On the trail of an executioner

When we sit in our comfortable TV armchairs today, self-righteously outraged by nations that use the death penalty to get rid of wrongdoers, we all too easily forget that we did exactly the same thing until recently. We were almost unbeatable in terms of cruelty. In terms of cultural history, it was only a few moments ago that the executioner Baltz Mengis, on behalf of the Lucerne authorities, tortured confessions of guilt in every conceivable way and punished them with death. The possibilities for serious clarification of offenses were still very modest. And the high lords didn't want to go to any great lengths because of the guilt or innocence of a couple of naughty wives or curly fellows. But in order to maintain law and order (or power and benefices?), they needed executions that attracted a lot of publicity. Baltz Mengis was also responsible for this and paid a high price himself. The executioner was condemned to a life outside of society.

The buildings in which these horrors took place still stand in the old town, just as they did three hundred years ago. The squares where the accused were publicly tortured and humiliated are still the same places we stroll through today with an ice cream in our hands. And the power and wealth that were brutally defended back then have also been more or less seamlessly transferred to the present day. They are part of our prosperity today. The "theatrical sound walk through the bowels of the 17th century" offers a kind of respectful remembrance of the countless people tortured and executed in Lucerne.

It begins in the Historical Museum, where a trial is about to begin to determine the guilt or innocence of Baltz Mengis, the city's last executioner. When he is questioned about his work, it goes right through you, even without torture. But the questions lead onto an emotional slippery slope: is he a despicable butcher or a pitiable victim of the unscrupulous authorities?

A melancholy melody accompanies us across the Spreuer Bridge, over which the accused entered and left the city every day. The same pictures hang in the gables as back then, showing what is good and right and who is worth how much. Thinking about this, we disappear into the alleyways and follow the executioner to his places of work. The mysterious sounds lure us further and further around the corners of houses, up dark staircases and into backyards. Deeper and deeper into the bowels of the old town, history and our own conscience. The impressive spectacle and the deeply moving music bring the world of that time back to life. And an increasingly oppressive feeling spreads as we realize what happened on these cobblestones.

Finally, we go to St. Peter's Chapel in memory of the many men and women who have walked this path before us in unimaginable horror. Music, drama and video projection merge into an impressive work of art. Anna Murphy captivates us with her hurdy-gurdy and her magical voice and Thomas K. J. Meyer reaches straight into our guts with a saxophone that is bigger than he is. John Wolf Brennan composed this oratorio and weaves everything together with various keyboard instruments to create a haunting world of sound.

Franziska Senn, Reto Baumgartner and Finn Krummenacher embody their characters very tangibly and vividly, mastering role changes on the fly to astonishing effect. With minimal means, they transform themselves from accuser to defendant or from executioner to surgeon. Unfortunately, Susanne Hofer's magnificent video production cannot fully unfold its power, as it is somewhat impaired by the architecture of St. Peter's Chapel. Nevertheless, it contributes a great deal to the impressive experience. Ueli Blum and Dunja Bulinsky are responsible for the idea, concept and text, Buschi Luginbühl for the direction and Mariana Coviello for the choreography. A large team of creative helpers supported them in the realization.