tall thick candle fixed to a pillar. It was lovely to look at, but quite inadequate for
illuminating the altarpieces, which mostly hung in the darkness of the side chapels; it
actually increased the darkness. The Italian was as sensible as he was discourteous in not
coming, for he would have seen nothing, he would have had to content himself with
scrutinizing a few pictures piecemeal by the light of K.’s pocket torch. Curious to see what
effect it would have, K. went up to a small side chapel near by, mounted a few steps to a
low balustrade, and bending over it shone his torch on the altarpiece. The light from a
permanent oil-lamp hovered over it like an intruder. The first thing K. perceived, partly by
guess, was a huge armored knight on the outermost verge of the picture. He was leaning on
his sword, which was stuck into the bare ground, bare except for a stray blade of grass or
two. He seemed to be watching attentively some event unfolding itself before his eyes. It
was surprising that he should stand so still without approaching nearer to it. Perhaps he had
been set there to stand guard. K., who had not seen any pictures for a long time, studied
this knight for a good while, although the greenish light of the oil-lamp made his eyes
blink. When he played the torch over the rest of the altarpiece he discovered that it was a
portrayal of Christ being laid in the tomb, conventional in style and a fairly recent painting.
He pocketed the torch and returned again to his seat.
In all likelihood it was now unnecessary to wait any longer for the Italian, but the rain
was probably pouring down outside, and since it was not so cold in the Cathedral as K. had
expected, he decided to stay there for the present. Quite near him rose the great pulpit, on
its small vaulted canopy two plain golden crucifixes were slanted so that their shafts
crossed at the tip. The outer balustrade and the stonework connecting it with the supporting
column were wrought all over with foliage in which little angels were entangled, now
vivacious and now serene. K. went up to the pulpit and examined it from all sides; the
carving of the stonework was very carefully wrought, the deep caverns of darkness among
and behind the foliage looked as if caught and imprisoned there; K. put his hand into one
of them and cautiously felt the contour of the stone; he had never known that this pulpit
existed. By pure chance he noticed a verger standing behind the nearest row of benches, a
man in a loose-hanging black garment with a snuffbox in his left hand; he was gazing at K.
“What’s the man after?” thought K. “Do I look a suspicious character? Does he want a tip
?” But when he saw that K. had become aware of him, the verger started pointing with his
right hand, still holding a pinch of snuff in his fingers, in some vaguely indicated direction.
His gestures seemed to have little meaning. K. hesitated for a while, but the verger did not
cease pointing at something or other and emphasizing the gesture with nods of his head.
“What does the man want?” said K. in a low tone, he did not dare to raise his voice in this
place; then he pulled out his purse and made his way along the benches toward him. But
the verger at once made a gesture of refusal, shrugged his shoulders, and limped away.
With something of the same gait, a quick, limping motion, K. had often as a child imitated a man riding on horseback. “A childish old man,” thought K., “with only wits enough to be
a verger. How he stops when I stop and peers to see if I am following him!” Smiling to
himself, K. went on following him through the side aisle almost as far as the high altar; the
old man kept pointing at something, but K. deliberately refrained from looking round to
see what he was pointing at, the gesture could have no other purpose than to shake K. off.