no final resolution to their conflict. In the meantime, typically enough, he starts to ask himself questions: How did Grete Bloch get drawn into this mission? What does she expect from it? Where doesshe live? In what quarter does she stretch her limbs before going to sleep? Could I ever do what she is doing? What would I feel? What will happen to her when she gets older? These thoughts agitate him, and he gets a stomachache.
He meets Fräulein Grete Bloch on November 1, 1913, in the lobby of her hotel, The Black Horse. He doesn’t like the look of her and is suspicious from the outset. She is wearing a showy fur stole that doesn’t suit her. Franz has a fierce aversion to fur, this one especially, with its long guard hairs and silk lining.
But Fräulein Grete Bloch is not a matron. She is a frail young woman, somewhat unusual looking, much younger than Felice. Twenty years old? Thin lips, an intelligent face. She looks up at him with melancholy eyes, is deferential toward him, which he responds to.
When she urges him to make the trip to Berlin, which she describes as absolutely essential, he objects: “Both my trips there have been a disaster. After each of our meetings, Felice has felt more hesitant than ever.”
Fräulein Grete Bloch smiles. “Perhaps, Dr. Kafka, you should write to her less and visit her more?”
As they part, he eagerly agrees to the meeting she proposes for the following day. He adds, “Fräulein, may I write you in Vienna? Your mission is not over.”
Immediately on his return from Berlin on November 10, 1913, Franz sends the young woman a letter. He is writing her, he mentions straight off, even before writing to Felice. This declaration is so flattering that Felice’s friend perhaps slides unawares down the slope of ambiguity. He tells her in abundant detail about his recent encounter with Felice. He writes Fräulein Bloch again the next day and on the following days without giving her time to answer. It is true that Felice is at the heart of these first letters: he hopes to learn from Grete what his fiancée’s secret intentions are, as well as what lies behind her hesitations and her silence.
Since his visit to Berlin, Franz has received nothing further from Felice. His letters and telegrams remain unanswered. On the telephone, she promises to write him that same day, but nothing comes of it. Franz asks his mother to send her a note. Still nothing. He then asks his friend, Dr. Ernst Weiss, who lives in Berlin, to visit Felice at her office and prod her out of her silence. Franz receives a five-word letter: “I will write you soon.” He sends her four telegrams, gets four categorical promises in return, including this one: “My letter has been mailed.” Nothing comes. “It’s inhuman,” he tells her. He sends her three more letters, receives none in return. He then questions Grete: “Do you know anything, and would you be willing to tell me?”
He is thoroughly confused, all the more so because he and his parents are moving. They are relocating to the Oppelt house. Everything is topsy-turvy. He sleeps miserably and works too hard. At half past midnight on a freezing night, his feet bundled in a blanket, he writes once more to Felice, imploring her: “Say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ it will cost you no effort. Don’t call me ‘dear’ if you don’t love me, don’t send me affectionate regards if that’s not what they are. Just a short letter. This is not too much to ask. Even if you should leave me no hope, I will continue to wait for you. By asking you to write, I am causing you much suffering, but not nearly as much as your silence causes me. Do you not think that I am worth at least a word?”
Felice’s silence makes him turn his attention toward Grete. It is to her that he now sends his thoughts, to her that he poses innumerable questions. It is also to his “Dear Fräulein Grete” that he offers reams of advice. About her health regimen: perform exercise regularly,
He meets Fräulein Grete Bloch on November 1, 1913, in the lobby of her hotel, The Black Horse. He doesn’t like the look of her and is suspicious from the outset. She is wearing a showy fur stole that doesn’t suit her. Franz has a fierce aversion to fur, this one especially, with its long guard hairs and silk lining.
But Fräulein Grete Bloch is not a matron. She is a frail young woman, somewhat unusual looking, much younger than Felice. Twenty years old? Thin lips, an intelligent face. She looks up at him with melancholy eyes, is deferential toward him, which he responds to.
When she urges him to make the trip to Berlin, which she describes as absolutely essential, he objects: “Both my trips there have been a disaster. After each of our meetings, Felice has felt more hesitant than ever.”
Fräulein Grete Bloch smiles. “Perhaps, Dr. Kafka, you should write to her less and visit her more?”
As they part, he eagerly agrees to the meeting she proposes for the following day. He adds, “Fräulein, may I write you in Vienna? Your mission is not over.”
Immediately on his return from Berlin on November 10, 1913, Franz sends the young woman a letter. He is writing her, he mentions straight off, even before writing to Felice. This declaration is so flattering that Felice’s friend perhaps slides unawares down the slope of ambiguity. He tells her in abundant detail about his recent encounter with Felice. He writes Fräulein Bloch again the next day and on the following days without giving her time to answer. It is true that Felice is at the heart of these first letters: he hopes to learn from Grete what his fiancée’s secret intentions are, as well as what lies behind her hesitations and her silence.
Since his visit to Berlin, Franz has received nothing further from Felice. His letters and telegrams remain unanswered. On the telephone, she promises to write him that same day, but nothing comes of it. Franz asks his mother to send her a note. Still nothing. He then asks his friend, Dr. Ernst Weiss, who lives in Berlin, to visit Felice at her office and prod her out of her silence. Franz receives a five-word letter: “I will write you soon.” He sends her four telegrams, gets four categorical promises in return, including this one: “My letter has been mailed.” Nothing comes. “It’s inhuman,” he tells her. He sends her three more letters, receives none in return. He then questions Grete: “Do you know anything, and would you be willing to tell me?”
He is thoroughly confused, all the more so because he and his parents are moving. They are relocating to the Oppelt house. Everything is topsy-turvy. He sleeps miserably and works too hard. At half past midnight on a freezing night, his feet bundled in a blanket, he writes once more to Felice, imploring her: “Say ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ it will cost you no effort. Don’t call me ‘dear’ if you don’t love me, don’t send me affectionate regards if that’s not what they are. Just a short letter. This is not too much to ask. Even if you should leave me no hope, I will continue to wait for you. By asking you to write, I am causing you much suffering, but not nearly as much as your silence causes me. Do you not think that I am worth at least a word?”
Felice’s silence makes him turn his attention toward Grete. It is to her that he now sends his thoughts, to her that he poses innumerable questions. It is also to his “Dear Fräulein Grete” that he offers reams of advice. About her health regimen: perform exercise regularly,
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