e of
others. You will of course wipe off these drawings yourself--although
I feel sorry for them, for I admire them sincerely--and I will not say
anything to the administration. We will forget all this, as if nothing
had happened. Are you satisfied?"

He answered drowsily:

"Very well."

"In our prison, where we have the sad pleasure of being confined,
everything is arranged in accordance with a most purposeful plan and is
most strictly subjected to laws and rules. And the very strict order, on
account of which the existence of your creations is so short lived, and,
I may say, ephemeral, is full of the profoundest wisdom. Allowing you to
perfect yourself in your art, it wisely guards other people against
the perhaps injurious influence of your productions, and in any case it
completes logically, finishes, enforces, and makes clear the meaning of
your solitary confinement. What does solitary confinement in our prison
mean? It means that the prisoner should be alone. But would he be alone
if by his productions he would communicate in some way or other with
other people outside?"

By the expression of K.'s face I noticed with a sense of profound joy
that my words had produced on him the proper impression, bringing
him back from the realm of poetic inventions to the land of stern but
beautiful reality. And, raising my voice, I continued:

"As for the rule you have broken, which forbids any inscription or
drawing on the walls of our prison, it is not less logical. Years will
pass; in your place there may be another prisoner like you--and he may
see that which you have drawn. Shall this be tolerated? Just think of
it! And what would become of the walls of our prison if every one who
wished it were to leave upon them his profane marks?"

"To the devil with it!"

This is exactly how K. expressed himself. He said it loudly, even with
an air of calmness.

"What do you mean to say by this, my youthful friend?"

"I wish to say that you may perish here, my old friend, but I shall
leave this place."

"You can't escape from our prison," I retorted, sternly.

"Have you tried?"

"Yes, I have tried."

He looked at me incredulously and smiled. He smiled!

"You are a coward, old man. You are simply a miserable coward."

I--a coward! Oh, if that self-satisfied puppy knew what a tempest of
rage he had aroused in my soul he would have squealed for fright
and would have hidden himself on the bed. I--a coward! The world has