Франц Кафка - The Complete Stories (forword by John Updike)

PRINCE: That's my opinion, too.

CHAMBERLAIN: In that case I haven't properly understood.

PRINCE: So it seems.

Pause.

PRINCE: Perhaps the only thing that disconcerts you is that instead of going ahead with the arrangement, I announced it to you first.

CHAMBERLAIN: The announcement certainly burdens me with a great responsibility which I must endeavor to live up to.

PRINCE: Don't speak of responsibility!

Pause.

PRINCE: Let's see. Hitherto the tomb in the Friedrichspark has been guarded by a warden who lives in a lodge at the park's entrance. Was there anything wrong with this?

CHAMBERLAIN: Certainly not. The tomb is more than four hundred years old and has always been guarded in this way.

PRINCE: It could be an abuse. But it isn't an abuse, is it?

CHAMBERLAIN: It is a necessary arrangement.

PRINCE: All right then, a necessary arrangement. I've been here in the castle quite some time now, have gained some insight into details which hitherto have been entrusted to strangers — they manage fairly well — and I've come to this conclusion: the Warden up there in the park is not enough. There must also be a guard down in the tomb. It probably won't be a pleasant job. But experience has proved that willing and suitable people can be found for any job.

CHAMBERLAIN: Needless to say, any orders issued by your Highness will be carried out, even if the necessity of the order is not fully understood.

PRINCE (starting up): Necessity! Do you mean to say that a guard at the park gate is necessary? The Friedrichspark belongs to the castle park, is entirely surrounded by it. The castle park itself is amply guarded — by the army, what's more. So why a special guard for the Friedrichspark? Isn't this a mere formality? A pleasant deathbed for the wretched old man who is keeping watch there?

CHAMBERLAIN: Formality it is, but a necessary one. A demonstration of reverence for the illustrious dead.

PRINCE: And what about the guard in the tomb itself?

CHAMBERLAIN: In my opinion this would have a police connotation. It would mean a real guarding of unreal things beyond the human sphere.

PRINCE: For my family this tomb represents the frontier between the Human and the Other, and it's on this frontier that I wish to post a guard. As for the police connotation, as you call it, we can question the Warden himself. I've sent for him. (Rings a bell.)

CHAMBERLAIN: He's a confused old man, if I may say so, already quite out of hand.

PRINCE: If that's so, all the more reason for strengthening the guard in the way I've suggested.

(Enter servant.)

PRINCE: The Warden of the tomb!

(Servant leads in Warden, holding him tight around the waist to prevent him from collapsing. Ancient red livery hanging loosely about Warden, brightly polished silver buttons, several decorations. Cap in hand, he trembles under the gentlemen's gaze.)

PRINCE: Put him on the divan!

(Servant lays him down and goes off. Pause. A faint rattling in Warden's throat.)

PRINCE (again in armchair): Can you hear?

WARDEN (tries to answer but fails, is too exhausted, sinks back again).

PRINCE: Try to pull yourself together. We're waiting.

CHAMBERLAIN (leaning over Prince): What could this man give information about? And credible and important information at that? He ought to be taken straight to bed.

WARDEN: Not to bed — still strong — fairly — can still hold my end up.

PRINCE: So you should. You've only just turned sixty. Granted, you look very weak.

WARDEN: I'll pick up in no time — feel better in a minute.

PRINCE: It wasn't meant as a reproach. I'm only sorry you aren't feeling well. Have you anything to complain about?

WARDEN: Hard work — hard work — not complaining — but very weak — wrestling bouts every night.

PRINCE: What d'you say?

WARDEN: Hard work.

PRINCE: You said something else.

WARDEN: Wrestling bouts.

PRINCE: Wrestling bouts? What kind of wrestling bouts?

WARDEN: With the blessed ancestors.

PRINCE: I don't understand. D'you have bad dreams?

WARDEN: No dreams — don't sleep.

PRINCE: Then let's hear about these — these wrestling bouts.

WARDEN (remains silent).

PRINCE (to Chamberlain): Why doesn't he speak?

CHAMBERLAIN (hurrying to Warden): He may die any minute.

PRINCE (stands up).

WARDEN (as Chamberlain touches him): Don't, don't, don't! (Fights off Chamberlain's hands, then collapses in tears.)

PRINCE: We're tormenting him.

CHAMBERLAIN: How?

PRINCE: I don't know.

CHAMBERLAIN: Coming to the castle, having to present himself here, the sight of your Highness, this questioning — he no longer has the wits to face all this.

PRINCE (still staring at the Warden): That's not it. (Goes to divan, bends over Warden, takes his little skull in his hands.) Mustn't cry. What are you crying for? We wish you well. I realize your job isn't easy. You've certainly deserved well of my family. So stop crying and tell us all about it.

WARDEN: But I'm so afraid of that gentleman there — (Looks at Chamberlain, more threateningly than afraid.)

PRINCE (to Chamberlain): If we want him to talk I'm afraid you'll have to leave.

CHAMBERLAIN: But look, your Highness, he's foaming at the mouth. He's seriously ill.

PRINCE (absent-mindedly): Please go, it won't take long.

Exit Chamberlain.

Prince sits on edge of divan.

Pause.

PRINCE: Why were you afraid of him?

WARDEN (surprisingly composed): I wasn't afraid. Me afraid of a servant?

PRINCE: He's not a servant. He's a Count, free and rich.

WARDEN: A servant all the same, you are the master.

PRINCE: If you like it that way. But you said yourself that you were afraid of him.

WARDEN: I didn't want to say things in front of him which are meant only for you. Haven't I already said too much in front of him?

PRINCE: So we're on terms of intimacy, and yet today is the first time I've seen you.

WARDEN: Seen for the first time, but you've always known that I (raising his forefinger) hold the most important position at Court. You even acknowledged it publicly by awarding me the medal "Red-as-Fire." Here! (Holds up the medal on his coat.)

PRINCE: No, that's the medal for twenty-five years' service at Court. My grandfather gave you that. But I'll decorate you, too.

WARDEN: Do as you please and grant me whatever you think I deserve. I've acted as your tomb Warden for thirty years.

PRINCE: Not mine. My reign has lasted hardly a year.

WARDEN (lost in thought): Thirty years.

Pause.

WARDEN (remembering only half of the Prince's remark): Nights last years there.

PRINCE: I haven't yet had a report from your office. What's your work like?

WARDEN: Every night the same. Every night till the heart beats as if it were about to burst.

PRINCE: Is it only night duty, then? Night duty for an old man like you?

WARDEN: That's just it, your Highness. It's day duty. A loafer's job. There one sits, at the front door, with one's mouth open in the sunshine. Sometimes the watchdog pats one on the knee with its paws, and then lies down again. That's all that ever happens.

PRINCE: Well?

WARDEN (nodding): But it has been changed to night duty.

PRINCE: By whom?

WARDEN: By the lords of the tomb.

PRINCE: You know them?

WARDEN: Yes.

PRINCE: They come to see you?

WARDEN: Yes.

PRINCE: Last night, too?

WARDEN: Last night, too.