could make out in the dimness, dust, and reek, they seemed to be worse dressed than the
people below. Some had brought cushions with them, which they put between their heads
and the ceiling, to keep their heads from getting bruised.
K. made up his mind to observe rather than speak, consequently he offered no defense
of his alleged lateness in arriving and merely said: “Whether I am late or not, I am here
now.” A burst of applause followed, once more from the right side of the hail. “These
people are easy to win over,” thought K., disturbed only by the silence in the left half of
the room, which lay just behind him and from which only one or two isolated handclaps
had come. He considered what he should say to win over the whole of the audience once
and for all, or if that were not possible, at least to win over most of them for the time
being.
“Yes,” said the man, “but I am no longer obliged to hear you now” — once more the
muttering arose, this time unmistakable in its import, for, silencing the audience with a
wave of the hand, the man went on: “yet I shall make an exception for once on this
occasion. But such a delay must not occur again. And now step forward.” Someone
jumped down from the platform to make room for K., who climbed on to it. He stood
crushed against the table, the crowd behind him was so great that he had to brace himself
to keep from knocking the Examining Magistrate’s table and perhaps the Examining
Magistrate himself off the platform.
But the Examining Magistrate did not seem to worry, he sat quite comfortably in his
chair and after a few final words to the man behind him took up a small notebook, the only
object lying on the table. It was like an ancient school exercise-book, grown dog-eared
from much thumbing. “Well, then,” said the Examining Magistrate, turning over the leaves
and addressing K. with an air of authority, “you are a house painter?” “No,” said K., “I’m
the chief clerk of a large Bank.” This answer evoked such a hearty outburst of laughter
from the Right party that K. had to laugh too. People doubled up with their hands on their knees and shook as if in spasms of coughing. There were even a few guffaws from the
gallery. The Examining Magistrate, now indignant, and having apparently no authority to
control the people in the body of the hall, proceeded to vent his displeasure on those in the
gallery, springing up and scowling at them till his eyebrows, hitherto inconspicuous,
contracted in great black bushes above his eyes.
The Left half of the hall, however, was still as quiet as ever, the people there stood in
rows facing the platform and listened unmoved to what was going on up there as well as to
the noise in the rest of the hall, indeed they actually suffered some of their members to
initiate conversations with the other faction. These people of the Left party, who were not
so numerous as the others, might in reality be just as unimportant, but the composure of
their bearing made them appear of more consequence. As K. began his speech he was
convinced that he was actually representing their point of view.
“This question of yours, Sir, about my being a house painter — or rather, not a
question, you simply made a statement — is typical of the whole character of this trial that
is being foisted on me. You may object that it is not a trial at all; you are quite right, for it
is only a trial if I recognize it as such. But for the moment I do recognize it, on grounds of
compassion, as it were. One can’t regard it except with compassion, if one is to regard it at
all. I do not say that your procedure is contemptible, but I should like to present that
epithet to you for your private consumption.” K. stopped and looked down into the hall. He
had spoken sharply, more sharply than he had intended, but with every justification. His