jurist? It’s my uninterrupted association with the gentlemen of the Court that has made me
grow like that. I have many advantages from it, of course, but I’m losing a great deal of my
élan as an artist.” “How did you come in contact with the Judges to begin with?” asked K.;
he wanted to win the painter’s confidence first, before actually enlisting him in his service.
“That was quite simple,” said the painter. “I inherited the connection. My father was the
Court painter before me. It’s a hereditary post. New people are of no use for it. There are so
many complicated and various and above all secret rules laid down for the painting of the
different grades of functionaries that a knowledge of them is confined to certain families.
Over there in that drawer, for instance, I keep all my father’s drawings, which I never show
to anyone. And only a man who has studied them can possibly paint the Judges. Yet even
if I were to lose them, I have enough rules tucked away in my head to make my post secure
against all comers. For every Judge insists on being painted as the great old Judges were
painted, and nobody can do that but me.” “Yours is an enviable situation,” said K., who
was thinking of his own post in the Bank. “So your position is unassailable?” “Yes,
unassailable,” replied the painter, proudly bracing his shoulders. “And for that reason, too,
I can venture to help a poor man with his trial now and then.” “And how do you do it?”
asked K., as if it were not himself who had just been described as a poor man. But Titorelli
refused to be sidetracked and went on: “In your case, for instance, as you are completely
innocent, this is the line I shall take.” The repeated mention of his innocence was already
making K. impatient. At moments it seemed to him as if the painter were offering his help
on the assumption that the trial would turn out well, which made his offer worthless. But in
spite of his doubts K. held his tongue and did not interrupt the man. He was not prepared to
renounce Titorelli’s assistance, on that point he was decided; the painter was no more
questionable as an ally than the lawyer. Indeed he very much preferred the painter’s offer
of assistance, since it was made so much more ingenuously and frankly.
Titorelli drew his chair closer to the bed and continued in a low voice: “I forgot to ask
you first what sort of acquittal you want. There are three possibilities, that is, definite
acquittal, ostensible acquittal, and indefinite postponement. Definite acquittal is, of course,
the best, but I haven’t the slightest influence on that kind of verdict. As far as I know, there
is no single person who could influence the verdict of definite acquittal. The only deciding
factor seems to be the innocence of the accused. Since you’re innocent, of course it would
be possible for you to ground your case on your innocence alone. But then you would
require neither my help nor help from anyone.”
This lucid explanation took K. aback at first, but he replied in the same subdued voice
as the painter: “It seems to me that you’re contradicting yourself.” “In what way?” asked the painter patiently, leaning back with a smile. The smile awoke in K. a suspicion that he
was now about to expose contradictions not so much in the painter’s statements as in the
Court procedure itself. However, he did not retreat, but went on: “You made the assertion
earlier that the Court is impervious to proof, later you qualified that assertion by confining
it to the public sessions of the Court, and now you actually say that an innocent man
requires no help before the Court. That alone implies a contradiction. But, in addition, you
said at first that the Judges can be moved by personal intervention, and now you deny that
definite acquittal, as you call it, can ever be achieved by personal intervention. In that lies
the second contradiction.” “These contradictions are easy to explain,” said the painter. “We
must distinguish between two things: what is written in the Law, and what I have