PROSE: METAMORPHOSIS BY FRANZ KAFKA

The Metamorphosis

I

As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself

transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect. He was lying on his hard, as it were

armor-plated, back and when he lifted his head a little he could see his domelike brown

belly divided into stiff arched segments on top of which the bed quilt could hardly keep in

position and was about to slide off completely. His numerous legs, which were pitifully thin

compared to the rest of his bulk, waved helplessly before his eyes.

What has happened to me? he thought. It was no dream. His room, a regular human

bedroom, only rather too small, lay quiet between the four familiar walls. Above the table

on which a collection of cloth samples was unpacked and spread out -- Samsa was a

commercial traveler -- hung the picture which he had recently cut out of an illustrated

magazine and put into a pretty gilt frame. It showed a lady, with a fur cap on and a fur

stole, sitting upright and holding out to the spectator a huge fur muff into which the whole

of her forearm had vanished!

Gregor's eyes turned next to the window, and the overcast sky -- one could hear

raindrops beating on the window gutter -- made him quite melancholy. What about

sleeping a little longer and forgetting all this nonsense, he thought, but it could not be

done, for he was accustomed to sleep on his right side and in his present condition he

could not turn himself over. However violently he forced himself toward his right side he

always rolled onto his back again. He tried it at least a hundred times, shutting his eyes to

keep from seeing his struggling legs, and only desisted when he began to feel in his side a

faint dull ache he had never experienced before.

Oh God, he thought, what an exhausting job I've picked on! Traveling about day in, day

out. It's much more irritating work than doing the actual business in the office, and on top

of that there's the trouble of constant traveling, of worrying about train connections, the

bed and irregular meals, casual acquaintances that are always new and never become

intimate friends. The devil take it all! He felt a slight itching up on his belly; slowly pushed

himself on his back nearer to the top of the bed so that he could lift his head more easily;

identified the itching place which was surrounded by many small white spots the nature of

which he could not understand and made to touch it with a leg, but drew the leg back

immediately, for the contact made a cold shiver run through him.

He slid down again into his former position. This getting up early, he thought, makes one

quite stupid. A man needs his sleep. Other commercials live like harem women. For

instance, when I come back to the hotel of a morning to write up the orders I've got, these

others are only sitting down to the breakfast. Let me just try that with my chief; I'd be

sacked on the spot. Anyhow, that might be quite a good thing for me, who can tell? If I

didn't have to hold my hand because of my parents I'd have given notice long ago, I'd have

gone to the chief and told him exactly what I think of him. That would knock him endways

from his desk! It's a queer way of doing, too, this sitting on high at a desk and talking down

to employees, especially when they have to come quite near because the chief is hard of hearing. Well, there's still hope; once I've saved enough money to pay back my parents'

debts to him -- that should take another five or six years -- I'll do it without fail. I'll cut

myself completely loose then. For the moment, though, I'd better get up, since my train

goes at five.

He looked at the alarm clock ticking on the chest. Heavenly Father! he thought. It was

half-past six o'clock and the hands were quietly moving on, it was even past the half-hour,

it was getting on toward a quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not gone off? From the

bed one could see that it had been properly set for four o'clock; of course it must have

gone off. Yes, but was it possible to sleep quietly through that ear-splitting noise? Well, he

had not slept quietly, yet apparently all the more soundly for that. But what was he to do

now? The next train went at seven o'clock; to catch that he would need to hurry like mad

and his samples weren't even packed up, and he himself wasn't feeling particularly fresh

and active. And even if he did catch the train he wouldn't avoid a row with the chief, since

the firm's porter would have been waiting for the five o'clock train and would have long

since reported his failure to turn up. The porter was a creature of the chief's, spineless and

stupid. Well, supposing he were to say he was sick? But that would be most unpleasant

and would look suspicious, since during his five years' employment he had not been ill

once. The chief himself would be sure to come with the sick-insurance doctor, would

reproach his parents with their son's laziness, and would cut all excuses short by referring

to the insurance doctor, who of course regarded all mankind as perfectly healthy

malingerers. And would he be so far wrong on this occasion? Gregor really felt quite well,

apart from a drowsiness that was utterly superfluous after such a long sleep, and he was

even unusually hungry.

As all this was running through his mind at top speed without his being able to decide to

leave his bed -- the alarm clock had just struck a quarter to seven -- there came a cautious

tap at the door behind the head of his bed. "Gregor," said a voice -- it was his mother's --

"it's a quarter to seven. Hadn't you a train to catch?" That gentle voice! Gregor had a

shock as he heard his own voice answering hers, unmistakably his own voice, it was true,

but with a persistent horrible twittering squeak behind it like an undertone, which left the

words in their clear shape only for the first moment and then rose up reverberating around

them to destroy their sense, so that one could not be sure one had heard them rightly.

Gregor wanted to answer at length and explain everything, but in the circumstances he

confined himself to saying: "Yes, yes, thank you, Mother, I'm getting up now." The wooden

door between them must have kept the change in his voice from being noticeable outside,

for his mother contented herself with this statement and shuffled away. Yet this brief

exchange of words had made the other members of the family aware that Gregor was still

in the house, as they had not expected, and at one of the side doors his father was already

knocking, gently, yet with his fist. "Gregor, Gregor," he called, "What's the matter with

you?" And after a little while he called again in a deeper voice: "Gregor! Gregor!" At the

other side door his sister was saying in a low, plaintive tone: "Gregor? Aren't you well?

Are you needing anything?" He answered them both at once: "I'm just ready," and did his

best to make his voice sound as normal as possible by enunciating the words very clearly

and leaving long pauses between them. So his father went back to his breakfast, but his

sister whispered: "Gregor, open the door, do." However, he was not thinking of opening the door, and felt thankful for the prudent habit he had acquired in traveling of locking all

doors during the night, even at home.

His immediate intention was to get up quietly without being disturbed, to put on his

clothes and above all eat his breakfast, and only then consider what else was to be done,

since in bed, he was well aware, his meditations would come to no sensible conclusion.

He remembered that often enough in bed he had felt small aches and pains, probably

caused by awkward postures, which had proved purely imaginary once he got up, and he

looked forward eagerly to seeing this morning's delusions gradually fall away. That the

change in his voice was nothing but the precursor of a severe chill, a standing ailment of

commercial travelers, he had not the least possible doubt.

To get rid of the quilt was quite easy; he had only to inflate himself a little and it fell off by

itself. But the next move was difficult, especially because he was so uncommonly broad.

He would have needed arms and hands to hoist himself up; instead he had only the

numerous little legs which never stopped waving in all directions and which he could not

control in the least. When he tried to bend one of them it was the first to stretch itself

straight; and did he succeed at last in making it do what he wanted, all the other legs

meanwhile waved the more wildly in a high degree of unpleasant agitation. "But what's the

use of lying idle in bed," said Gregor to himself.

He thought that he might get out of bed with the lower part of his body first, but this lower

part, which he had not yet seen and of which he could form no clear conception, proved

too difficult to move; it shifted so slowly; and when finally, almost wild with annoyance, he

gathered his forces together and thrust out recklessly, he had miscalculated the direction

and bumped heavily against the lower end of the bed, and the stinging pain he felt

informed him that precisely this lower part of his body was at the moment probably the

most sensitive.

So he tried to get the top part of himself out first, and cautiously moved his head toward

the edge of the bed. That proved easy enough, and despite its breadth and mass the bulk

of his body at last slowly followed the movement of his head. Still, when he finally got his

head free over the edge of the bed he felt too scared to go on advancing, for after all if he

let himself fall in this way it would take a miracle to keep his head from being injured. And

at all costs he must not lose consciousness now, precisely now; he would rather stay in

bed.

But when after a repetition of the same efforts he lay in his former position again,

sighing, and watched his little legs struggling against each other more wildly than ever, if

that were possible, and saw no way of bringing any order into this arbitrary confusion, he

told himself again that it was impossible to stay in bed and that the most sensible course

was to risk everything for the smallest hope of getting away from it. At the same time he

did not forget to remind himself occasionally that cool reflection, the coolest possible, was

much better than desperate resolves. In such moments he focused his eyes as sharply as

possible on the window, but, unfortunately, the prospect of the morning fog, which muffled

even the other side of the narrow street, brought him little encouragement and comfort.

"Seven o'clock already," he said to himself when the alarm clock chimed again, "seven

o'clock already and still such a thick fog." And for a little while he lay quiet, breathing

lightly, as if perhaps expecting such complete repose to restore all things to their real and normal condition.

But then he said to himself: "Before it strikes a quarter past seven I must be quite out of

this bed, without fail. Anyhow, by that time someone will have come from the office to ask

for me, since it opens before seven." And he set himself to rocking his whole body at once

in a regular rhythm, with the idea of swinging it out of the bed. If he tipped himself out in

that way he could keep his head from injury by lifting it at an acute angle when he fell. His

back seemed to be hard and was not likely to suffer from a fall on the carpet. His biggest

worry was the loud crash he would not be able to help making, which would probably

cause anxiety, if not terror, behind all the doors. Still, he must take the risk.

When he was already half out of the bed -- the new method was more a game than an

effort, for he needed only to hitch himself across by rocking to and fro -- it struck him how

simple it would be if he could get help. Two strong people -- he thought of his father and

the servant girl -- would be amply sufficient; they would only have to thrust their arms

under his convex back, lever him out of the bed, bend down with their burden, and then be

patient enough to let him turn himself right over onto the floor, where it was to be hoped

his legs would then find their proper function. Well, ignoring the fact that the doors were all

locked, ought he really to call for help? In spite of his misery he could not suppress a smile

at the very idea of it.

He had got so far that he could barely keep his equilibrium when he rocked himself

strongly, and he would have to nerve himself very soon for the final decision since in five

minutes' time it would be quarter past seven -- when the front doorbell rang. "That's

someone from the office," he said to himself, and grew almost rigid, while his little legs only

jigged about all the faster. For a moment everything stayed quiet. "They're not going to

open the door," said Gregor to himself, catching at some kind of irrational hope. But then

of course the servant girl went as usual to the door with her heavy tread and opened it.

Gregor needed only to hear the first good morning of the visitor to know immediately who it

was -- the chief clerk himself. What a fate, to be condemned to work for a firm where the

smallest omission at once gave rise to the gravest suspicion! Were all employees in a

body nothing but scoundrels, was there not among them one single loyal devoted man

who, had he wasted only an hour or so of the firm's time in a morning, was so tormented

by conscience as to be driven out of his mind and actually incapable of leaving his bed?

Wouldn't it really have been sufficient to send an apprentice to inquire -- if any inquiry were

necessary at all -- did the chief clerk himself have to come and thus indicate to the entire

family, an innocent family, that this suspicious circumstance could be investigated by no

one less versed in affairs than himself? And more through the agitation caused by these

reflections than through any act of will Gregor swung himself out of bed with all his

strength. There was a loud thump, but it was not really a crash. His fall was broken to

some extent by the carpet, his back, too, was less stiff than he thought, and so there was

merely a dull thud, not so very startling. Only he had not lifted his head carefully enough

and had hit it; he turned it and rubbed it on the carpet in pain and irritation.

"That was something falling down in there," said the chief clerk in the next room to the

left. Gregor tried to suppose to himself that something like what had happened to him

today might someday happen to the chief clerk; one really could not deny that it was

possible. But as if in brusque reply to this supposition the chief clerk took a couple of firm steps in the next-door room and his patent leather boots creaked. From the right-hand

room his sister was whispering to inform him of the situation: "Gregor, the chief clerk's

here." "I know," muttered Gregor to himself; but he didn't dare to make his voice loud

enough for his sister to hear it.

"Gregor," said his father now from the left-hand room, "the chief clerk has come and

wants to know why you didn't catch the early train. We don't know what to say to him.

Besides, he wants to talk to you in person. So open the door, please. He will be good

enough to excuse the untidiness of your room." "Good morning, Mr. Samsa," the chief

clerk was calling amiably meanwhile. "He's not well," said his mother to the visitor, while

his father was still speaking through the door, "he's not well, sir, believe me. What else

would make him miss a train! The boy thinks about nothing but his work. It makes me

almost cross the way he never goes out in the evenings; he's been here the last eight days

and has stayed at home every single evening. He just sits there quietly at the table reading

a newspaper or looking through railway timetables. The only amusement he gets is doing

fretwork. For instance, he spent two or three evenings cutting out a little picture frame; you

would be surprised to see how pretty it is; it's hanging in his room; you'll see it in a minute

when Gregor opens the door. I must say I'm glad you've come, sir; we should never have

got him to unlock the door by ourselves; he's so obstinate; and I'm sure he's unwell,

though he wouldn't have it to be so this morning." "I'm just coming," said Gregor slowly and

carefully, not moving an inch for fear of losing one word of the conversation. "I can't think

of any other explanation, madame," said the chief clerk, "I hope it's nothing serious.

Although on the other hand I must say that we men of business -- fortunately or

unfortunately -- very often simply have to ignore any slight indisposition, since business

must be attended to." "Well, can the chief clerk come in now?" asked Gregor's father

impatiently, again knocking on the door. "No," said Gregor. In the left-hand room a painful

silence followed this refusal, in the right-hand room his sister began to sob.

Why didn't his sister join the others? She was probably newly out of bed and hadn't even

begun to put on her clothes yet. Well, why was she crying? Because he wouldn't get up

and let the chief clerk in, because he was in danger of losing his job, and because the

chief would begin dunning his parents again for the old debts? Surely these were things

one didn't need to worry about for the present. Gregor was still at home and not in the

least thinking of deserting the family. At the moment, true, he was lying on the carpet and

no one who knew the condition he was in could seriously expect him to admit the chief

clerk. But for such a small discourtesy, which could plausibly be explained away somehow

later on, Gregor could hardly be dismissed on the spot. And it seemed to Gregor that it

would be much more sensible to leave him in peace for the present than to trouble him

with tears and entreaties. Still, of course, their uncertainty bewildered them all and

excused their behavior.

"Mr. Samsa," the chief clerk called now in a louder voice, "what's the matter with you?

Here you are, barricading yourself in your room, giving only 'yes' and 'no' for answers,

causing your parents a lot of unnecessary trouble and neglecting -- I mention this only in

passing -- neglecting your business duties in an incredible fashion. I am speaking here in

the name of your parents and of your chief, and I beg you quite seriously to give me an

immediate and precise explanation. You amaze me, you amaze me. I thought you were a quiet, dependable person, and now all at once you seem bent on making a disgraceful

exhibition of yourself. The chief did hint to me early this morning a possible explanation for

your disappearance -- with reference to the cash payments that were entrusted to you

recently -- but I almost pledged my solemn word of honor that this could not be so. But

now that I see how incredibly obstinate you are, I no longer have the slightest desire to

take your part at all. And your position in the firm is not so unassailable. I came with the

intention of telling you all this in private, but since you are wasting my time so needlessly I

don't see why your parents shouldn't hear it too. For some time past your work has been

most unsatisfactory; this is not the season of the year for a business boom, of course, we

admit that, but a season of the year for doing no business at all, that does not exist, Mr.

Samsa, must not exist."

"But, sir," cried Gregor, beside himself and in his agitation forgetting everything else, "I'm

just going to open the door this very minute. A slight illness, an attack of giddiness, has

kept me from getting up. I'm still lying in bed. But I feel all right again. I'm getting out of bed

now. Just give me a moment or two longer! I'm not quite so well as I thought. But I'm all

right, really. How a thing like that can suddenly strike one down! Only last night I was quite

well, my parents can tell you, or rather I did have a slight presentiment. I must have

showed some sign of it. Why didn't I report it at the office! But one always thinks that an

indisposition can be got over without staying in the house. Oh sir, do spare my parents! All

that you're reproaching me with now has no foundation; no one has ever said a word to me

about it. Perhaps you haven't looked at the last orders I sent in. Anyhow, I can still catch

the eight o'clock train, I'm much the better for my few hours' rest. Don't let me detain you

here, sir; I'll be attending to business very soon, and do be good enough to tell the chief so

and to make my excuses to him!"

And while all this was tumbling out pell-mell and Gregor hardly knew what he was

saying, he had reached the chest quite easily, perhaps because of the practice he had had

in bed, and was now trying to lever himself upright by means of it. He meant actually to

open the door, actually to show himself and speak to the chief clerk; he was eager to find

out what the others, after all their insistence, would say at the sight of him. If they were

horrified then the responsibility was no longer his and he could stay quiet. But if they took it

calmly, then he had no reason either to be upset, and could really get to the station for the

eight o'clock train if he hurried. At first he slipped down a few times from the polished

surface of the chest, but at length with a last heave he stood upright; he paid no more

attention to the pains in the lower part of his body, however they smarted. Then he let

himself fall against the back of a nearby chair, and clung with his little legs to the edges of

it. That brought him into control of himself again and he stopped speaking, for now he

could listen to what the chief clerk was saying.

"Did you understand a word of it?" the chief clerk was asking; "surely he can't be trying

to make fools of us?" "Oh dear," cried his mother, in tears, "perhaps he's terribly ill and

we're tormenting him. Grete! Grete!" she called out then. "Yes Mother?" called his sister

from the other side. They were calling to each other across Gregor's room. "You must go

this minute for the doctor. Gregor is ill. Go for the doctor, quick. Did you hear how he was

speaking?" "That was no human voice," said the chief clerk in a voice noticeably low

beside the shrillness of the mother's. "Anna! Anna!" his father was calling through the hall to the kitchen, clapping his hands, "get a locksmith at once!" And the two girls were

already running through the hall with a swish of skirts -- how could his sister have got

dressed so quickly? -- and were tearing the front door open. There was no sound of its

closing again; they had evidently left it open, as one does in houses where some great

misfortune has happened.

But Gregor was now much calmer. The words he uttered were no longer

understandable, apparently, although they seemed clear enough to him, even clearer than

before, perhaps because his ear had grown accustomed to the sound of them. Yet at any

rate people now believed that something was wrong with him, and were ready to help him.

The positive certainty with which these first measures had been taken comforted him. He

felt himself drawn once more into the human circle and hoped for great and remarkable

results from both the doctor and the locksmith, without really distinguishing precisely

between them. To make his voice as clear as possible for the decisive conversation that

was now imminent he coughed a little, as quietly as he could, of course, since this noise

too might not sound like a human cough for all he was able to judge. In the next room

meanwhile there was complete silence. Perhaps his parents were sitting at the table with

the chief clerk, whispering, perhaps they were all leaning against the door and listening.

Slowly Gregor pushed the chair toward the door, then let go of it, caught hold of the door

for support -- the soles at the end of his little legs were somewhat sticky -- and rested

against it for a moment after his efforts. Then he set himself to turning the key in the lock

with his mouth. It seemed, unhappily, that he hadn't really any teeth -- what could he grip

the key with? -- but on the other hand his jaws were certainly very strong; with their help

he did manage to set the key in motion, heedless of the fact that he was undoubtedly

damaging them somewhere, since a brown fluid issued from his mouth, flowed over the

key, and dripped on the floor. "Just listen to that," said the chief clerk next door; "he's

turning the key." That was a great encouragement to Gregor; but they should all have

shouted encouragement to him, his father and mother too: "Go on, Gregor," they should

have called out, "keep going, hold on to that key!" And in the belief that they were all

following his efforts intently, he clenched his jaws recklessly on the key with all the force at

his command. As the turning of the key progressed he circled around the lock, holding on

now only with his mouth, pushing on the key, as required, or pulling it down again with all

the weight of his body. The louder click of the finally yielding lock literally quickened

Gregor. With a deep breath of relief he said to himself: "So I didn't need the locksmith,"

and laid his head on the handle to open the door wide.

Since he had to pull the door toward him, he was still invisible when it was really wide

open. He had to edge himself slowly around the near half of the double door, and to do it

very carefully if he was not to fall plump upon his back just on the threshold. He was still

carrying out this difficult maneuver, with no time to observe anything else, when he heard

the chief clerk utter a loud "Oh!" -- it sounded like a gust of wind -- and now he could see

the man, standing as he was nearest to the door, clapping one hand before his open

mouth and slowly backing away as if driven by some invisible steady pressure. His mother

-- in spite of the chief clerk's being there her hair was still undone and sticking up in all

directions -- first clasped her hands and looked at his father, then took two steps toward

Gregor and fell on the floor among her outspread skirts, her face quite hidden on her breast. His father knotted his fist with a fierce expression on his face as if he meant to

knock Gregor back into his room, then looked uncertainly around the living room, covered

his eyes with his hands, and wept till his great chest heaved.

Gregor did not go now into the living room, but leaned against the inside of the firmly

shut wing of the door, so that only half his body was visible and his head above it bending

sideways to look at the others. The light had meanwhile strengthened; on the other side of

the street one could see clearly a section of the endlessly long, dark gray building opposite

-- it was a hospital -- abruptly punctuated by its row of regular windows; the rain was still

falling, but only in large singly discernible and literally singly splashing drops. The

breakfast dishes were set out on the table lavishly, for breakfast was the most important

meal of the day to Gregor's father, who lingered it out for hours over various newspapers.

Right opposite Gregor on the wall hung a photograph of himself in military service, as a

lieutenant, hand on sword, a carefree smile on his face, inviting one to respect his uniform

and military bearing. The door leading to the hall was open, and one could see that the

front door stood open too, showing the landing beyond and the beginning of the stairs

going down.

"Well," said Gregor, knowing perfectly that he was the only one who had retained any

composure, "I'll put my clothes on at once, pack up my samples, and start off. Will you only

let me go? You see, sir, I'm not obstinate, and I'm willing to work; traveling is a hard life,

but I couldn't live without it. Where are you going, sir? To the office? Yes? Will you give a

true account of all this? One can be temporarily incapacitated, but that's just the moment

for remembering former services and bearing in mind that later on, when the incapacity

has been got over, one will certainly work with all the more industry and concentration. I'm

loyally bound to serve the chief, you know that very well. Besides, I have to provide for my

parents and my sister. I'm in great difficulties, but I'll get out of them again. Don't make

things any worse for me than they are. Stand up for me in the firm. Travelers are not

popular there, I know. People think they earn sacks of money and just have a good time. A

prejudice there's no particular reason for revising. But you, sir, have a more

comprehensive view of affairs than the rest of the staff, yes, let me tell you in confidence, a

more comprehensive view than the chief himself, who, being the owner, lets his judgment

easily be swayed against one of his employees. And you know very well that the traveler,

who is never seen in the office almost the whole year around, can so easily fall a victim to

gossip and ill luck and unfounded complaints, which he mostly knows nothing about,

except when he comes back exhausted from his rounds, and only then suffers in person

from their evil consequences, which he can no longer trace back to the original causes.

Sir, sir, don't go away without a word to me to show that you think me in the right at least

to some extent!"

But at Gregor's very first words the chief clerk had already backed away and only stared

at him with parted lips over one twitching shoulder. And while Gregor was speaking he did

not stand still one moment but stole away toward the door, without taking his eyes off

Gregor, yet only an inch at a time, as if obeying some secret injunction to leave the room.

He was already at the hall, and the suddenness with which he took his last step out of the

living room would have made one believe he had burned the sole of his foot. Once in the

hall he stretched his right arm before him toward the staircase, as if some supernatural power were waiting there to deliver him.

Gregor perceived that the chief clerk must on no account be allowed to go away in this

frame of mind if his position in the firm were not to be endangered to the utmost. His

parents did not understand this so well; they had convinced themselves in the course of

years that Gregor was settled for life in this firm, and besides they were so preoccupied

with their immediate troubles that all foresight had forsaken them. Yet Gregor had this

foresight. The chief clerk must be detained, soothed, persuaded, and finally won over; the

whole future of Gregor and his family depended on it! If only his sister had been there! She

was intelligent; she had begun to cry while Gregor was still lying quietly on his back. And

no doubt the chief clerk, so partial to ladies, would have been guided by her; she would

have shut the door of the flat and in the hall talked him out of his horror. But she was not

there, and Gregor would have to handle the situation himself. And without remembering

that he was still unaware what powers of movement he possessed, without even

remembering that his words in all possibility, indeed in all likelihood, would again be

unintelligible, he let go the wing of the door, pushed himself through the opening, started to

walk toward the chief clerk, who was already ridiculously clinging with both hands to the

railing on the landing; but immediately, as he was feeling for a support, he fell down with a

little cry upon all his numerous legs. Hardly was he down when he experienced for the first

time this morning a sense of physical comfort; his legs had firm ground under them; they

were completely obedient, as he noted with joy; they even strove to carry him forward in

whatever direction he chose; and he was inclined to believe that a final relief from all his

sufferings was at hand. But in the same moment as he found himself on the floor, rocking

with suppressed eagerness to move, not far from his mother, indeed just in front of her,

she, who had seemed so completely crushed, sprang all at once to her feet, her arms and

fingers outspread, cried: "Help, for God's sake, help!" bent her head down as if to see

Gregor better, yet on the contrary kept backing senselessly away; had quite forgotten that

the laden table stood behind her; sat upon it hastily, as if in absence of mind, when she

bumped into it; and seemed altogether unaware that the big coffeepot beside her was

upset and pouring coffee in a flood over the carpet.

"Mother, Mother," said Gregor in a low voice, and looked up at her. The chief clerk, for

the moment, had quite slipped from his mind; instead, he could not resist snapping his

jaws together at the sight of the streaming coffee. That made his mother scream again,

she fled from the table and fell into the arms of his father, who hastened to catch her. But

Gregor had now no time to spare for his parents; the chief clerk was already on the stairs;

with his chin on the banisters he was taking one last backward look. Gregor made a

spring, to be as sure as possible of overtaking him; the chief clerk must have divined his

intention, for he leaped down several steps and vanished; he was still yelling "Ugh!" and it

echoed through the whole staircase.

Unfortunately, the flight of the chief clerk seemed completely to upset Gregor's father,

who had remained relatively calm until now, for instead of running after the man himself, or

at least not hindering Gregor in his pursuit, he seized in his right hand the walking stick

that the chief clerk had left behind on a chair, together with a hat and greatcoat, snatched

in his left hand a large newspaper from the table, and began stamping his feet and

flourishing the stick and the newspaper to drive Gregor back into his room. No entreaty of Gregor's availed, indeed no entreaty was even understood, however humbly he bent his

head his father only stamped on the floor the more loudly. Behind his father his mother

had torn open a window, despite the cold weather, and was leaning far out of it with her

face in her hands. A strong draught set in from the street to the staircase, the window

curtains blew in, the newspapers on the table fluttered, stray pages whisked over the floor.

Pitilessly Gregor's father drove him back, hissing and crying "Shoo!" like a savage. But

Gregor was quite unpracticed in walking backwards, it really was a slow business. If he

only had a chance to turn around he could get back to his room at once, but he was afraid

of exasperating his father by the slowness of such a rotation and at any moment the stick

in his father's hand might hit him a fatal blow on the back or on the head. In the end,

however, nothing else was left for him to do since to his horror he observed that in moving

backwards he could not even control the direction he took; and so, keeping an anxious eye

on his father all the time over his shoulder, he began to turn around as quickly as he could,

which was in reality very slowly. Perhaps his father noted his good intentions, for he did

not interfere except every now and then to help him in the maneuver from a distance with

the point of the stick. If only he would have stopped making that unbearable hissing noise!

It made Gregor quite lose his head. He had turned almost completely around when the

hissing noise so distracted him that he even turned a little the wrong way again. But when

at last his head was fortunately right in front of the doorway, it appeared that his body was

too broad simply to get through the opening. His father, of course, in his present mood was

far from thinking of such a thing as opening the other half of the door, to let Gregor have

enough space. He had merely the fixed idea of driving Gregor back into his room as

quickly as possible. He would never have suffered Gregor to make the circumstantial

preparations for standing up on end and perhaps slipping his way through the door. Maybe

he was now making more noise than ever to urge Gregor forward, as if no obstacle

impeded him; to Gregor, anyhow, the noise in his rear sounded no longer like the voice of

one single father; this was really no joke, and Gregor thrust himself -- come what might --

into the doorway. One side of his body rose up, he was tilted at an angle in the doorway,

his flank was quite bruised, horrid blotches stained the white door, soon he was stuck fast

and, left to himself, could not have moved at all, his legs on one side fluttered trembling in

the air, those on the other were crushed painfully to the floor -- when from behind his

father gave him a strong push which was literally a deliverance and he flew far into the

room, bleeding freely. The door was slammed behind him with the stick, and then at last

there was silence.

II

Not until it was twilight did Gregor awake out of a deep sleep, more like a swoon than a

sleep. He would certainly have waked up of his own accord not much later, for he felt

himself sufficiently rested and well slept, but it seemed to him as if a fleeting step and a

cautious shutting of the door leading into the hall had aroused him. The electric lights in

the street cast a pale sheen here and there on the ceiling and the upper surfaces of the

furniture, but down below, where he lay, it was dark. Slowly, awkwardly trying out his

feelers, which he now first learned to appreciate, he pushed his way to the door to see what had been happening there. His left side felt like one single long, unpleasantly tense

scar, and he had actually to limp on his two rows of legs. One little leg, moreover, had

been severely damaged in the course of that morning's events -- it was almost a miracle

that only one had been damaged -- and trailed uselessly behind him.

He had reached the door before he discovered what had really drawn him to it: the smell

of food. For there stood a basin filled with fresh milk in which floated little sops of white

bread. He could almost have laughed with joy, since he was now still hungrier than in the

morning, and he dipped his head almost over the eyes straight into the milk. But soon in

disappointment he withdrew it again; not only did he find it difficult to feed because of his

tender left side -- and he could only feed with the palpitating collaboration of his whole

body -- he did not like the milk either, although milk had been his favorite drink and that

was certainly why his sister had set it there for him, indeed it was almost with repulsion

that he turned away from the basin and crawled back to the middle of the room.

He could see through the crack of the door that the gas was turned on in the living room,

but while usually at this time his father made a habit of reading the afternoon newspaper in

a loud voice to his mother and occasionally to his sister as well, not a sound was now to

be heard. Well, perhaps his father had recently given up this habit of reading aloud, which

his sister had mentioned so often in conversation and in her letters. But there was the

same silence all around, although the flat was certainly not empty of occupants. "What a

quiet life our family has been leading," said Gregor to himself, and as he sat there

motionless staring into the darkness he felt great pride in the fact that he had been able to

provide such a life for his parents and sister in such a fine flat. But what if all the quiet, the

comfort, the contentment were now to end in horror? To keep himself from being lost in

such thoughts Gregor took refuge in movement and crawled up and down the room.

Once during the long evening one of the side doors was opened a little and quickly shut

again, later the other side door too; someone had apparently wanted to come in and then

thought better of it. Gregor now stationed himself immediately before the living-room door,

determined to persuade any hesitating visitor to come in or at least to discover who it

might be; but the door was not opened again and he waited in vain. In the early morning,

when the doors were locked, they had all wanted to come in, now that he had opened one

door and the other had apparently been opened during the day, no one came in and even

the keys were on the other side of the doors.

It was late at night before the gas went out in the living room, and Gregor could easily tell

that his parents and his sister had all stayed awake until then, for he could clearly hear the

three of them stealing away on tiptoe. No one was likely to visit him, not until the morning,

that was certain; so he had plenty of time to meditate at his leisure on how he was to

arrange his life afresh. But the lofty, empty room in which he had to lie flat on the floor filled

him with an apprehension he could not account for, since it had been his very own room

for the past five years -- and with a half-unconscious action, not without a slight feeling of

shame, he scuttled under the sofa, where he felt comfortable at once, although his back

was a little cramped and he could not lift his head up, and his only regret was that his body

was too broad to get the whole of it under the sofa.

He stayed there all night, spending the time partly in a light slumber, from which his

hunger kept waking him up with a start, and partly in worrying and sketching vague hopes, which all led to the same conclusion, that he must lie low for the present and, by exercising

patience and the utmost consideration, help the family to bear the inconvenience he was

bound to cause them in his present condition.

Very early in the morning, it was still almost night, Gregor had the chance to test the

strength of his new resolutions, for his sister, nearly fully dressed, opened the door from

the hall and peered in. She did not see him at once, yet when she caught sight of him

under the sofa -- well, he had to be somewhere, he couldn't have flown away, could he? --

she was so startled that without being able to help it she slammed the door shut again. But

as if regretting her behavior she opened the door again immediately and came in on tiptoe,

as if she were visiting an invalid even a stranger. Gregor had pushed his head forward to

the very edge of the sofa and watched her. Would she notice that he had left the milk

standing, and not for lack of hunger, and would she bring in some other kind of food more

to his taste? If she did not do it of her own accord, he would rather starve than draw her

attention to the fact, although he felt a wild impulse to dart out from under the sofa, throw

himself at her feet, and beg her for something to eat. But his sister at once noticed, with

surprise, that the basin was still full, except for a little milk that had been spilled all around

it, she lifted it immediately, not with her bare hands, true, but with a cloth and carried it

away. Gregor was wildly curious to know what she would bring instead, and made various

speculations about it. Yet what she actually did next, in the goodness of her heart, he

could never have guessed at. To find out what he liked she brought him a whole selection

of food, all set out on an old newspaper. There were old, half-decayed vegetables, bones

from last night's supper covered with a white sauce that had thickened; some raisins and

almonds; a piece of cheese that Gregor would have called uneatable two days ago; a dry

roll of bread, a buttered roll, and a roll both buttered and salted. Besides all that, she set

down again the same basin, into which she had poured some water, and which was

apparently to be reserved for his exclusive use. And with fine tact, knowing that Gregor

would not eat in her presence, she withdrew quickly and even turned the key, to let him

understand that he could take his ease as much as he liked. Gregor's legs all whizzed

toward the food. His wounds must have healed completely, moreover, for he felt no

disability, which amazed him and made him reflect how more than a month ago he had cut

one finger a little with a knife and had still suffered pain from the wound only the day

before yesterday. Am I less sensitive now? he thought, and sucked greedily at the cheese,

which above all the other edibles attracted him at once and strongly. One after another

and with tears of satisfaction in his eyes he quickly devoured the cheese, the vegetables,

and the sauce; the fresh food, on the other hand, had no charms for him, he could not

even stand the smell of it and actually dragged away to some little distance the things he

could eat. He had long finished his meal and was only lying lazily on the same spot when

his sister turned the key slowly as a sign for him to retreat. That roused him at once,

although he was nearly asleep, and he hurried under the sofa again. But it took

considerable self-control for him to stay under the sofa, even for the short time his sister

was in the room, since the large meal had swollen his body somewhat and he was so

cramped he could hardly breathe. Slight attacks of breathlessness afflicted him and his

eyes were starting a little out of his head as he watched his unsuspecting sister sweeping

together with a broom not only the remains of what he had eaten but even the things he had not touched, as if these were now of no use to anyone, and hastily shoveling it all into

a bucket, which she covered with a wooden lid and carried away. Hardly had she turned

her back when Gregor came from under the sofa and stretched and puffed himself out.

In this manner Gregor was fed, once in the early morning while his parents and the

servant girl were still asleep, and a second time after they had all had their midday dinner,

for then his parents took a short nap and the servant girl could be sent out on some errand

or other by his sister. Not that they would have wanted him to starve, of course, but

perhaps they could not have borne to know more about his feeding than from hearsay,

perhaps too his sister wanted to spare them such little anxieties wherever possible, since

they had quite enough to bear as it was.

Under what pretext the doctor and the locksmith had been got rid of on that first morning

Gregor could not discover, for since what he said was not understood by the others it

never struck any of them, not even his sister, that he could understand what they said, and

so whenever his sister came into his room he had to content himself with hearing her utter

only a sigh now and then and an occasional appeal to the saints. Later on, when she had

got a little used to the situation -- of course she could never get completely used to it -- she

sometimes threw out a remark which was kindly meant or could be so interpreted. "Well,

he liked his dinner today," she would say when Gregor had made a good clearance of his

food; and when he had not eaten, which gradually happened more and more often, she

would say almost sadly: "Everything's been left standing again."

But although Gregor could get no news directly, he overheard a lot from the neighboring

rooms, and as soon as voices were audible, he would run to the door of the room

concerned and press his whole body against it. In the first few days especially there was

no conversation that did not refer to him somehow, even if only indirectly. For two whole

days there were family consultations at every mealtime about what should be done; but

also between meals the same subject was discussed, for there were always at least two

members of the family at home, since no one wanted to be alone in the flat and to leave it

quite empty was unthinkable. And on the very first of these days the household cook -- it

was not quite clear what and how much she knew of the situation -- went down on her

knees to his mother and begged leave to go, and when she departed, a quarter of an hour

later, gave thanks for her dismissal with tears in her eyes as if for the greatest benefit that

could have been conferred on her, and without any prompting swore a solemn oath that

she would never say a single word to anyone about what had happened.

Now Gregor's sister had to cook too, helping her mother; true, the cooking did not

amount to much, for they ate scarcely anything. Gregor was always hearing one of the

family vainly urging another to eat and getting no answer but: "Thanks, I've had all I want,"

or something similar. Perhaps they drank nothing either. Time and again his sister kept

asking his father if he wouldn't like some beer and offered kindly to go and fetch it herself,

and when he made no answer suggested that she could ask the concierge to fetch it, so

that he need feel no sense of obligation, but then a round "No" came from his father and

no more was said about it.

In the course of that very first day Gregor's father explained the family's financial position

and prospects to both his mother and his sister. Now and then he rose from the table to

get some voucher or memorandum out of the small safe he had rescued from the collapse of his business five years earlier. One could hear him opening the complicated lock and

rustling papers out and shutting it again. This statement made by his father was the first

cheerful information Gregor had heard since his imprisonment. He had been of the opinion

that nothing at all was left over from his father's business, at least his father had never said

anything to the contrary, and of course he had not asked him directly. At that time Gregor's

sole desire was to do his utmost to help the family to forget as soon as possible the

catastrophe that had overwhelmed the business and thrown them all into a state of

complete despair. And so he had set to work with unusual ardor and almost overnight had

become a commercial traveler instead of a little clerk, with of course much greater

chances of earning money, and his success was immediately translated into good round

coin which he could lay on the table for his amazed and happy family. These had been fine

times, and they had never recurred, at least not with the same sense of glory, although

later on Gregor had earned so much money that he was able to meet the expenses of the

whole household and did so. They had simply got used to it, both the family and Gregor;

the money was gratefully accepted and gladly given, but there was no special uprush of

warm feeling. With his sister alone had he remained intimate, and it was a secret plan of

his that she, who loved music, unlike himself, and could play movingly on the violin, should

be sent next year to study at the Conservatorium, despite the great expense that would

entail, which must be made up in some other way. During his brief visits home the

Conservatorium was often mentioned in the talks he had with his sister, but always merely

as a beautiful dream which could never come true, and his parents discouraged even

these innocent references to it; yet Gregor had made up his mind firmly about it and meant

to announce the fact with due solemnity on Christmas Day.

Such were the thoughts, completely futile in his present condition, that went through his

head as he stood clinging upright to the door and listening. Sometimes out of sheer

weariness he had to give up listening and let his head fall negligently against the door, but

he always had to pull himself together again at once, for even the slight sound his head

made was audible next door and brought all conversation to a stop. "What can he be doing

now?" his father would say after a while, obviously turning toward the door, and only then

would the interrupted conversation gradually be set going again.

Gregor was now informed as amply as he could wish -- for his father tended to repeat

himself in his explanations, partly because it was a long time since he had handled such

matters and partly because his mother could not always grasp things at once -- that a

certain amount of investments, a very small amount it was true, had survived the wreck of

their fortunes and had even increased a little because the dividends had not been touched

meanwhile. And besides that, the money Gregor brought home every month -- he had kept

only a few dollars for himself -- had never been quite used up and now amounted to a

small capital sum. Behind the door Gregor nodded his head eagerly, rejoiced at this

evidence of unexpected thrift and foresight. True, he could really have paid off some more

of his father's debts to the chief with this extra money, and so brought much nearer the day

on which he could quit his job, but doubtless it was better the way his father had arranged

it.

Yet this capital was by no means sufficient to let the family live on the interest of it; for

one year, perhaps, or at the most two, they could live on the principal, that was all. It was simply a sum that ought not to be touched and should be kept for a rainy day; money for

living expenses would have to be earned. Now his father was still hale enough but an old

man, and he had done no work for the past five years and could not be expected to do

much; during these five years, the first years of leisure in his laborious though

unsuccessful life, he had grown rather fat and become sluggish. And Gregor's old mother,

how was she to earn a living with her asthma, which troubled her even when she walked

through the flat and kept her lying on a sofa every other day panting for breath beside an

open window? And was his sister to earn her bread, she who was still a child of seventeen

and whose life hitherto had been so pleasant, consisting as it did in dressing herself nicely,

sleeping long, helping in the housekeeping, going out to a few modest entertainments, and

above all playing the violin? At first whenever the need for earning money was mentioned

Gregor let go his hold on the door and threw himself down on the cool leather sofa beside

it, he felt so hot with shame and grief.

Often he just lay there the long nights through without sleeping at all, scrabbling for

hours on the leather. Or he nerved himself to the great effort of pushing an armchair to the

window, then crawled up over the window sill and, braced against the chair, leaned against

the windowpanes, obviously in some recollection of the sense of freedom that looking out

of a window always used to give him. For in reality day by day things that were even a little

way off were growing dimmer to his sight; the hospital across the street, which he used to

execrate for being all too often before his eyes, was now quite beyond his range of vision,

and if he had not known that he lived in Charlotte Street, a quiet street but still a city street,

he might have believed that his window gave on a desert waste where gray sky and gray

land blended indistinguishably into each other. His quick-witted sister only needed to

observe twice that the armchair stood by the window; after that whenever she had tidied

the room she always pushed the chair back to the same place at the window and even left

the inner casements open.

If he could have spoken to her and thanked her for all she had to do for him, he could

have borne her ministrations better; as it was, they oppressed him. She certainly tried to

make as light as possible of whatever was disagreeable in her task, and as time went on

she succeeded, of course, more and more, but time brought more enlightenment to Gregor

too. The very way she came in distressed him. Hardly was she in the room when she

rushed to the window, without even taking time to shut the door, careful as she was

usually to shield the sight of Gregor's room from the others, and as if she were almost

suffocating tore the casements open with hasty fingers, standing then in the open draught

for a while even in the bitterest cold and drawing deep breaths. This noisy scurry of hers

upset Gregor twice a day; he would crouch trembling under the sofa all the time, knowing

quite well that she would certainly have spared him such a disturbance had she found it at

all possible to stay in his presence without opening the window.

On one occasion, about a month after Gregor's metamorphosis, when there was surely

no reason for her to be still startled at his appearance, she came a little earlier than usual

and found him gazing out of the window, quite motionless, and thus well placed to look like

a bogey. Gregor would not have been surprised had she not come in at all, for she could

not immediately open the window while he was there, but not only did she retreat, she

jumped back as if in alarm and banged the door shut; a stranger might well have thought that he had been lying in wait for her there meaning to bite her. Of course he hid himself

under the sofa at once, but he had to wait until midday before she came again, and she

seemed more ill at ease than usual. This made him realize how repulsive the sight of him

still was to her, and that it was bound to go on being repulsive, and what an effort it must

cost her not to run away even from the sight of the small portion of his body that stuck out

from under the sofa. In order to spare her that, therefore, one day he carried a sheet on his

back to the sofa -- it cost him four hours' labor -- and arranged it there in such a way as to

hide him completely, so that even if she were to bend down she could not see him. Had

she considered the sheet unnecessary, she would certainly have stripped it off the sofa

again, for it was clear enough that this curtaining and confining of himself was not likely to

conduce to Gregor's comfort, but she left it where it was, and Gregor even fancied that he

caught a thankful glance from her eye when he lifted the sheet carefully a very little with

his head to see how she was taking the new arrangement.

For the first fortnight his parents could not bring themselves to the point of entering his

room, and he often heard them expressing their appreciation of his sister's activities,

whereas formerly they had frequently scolded her for being as they thought a somewhat

useless daughter. But now, both of them often waited outside the door, his father and his

mother, while his sister tidied his room, and as soon as she came out she had to tell them

exactly how things were in the room, what Gregor had eaten, how he had conducted

himself this time, and whether there was not perhaps some slight improvement in his

condition. His mother, moreover, began relatively soon to want to visit him, but his father

and sister dissuaded her at first with arguments which Gregor listened to very attentively

and altogether approved. Later, however, she had to be held back by main force, and

when she cried out: "Do let me in to Gregor, he is my unfortunate son! Can't you

understand that I must go to him?" Gregor thought that it might be well to have her come

in, not every day, of course, but perhaps once a week; she understood things, after all,

much better than his sister, who was only a child despite the efforts she was making and

had perhaps taken on so difficult a task merely out of childish thoughtlessness.

Gregor's desire to see his mother was soon fulfilled. During the daytime he did not want

to show himself at the window, out of consideration for his parents, but he could not crawl

very far around the few square yards of floor space he had, nor could he bear lying quietly

at rest all during the night, while he was fast losing any interest he had ever taken in food,

so that for mere recreation he had formed the habit of crawling crisscross over the walls

and ceiling. He especially enjoyed hanging suspended from the ceiling; it was much better

than lying on the floor; one could breathe more freely; one's body swung and rocked

lightly; and in the almost blissful absorption induced by this suspension it could happen to

his own surprise that he let go and fell plump on the floor. Yet he now had his body much

better under control than formerly, and even such a big fall did him no harm. His sister at

once remarked the new distraction Gregor had found for himself -- he left traces behind

him of the sticky stuff on his soles wherever he crawled -- and she got the idea in her head

of giving him as wide a field as possible to crawl in and of removing the pieces of furniture

that hindered him, above all the chest of drawers and the writing desk. But that was more

than she could manage all by herself; she did not dare ask her father to help her; and as

for the servant girl, a young creature of sixteen who had had the courage to stay on after the cook's departure, she could not be asked to help, for she had begged as a special

favor that she might keep the kitchen door locked and open it only on a definite summons;

so there was nothing left but to apply to her mother at an hour when her father was out.

And the old lady did come, with exclamations of joyful eagerness, which, however, died

away at the door of Gregor's room. Gregor's sister, of course, went in first, to see that

everything was in order before letting his mother enter. In great haste Gregor pulled the

sheet lower and tucked it more in folds so that it really looked as if it had been thrown

accidentally over the sofa. And this time he did not peer out from under it; he renounced

the pleasure of seeing his mother on this occasion and was only glad that she had come at

all. "Come in, he's out of sight," said his sister, obviously leading her mother in by the

hand. Gregor could now hear the two women struggling to shift the heavy old chest from

its place, and his sister claiming the greater part of the labor for herself, without listening to

the admonitions of her mother, who feared she might overstrain herself. It took a long time.

After at least a quarter of an hour's tugging his mother objected that the chest had better

be left where it was, for in the first place it was too heavy and could never be got out

before his father came home, and standing in the middle of the room like that it would only

hamper Gregor's movements, while in the second place it was not at all certain that

removing the furniture would be doing a service to Gregor. She was inclined to think to the

contrary; the sight of the naked walls made her own heart heavy, and why shouldn't

Gregor have the same feeling, considering that he had been used to his furniture for so

long and might feel forlorn without it. "And doesn't it look," she concluded in a low voice --

in fact she had been almost whispering all the time as if to avoid letting Gregor, whose

exact whereabouts she did not know, hear even the tones of her voice, for she was

convinced that he could not understand her words -- "doesn't it look as if we were showing

him, by taking away his furniture, that we have given up hope of his ever getting better and

are just leaving him coldly to himself? I think it would be best to keep his room exactly as it

has always been, so that when he comes back to us he will find everything unchanged and

be able all the more easily to forget what has happened in between."

On hearing these words from his mother Gregor realized that the lack of all direct human

speech for the past two months together with the monotony of family life must have

confused his mind, otherwise he could not account for the fact that he had quite earnestly

looked forward to having his room emptied of furnishing. Did he really want his warm

room, so comfortably fitted with old family furniture, to be turned into a naked den in which

he would certainly be able to crawl unhampered in all directions but at the price of

shedding simultaneously all recollection of his human background? He had indeed been

so near the brink of forgetfulness that only the voice of his mother, which he had not heard

for so long, had drawn him back from it. Nothing should be taken out of his room;

everything must stay as it was; he could not dispense with the good influence of the

furniture on his state of mind; and even if the furniture did hamper him in his senseless

crawling around and around, that was no drawback but a great advantage.

Unfortunately his sister was of the contrary opinion; she had grown accustomed, and not

without reason, to consider herself an expert in Gregor's affairs as against her parents,

and so her mother's advice was now enough to make her determined on the removal not

only of the chest and the writing desk, which had been her first intention, but of all the furniture except the indispensable sofa. This determination was not, of course, merely the

outcome of childish recalcitrance and of the self-confidence she had recently developed so

unexpectedly and at such cost; she had in fact perceived that Gregor needed a lot of

space to crawl about in, while on the other hand he never used the furniture at all, so far

as could be seen. Another factor might also have been the enthusiastic temperament of an

adolescent girl, which seeks to indulge itself on every opportunity and which now tempted

Grete to exaggerate the horror of her brother's circumstances in order that she might do all

the more for him. In a room where Gregor lorded it all alone over empty walls no one save

herself was likely ever to set foot.

And so she was not to be moved from her resolve by her mother, who seemed moreover

to be ill at ease in Gregor's room and therefore unsure of herself, was soon reduced to

silence, and helped her daughter as best she could to push the chest outside. Now,

Gregor could do without the chest, if need be, but the writing desk he must retain. As soon

as the two women had got the chest out of his room, groaning as they pushed it, Gregor

stuck his head out from under the sofa to see how he might intervene as kindly and

cautiously as possible. But as bad luck would have it, his mother was the first to return,

leaving Grete clasping the chest in the room next door where she was trying to shift it all

by herself, without of course moving it from the spot. His mother however was not

accustomed to the sight of him, it might sicken her and so in alarm Gregor backed quickly

to the other end of the sofa, yet could not prevent the sheet from swaying a little in front.

That was enough to put her on the alert. She paused, stood still for a moment, and then

went back to Grete.

Although Gregor kept reassuring himself that nothing out of the way was happening, but

only a few bits of furniture were being changed around, he soon had to admit that all this

trotting to and fro of the two women, their little ejaculations, and the scraping of furniture

along the floor affected him like a vast disturbance coming from all sides at once, and

however much he tucked in his head and legs and cowered to the very floor he was bound

to confess that he would not be able to stand it for long. They were clearing his room out;

taking away everything he loved; the chest in which he kept his fret saw and other tools

was already dragged off; they were now loosening the writing desk which had almost sunk

into the floor, the desk at which he had done all his homework when he was at the

commercial academy, at the grammar school before that, and, yes, even at the primary

school -- he had no more time to waste in weighing the good intentions of the two women,

whose existence he had by now almost forgotten, for they were so exhausted that they

were laboring in silence and nothing could be heard but the heavy scuffling of their feet.

And so he rushed out -- the women were just leaning against the writing desk in the next

room to give themselves a breather -- and four times changed his direction, since he really

did not know what to rescue first, then on the wall opposite, which was already otherwise

cleared, he was struck by the picture of the lady muffled in so much fur and quickly

crawled up to it and pressed himself to the glass, which was a good surface to hold on to

and comforted his hot belly. This picture at least, which was entirely hidden beneath him,

was going to be removed by nobody. He turned his head toward the door of the living

room so as to observe the women when they came back.

They had not allowed themselves much of a rest and were already coming; Crete had twined her arm around her mother and was almost supporting her. "Well, what shall we

take now?" said Crete, looking around. Her eyes met Gregor's from the wall. She kept her

composure, presumably because of her mother, bent her head down to her mother, to

keep her from looking up, and said, although in a fluttering, unpremeditated voice: "Come,

hadn't we better go back to the living room for a moment?" Her intentions were clear

enough to Gregor, she wanted to bestow her mother in safety and then chase him down

from the wall. Well, just let her try it! He clung to his picture and would not give it up. He

would rather fly in Grete's face.

But Grete's words had succeeded in disquieting her mother, who took a step to one side,

caught sight of the huge brown mass on the flowered wallpaper, and before she was really

conscious that what she saw was Gregor, screamed in a loud, hoarse voice: "Oh God, oh

God!" fell with outspread arms over the sofa as if giving up, and did not move. "Gregor!"

cried his sister, shaking her fist and glaring at him. This was the first time she had directly

addressed him since his metamorphosis. She ran into the next room for some aromatic

essence with which to rouse her mother from her fainting fit. Gregor wanted to help too --

there was still time to rescue the picture -- but he was stuck fast to the glass and had to

tear himself loose; he then ran after his sister into the next room as if he could advise her,

as he used to do; but then had to stand helplessly behind her; she meanwhile searched

among various small bottles and when she turned around started in alarm at the sight of

him; one bottle fell on the floor and broke; a splinter of glass cut Gregor's face and some

kind of corrosive medicine splashed him; without pausing a moment longer Grete gathered

up all the bottles she could carry and ran to her mother with them; she banged the door

shut with her foot. Gregor was now cut off from his mother, who was perhaps nearly dying

because of him; he dared not open the door for fear of frightening away his sister, who had

to stay with her mother; there was nothing he could do but wait; and harassed by

self-reproach and worry he began now to crawl to and fro, over everything, walls, furniture,

and ceiling, and finally in his despair, when the whole room seemed to be reeling around

him, fell down onto the middle of the big table.

A little while elapsed, Gregor was still lying there feebly and all around was quiet,

perhaps that was a good omen. Then the doorbell rang. The servant girl was of course

locked in her kitchen, and Grete would have to open the door. It was his father. "What's

been happening?" were his first words; Grete's face must have told him everything. Grete

answered in a muffled voice, apparently hiding her head on his breast: "Mother has been

fainting, but she's better now. Gregor's broken loose." "Just what I expected," said his

father, "just what I've been telling you, but you women would never listen." It was clear to

Gregor that his father had taken the worst interpretation of Grete's all too brief statement

and was assuming that Gregor had been guilty of some violent act. Therefore Gregor must

now try to propitiate his father, since he had neither time nor means for an explanation.

And so he fled to the door of his own room and crouched against it, to let his father see as

soon as he came in from the hall that his son had the good intention of getting back into

his room immediately and that it was not necessary to drive him there, but that if only the

door were opened he would disappear at once.

Yet his father was not in the mood to perceive such fine distinctions. "Ah!" he cried as

soon as he appeared, in a tone that sounded at once angry and exultant. Gregor drew his head back from the door and lifted it to look at his father. Truly, this was not the father he

had imagined to himself; admittedly he had been too absorbed of late in his new recreation

of crawling over the ceiling to take the same interest as before in what was happening

elsewhere in the flat, and he ought really to be prepared for some changes. And yet, and

yet, could that be his father? The man who used to lie wearily sunk in bed whenever

Gregor set out on a business journey; who welcomed him back of an evening lying in a

long chair in a dressing gown; who could not really rise to his feet but only lifted his arms in

greeting, and on the rare occasions when he did go out with his family, on one or two

Sundays a year and on highest holidays, walked between Gregor and his mother, who

were slow walkers anyhow, even more slowly than they did, muffled in his old greatcoat,

shuffling laboriously forward with the help of his crook-handled stick which he set down

most cautiously at every step and, whenever he wanted to say anything, nearly always

came to a full stop and gathered his escort around him? Now he was standing there in fine

shape; dressed in a smart blue uniform with gold buttons, such as bank messengers wear;

his strong double chin bulged over the stiff high collar of his jacket; from under his bushy

eyebrows his black eyes darted fresh and penetrating glances; his onetime tangled white

hair had been combed flat on either side of a shining and carefully exact parting. He

pitched his cap, which bore a gold monogram, probably the badge of some bank, in a wide

sweep across the whole room onto a sofa and with the tail-ends of his jacket thrown back,

his hands in his trouser pockets, advanced with a grim visage toward Gregor. Likely

enough he did not himself know what he meant to do; at any rate he lifted his feet

uncommonly high, and Gregor was dumbfounded at the enormous size of his shoe soles.

But Gregor could not risk standing up to him, aware as he had been from the very first day

of his new life that his father believed only the severest measures suitable for dealing with

him. And so he ran before his father, stopping when he stopped and scuttling forward

again when his father made any kind of move. In this way they circled the room several

times without anything decisive happening, indeed the whole operation did not even look

like a pursuit because it was carried out so slowly. And so Gregor did not leave the floor,

for he feared that his father might take as a piece of peculiar wickedness any excursion of

his over the walls or the ceiling. All the same, he could not stay this course much longer,

for while his father took one step he had to carry out a whole series of movements. He was

already beginning to feel breathless, just as in his former life his lungs had not been very

dependable. As he was staggering along, trying to concentrate his energy on running,

hardly keeping his eyes open; in his dazed state never even thinking of any other escape

than simply going forward; and having almost forgotten that the walls were free to him,

which in this room were well provided with finely carved pieces of furniture full of knobs

and crevices -- suddenly something lightly flung landed close behind him and rolled before

him. It was an apple; a second apple followed immediately; Gregor came to a stop in

alarm; there was no point in running on, for his father was determined to bombard him. He

had filled his pockets with fruit from the dish on the sideboard and was now shying apple

after apple, without taking particularly good aim for the moment. The small red apples

rolled about the floor as if magnetized and cannoned into each other. An apple thrown

without much force grazed Gregor's back and glanced off harmlessly. But another

following immediately landed right on his back and sank in; Gregor wanted to drag himself forward, as if this startling, incredible pain could be left behind him; but he felt as if nailed

to the spot and flattened himself out in a complete derangement of all his senses. With his

last conscious look he saw the door of his room being torn open and his mother rushing

out ahead of his screaming sister, in her underbodice, for her daughter had loosened her

clothing to let her breathe more freely and recover from her swoon, he saw his mother

rushing toward his father, leaving one after another behind her on the floor her loosened

petticoats, stumbling over her petticoats straight to his father and embracing him, in

complete union with him -- but here Gregor's sight began to fail -- with her hands clasped

around his father's neck as she begged for her son's life.

III

The serious injury done to Gregor, which disabled him for more than a month -- the

apple went on sticking in his body as a visible reminder, since no one ventured to remove

it -- seemed to have made even his father recollect that Gregor was a member of the

family, despite his present unfortunate and repulsive shape, and ought not to be treated as

an enemy, that, on the contrary, family duty required the suppression of disgust and the

exercise of patience, nothing but patience.

And although his injury had impaired, probably forever, his powers of movement, and for

the time being it took him long, long minutes to creep across his room like an old invalid --

there was no question now of crawling up the wall -- yet in his own opinion he was

sufficiently compensated for this worsening of his condition by the fact that toward evening

the living-room door, which he used to watch intently for an hour or two beforehand, was

always thrown open, so that lying in the darkness of his room, invisible to the family, he

could see them all at the lamp-lit table and listen to their talk, by general consent as it

were, very different from his earlier eavesdropping.

True, their intercourse lacked the lively character of former times, which he had always

called to mind with a certain wistfulness in the small hotel bedrooms where he had been

wont to throw himself down, tired out, on damp bedding. They were now mostly very silent.

Soon after supper his father would fall asleep in his armchair; his mother and sister would

admonish each other to be silent; his mother, bending low over the lamp, stitched at fine

sewing for an underwear firm; his sister, who had taken a job as a salesgirl, was learning

shorthand and French in the evenings on the chance of bettering herself. Sometimes his

father woke up, and as if quite unaware that he had been sleeping said to his mother:

"What a lot of sewing you're doing today!" and at once fell asleep again, while the two

women exchanged a tired smile.

With a kind of mulishness his father persisted in keeping his uniform on even in the

house; his dressing gown hung uselessly on its peg and he slept fully dressed where he

sat, as if he were ready for service at any moment and even here only at the beck and call

of his superior. As a result, his uniform, which was not brand-new to start with, began to

look dirty, despite all the loving care of the mother and sister to keep it clean, and Gregor

often spent whole evenings gazing at the many greasy spots on the garment, gleaming

with gold buttons always in a high state of polish, in which the old man sat sleeping in

extreme discomfort and yet quite peacefully.

As soon as the clock struck ten his mother tried to rouse his father with gentle words and

to persuade him after that to get into bed, for sitting there he could not have a proper sleep

and that was what he needed most, since he had to go on duty at six. But with the

mulishness that had obsessed him since he became a bank messenger he always insisted

on staying longer at the table, although he regularly fell asleep again and in the end only

with the greatest trouble could be got out of his armchair and into his bed. However

insistently Gregor's mother and sister kept urging him with gentle reminders, he would go

on slowly shaking his head for a quarter of an hour, keeping his eyes shut, and refuse to

get to his feet. The mother plucked at his sleeve, whispering endearments in his ear, the

sister left her lessons to come to her mother's help, but Gregor's father was not to be

caught. He would only sink down deeper in his chair. Not until the two women hoisted him

up by the armpits did he open his eyes and look at them both, one after the other, usually

with the remark: "This is a life. This is the peace and quiet of my old age." And leaning on

the two of them he would heave himself up, with difficulty, as if he were a great burden to

himself, suffer them to lead him as far as the door and then wave them off and go on

alone, while the mother abandoned her needlework and the sister her pen in order to run

after him and help him farther.

Who could find time, in this overworked and tired-out family, to bother about Gregor

more than was absolutely needful? The household was reduced more and more; the

servant girl was turned off; a gigantic bony charwoman with white hair flying around her

head came in morning and evening to do the rough work; everything else was done by

Gregor's mother, as well as great piles of sewing. Even various family ornaments, which

his mother and sister used to wear with pride at parties and celebrations, had to be sold,

as Gregor discovered of an evening from hearing them all discuss the prices obtained. But

what they lamented most was the fact that they could not leave the flat which was much

too big for their present circumstances, because they could not think of any way to shift

Gregor. Yet Gregor saw well enough that consideration for him was not the main difficulty

preventing the removal, for they could have easily shifted him in some suitable box with a

few air holes in it; what really kept them from moving into another flat was rather their own

complete hopelessness and the belief that they had been singled out for a misfortune such

as had never happened to any of their relations or acquaintances. They fulfilled to the

uttermost all that the world demands of poor people, the father fetched breakfast for the

small clerks in the bank, the mother devoted her energy to making underwear for

strangers, the sister trotted to and fro behind the counter at the behest of customers, but

more than this they had not the strength to do. And the wound in Gregor's back began to

nag at him afresh when his mother and sister, after getting his father into bed, came back

again, left their work lying, drew close to each other, and sat cheek by cheek; when his

mother, pointing toward his room, said: "Shut that door now, Grete," and he was left again

in darkness, while next door the women mingled their tears or perhaps sat dry-eyed

staring at the table.

Gregor hardly slept at all by night or by day. He was often haunted by the idea that next

time the door opened he would take the family's affairs in hand again just as he used to

do; once more, after this long interval, there appeared in his thoughts the figures of the

chief and the chief clerk, the commercial travelers and the apprentices, the porter who was so dull-witted, two or three friends in other firms, a chambermaid in one of the rural hotels,

a sweet and fleeting memory, a cashier in a milliner's shop, whom he had wooed earnestly

but too slowly -- they all appeared, together with strangers or people he had quite

forgotten, but instead of helping him and his family they were one and all unapproachable

and he was glad when they vanished. At other times he would not be in the mood to

bother about his family, he was only filled with rage at the way they were neglecting him,

and although he had no clear idea of what he might care to eat he would make plans for

getting into the larder to take the food that was after all his due, even if he were not

hungry. His sister no longer took thought to bring him what might especially please him,

but in the morning and at noon before she went to business hurriedly pushed into his room

with her foot any food that was available, and in the evening cleared it out again with one

sweep of the broom, heedless of whether it had been merely tasted, or -- as most

frequently happened -- left untouched. The cleaning of his room, which she now did

always in the evenings, could not have been more hastily done. Streaks of dirt stretched

along the walls, here and there lay balls of dust and filth. At first Gregor used to station

himself in some particularly filthy corner when his sister arrived, in order to reproach her

with it, so to speak. But he could have sat there for weeks without getting her to make any

improvement; she could see the dirt as well as he did, but she had simply made up her

mind to leave it alone. And yet, with a touchiness that was new to her, which seemed

anyhow to have infected the whole family, she jealously guarded her claim to be the sole

caretaker of Gregor's room. His mother once subjected his room to a thorough cleaning,

which was achieved only by means of several buckets of water -- all this dampness of

course upset Gregor too and he lay widespread, sulky, and motionless on the sofa -- but

she was well punished for it. Hardly had his sister noticed the changed aspect of his room

that evening than she rushed in high dudgeon into the living room and, despite the

imploringly raised hands of her mother, burst into a storm of weeping, while her parents --

her father had of course been startled out of his chair -- looked on at first in helpless

amazement; then they too began to go into action; the father reproached the mother on his

right for not having left the cleaning of Gregor's room to his sister; shrieked at the sister on

his left that never again was she to be allowed to clean Gregor's room; while the mother

tried to pull the father into his bedroom, since he was beyond himself with agitation; the

sister, shaken with sobs, then beat upon the table with her small fists; and Gregor hissed

loudly with rage because not one of them thought of shutting the door to spare him such a

spectacle and so much noise.

Still, even if the sister, exhausted by her daily work, had grown tired of looking after

Gregor as she did formerly, there was no need for his mother's intervention or for Gregor's

being neglected at all. The charwoman was there. This old widow, whose strong bony

frame had enabled her to survive the worst a long life could offer, by no means recoiled

from Gregor. Without being in the least curious she had once by chance opened the door

of his room and at the sight of Gregor, who, taken by surprise, began to rush to and fro

although no one was chasing him, merely stood there with her arms folded. From that time

she never failed to open his door a little for a moment, morning and evening, to have a

look at him. At first she even used to call him to her, with words which apparently she took

to be friendly, such as: "Come along, then, you old dung beetle!" or "Look at the old dung beetle, then!" To such allocutions Gregor made no answer, but stayed motionless where

he was, as if the door had never been opened. Instead of being allowed to disturb him so

senselessly whenever the whim took her, she should rather have been ordered to clean

out his room daily, that charwoman! Once, early in the morning -- heavy rain was lashing

on the windowpanes, perhaps a sign that spring was on the way -- Gregor was so

exasperated when she began addressing him again that he ran at her, as if to attack her,

although slowly and feebly enough. But the charwoman instead of showing fright merely

lifted high a chair that happened to be beside the door, and as she stood there with her

mouth wide open it was clear that she meant to shut it only when she brought the chair

down on Gregor's back. "So you're not coming any nearer?" she asked, as Gregor turned

away again, and quietly put the chair back into the corner.

Gregor was now eating hardly anything. Only when he happened to pass the food laid

out for him did he take a bit of something in his mouth as a pastime, kept it there for an

hour at a time, and usually spat it out again. At first he thought it was chagrin over the

state of his room that prevented him from eating, yet he soon got used to the various

changes in his room. It had become a habit in the family to push into his room things there

was no room for elsewhere, and there were plenty of these now, since one of the rooms

had been let to three lodgers. These serious gentlemen -- all three of them with full beards,

as Gregor once observed through a crack in the door -- had a passion for order, not only in

their own room but, since they were now members of the household, in all its

arrangements, especially in the kitchen. Superfluous, not to say dirty, objects they could

not bear. Besides, they had brought with them most of the furnishings they needed. For

this reason many things could be dispensed with that it was no use trying to sell but that

should not be thrown away either. All of them found their way into Gregor's room. The ash

can likewise and the kitchen garbage can. Anything that was not needed for the moment

was simply flung into Gregor's room by the charwoman, who did everything in a hurry;

fortunately Gregor usually saw only the object, whatever it was, and the hand that held it.

Perhaps she intended to take the things away again as time and opportunity offered, or to

collect them until she could throw them all out in a heap, but in fact they just lay wherever

she happened to throw them, except when Gregor pushed his way through the junk heap

and shifted it somewhat, at first out of necessity, because he had not room enough to

crawl, but later with increasing enjoyment, although after such excursions, being sad and

weary to death, he would lie motionless for hours. And since the lodgers often ate their

supper at home in the common living room, the living-room door stayed shut many an

evening, yet Gregor reconciled himself quite easily to the shutting of the door, for often

enough on evenings when it was opened he had disregarded it entirely and lain in the

darkest corner of his room, quite unnoticed by the family. But on one occasion the

charwoman left the door open a little and it stayed ajar even when the lodgers came in for

supper and the lamp was lit. They set themselves at the top end of the table where

formerly Gregor and his father and mother had eaten their meals, unfolded their napkins,

and took knife and fork in hand. At once his mother appeared in the other doorway with a

dish of meat and close behind her his sister with a dish of potatoes piled high. The food

steamed with a thick vapor. The lodgers bent over the food set before them as if to

scrutinize it before eating, in fact the man in the middle, who seemed to pass for an authority with the other two, cut a piece of meat as it lay on the dish, obviously to discover

if it were tender or should be sent back to the kitchen. He showed satisfaction, and

Gregor's mother and sister, who had been watching anxiously, breathed freely and began

to smile.

The family itself took its meals in the kitchen. Nonetheless, Gregor's father came into the

living room before going into the kitchen and with one prolonged bow, cap in hand, made a

round of the table. The lodgers all stood up and murmured something in their beards.

When they were alone again they ate their food in almost complete silence. It seemed

remarkable to Gregor that among the various noises coming from the table he could

always distinguish the sound of their masticating teeth, as if this were a sign to Gregor that

one needed teeth in order to eat, and that with toothless jaws even of the finest make one

could do nothing. "I'm hungry enough," said Gregor sadly to himself, "but not for that kind

of food. How these lodgers are stuffing themselves, and here am I dying of starvation!"

On that very evening -- during the whole of his time there Gregor could not remember

ever having heard the violin -- the sound of violin-playing came from the kitchen. The

lodgers had already finished their supper, the one in the middle had brought out a

newspaper and given the other two a page apiece, and now they were leaning back at

ease reading and smoking. When the violin began to play they pricked up their ears, got to

their feet, and went on tiptoe to the hall door where they stood huddled together. Their

movements must have been heard in the kitchen, for Gregor's father called out: "Is the

violin-playing disturbing you, gentlemen? It can be stopped at once." "On the contrary,"

said the middle lodger, "could not Fräulein Samsa come and play in this room, beside us,

where it is much more convenient and comfortable?" "Oh certainly," cried Gregor's father,

as if he were the violin-player. The lodgers came back into the living room and waited.

Presently Gregor's father arrived with the music stand, his mother carrying the music and

his sister with the violin. His sister quietly made everything ready to start playing; his

parents, who had never let rooms before and so had an exaggerated idea of the courtesy

due to lodgers, did not venture to sit down on their own chairs; his father leaned against

the door, the right hand thrust between two buttons of his livery coat, which was formally

buttoned up; but his mother was offered a chair by one of the lodgers and, since she left

the chair just where he had happened to put it, sat down in a corner to one side.

Gregor's sister began to play; the father and mother, from either side, intently watched

the movements of her hands. Gregor, attracted by the playing, ventured to move forward a

little until his head was actually inside the living room. He felt hardly any surprise at his

growing lack of consideration for the others; there had been a time when he prided himself

on being considerate. And yet just on this occasion he had more reason than ever to hide

himself, since, owing to the amount of dust that lay thick in his room and rose into the air at

the slightest movement, he too was covered with dust; fluff and hair and remnants of food

trailed with him, caught on his back and along his sides; his indifference to everything was

much too great for him to turn on his back and scrape himself clean on the carpet, as once

he had done several times a day. And in spite of his condition, no shame deterred him

from advancing a little over the spotless floor of the living room.

To be sure, no one was aware of him. The family was entirely absorbed in the

violin-playing; the lodgers, however, who first of all had stationed themselves, hands in pockets, much too close behind the music stand so that they could all have read the

music, which must have bothered his sister, had soon retreated to the window, half

whispering with downbent heads, and stayed there while his father turned an anxious eye

on them. Indeed, they were making it more than obvious that they had been disappointed

in their expectation of hearing good or enjoyable violin-playing, that they had had more

than enough of the performance and only out of courtesy suffered a continued disturbance

of their peace. From the way they all kept blowing the smoke of their cigars high in the air

through nose and mouth one could divine their irritation. And yet Gregor's sister was

playing so beautifully. Her face leaned sideways, intently and sadly her eyes followed the

notes of music. Gregor crawled a little farther forward and lowered his head to the ground

so that it might be possible for his eyes to meet hers. Was he an animal, that music had

such an effect upon him? He felt as if the way were opening before him to the unknown

nourishment he craved. He was determined to push forward till he reached his sister, to

pull at her skirt and so let her know that she was to come into his room with her violin, for

no one here appreciated her playing as he would appreciate it. He would never let her out

of his room, at least, not so long as he lived; his frightful appearance would become, for

the first time, useful to him; he would watch all the doors of his room at once and spit at

intruders; but his sister should need no constraint, she should stay with him of her own

free will; she should sit beside him on the sofa, bend down her ear to him, and hear him

confide that he had had the firm intention of sending her to the Conservatorium, and that,

but for his mishap, last Christmas -- surely Christmas was long past? -- he would have

announced it to everybody without allowing a single objection. After this confession his

sister would be so touched that she would burst into tears, and Gregor would then raise

himself to her shoulder and kiss her on the neck, which, now that she went to business,

she kept free of any ribbon or collar.

"Mr. Samsa!" cried the middle lodger to Gregor's father, and pointed, without wasting any

more words, at Gregor, now working himself slowly forward. The violin fell silent, the

middle lodger first smiled to his friends with a shake of the head and then looked at Gregor

again. Instead of driving Gregor out, his father seemed to think it more needful to begin by

soothing down the lodgers, although they were not at all agitated and apparently found

Gregor more entertaining than the violin-playing. He hurried toward them and, spreading

out his arms, tried to urge them back into their own room and at the same time to block

their view of Gregor. They now began to be really a little angry, one could not tell whether

because of the old man's behavior or because it had just dawned on them that all

unwittingly they had such a neighbor as Gregor next door. They demanded explanations of

his father, they waved their arms like him, tugged uneasily at their beards, and only with

reluctance backed toward their room. Meanwhile Gregor's sister, who stood there as if lost

when her playing was so abruptly broken off, came to life again, pulled herself together all

at once after standing for a while holding violin and bow in nervelessly hanging hands and

staring at her music, pushed her violin into the lap of her mother, who was still sitting in her

chair fighting asthmatically for breath, and ran into the lodgers' room to which they were

now being shepherded by her father rather more quickly than before. One could see the

pillows and blankets on the beds flying under her accustomed fingers and being laid in

order. Before the lodgers had actually reached their room she had finished making the beds and slipped out.

The old man seemed once more to be so possessed by his mulish self-assertiveness

that he was forgetting all the respect he should show to his lodgers. He kept driving them

on and driving them on until in the very door of the bedroom the middle lodger stamped his

foot loudly on the floor and so brought him to a halt. "I beg to announce," said the lodger,

lifting one hand and looking also at Gregor's mother and sister, "that because of the

disgusting conditions prevailing in this household and family" -- here he spat on the floor

with emphatic brevity -- "I give you notice on the spot. Naturally I won't pay you a penny for

the days I have lived here, on the contrary I shall consider bringing an action for damages

against you, based on claims -- believe me -- that will be easily susceptible of proof." He

ceased and stared straight in front of him, as if he expected something. In fact his two

friends at once rushed into the breach with these words: "And we too give notice on the

spot." On that he seized the door handle and shut the door with a slam.

Gregor's father, groping with his hands, staggered forward and fell into his chair; it

looked as if he were stretching himself there for his ordinary evening nap, but the marked

jerkings of his head, which were as if uncontrollable, showed that he was far from asleep.

Gregor had simply stayed quietly all the time on the spot where the lodgers had espied

him. Disappointment at the failure of his plan, perhaps also the weakness arising from

extreme hunger, made it impossible for him to move. He feared, with a fair degree of

certainty, that at any moment the general tension would discharge itself in a combined

attack upon him, and he lay waiting. He did not react even to the noise made by the violin

as it fell off his mother's lap from under her trembling fingers and gave out a resonant note.

"My dear parents," said his sister, slapping her hand on the table by way of introduction,

"things can't go on like this. Perhaps you don't realize that, but I do. I won't utter my

brother's name in the presence of this creature, and so all I say is: we must try to get rid of

it. We've tried to look after it and to put up with it as far as is humanly possible, and I don't

think anyone could reproach us in the slightest."

"She is more than right," said Gregor's father to himself. His mother, who was still

choking for lack of breath, began to cough hollowly into her hand with a wild look in her

eyes.

His sister rushed over to her and held her forehead. His father's thoughts seemed to

have lost their vagueness at Grete's words, he sat more upright, fingering his service cap

that lay among the plates still lying on the table from the lodgers' supper, and from time to

time looked at the still form of Gregor.

"We must try to get rid of it," his sister now said explicitly to her father, since her mother

was coughing too much to hear a word, "it will be the death of both of you, I can see that

coming. When one has to work as hard as we do, all of us, one can't stand this continual

torment at home on top of it. At least I can't stand it any longer." And she burst into such a

passion of sobbing that her tears dropped on her mother's face, where she wiped them off

mechanically.

"My dear," said the old man sympathetically, and with evident understanding, "but what

can we do?"

Gregor's sister merely shrugged her shoulders to indicate the feeling of helplessness

that had now overmastered her during her weeping fit, in contrast to her former confidence.

"If he could understand us," said her father, half questioningly; Grete, still sobbing,

vehemently waved a hand to show how unthinkable that was.

"If he could understand us," repeated the old man, shutting his eyes to consider his

daughter's conviction that understanding was impossible, "then perhaps we might come to

some agreement with him. But as it is --"

"He must go," cried Gregor's sister, "that's the only solution, Father. You must just try to

get rid of the idea that this is Gregor. The fact that we've believed it for so long is the root

of all our trouble. But how can it be Gregor? If this were Gregor, he would have realized

long ago that human beings can't live with such a creature, and he'd have gone away on

his own accord. Then we wouldn't have any brother, but we'd be able to go on living and

keep his memory in honor. As it is, this creature persecutes us, drives away our lodgers,

obviously wants the whole apartment to himself, and would have us all sleep in the gutter.

Just look, Father," she shrieked all at once, "he's at it again!" And in an access of panic

that was quite incomprehensible to Gregor she even quitted her mother, literally thrusting

the chair from her as if she would rather sacrifice her mother than stay so near to Gregor,

and rushed behind her father, who also rose up, being simply upset by her agitation, and

half spread his arms out as if to protect her.

Yet Gregor had not the slightest intention of frightening anyone, far less his sister. He

had only begun to turn around in order to crawl back to his room, but it was certainly a

startling operation to watch, since because of his disabled condition he could not execute

the difficult turning movements except by lifting his head and then bracing it against the

floor over and over again. He paused and looked around. His good intentions seemed to

have been recognized; the alarm had only been momentary. Now they were all watching

him in melancholy silence. His mother lay in her chair, her legs stiffly outstretched and

pressed together, her eyes almost closing for sheer weariness; his father and his sister

were sitting beside each other, his sister's arm around the old man's neck.

Perhaps I can go on turning around now, thought Gregor, and began his labors again.

He could not stop himself from panting with the effort, and had to pause now and then to

take breath. Nor did anyone harass him, he was left entirely to himself. When he had

completed the turn-around he began at once to crawl straight back. He was amazed at the

distance separating him from his room and could not understand how in his weak state he

had managed to accomplish the same journey so recently, almost without remarking it.

Intent on crawling as fast as possible, he barely noticed that not a single word, not an

ejaculation from his family, interfered with his progress. Only when he was already in the

doorway did he turn his head around, not completely, for his neck muscles were getting

stiff, but enough to see that nothing had changed behind him except that his sister had

risen to her feet. His last glance fell on his mother, who was not quite overcome by sleep.

Hardly was he well inside his room when the door was hastily pushed shut, bolted, and

locked. The sudden noise in his rear startled him so much that his little legs gave beneath

him. It was his sister who had shown such haste. She had been standing ready waiting

and had made a light spring forward, Gregor had not even heard her coming, and she

cried "At last!" to her parents as she turned the key in the lock.

"And what now?" said Gregor to himself, looking around in the darkness. Soon he made the discovery that he was now unable to stir a limb. This did not surprise him, rather it

seemed unnatural that he should ever actually have been able to move on these feeble

little legs. Otherwise he felt relatively comfortable. True, his whole body was aching, but it

seemed that the pain was gradually growing less and would finally pass away. The rotting

apple in his back and the inflamed area around it, all covered with soft dust, already hardly

troubled him. He thought of his family with tenderness and love. The decision that he must

disappear was one that he held to even more strongly than his sister, if that were possible.

In this state of vacant and peaceful meditation he remained until the tower clock struck

three in the morning. The first broadening of light in the world outside the window entered

his consciousness once more. Then his head sank to the floor of its own accord and from

his nostrils came the last faint flicker of his breath.

When the charwoman arrived early in the morning -- what between her strength and her

impatience she slammed all the doors so loudly, never mind how often she had been

begged not to do so, that no one in the whole apartment could enjoy any quiet sleep after

her arrival -- she noticed nothing unusual as she took her customary peep into Gregor's

room. She thought he was lying motionless on purpose, pretending to be in the sulks; she

credited him with every kind of intelligence. Since she happened to have the long-handled

broom in her hand she tried to tickle him up with it from the doorway. When that too

produced no reaction she felt provoked and poked at him a little harder, and only when

she had pushed him along the floor without meeting any resistance was her attention

aroused. It did not take her long to establish the truth of the matter, and her eyes widened,

she let out a whistle, yet did not waste much time over it but tore open the door of the

Samsas' bedroom and yelled into the darkness at the top of her voice: "Just look at this,

it's dead; it's lying here dead and done for!"

Mr. and Mrs. Samsa started up in their double bed and before they realized the nature of

the charwoman's announcement had some difficulty in overcoming the shock of it. But

then they got out of bed quickly, one on either side, Mr. Samsa throwing a blanket over his

shoulders, Mrs. Samsa in nothing but her nightgown; in this array they entered Gregor's

room. Meanwhile the door of the living room opened, too, where Grete had been sleeping

since the advent of the lodgers; she was completely dressed as if she had not been to

bed, which seemed to be confirmed also by the paleness of her face. "Dead?" said Mrs.

Samsa, looking questioningly at the charwoman, although she would have investigated for

herself, and the fact was obvious enough without investigation. "I should say so," said the

charwoman, proving her words by pushing Gregor's corpse a long way to one side with her

broomstick. Mrs. Samsa made a movement as if to stop her, but checked it. "Well," said

Mr. Samsa, "now thanks be to God." He crossed himself, and the three women followed

his example. Grete, whose eyes never left the corpse, said: "Just see how thin he was. It's

such a long time since he's eaten anything. The food came out again just as it went in."

Indeed, Gregor's body was completely flat and dry, as could only now be seen when it was

no longer supported by the legs and nothing prevented one from looking closely at it.

"Come in beside us, Grete, for a little while," said Mrs. Samsa with a tremulous smile,

and Grete, not without looking back at the corpse, followed her parents into their bedroom.

The charwoman shut the door and opened the window wide. Although it was so early in

the morning a certain softness was perceptible in the fresh air. After all, it was already the end of March.

The three lodgers emerged from their room and were surprised to see no breakfast; they

had been forgotten. "Where's our breakfast?" said the middle lodger peevishly to the

charwoman. But she put her finger to her lips and hastily, without a word, indicated by

gestures that they should go into Gregor's room. They did so and stood, their hands in the

pockets of their somewhat shabby coats, around Gregor's corpse in the room where it was

now fully light.

At that the door of the Samsas' bedroom opened and Mr. Samsa appeared in his

uniform, his wife on one arm, his daughter on the other. They all looked a little as if they

had been crying; from time to time Grete hid her face on her father's arm.

"Leave my house at once!" said Mr. Samsa, and pointed to the door without disengaging

himself from the women. "What do you mean by that?" said the middle lodger, taken

somewhat aback, with a feeble smile. The two others put their hands behind them and

kept rubbing them together, as if in gleeful expectation of a fine set-to in which they were

bound to come off the winners. "I mean just what I say," answered Mr. Samsa, and

advanced in a straight line with his two companions toward the lodger. He stood his

ground at first quietly, looking at the floor as if his thoughts were taking a new pattern in his

head. "Then let us go, by all means," he said, and looked up at Mr. Samsa as if in a

sudden access of humility he were expecting some renewed sanction for this decision. Mr.

Samsa merely nodded briefly once or twice with meaning eyes. Upon that the lodger really

did go with long strides into the hall, his two friends had been listening and had quite

stopped rubbing their hands for some moments and now went scuttling after him as if

afraid that Mr. Samsa might get into the hall before them and cut them off from their

leader. In the hall they all three took their hats from the rack, their sticks from the umbrella

stand, bowed in silence, and quitted the apartment. With a suspiciousness that proved

quite unfounded Mr. Samsa and the two women followed them out to the landing; leaning

over the banister they watched the three figures slowly but surely going down the long

stairs, vanishing from sight at a certain turn of the staircase on every floor and coming into

view again after a moment or so; the more they dwindled, the more the Samsa family's

interest in them dwindled, and when a butcher's boy met them and passed them on the

stairs coming up proudly with a tray on his head, Mr. Samsa and the two women soon left

the landing and as if a burden had been lifted from them went back into their apartment.

They decided to spend this day in resting and going for a stroll; they had not only

deserved such a respite from work, but absolutely needed it. And so they sat down at the

table and wrote three notes of excuse, Mr. Samsa to his board of management, Mrs.

Samsa to her employer, and Grete to the head of her firm. While they were writing, the

charwoman came in to say that she was going now, since her morning's work was

finished. At first they only nodded without looking up, but as she kept hovering there they

eyed her irritably. "Well?" said Mr. Samsa. The charwoman stood grinning in the doorway

as if she had good news to impart to the family but meant not to say a word unless

properly questioned. The small ostrich feather standing upright on her hat, which had

annoyed Mr. Samsa ever since she was engaged, was waving gaily in all directions. "Well,

what is it then?" asked Mrs. Samsa, who obtained more respect from the charwoman than

the others. "Oh," said the charwoman, giggling so amiably that she could not at once continue, "just this, you don't need to bother about how to get rid of the thing next door. It's

been seen to already." Mrs. Samsa and Grete bent over their letters again, as if

preoccupied; Mr. Samsa, who perceived that she was eager to begin describing it all in

detail, stopped her with a decisive hand. But since she was not allowed to tell her story,

she remembered the great hurry she was in, obviously deeply huffed: "Bye, everybody,"

she said, whirling off violently, and departed with a frightful slamming of doors.

"She'll be given notice tonight," said Mr. Samsa, but neither from his wife nor his

daughter did he get any answer, for the charwoman seemed to have shattered again the

composure they had barely achieved. They rose, went to the window and stayed there,

clasping each other tight. Mr. Samsa turned in his chair to look at them and quietly

observed them for a little. Then he called out: "Come along, now, do. Let bygones be

bygones. And you might have some consideration for me." The two of them complied at

once, hastened to him, caressed him, and quickly finished their letters.

Then they all three left the apartment together, which was more than they had done for

months, and went by tram into the open country outside the town. The tram, in which they

were the only passengers, was filled with warm sunshine. Leaning comfortably back in

their seats they canvassed their prospects for the future, and it appeared on closer

inspection that these were not at all bad, for the jobs they had got, which so far they had

never really discussed with each other, were all three admirable and likely to lead to better

things later on. The greatest immediate improvement in their condition would of course

arise from moving to another house; they wanted to take a smaller and cheaper but also

better situated and more easily run apartment than the one they had, which Gregor had

selected. While they were thus conversing, it struck both Mr. and Mrs. Samsa, almost at

the same moment, as they became aware of their daughter's increasing vivacity, that in

spite of all the sorrow of recent times, which had made her cheeks pale, she had bloomed

into a pretty girl with a good figure. They grew quieter and half unconsciously exchanged

glances of complete agreement, having come to the conclusion that it would soon be time

to find a good husband for her. And it was like a confirmation of their new dreams and

excellent intentions that at the end of their journey their daughter sprang to her feet first

and stretched her young body.