we can find a
substitute straight away; I'll use a chain, though of course it will spoil
the subtlety of the oscillations as far as the right arm is concerned.' And
as he fixed the chain he added, 'The money available for upkeep is very
limited now. Under the late commandant I had access to a special fund set
aside for the purpose. There used to be a storage depot here that stocked
all kinds of spares. I admit I made almost extravagant use of it - before,
I mean; not now, as the new commandant claims, but then for him
everything's an excuse to attack ancient institutions. Now he administers
the machine fund himself, and if I send for a new strap I have to submit
the old one as evidence, the new one takes days to arrive, and when it does
it's of inferior quality and not much use to me. How I'm supposed to
operate the machine without straps in the meantime doesn't appear to bother
anyone.'
   The traveller thought: it is always a serious matter, intervening
decisively in other people's affairs. He was neither a citizen of the penal
colony nor a citizen of the country to which it belonged. Were he to
attempt to pass judgement on or, worse, prevent this execution, they could
have told him: be quiet, you're a foreigner. He would have had no
rejoinder; he could only have added that in this instance he found his own
behaviour puzzling, travelling as he did purely for the purpose of seeing
things and not at all, for example, in order to alter the way in which
other countries constituted their legal systems. Here, thought, the
circumstances were extremely tempting. The injustice of the procedure and
the inhumanity of the execution were beyond doubt. No one could presume
self-interest of any kind on the traveller's part since the condemned man
was a stranger to him, not even a fellow countryman, and by no means a
person to inspire sympathy. The traveller himself carried letters of
recommendation from people in high places, he had been most courteously
received here, and the fact that he had been invited to attend the
execution even seemed to indicate that his opinion of this trial was sought
after. This was all the more likely in view of the commandant's being, as
he had just heard in the clearest possible terms, no supporter of this
procedure and maintaining an attitude almost of hostility towards the
officer.
   At this point the traveller heard the officer let out a yell of rage. He
had just succeeded, not without difficulty, in shoving the stub of felt
into the condemned man's mouth when the condemned man, nauseated beyond
bearing, closed his eyes and vomited. Hastily the officer yanked him up off
the stub and tried to turn his head towards the pit, but it was too late;
vomit was already running down the machine. 'This is all the commandant's
fault!' the officer yelled, shaking the front two brass rods in a blind
fury. 'My machine's being fouled like a pigsty!' His hands trembled as he
pointed out to the traveller what had happened. 'Have I not spent hours of
my time trying to make the commandant see that for one day before the
execution no further food is to be served? Oh, no: the new leniency begs to
differ. The commandant's ladies stuff the man full of sweets before he is
led away. His whole life he's lived on stinking fish and now he has to eat
sweets. All right, I don't mind that, but why don't they get hold of a new
felt as I've been asking them to do for the past three months? How can
anyone take this piece in his mouth without feeling sick when upwards of a
hundred men have sucked and chewed on it as they died?
   The condemned man had laid his head down again and was looking peaceful;
the soldier was busy wiping the machine with the condemned man's shirt. The
officer went over to the traveller, who in response to some premonition
took a step backwards; the officer, however, grasped his hand and drew him
aside. 'I want to tell you something in confidence,' he said. 'I may, I
take it?' 'Certainly,' said the traveller, and he listened with lowered
gaze.
   'This procedure and this form of execution, which you now have the
opportunity of admiring, currently have no open supporters left in our
colony. I am their sole champion, just as am the sole champion of the old
commandant's legacy. Further improvement of the procedure is more than I
can contemplate undertaking; it requires all my strength to maintain what
we have. When the old commandant was alive the colony was full of his
supporters. I have something of the old commandant's persuasiveness but
none of his power; consequently the supporter's have gone into hiding;
there are still plenty of them but none will own up to the fact. If you go
into the tea-house today - in other words, on an execution day - and listen
to what the people are saying you may well hear nothing but ambiguous
remarks. They'll all be supporters, but under the present commandant and
given his present views they're completely useless as far as I'm concerned.
And now ask you: Is the achievement of a lifetime' - he indicated the
machine - 'to be utterly ruined because of this commandant and the women
who influence him? Is that something one can allow to happen? Even as far
as a foreigner who is only visiting our island for a few days? But there's
no time to be lost; they're planning something to curb my jurisdiction.
Already discussions are being held in the commandant's office to which I am
not invited to contribute; even your visit today strikes me as typical of
the whole situation; the man's a coward and sends you, a foreigner, out to
reconnoitre. How different it all used to be! A full day before the
execution the entire valley would be crammed with people, all there just to
watch; early in the morning the commandant appeared with his ladies;
fanfares roused the entire camp; I reported that everything was ready; the
top people - and every high-ranking official had to be there - took their
places around the machine; the pile of cane chairs over there is a pathetic
reminder of those days. The machine sparkled; it was always freshly
cleaned, and I used to take new parts for nearly every execution. Hundreds
of pairs of eyes - there were spectators standing on tiptoe all the way to
the rising ground over there - watched as the condemned man was laid
beneath the harrow by the commandant himself. What a common soldier is
allowed to do today was then my job as presiding judge, and I counted it an
honour. And then the execution began! No jarring note interfered with the
work of the machine. Many people stopped watching altogether and lay down
in the sand with their eyes closed; they all knew: Justice was being done.
In the silence you could hear only the moaning of the condemned man,
muffled by the felt. Nowadays the machine can no longer force a louder moan
out of the condemned man than the felt is able to stifle, but then the
scribing needles used to drip a caustic fluid that we're not allowed to use
today. Ah, and then came the sixth hour! We couldn't possibly let everyone
watch from close up that wanted to. The commandant in his wisdom gave
orders that the children should be considered first; I was of course always
allowed to be present by virtue of my job, and many were the times I
squatted there with a little child in either arm. The way we all took in
the look of enlightenment on the tortured face, the way we held our cheeks
up to the glow of a justice accomplished at last and already beginning to
fade! Those were the days, my friend!' The officer had evidently forgotten
who was standing there; he had taken the traveller in his arms and pressed
his face to the man's shoulder. The traveller, deeply embarrassed, was
looking impatiently over the officer's head. The soldier had finished
cleaning up and had just shaken some rice pudding into the bowl from a tin.
As soon as he saw this condemned man, now apparently quite recovered, began
reaching for the pudding with his tongue. The soldier kept pushing him
away, the pudding being probably intended for later, but surely it was also
highly irregular that the soldier should stick his dirty hands in it and
eat some before the eyes of his ravenous charge.
   The officer quickly regained his composure. 'I didn't mean to upset
you,' he said. 'I know how impossible it is to make anyone understand what
times were like then. Anyway, the machine still works and is its own
justification, even standing by itself in this valley. And the end is still
that incredibly smooth flight of the corpse into the pit even when, unlike
then, people are not swarming round the pit in their hundreds like flies.
Then we had to have a stout railing running round the pit; it was pulled up
long ago'.
   The traveller wanted to conceal his face from the officer and looked
aimlessly about him. The officer, thinking he was contemplating the
desolation of the valley, seized his hands, moved round him to look into
his eyes, and demanded, 'You see the shame of it?'
   But the traveller said nothing. The officer left him alone for a moment;
legs apart, hands on hips, he stood still and looked at the ground. Then he
gave the traveller a cheery smile and said, 'I was not far away from you
yesterday when the commandant invited you. I heard the invitation. I know
the commandant. I saw immediately what he was trying to achieve by inviting
you. Although he has the power to take steps against me he still dare not
do so, yet he is quite prepared to expose me to the judgement of a
distinguished foreigner such as yourself. He's worked it all out very
carefully: this is your second day on the island, you didn't know the old
commandant and the way his mind worked, you have your European
preconceptions, possibly you're opposed on principle to the death penalty
in general and this type of mechanical method of execution in particular,
you're also seeing how the execution takes place with no public
participation, joylessly, and on a somewhat damaged machine - might you
not, in the light of all these things (thinks the commandant), very
possibly be inclined to regard my procedure as wrong? And if you do regard
it as wrong you will not fail (I'm still speaking from the commandant's
point of view) to say so, because you surely have confidence in your tried
and tested convictions. On the other hand you have seen and learnt to
respect many peculiarities of many peoples, so you will probably not put
your whole energy, as you might have done back in your own country, into
speaking out against the procedures here. But the commandant doesn't even
need that. A single unguarded remark will be enough. It need not even
represent your conviction, as long as it appears to be in line with what he
wants. He will question you with enormous cunning, I'm sure of that. And
his ladies will sit around in a circle and prick up their ears; you'll say,
for example, "Our trial procedure is different," or, "We examine the
accused before passing sentence," or, "In our system the condemned man is
told the sentence," or, "We have other punishments besides the death
penalty," or, "In our country people were tortured only in the Middle
Ages." All remarks that are as correct as they seem to you self-evident;
innocent remarks that in no way impugn my procedure. But how they will be
received by the commandant? I can see him, our excellent commandant,
pushing his chair aside immediately and hurrying out to the balcony, I see
his ladies go streaming out after him; I hear his voice - like thunder, as
the ladies describe it - and what he says is: "One of the West's great
explorers, appointed to investigate trial procedure in every country in the
world, has just said that our procedure, based on ancient custom, is
inhumane. Given this verdict by a person of such standing, I naturally
cannot tolerate this procedure any longer. With effect from today I
therefore give orders that - and so on." You want to intervene, you didn't
say what he reported you as saying, you didn't call me procedure inhumane,
on the contrary it is your deeply held conviction that it is the most
humane and dignified procedure possible, you almost admire this piece of
machinery - but it's too late; you can't even get on to the balcony, which
by now is full of ladies; you want to draw attention to yourself; you want
to shout; but a lady's hand holds your mouth closed - and I and the old
commandant's work are done for.'
   The traveller had to suppress a smile; so it was that easy, the task he
had thought would present such difficulty. He said evasively, 'You
overestimate my influence; the commandant has read my letters of
recommendation and knows I am no authority on legal procedures. Were I to
express an opinion it would be the opinion of a private person, carrying no
more weight than that of anyone else and certainly a great deal less than
the opinion of the commandant, who has, I understand, very extensive rights
in this penal colony. If his opinion regarding this procedure is as
definite as you believe, then I am afraid the procedure is indeed doomed
without my modest assistance being necessary.'
   Did the officer understand now? No, he did not. He shook his head
vigorously, glanced back at the condemned man and the soldier, both of whom
flinched away from the rice, he went right up to the traveller, looking not
in his face but at some point on his jacket, and said more quietly than
before, 'You don't know the commandant; as far as he and all of us are
concerned you're as it were - if you'll pardon the expression -
untouchable: believe me, your influence cannot be rated too highly. I was
delighted to learn that you were to attend the execution on your own. The
commandant's directive was in fact aimed at me, but I'm going to turn it to
my advantage. Undeterred by false insinuations and scornful looks - which
given a bigger attendance at the execution would have been inevitable - you
have listened to my explanations, seen the machine, and are now viewing the
execution. Your mind, surely, is already made up: any lingering doubts will
be removed as you watch the execution. So now I appeal to you: please take
my side against the commandant!'
   The traveller let him go no further. 'How could I?' he exclaimed. 'It's
out of the question. I can no more be of use to you than I can damage your
interests.'
   'You can,' said the officer. The traveller saw with some alarm that the
officer's fists were clenched. 'You can,' the officer repeated with even
greater urgency. 'I have a plan that's sure to succeed. You don't think you
can wield sufficient influence. I know you do. But even accepting that you
are right, if we are to save this procedure we surely need to mobilize all
our resources, don't we, even the possibly inadequate? Let me tell you my
plan. If we're to bring it off it's very important that, today in the
colony, you should keep as quiet as possible about your opinion of the
procedure, Unless you're asked straight out, you should say nothing at all;
what you do say must be brief and noncommittal; let them see that you find
it difficult to talk about it, that you feel bitter, that, were you to
speak frankly, you would have almost to break out into cursing and
swearing. I'm not asking you to tell lies; not at all; just to keep your
answers brief, as, "Yes, I saw the execution," or, "Yes, I heard all the
explanations." That's all, nothing more. There's reason enough, after all,
for the bitterness we want them to hear in your voice, even if it's not
quite what the commandant intended. He of course will get it completely
wrong and interpret everything in his own way. That's the gist of my plan.
Tomorrow there's to be a big meeting in the commandant's office, under the
commandant's chairmanship, of all the top administrative officials. The
commandant, of course, has managed to turn such meetings into a public
spectacle. A gallery has been built and it's invariably packed. I am forced
to take part in the discussions, though I shudder with loathing. Now, you
are sure to be invited to the meeting, whatever happens, and if today you
act in accordance with my plan the invitation will become an urgent request
to attend. If, however, for some mysterious reason you should not be
invited, you must certainly demand an invitation; that you will then
receive one is beyond any doubt. So tomorrow there you are, sitting with
the ladies in the commandant's box. He looks up repeatedly to satisfy
himself that you are there. After various trifling, ridiculous items aimed
solely at the audience - usually to do with harbour works, they're always
talking about harbour works - the question of trial procedure comes up. If
this fails to happen or takes too long to happen on the commandant's
initiative, I shall make sure that it happens. I shall stand up and report
today's execution. Very briefly, just saying it took place. It's not the
usual thing to make such reports here, but I do so all the same. The
commandant thanks me, as he always does, with a pleasant smile and then,
unable to restrain himself, seizes his opportunity. "We have just" - this
is what he'll say, or something like it - "had the report of the execution.
I should merely like to add a note to the effect that this particular
execution was attended by the great explorer of whose visit to our colony
as well as the quite exceptional honour it does us if you are all aware.
Our meeting today is likewise lent greater significance by his presence.
Why don't we now turn to this great explorer and ask him what he thinks of
our traditional method of execution and the procedure leading up to it?"
Lots of applause, of course; unanimous approval, with me making more noise
than anyone. The commandant bows to you and says, "Then, sir, on behalf of
us all I put that question to you." And now you step up to the rail. Put
your hands where everyone can see them otherwise the ladies will get hold
of them and play with your fingers. And at last you speak. I don't know how
I'm going to stand the tension of the intervening hours. In your speech you
mustn't set yourself any limits; let the truth ring out, lean over the rail
and shout at the commandant, really shout out your opinion, your unshakable
opinion. But perhaps you'd rather not, it's not in your character, where
you come from people may behave differently in such situations, that
doesn't matter, that will do fine, don't even get up, merely say a few
words, whisper them so that they just reach the ears of the officials
sitting below you, that will be enough, you needn't even talk about the
officials sitting below you, that will be enough, you needn't even talk
about the lack of attendance at the execution, the wheel that grates, the
broken strap, the revolting felt, you needn't even mention those things
yourself, I'll see to all the rest, and believe me, if my speech doesn't
drive him from the room it'll force him to his knees: "Old commandant,"
it'll make him say, "I humble myself before you." That's my plan; will you
help me carry it out? But of course you will - what am I saying - you
must.' And the officer seized the traveller by both arms and stared into
his face, panting for breath. The last few phrases had been yelled at such
a pitch that even the soldier and the condemned man had begun to take
notice; though they understood nothing they had paused in their eating and
we staring across at the traveller, chewing.
   The answer he must give had, as far as the traveller was concerned, been
beyond doubt from the very beginning; he had been through too much in his
life for there to have been any question of his wavering here; he was
fundamentally honest, and he was not afraid. Even so he did, at the sight
of the soldier and the condemned man, hesitate for a moment. But eventually
he said, as he had to, 'No.' The officer blinked several times but without
taking his eyes off him. 'Do you want an explanation?' the traveller asked.
The officer nodded wordlessly. 'I am opposed to this procedure,' the
traveller went on. 'Even before you took me into your confidence - a
confidence that I shall of course under no circumstances abuse - I was
already wondering whether I had any right to intervene against this
procedure and whether my intervention had even the remotest prospect of
success. It was clear to me whom I must approach first: the commandant, of
course. You have made that even clearer, though without doing anything in
the way of strengthening my resolve; on the contrary, the sincerity of your
conviction affects me deeply, even if it cannot distract me from my
purpose.'
   The officer, still without a word, turned to the machine, grasped one of
the brass rods, and, leaning back slightly, looked up at the scriber as if
checking whether everything was in order. The soldier and the condemned man
appeared to have struck up a friendship: the condemned man was making signs
to the soldier, difficult though this was with the straps pulled so tight;
the soldier bent over him; the condemned man whispered something to him,
and the soldier nodded.
   The traveller went over to the officer and said, 'You don't know yet
what I intend to do. I shall certainly be telling the commander what I
think of the procedure but not at a meeting; I shall do so in private; nor
shall I be staying here long enough to be called into any meeting; I sail
tomorrow morning or shall at least be rejoining my ship then.'
   It did not look as if the officer had been listening. 'So the procedure
didn't convince you,' he murmured, smiling as an old man smiles at the
nonsense of a child and uses the smile to hide what he is really thinking.
'The time has come, then,' he concluded, and suddenly he looked at the
traveller with eyes that were bright with a kind of challenge, almost a
call to complicity.
   'The time for what?' the traveller asked uneasily, but he received no
answer.
   'You're free,' the officer told the condemned man in his own language.
The man did not believe it at first. 'I said you're free,' the officer
repeated. For the first time genuine life came into the condemned man's
face. Was this true? Was it just a whim of the officer's that might pass?
Had the foreign visitor just got him off? What was it? his face seemed to
be asking. But not for long. Whatever it might be, he wanted, if he could,
to be actually at liberty, and he began to shake himself about as much as
the harrow allowed.
   'You're tearing my straps!' the officer shouted. 'Keep still! We'll undo
them for you!' He beckoned to the soldier, and the two of them set to work.
The condemned man said nothing but chuckled quietly to himself, turning his
face now to the left towards the officer, now to the right towards the
soldier, and in between even towards the traveller.
   'Pull him out,' the officer ordered the soldier. This had to be done
with a certain amount of care because of the harrow. The condemned man
already had a number of minor lacerations on his back as a result of his
earlier impatience.
   From this point on, however, the officer took very little notice of him.
He went over to the traveller, pulled out the small leather wallet once
more, leafed through it, eventually found the sheet he was looking for, and
held it up for the traveller to look at. 'Read it,' he said. 'I can't,'
said the traveller. 'I told you, I can't read those sheets.' Look
carefully,' the officer said, moving round beside the traveller to read the
sheet with him. When even this failed he stuck out his little finger and,
holding it well away as if the sheet must not on any account be touched,
ran it over the paper to make it easier for the traveller to read. The
traveller really tried, hoping to be able to accommodate the officer then
started spelling out what was written there and in the end read out the
whole thing: '"Be just," it says. Now you can read it, surely?' The
traveller bent so low over the paper that the officer, afraid he might
touch it, moved it farther away; the traveller said nothing more, but it
was obvious that he had still not been able to read it. '"Be just," it
says,' the officer repeated. 'Possibly,' said the traveller. 'I believe
you.' 'Right,' the officer said, partially satisfied at least, and he took
the sheet with him in the scriber and then appeared to rearrange the entire
gear mechanism; this was an extremely laborious operation, some of the gear
wheels evidently being very small, and from time to time the officer's head
would disappear completely inside the scriber, so closely did he have to
inspect the mechanism.
   The traveller kept uninterrupted watch on the operation from below until
his neck was stiff and his eyes ached from the sunlight flooding the sky.
The soldier and the condemned man were concerned only with each other. The
condemned man's shirt and trousers, which lay in the pit, were hauled out
on the end of the soldier's bayonet. The shirt was horribly filthy, and the
condemned man washed it in the bucket of water. When he then donned it and
the trousers, neither the soldier nor he could refrain from laughing,
because of course the garments had been slit up the back. Possibly in the
belief that it was his duty to entertain the soldier, the condemned man
pirouetted in front of him in his ruined clothing; the soldier, squatting
on the ground, slapped his knees as he laughed. With the gentlemen present,
however, they kept themselves under control.
   When the officer had finally finished up on top, he smilingly surveyed
the whole thing once more, part by part, slammed the scriber lid shut this
time, it having been open until now, climbed down, looked into the pit and
then at the condemned man, saw to his satisfaction that the latter had
taken his clothes out, walked over to the bucket of water to wash his
hands, noticed the revolting filth too late, was distressed that he could
not now wash his hands, finally plunged them - it was an adequate
substitute but he had to bow to circumstances - into the sand, then stood
up and began unbuttoning his tunic. As he did so the two lady's
handkerchiefs that he had wedged inside the collar fell out into his hands.
'Here - your handkerchiefs,' he said, tossing them to the condemned man.
And for the traveller's benefit he explained. 'Presents from the ladies.'
   Despite the evident haste in which he removed his tunic and then all the
rest of his clothes, he handled each garment with great care, even running
his fingers deliberately over the silver braid of the tunic and shaking the
odd tassel straight. It was then rather out of keeping with his carefulness
that, as soon as he had finished with a garment, he tossed it into the pit
with an impatient jerk. The last thing he left with his short sword on its
sling. He unsheathed it, broke it into pieces, then, gathering everything
together, the bits of sword, the scabbard, and the sling, hurled it all
from him with such force that it hit the bottom of the pit with a clang.
   He stood there, naked. The traveller bit his lips and said nothing. He
knew what was going to happen, but he had no right to hinder the officer in
any way. If the trial procedure to which the officer was so attached was
really on the point of being abolished - possibly in consequence of actions
to which the traveller, for his part, felt committed in advance - then he
was acting quite properly; the traveller would have acted no differently in
his place.
   The soldier and the condemned man, understanding nothing, at first did
not even watch. The condemned man was delighted to have his handkerchiefs
back. His delight was short-lived, though, the soldier snatching them back
with a swift, unforeseeable movement. The condemned man then tried to pull
the handkerchiefs out from behind the soldier's belt, where the latter had
put them for safe keeping, but the soldier was on his guard. They went on
struggling like this, half jokingly, and it was not until the officer was
completely naked that they began to take notice. The condemned man in
particular appeared to have sensed some kind of major reversal. What had
been happening to him was now happening to the officer. Perhaps this time
it would be taken to the last extreme. Probably the foreign traveller had
given the order. Vengeance, then. Without himself having suffered all the
way he was going to be revenged all the way. A broad, soundless laugh
materialized on his face and stayed there.
   The officer, meanwhile, had turned to the machine. It had been clear
enough all along how well he understood the machine, but now one might
almost have been staggered by his handling of it and by its response. All
he did was to hold a hand out towards the harrow and it raised and lowered
itself several times until it was in the right position to receive him; he
simply gripped the edge of the bed and it began to vibrate; the stub of
felt moved towards him, you could see that the officer did not really want
to take it, but after only a moment's hesitation he submitted and accepted
it in his mouth. Everything was ready, except that the straps still hung
down at the sides, but they were clearly superfluous; the officer did not
need to be strapped down. The condemned man, however, noticing that the
straps were undone and feeling that the execution was incomplete if the
straps were not fastened, beckoned officiously to the soldier, and they ran
to strap the officer down. The officer had already stretched out a foot to
kick at the crank handle that would start the scriber, but when he saw them
coming he withdrew the foot and allowed himself to be strapped down. Now,
of course, he could no longer reach the crank handle; neither the soldier
not the condemned man would find it, and the traveller was determined not
to move. There was no need; hardly was the last strap attached when the
machine went into operation; the bed vibrated, the needles danced over the
skin, the harrow swung to and fro. The traveller had been staring at the
sight for some time before he remembered that a wheel in the scriber ought
to have been grating; all was quiet, however, with not even the faintest
whirring to be heard.
   Operating so quietly, the machine literally escaped the traveller's
attention. He looked across at the soldier and the condemned man. The
condemned man was the livelier of the two, interested in everything about
the machine, bending down, stretching up, always with his index finger
extended to point something out to the soldier. The traveller found this
embarrassing. He was determined to stay to the end, but he could not have
put up with the sight of those two for long. 'Go home,' he said. The
soldier might have been prepared to do so, but the condemned man felt the
order to be almost a punishment. Clasping his hands together, he begged to
be allowed to stay, and when the traveller shook his head in adamant
refusal he even sank to his knees. Realizing that orders were useless here,
the traveller was about to go over and chase the pair of them away when he
became aware of a noise in the scriber. He looked up. Was that gear-wheel
giving trouble after all? No, this was something else. Slowly the lid of
the scriber rose higher and higher until it fell open completely. The cogs
of a gear-wheel became visible, rising up, soon the whole wheel could be
seen, it was as if some mighty force were squeezing the scriber, there was
no room for this wheel, the wheel turned till it reached the edge of the
scriber, tumbled down, rolled a little way in the sand, then fell over and
lay still. But up in the scriber another was already emerging, many more
followed, big ones, little ones, others virtually indistinguishable in
size, the same thing happening to them all; surely the scriber must be
empty now, you kept thinking, but then another, even more numerous cluster
of them rose up, came tumbling down, rolled in the sand, and lay flat.
Meanwhile the condemned man had forgotten all about the traveller's order;
fascinated by the gearwheels, he kept trying to catch one, urging the
soldier to help him, but he drew his hand back in alarm each time because
right behind came another wheel that, at least as it first started to roll,
gave him a fright.
   As for the traveller, he was deeply uneasy; the machine was obviously
disintegrating; its easy action was an illusion; he felt he ought to be
looking after the officer, now that the latter was no longer in a position
to fend for himself. But while the fall of the gearwheels had been
occupying his whole attention he had neglected to keep an eye on the rest
of the machine; now, the last gear-wheel having left the scriber, as he
bent over the harrow he received another, even nastier suprise. The harrow
was not inscribing, merely stabbing, and the bed, instead of turning the
body over, merely thrust it, quivering, up at the needles. The traveller
wanted to intervene, possibly to stop the whole process; this was not the
torture the officer had wanted to achieve, this was plain murder. He
reached out. But the harrow, with the body skewered on it, was already
canting up and over to one side, as it normally did only in the twelfth
hour. Blood flowed in a hundred streams (unmixed with water, the water
ducts too having failed this time). And now the last thing went wrong as
well: the body failed to come off the long needles and, still gushing
blood, hung above the pit without falling. The harrow tried to return to
its original position, appeared to become aware that it was not yet free of
its burden, and remained suspended over the pit. 'Come and help!' the
traveller shouted to the soldier and the condemned man as he himself took
hold of the officer's feet. He meant to push against the feet at his end,
he wanted the others to go to the other side and take hold of the officer's
head, and between them they would slowly lift him off the needles. The
others, however, could not make up their minds to go over to them and
forcibly move them to the officer's head. In doing so he caught an almost
involuntary glimpse of the face of the corpse. It was just as it had been
in life, with no sign of the promised deliverance; what all the others had
found in the machine, the officer had no found; his lips were pressed
firmly together, his eyes were open and had the look of being alive, the
expression in them was one of calm conviction, the tip of the great iron
spike stuck out of his forehead.






As the traveller, with the soldier and the condemned man behind him,
reached the first houses of the colony the soldier pointed to one and said,
'That's the tea-house.'
   The ground floor of one of the buildings was occupied by a deep, low,
cave-like room with smoke-blackened walls and ceiling. On the street side
it was open along its whole width. There was little to distinguish the
tea-house from the rest of the colony's buildings, which including the
palatial quarters of the commandant were all in an advanced state of
disrepair, yet on the traveller it had the effect of a reminder of the
past, and he felt the power of an earlier age. He drew nearer, passed with
his two attendants between the empty tables that stood in the street in
front of the tea-house, and inhaled the cool, moist air coming from inside.
'The old man's buried here,' said the soldier. 'Chaplain wouldn't give him
a plot in the cemetery. For a while they couldn't decide where to bury him,
then in the end they buried him here. The officer won't have told you
anything about that, because of course it's what he was most ashamed of.
Once or twice he even tried to dig the old man up at night, but he always
got chased away.' 'Where is the grave?' the traveller asked, unable to
believe the soldier. Immediately the two of them, the soldier and the
condemned man, ran ahead and pointed with outstretched hands to where the
grave was. They led the traveller over to the rear wall, where customers
were sitting at several of the tables. These were probably dockers,
powerfully-built men with short, gleaming back beards. All sat jacketless,
and their shorts were torn; they were poor, oppressed folk. As the
traveller approached, some of them stood up, backed against the wall, and
watched him expectantly. 'A foreigner,' went the whisper of all around him,
'come to look at the grave.' They pushed one of the tables aside, and
underneath there really was a gravestone. It was a simple stone and low
enough to be concealed beneath a table. It bore an inscription in very
small letters; the traveller had to kneel down to read it. It read: 'Here
lies the old commandant. His followers, who now may bear no name, dug this
grave for him and set up this stone. It is prophesied that the commandant
will rise again after a certain number of years have elapsed and lead his
followers out from this house to reconquer the colony. Wait in faith!' When
the traveller, having read this, rose to his feet he saw the men standing
around him and smiling as if they had read the inscription with him, found
it ridiculous, and were inviting him to share their view. The traveller
pretended not to have noticed, distributed a few coins among them, waited
till the table had been pushed back over the grave, left the tea-house, and
made his way to the harbour.
   The soldier and the condemned man had come across acquaintances in the
tea-house who detained them. They must have quickly torn themselves away,
however, because the traveller had only got as far as the middle of the
long flight of stairs leading to the boats before they appeared in pursuit.
Probably they wanted to make the traveller take them with him at the last
moment. While he was negotiating with a boatman at the foot of the steps to
take him out to the steamer, the other two came racing down the steps in
silence, not daring to shout. But by the time they reached the bottom the
traveller was already in the boat and the boatman was casting off. They
could have leapt into the boat, but the traveller, picking up a heavy
length of knotted rope from the floor of the boat and threatening them with
it, prevented them from making the attempt.








Written October, 1914. Published 1919. 

Translated from German by J.A. Underwood.

'In the Penal Colony' from Franz Kafka: Stories 1904-1924, translated by
J.A. Underwood, first published by Macdonald & Co., 1981, to the
translator. 


http://www.fortunecity.com/victorian/dadd/92/penalcolony.txt