A Hunger Artist

A Hunger Artist by Franz Kafka
(transl. by Ian Johnston)
This translation, which has been prepared by Ian Johnston of Malaspina
University-College, Nanaimo, BC, Canada, is in the public domain and
may be used by anyone, in whole or in part, without permission and
without charge, provided the source is acknowledged, released October
2003.
In the last decades interest in hunger artists has declined considerably.
Whereas in earlier days there was good money to be earned putting on
major productions of this sort under one's own management, nowadays
that is totally impossible. Those were different times. Back then the
hunger artist captured the attention of the entire city. From day to day
while the fasting lasted, participation increased. Everyone wanted to
see the hunger artist at least daily. During the final days there were
people with subscription tickets who sat all day in front of the small
barred cage. And there were even viewing hours at night, their impact
heightened by torchlight. On fine days the cage was dragged out into
the open air, and then the hunger artist was put on display particularly
for the children. While for grown-ups the hunger artist was often
merely a joke, something they participated in because it was
fashionable, the children looked on amazed, their mouths open, holding
each other's hands for safety, as he sat there on scattered straw --
spurning a chair -- in a black tights, looking pale, with his ribs sticking
out prominently, sometimes nodding politely, answering questions with
a forced smile, even sticking his arm out through the bars to let people
feel how emaciated he was, but then completely sinking back into
himself, so that he paid no attention to anything, not even to what was
so important to him, the striking of the clock, which was the single
furnishing in the cage, merely looking out in front of him with his eyes
almost shut and now and then sipping from a tiny glass of water to
moisten his lips.
Apart from the changing groups of spectators there were also constant

observers chosen by the public -- strangely enough they were usually
butchers -- who, always three at a time, were given the task of
observing the hunger artist day and night, so that he didn't get
something to eat in some secret manner. It was, however, merely a
formality, introduced to reassure the masses, for those who understood
knew well enough that during the period of fasting the hunger artist
would never, under any circumstances, have eaten the slightest thing,
not even if compelled by force. The honour of his art forbade it.
Naturally, none of the watchers understood that. Sometimes there were
nightly groups of watchers who carried out their vigil very laxly,
deliberately sitting together in a distant corner and putting all their
attention into playing cards there, clearly intending to allow the hunger
artist a small refreshment, which, according to their way of thinking, he
could get from some secret supplies. Nothing was more excruciating to
the hunger artist than such watchers. They depressed him. They made
his fasting terribly difficult. Sometimes he overcame his weakness and
sang during the time they were observing, for as long as he could keep
it up, to show people how unjust their suspicions about him were. But
that was little help. For then they just wondered among themselves
about his skill at being able to eat even while singing. He much
preferred the observers who sat down right against the bars and, not
satisfied with the dim backlighting of the room, illuminated him with
electric flashlights. The glaring light didn't bother him in the slightest.
Generally he couldn't sleep at all, and he could always doze under any
lighting and at any hour, even in an overcrowded, noisy auditorium.
With such observers, he was very happily prepared to spend the entire
night without sleeping. He was very pleased to joke with them, to
recount stories from his nomadic life and then, in turn, to listen their
stories -- doing everything just to keep them awake, so that he could
keep showing them once again that he had nothing to eat in his cage
and that he was fasting as none of them could.
He was happiest, however, when morning came and a lavish breakfast
was brought for them at his own expense, on which they hurled
themselves with the appetite of healthy men after a hard night's work
without sleep. True, there were still people who wanted to see in this
breakfast an unfair means of influencing the observers, but that was

going too far, and if they were asked whether they wanted to undertake
the observers' night shift for its own sake, without the breakfast, they
excused themselves. But nonetheless they stood by their suspicions.
However, it