BEFORE THE LAW
Franz Kafka
Translation by Ian Johnston
Before the law sits a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country
who asks to gain entry into the law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him
entry at the moment. The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to
come in later on. “It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.” At the moment
the gate to the law stands open, as always, and the gatekeeper walks to the side, so the
man bends over in order to see through the gate into the inside. When the gatekeeper
notices that, he laughs and says: “If it tempts you so much, try it in spite of my
prohibition. But take note: I am powerful. And I am only the most lowly gatekeeper.
But from room to room stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I can’t
endure even one glimpse of the third.” The man from the country has not expected such
difficulties: the law should always be accessible for everyone, he thinks, but as he
now looks more closely at the gatekeeper in his fur coat, at his large pointed nose and
his long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it would be better to wait until he
gets permission to go inside. The gatekeeper gives him a stool and allows him to sit
down at the side in front of the gate. There he sits for days and years. He makes many
attempts to be let in, and he wears the gatekeeper out with his requests. The
gatekeeper often interrogates him briefly, questioning him about his homeland and
many other things, but they are indifferent questions, the kind great men put, and at the
end he always tells him once more that he cannot let him inside yet. The man, who has
equipped himself with many things for his journey, spends everything, no matter how
valuable, to win over the gatekeeper. The latter takes it all but, as he does so, says, “I
am taking this only so that you do not think you have failed to do anything.” During the
many years the man observes the gatekeeper almost continuously. He forgets the other
gatekeepers, and this one seems to him the only obstacle for entry into the law. He
curses the unlucky circumstance, in the first years thoughtlessly and out loud, later, as
he grows old, he still mumbles to himself. He becomes childish and, since in the long
years studying the gatekeeper he has come to know the fleas in his fur collar, he even
asks the fleas to help him persuade the gatekeeper. Finally his eyesight grows weak,
and he does not know whether things are really darker around him or whether his eyes
are merely deceiving him. But he recognizes now in the darkness an illumination
which breaks inextinguishably out of the gateway to the law. Now he no longer has
much time to live. Before his death he gathers in his head all his experiences of the
entire time up into one question which he has not yet put to the gatekeeper. He waves
to him, since he can no longer lift up his stiffening body. The gatekeeper has to bend
way down to him, for the great difference has changed things to the disadvantage of the
man. “What do you still want to know, then?” asks the gatekeeper. “You are
insatiable.” “Everyone strives after the law,” says the man, “so how is that in these
many years no one except me has requested entry?” The gatekeeper sees that the man
is already dying and, in order to reach his diminishing sense of hearing, he shouts at
him, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only to you. I’
m going now to close it.
Franz Kafka
Translation by Ian Johnston
Before the law sits a gatekeeper. To this gatekeeper comes a man from the country
who asks to gain entry into the law. But the gatekeeper says that he cannot grant him
entry at the moment. The man thinks about it and then asks if he will be allowed to
come in later on. “It is possible,” says the gatekeeper, “but not now.” At the moment
the gate to the law stands open, as always, and the gatekeeper walks to the side, so the
man bends over in order to see through the gate into the inside. When the gatekeeper
notices that, he laughs and says: “If it tempts you so much, try it in spite of my
prohibition. But take note: I am powerful. And I am only the most lowly gatekeeper.
But from room to room stand gatekeepers, each more powerful than the other. I can’t
endure even one glimpse of the third.” The man from the country has not expected such
difficulties: the law should always be accessible for everyone, he thinks, but as he
now looks more closely at the gatekeeper in his fur coat, at his large pointed nose and
his long, thin, black Tartar’s beard, he decides that it would be better to wait until he
gets permission to go inside. The gatekeeper gives him a stool and allows him to sit
down at the side in front of the gate. There he sits for days and years. He makes many
attempts to be let in, and he wears the gatekeeper out with his requests. The
gatekeeper often interrogates him briefly, questioning him about his homeland and
many other things, but they are indifferent questions, the kind great men put, and at the
end he always tells him once more that he cannot let him inside yet. The man, who has
equipped himself with many things for his journey, spends everything, no matter how
valuable, to win over the gatekeeper. The latter takes it all but, as he does so, says, “I
am taking this only so that you do not think you have failed to do anything.” During the
many years the man observes the gatekeeper almost continuously. He forgets the other
gatekeepers, and this one seems to him the only obstacle for entry into the law. He
curses the unlucky circumstance, in the first years thoughtlessly and out loud, later, as
he grows old, he still mumbles to himself. He becomes childish and, since in the long
years studying the gatekeeper he has come to know the fleas in his fur collar, he even
asks the fleas to help him persuade the gatekeeper. Finally his eyesight grows weak,
and he does not know whether things are really darker around him or whether his eyes
are merely deceiving him. But he recognizes now in the darkness an illumination
which breaks inextinguishably out of the gateway to the law. Now he no longer has
much time to live. Before his death he gathers in his head all his experiences of the
entire time up into one question which he has not yet put to the gatekeeper. He waves
to him, since he can no longer lift up his stiffening body. The gatekeeper has to bend
way down to him, for the great difference has changed things to the disadvantage of the
man. “What do you still want to know, then?” asks the gatekeeper. “You are
insatiable.” “Everyone strives after the law,” says the man, “so how is that in these
many years no one except me has requested entry?” The gatekeeper sees that the man
is already dying and, in order to reach his diminishing sense of hearing, he shouts at
him, “Here no one else can gain entry, since this entrance was assigned only to you. I’
m going now to close it.