Blumfeld, an Elderly Bachelor
Franz Kafka
Blumfeld, an elderly bachelor, climbed one evening up to
his
rooms-a wearisome task, for he lived on the sixth floor. During
his
climb he thought, as so often in recent times, that he now had to
climb these six stories in utter privacy only to reach
his
empty rooms
above, and there, again in utter privacy, to put on
his
dressing gown,
light
his
pipe, read a little in the French newspaper he had subscribed
to for years, sip a little at a cherry brandy he had himself prepared,
and finally, after a half hour, to go to bed,-not without first having
completely to rearrange his bedclothes, which the charwoman, in–
tractable to all instructions, always threw down according to her
temper. Any companion, any onlooker at all for these activities, would
have been very welcome to Blumfeld. He had already considered
whether he ought not to buy a little dog. Such an animal is happy,
and above all grateful and loyal. A colleague of Blumfeld has just
such a dog, who follows no one but
his
master, and when he has not
seen him for a few moments, welcomes him back with great barkings,
plainly trying to express
his
joy over having once more found that
extraordinary benefactor, his master. To be sure, a dog · has
dis–
advantages, too. No matter how clean he keeps himself, he dirties the
room. That is not to be avoided; one can not bathe him in
h~t
water
every time before taking him into the room; furthermore, his health
would not stand it. But Blumfeld, in turn, can not stand dirtiness
in
his
room; the cleanliness of his room is something absolutely necessary
to him. Again and again throughout the week he quarrels with the
charwoman, who is not, unfortunately, over particular in
this
point.
Since she is hard of hearing, he usually draws her along by the arm
to those places in the room where he has some fault to find in the tidi–
ness. Through this severity he has managed to obtain an order
in
the room corresponding approximately to his wishes. With the intro–
duction of a dog, however, he would straightway, and of his own will,
bring into the room the filth he had thus far so carefully avoided.
Fleas, the constant companions of dogs, would move in. And once
fleas were there, the moment would not be far distant when Blumfeld
would abandon
his
comfortable room to the dog and seek another.
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