The Castle

It was late in the evening when K. arrived. The village was deep in snow. The Castle hill was hidden, veiled in mist and darkness, nor was there even a glimmer of light to show that a castle was there. On the wooden bridge leading from the main road to the village K. stood for a long time gazing into the illusory emptiness above him.

Then he went on to find quarters for the night. The inn was still awake, and although the landlord could not provide a room and was upset by such a late and unexpected arrival, he was willing to let K. sleep on a bag of straw in the parlour. K. accepted the offer. Some peasants were still sitting over their beer, but he did not want to talk, and after himself fetching the bag of straw from the attic, lay down beside the stove. It was a warm corner, the peasants were quiet, and letting his weary eyes stray over them he soon fell asleep.

But very shortly he was awakened. A young man dressed like a townsman, with the face of an actor, his eyes narrow and his eyebrows strongly marked, was standing beside him along with the landlord. The peasants were still in the room, and a few had turned their chairs round so as to see and hear better. The young man apologised very courteously for having awakened K., introduced himself as the son of the Castellan, and then said: “This village belongs

At the top of the little flight of steps leading into the house stood the landlord, a welcome figure, holding up a lighted lantern. Remembering his conductor for a fleeting moment K. stood still, there was a cough in the darkness behind him, that was he. Well, he would see him again soon. Not until he was level with the landlord, who greeted him humbly, did he notice two men, one on either side of the doorway. He took the lantern from his host’s hand and turned the light upon them; it was the men he had already met, who were called Arthur and Jeremiah. They now saluted him. That reminded him of his soldiering days, happy days for him, and he laughed. “Who are you?” he asked, looking from one to the other. “Your assistants,” they answered. “It’s your assistants,” corroborated the landlord in a low voice. “What?” said K. “are you my old assistants whom I told to follow me and whom I am expecting?” They answered in the affirmative. “That’s good,” observed K. after a short pause. “I’m glad you’ve come.” “Well,” he said, after another pause, “you’ve come very late, you’re very slack.” “It was a long way to come,” said one of them. “A long way?” repeated K., “but I met you just now coming from the Castle.” “Yes,” said they, without further explanation. “Where is the apparatus?” asked K. “We haven’t any,” said they. “The apparatus I gave you?” said K. “We haven’t any,” they reiterated. “Oh, you are fine fellows!” said K., “do you know anything about surveying?” “No,” said they.

“Allow me, Superintendent, to interrupt you with a question,” said K. “Did you not mention once before a Control Authority? From your description the whole economy is one that would rouse one’s apprehensions if one could imagine the control failing.”

“You’re very strict,” said the Superintendent, “but multiply your strictness a thousand times and it would still be nothing compared with the strictness which the Authority imposes on itself. Only a total stranger could ask a question like yours. Is there a Control Authority? There are only control authorities. Frankly it isn’t their function to hunt out errors in the vulgar sense, for errors don’t happen, and even when once in a while an error does happen, as in your case, who can say finally that it’s an error?”

“This is news indeed!” cried K.

“It’s very old news to me,” said the Superintendent. “Not unlike yourself I’m convinced that an error has occurred, and as a result Sordini is quite ill with despair, and the first Control Officials, whom we have to thank for discovering the source of error, recognise that there is an error. But who can guarantee that the second Control Officials will decide in the same way and the third lot and all the others?”

“So the only remaining conclusion,” said K., “is that everything is very uncertain and insoluble, including my being thrown out.”

“Who would take the risk of throwing you out, Land Surveyor?” asked the Superintendent. “The very uncertainty about your summons guarantees you the most courteous treatment, only you’re too sensitive by all appearances. Nobody keeps you here, but that surely doesn’t amount to throwing you out.”

“Oh, Superintendent,” said K., “now again you’re taking far too simple a view of the case. I’ll enumerate for your benefit a few of the things that keep me here: the sacrifice I made in leaving my home, the long and difficult journey, the well-grounded hopes I built on my engagement here, my complete lack of means, the impossibility after this of finding some other suitable job at home, and last but not least my fiancée, who lives here.”

“Oh, Frieda!” said the Superintendent without showing any surprise. “I know. But Frieda would follow you anywhere. As for the rest of what you said, some consideration will be necessary and I’ll communicate with the Castle about it. If a decision should be come to, or if it should be necessary first to interrogate you again, I’ll send for you. Is that agreeable to you?”

“No, absolutely,” said K. “I don’t want any act of favour from the Castle, but my rights.”

“Come with me,” said the gentleman, not really as a command, for the command lay not in the words, but in a slight, studiedly indifferent gesture of the hand which accompanied them. “I’m waiting here for somebody,” said K., no longer in the hope of any success, but simply on principle. “Come,” said the gentleman once more quite imperturbably, as if he wanted to show that he had never doubted that K. was waiting for somebody. “But then I would miss the person I’m waiting for,” said K. with an emphatic nod of his head. In spite of everything that had happened he had the feeling that what he had achieved thus far was something gained, which it was true he only held now in seeming, but which he must not relinquish all the same merely on account of a polite command. “You’ll miss him in any case, whether you go or stay,” said the gentleman, expressing himself bluntly, but showing an unexpected consideration for K.’s line of thought. “Then I would rather wait for him and miss him,” said K. defiantly; he would certainly not be driven away from here by the mere talk of this young man. Thereupon with his head thrown back and a supercilious look on his face the gentleman closed his eyes for a few minutes, as if he wanted to turn from K.’s senseless stupidity to his own sound reason again, ran the tip of his tongue round his slightly-parted lips and said at last to the coachman: “Unyoke the horses.”