If certain allusions had annoyed Herr Settembrini Hans Castorp, he shouldn’t have been surprised and had no right to accuse the humanist of pedagogical intuition. A blind man should have noticed how things were with him: he himself did nothing to keep it a secret, a certain generosity and noble simplicity simply prevented him from turning his heart into a den of murderers, in which he nevertheless – and advantageously, if you will , – differed from the thin-haired lover from Mannheim and his insidious nature. We remember and repeat that the condition in which he found himself usually had an inherent urge and compulsion to reveal himself, a drive to confess and confess, a blind self-absorbedness and an addiction to take the world with him to fulfillReason and hope are evidently involved. How such people actually begin to give themselves away is difficult to say; they can’t seem to do anything that they won’t betray—especially in a society that a judging mind had remarked had only two things on its mind, namely, first, temperature, and then—more temperature , that means, for example, the question with whom Ms. Consul General Wurmbrandt from Vienna held herself harmless for the fickleness of Captain Miklosich: whether with the fully recovered Swedish warrior or with the public prosecutor Paravant from Dortmund or, thirdly, with both at the same time. For that the ties which had linked the public prosecutor and Mrs Salomon from Amsterdam for several months had been broken by amicable agreement and Mrs Salomon,

These processes, then, which were pending in the Berghof society and especially among the febrile youth, and in which the balcony passages (past the glass walls and along the railing) apparently played an important role: these processes were in mind, they formed a main part of the local atmosphere, – and even that does not really express what is in mind here. Hans Castorp had the peculiar impression that on aFundamental matter, which is accorded sufficient importance everywhere in the world, expressed in seriousness and jesting, but here there was a tone, value and sign of meaning, so heavy and so new in weight that the matter itself was presented in a completely new way and, if not terrible, at least terrifying in its novelty. In saying this, we change our countenances and observe that if we had hitherto spoken of the relations in question in a light and joking tone, it would have been for the same secret reasons for which it is so often done, without the Ease or fun of the matter to prove anything; and in the sphere in which we find ourselves this would indeed be even less the case than elsewhere. Hans Castorp had believed to have the usual degree of understanding of that basic matter, which he likes to joke about, and may have rightly believed so. Now he realized that in the lowlands he understood it only very inadequately, actually found himself in simple ignorance about it – while here personal experiences, the nature of which we have tried to indicate several times, and which at certain moments made him exclaim “My God!” but enabled him from within to perceive and understand the increasing accent of the outrageous, adventurous and nameless, which among those up here the matter carried generally and for everyone. Not that it wasn’t joked about here, too. But far more than below, this manner bore the stamp of the improper, it had something chattering of teeth and short of breath,marked too clearly. Hans Castorp remembered the blotchy pallor that Joachim had shown when, for the first and only time, he had mentioned Marusja’s physicality in the innocently teasing way of the lowlands. He also remembered the cold pallor that had covered his own face when he freed Frau Chauchat from the falling evening light – and that before and after on various occasions he had noticed it on many a stranger’s face: on two at the same time in as a rule, for example on the faces of Frau Salomon and young Gänser in those days when what Frau Stöhr so ​​eloquently describes had begun to develop between them. He remembered it, shall we say, and understood that under such circumstances it would not only have been very difficult not to “betray” oneself, but that even the effort to do so would have been of little use. In other words: it was not just generosity and ingenuity, but also a certain encouragement from the atmosphere at play, when Hans Castorp found it little use to force his feelings and to make a secret of his condition.

If it hadn’t been for the difficulty, which Joachim immediately emphasized, of making acquaintances here, this difficulty, which must be attributed mainly to the fact that the cousins ​​in the spa society formed a part and miniature group for themselves, and that the military Joachim, on nothing but quick Concerned about recovery, he was fundamentally averse to closer contact and fellowship with his fellow sufferers: Hans Castorp would have had far more opportunities and taken hisTo spread feelings freely among the people. Nevertheless, Joachim could meet him one evening during the social gatherings in the salon, standing together with Hermine Kleefeld, her two table men, Gänser and Rasmussen, and fourthly, the boy with the single glass and the fingernail, and with eyes that did not deny their supernormal brilliance, making an impromptu speech in a moved voice over Mrs. Chauchat’s peculiar and alien facial features while his audience exchanged glances, nudged each other and giggled.

That was tormenting for Joachim; but the originator of such merriment was impervious to the revelation of his condition, he might think that, unnoticed and hidden, it would not have come into its own. He could be sure of the general understanding of this. He put up with the glee that mingled with it. People looked at him not only from his own table, but also from other neighboring ones, in order to gloat over his paling and blushing when the glass door slammed shut after the start of a meal, and he was probably even satisfied with this, Seeing that his intoxication, by attracting attention, seemed to him to receive a certain recognition and confirmation from without, apt to further his cause, to encourage his vague and unreasonable hopes, – and that even made him happy. It came to literally gathering to watch the blinded man. That was, for example, after tables on the terrace or on Sunday afternoons in front of the concierge’s lounge, when the spa guests received their mail there, which wasn’t in their rooms that daywas distributed. In many cases one knew that there was a colossally tipsy and highly illuminated man who let everything be noticed, and so there stood Frau Stöhr, Fraulein Engelhart, Frau Kleefeld and her friend with the tapir face, the incurable Herr Albin, the young man with the fingernail and nor this or that member of the patient body, – stood with their mouths down and nose sniffing and watched him, who, lost and smiling passionately, that heat on his cheeks that immediately seized him on the first evening of his being here, that glow in his Eyes, which the gentleman’s rider’s cough already inflamed in them, looked in a certain direction…

Actually, it was nice of Herr Settembrini to approach Hans Castorp under such circumstances in order to engage him in conversation and ask how he was doing; but it is doubtful whether he gratefully appreciated the philanthropic impartiality that lay in it. It might be in the vestibule, on a Sunday afternoon. At the concierge, guests crowded and reached for their mail. Joachim was there too. His cousin had stayed behind and, in the state described, was trying to catch a glimpse of Clawdia Chauchat, who was standing nearby with her dinner party, waiting for the crowd at the box to clear. It was an hour that confused the spa guests, an hour of opportunities, loved and longed for by young Hans Castorp for this reason.Pardon ” had said to him – whereupon he kraftto a febrile presence of mind which he blessed:

” Pas de quoi, madame! “

What a blessing in life, he thought, that every Sunday afternoon mail was definitely being distributed in the lobby! One can say that he had consumed the week waiting for the same hour to return in seven days, and waiting means: hurrying ahead, means: not considering time and the present as a gift but only as an obstacle, negating and destroying their intrinsic value and mentally skip them. They say waiting is boring. However, it is equally or even actually entertaining, consuming amounts of time without living and exploiting them for their own sake. One could say that the nothing-but-waiting is like a glutton whose digestive system churns through the food in large numbers without processing its nutritional and useful values. One could go further and say: just as undigested food does not make a man stronger, so delay in time does not make him grow older. Of course, pure and unmixed waiting is practically non-existent.

So the week had swallowed up and the Sunday afternoon post hour was back in effect, no different than it had been seven days before. In the most exciting way she continued to create opportunities, harbored and offered every minute the opportunity to enter into social relations with Frau Chauchat: opportunities which Hans Castorp allowed his heart to press and chase without letting them become reality. This was opposed by inhibitions which were partly of a military, partly of a civilian nature – partly namely with the presence of the honorable Joachimand had to do with Hans Castorp’s own honor and duty, but also stemmed in part from the feeling that social relations with Clawdia Chauchat, civilized relations involving saying “Sie” and making bows and possibly speaking French — not necessary, not desirable, weren’t the right thing … He stood and saw her laughing, just as Pribislav Hippe had once laughed while speaking in the schoolyard: her mouth opened quite wide and her slanting grey-green eyes narrowed over her cheekbones to narrow cracks together. It wasn’t “nice” at all; but it was the way it was, and when someone is in love, the aesthetic, rational judgment is no more justified than the moral one. –

“Are you also expecting stationery, engineer?”

Only one person spoke like that, a disturber. Hans Castorp started and turned to Mr. Settembrini, who was standing in front of him smiling. It was the fine and humanistic smile with which he had once greeted the newcomer at the bank by the watercourse, and Hans Castorp was ashamed when he saw it, just as he had been then. But no matter how often in his dreams he tried to push the “organ grinder” from his place because he was “interfering here” – the waking person is better than the dreaming one, and it was not only to his embarrassment and disillusionment that Hans Castorp regained this smile perspective, but also with feelings of grateful neediness. He said:

“God, correspondence, Mr. Settembrini. I’m not an ambassador! Maybe there’s a postcard for one of us. My cousin’s going to check.”

“The limping devil over there has already given me my little correspondence,” said Settembrini, putting his hand to the side pocket of his inevitable fluffy skirt. “Interesting things, things of literary and social importance, I don’t deny it. It is an encyclopedic work that a humanitarian institute has given me credit for collaborating on… In short, beautiful work.” Mr. Settembrini broke off. “But your affairs?” he asked. “How about that? For example, how far has the acclimatization process progressed? All in all, they have not been in our midst for so long that the question would no longer be on the agenda.”

“Thank you, Mr. Settembrini; it still has its difficulties with it. I think it’s possible that it will be until the last day. Some people never get used to it, my cousin told me as soon as I arrived. But you get used to not getting used to it.”

“A complicated process,” laughed the Italian. “A strange kind of naturalization. Of course, youth is capable of anything. It doesn’t get used to it, but it takes root.”

“And after all, this isn’t a Siberian mine here.”

“No. Oh, you prefer Eastern comparisons. Very understandable. Asia is devouring us. Everywhere you look: Tatar faces.” And Mr. Settembrini discreetly turned his head over his shoulder. “Genghis Khan,” he said, “Steppenwolf lights, snow and schnapps, Knout, Schlussselburg and Christianity. An altar should be erected here in the vestibule to Pallas Athene – as a defense. Look, there’s an Ivan Ivanovich without one up aheadWhite stuff got into an argument with the public prosecutor Paravant. Everyone wants their turn to receive their mail before the other. I don’t know who’s right, but I feel like the prosecutor is under the protection of the goddess. He may be an ass, but at least he understands Latin.”

Hans Castorp laughed – which Herr Settembrini never did. One could hardly imagine him laughing heartily; he couldn’t get beyond the fine, dry tension of the corners of his mouth. He watched the young man laugh and then asked:

“Your slide – did you get it?”

“I got that!” confirmed Hans Castorp importantly. “Recently. Here it is.” And he reached into his inner breast pocket.

“Ah, you carry it in the portfolio. Kind of like an ID card, a passport or a membership card. Very good. Let’s see!’ And Mr. Settembrini, holding it between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, raised the small glass plate, framed with strips of black paper, towards the light – a movement often seen, very common up here. His face, with the black almond eyes, grimaced a little as he examined the funebre photograph – without making it quite clear whether it was only for the sake of a closer look or for other reasons.

“Yes, yes,” he said then. “Here you have your legitimation, thank you very much.” And he handed the glass back to its owner, handed it to him from the side, so to speak over his own arm and with his face averted.

“Have you seen the strands?” asked Hans Castorp. “And the nodules?”

‘You know,’ replied Mr. Settembrini slowly, ‘how I feel about the value of these products. You also know that the spots and darks there are mostly physiological inside. I’ve seen a hundred pictures that look a bit like yours, and which left the decision of whether or not they really constituted an ‘ID’ somewhat up to the discretion of the evaluator. I speak as a layman, but at least as a longtime layman.”

“Does your own ID look worse?”

“Yes, a little worse. – Incidentally, I know that our gentlemen and masters do not base their diagnosis on this toy alone. – So you now intend to spend the winter with us?”

“Yes, dear God… I’m beginning to get used to the idea that I’ll be going back down with my cousin first.”

“That means you get used to the fact that you don’t . . . you put it very wittily. I hope you got your things – warm clothes, sturdy shoes?”

“Everything. Everything is in perfect order, Mr. Settembrini. I informed my relatives and our housekeeper sent everything to me as express mail. I can take it now.”

“That calms me. But wait, you need a sack, a fur sack – where are our thoughts! This late summer is deceptive; in an hour it may be deep winter. They will spend the coldest months here…”

“Yes, the couch bag,” said Hans Castorp, “it’s probably an accessory. I also thought for a moment that we, my cousin and I, have to go to town and buy one in the next few days. You need that thingnever again later, but eventually for four to six months it’s worth it.”

“It’s worth it, it’s worth it. – Engineer!” said Mr. Settembrini softly, stepping closer to the young man. “Don’t you know it’s horrible the way you throw the months around? Horrible because unnatural and alien to your nature, based only on the docility of your years. Ah, this exceedingly great docility of youth! – it is the desperation of the educators, because above all it is ready to prove itself in the face of adversity. Don’t talk like it’s in the air, young man, but like it’s appropriate for your European way of life! There’s a lot of Asia in the air here – it’s not for nothing that it’s teeming with guys from Muscovite Mongolia! These people’ – and Mr Settembrini nodded his chin over his shoulder behind him – ‘don’t conform to them, don’t let their concepts infect you,higher being against theirs, and hold sacred what is sacred to you, the son of the West, the divine West – the son of civilisation, by nature and origin, for example time! This bounty, this barbaric grandiosity in the use of time, is Asian style—that may be one reason why the children of the East like it in this place. Haven’t you noticed that when a Russian says ‘four hours’ it’s no more than when we say ‘one’? It is easy to think that the nonchalance of these people in relation to the time is related to the wild spaciousness of their country. Where there is a lot of space, there is a lot of time – they say that they are the people who have time and can wait. We Europeans, we cannot.We have as little time as our noble and delicately structured continent has space, we are dependent on careful management of one and the other, on use, use, engineer! Take our great cities as a symbol, these centers and focal points of civilization, these mixing cauldrons of thought! To the same extent that land is becoming more expensive there, wasting space becomes an impossibility, to the same extent, you notice, time is becoming more and more precious there. Carpe Diem! That’s what a city dweller sang. Time is a gift of the gods, bestowed upon man to use it—use it, engineer, in the service of human progress.”

Even this last word, no matter how many obstacles it presented to his Mediterranean tongue, Mr. Settembrini had delivered in a pleasant way, clearly, euphoniously and – one might say – vividly. Hans Castorp answered no other than with the short, stiff and embarrassed bow of a student who receives a reprimand-like instruction. What should he have said? This privacy, which M. Settembrini kept for him in secret, with his back against the rest of the guests and almost in a whisper, was too matter-of-fact, too unsociable, too unconversative in character for the tact to have even allowed him to express applause. You don’t answer a teacher: “You said that beautifully.” Hans Castorp probably did it sometimes in the past, to a certain extent to preserve social equality; but the humanist had never before spoken in such an urgently pedagogical manner; there was nothing left but to pocket the admonition, – dazed like a schoolboy of so much morals.

Incidentally, one could see by looking at Herr Settembrini that his intellectual activity continued even in silence. He was still standing so close to Hans Castorp that he even leaned back a little, and his black eyes were fixed on the young man’s face in a fixed and musingly blind attitude.

“You are suffering, Engineer!” he continued. “You are suffering like someone who has gone astray – who would not see it? But your attitude towards suffering should also be a European attitude – not that of the East, which, because it is soft and inclined to illness, feeds this place so extensively … Compassion and immeasurable patience, that is his way towards suffering encounter. It can, it must not be ours, not yours! … We were talking about my mail … Look, here … Or better yet – come! It’s impossible here… We’re retreating, we’re entering over there. I’ll tell you what… Come on!” And turning around, he pulled Hans Castorp away from the vestibule, into the first of the sitting rooms, closest to the portal, which had been set up as a writing and reading room and was now empty of guests was. It showed oak paneling under its light vaulted ceiling, bookcases, a central table surrounded by chairs and covered with framed newspapers, and writing facilities under the arched window alcoves. Herr Settembrini advanced to near one of the windows, followed by Hans Castorp. The door stayed open.

“These papers,” said the Italian, pulling a bundle out of the bag-like side pocket of his fluff with a flying hand, a large, already opened envelope and its contents, various printed matter along with oneWriting, slipped through Hans Castorp’s eyes, “these papers are printed in French: ‘International Union for the Organization of Progress.’ They are sent to me from Lugano, where there is a federal branch office. You ask me about his principles, his goals? I’ll give it to you in two words. The League for the Organization of Progress derives from Darwin’s theory of evolution the philosophical view that the innermost natural vocation of mankind is self-improvement. From this she further concludes that it is the duty of everyone who wants to fulfill his natural calling to work actively on the progress of mankind. Many have followed her call; the number of its members in France, Italy, Spain, Turkey and even in Germany is significant. I also have the honor to be kept in the federal registers. A large-scale, scientifically elaborated program of reforms has been drawn up, which encompasses all the current possibilities for improvement in the human organism. The problem of the health of our race is being studied, all methods of combating degeneration, which is undoubtedly a deplorable side effect of increasing industrialization, are being examined. Furthermore, the federation pursues the founding of people’s universities, the overcoming of class struggles through all the social improvements recommended for this purpose, and finally the abolition of national struggles and war through the development of international law. You see, the League’s efforts are generous and comprehensive. Several international magazines testify to their activities, – monthly reviews,reporting the development of civilized humanity. Numerous local groups have been founded in different countries, which are intended to have an enlightening and edifying effect through discussion evenings and Sunday celebrations in the sense of the ideal of human progress. Above all, the federal government is striving to lend a hand to the political progressive parties of all countries with its material… You follow my words, engineer?”

“Absolutely!” answered Hans Castorp violently and hastily. At this word he had the feeling of a person slipping and just happily holding himself on his feet.

Mr. Settembrini seemed satisfied.

“I assume these are new, surprising insights you’re doing?”

“Yes, I must confess, it’s the first thing I’ve heard about this . . . effort.”

‘If only you had,’ cried Settembrini softly, ‘if you had only heard about it sooner! But maybe you won’t hear about it too late. Well, those pamphlets… You want to know what they cover… Keep listening! In the spring a solemn general meeting of the Federation was convened in Barcelona – you know that this city can boast of special connections to the idea of ​​political progress. The Congress met for a week with banquets and festivities. Good God, I wanted to go there, I longed to take part in the deliberations. But that scoundrel of the Hofrat forbade me under threats of death – and what do you want, I feared death and did not travel. I was distraught, as you can imagine, at the trick my failing health was playing on me. nothing is more painfulas if our organic, our animal part prevents us from serving reason. My satisfaction at this letter from the Lugano Bureau is all the more lively… Are you curious about its contents? I like to think so! A few cursory bits of information… The Union for the Organization of Progress, mindful of the truth that its task is to bring about the happiness of mankind, in other words, to combat human suffering through purposeful social work, and ultimately to eradicate it altogether , – also bearing in mind the truth that this highest task can only be solved with the help of sociological science, the ultimate goal of which is the perfect state, – the federation decided in Barcelona to produce a multi-volume book entitled ‘Sociology of Suffering’ will lead and in which the human sufferings are to be dealt with in a precise and exhaustive systematic manner according to all their classes and genera. You will object to me: what use are classes, genres, systems! I answer you: Order and sifting are the beginning of mastery, and the truly formidable enemy is the unknown. One must lead the human race out of the primitive stages of fear and tolerating dullness and into the phase of purposeful activity. They must be enlightened to the fact that effects whose causes are first recognized and then eliminated become null and void, and that almost all suffering of the individual is a disease of the social organism. Good! This is the intention of ‘Sociological Pathology’.from the most personal and intimate to the great group conflicts, the sufferings arising from class antagonisms and international clashes, it will, in short, reveal the chemical elements from whose multifaceted mixture and combination all human suffering is composed, and by enhancing the dignity and takes mankind’s happiness as a guide, it will in any case give it the means and measures at hand, which seem indicated to it to eliminate the causes of suffering. Appointed experts from the European scholarly world, physicians, economists and psychologists, will share in the elaboration of this encyclopedia of suffering, and the General-Redaktionsbureau in Lugano will be the reservoir in which the articles will flow together. you ask me with your eyes what role should I have in all this? Let me finish! This great work does not want to neglect the beautiful spirit either, insofar as it has human suffering as its object. A separate volume is therefore planned, which, for the comfort and instruction of those who suffer, is to contain a compilation and brief analysis of all the masterpieces of world literature relevant to each individual conflict; and—this is the task entrusted to your most devoted servant in the letter you see here.” should contain a compilation and concise analysis of all the masterpieces of world literature relevant to each individual conflict; and—this is the task entrusted to your most devoted servant in the letter you see here.” should contain a compilation and concise analysis of all the masterpieces of world literature relevant to each individual conflict; and—this is the task entrusted to your most devoted servant in the letter you see here.”

“What you say, Mr. Settembrini! But allow me to congratulate you warmly! That’s a great job and just made for you I think. It doesn’t surprise me for a moment that the League thought of you. And how happy you must be that you can now help to eradicate human suffering!”

“It is a vast work,” said Mr. Settembrini musingly, “which requires much care and reading. Especially since,” he added, while his gaze seemed to get lost in the multiplicity of his task, “especially since the beautiful spirit has almost always made suffering its object, and even second- and third-class masterpieces somehow deal with it. The same or the better! Large as the task may be, it is such that I can get rid of it at this accursed place if I have to, though I don’t hope to be compelled to finish it here. One can say the same,’ he continued, stepping closer to Hans Castorp again and lowering his voice almost to a whisper, ‘one cannot say the same of the duties whichThemnature imposes, engineer! That’s what I was getting at, what I wanted to remind you of. You know how much I admire your job, but since it is a practical, not a spiritual, job, unlike me, you can only do it in the world below. Only in the lowlands can you be European, actively fight suffering in your own way, promote progress, use the time. I have only told you about the task that has been assigned to me to remind you, to bring you to your senses, to correct your concepts, which are evidently beginning to become confused under atmospheric influences. I urge you: keep to yourself! Be proud and don’t lose yourself in the foreign! Avoid this swamp, this island of Circe, where you are not enough for Odysseus to live with impunity. They will walk on all fours

The humanist had shook his head emphatically at his gentle admonitions. He said nothing, eyes downcast and brow furrowed. It was impossible to answer him jokingly and evasively, as Hans Castorp was used to doing and as he now for a moment considered it a possibility. He, too, stood with lowered lids. Then he shrugged his shoulders and said just as softly:

“What should I do?”

“What I told you.”

“That means: leave?”

Mr. Settembrini said nothing.

“Are you telling me to go home?”

“That’s what I advised you the first night, Engineer.”

“Yes, and in those days I was free to do it, though I thought it irrational to throw in the towel just because the air here felt a bit nauseous. Since then, however, the situation has changed. Since then there has been this investigation, after which Hofrat Behrens told me in no uncertain terms that it wasn’t worth the trip home, I’d have to start again shortly, and if I carried on like that down there, I’d feel, what’s the matter with you, what’s your ability you, the whole lobe of your lungs to hell.”

“I know, now you have your ID in your pocket.”

“Yes, you say that so ironically … with the right irony, of course, which cannot be misunderstood for a moment, but is a straight and classic means of rhetoric – you see, I make a note of your words. But can you justify it to me on this photograph and after thatWould you recommend the result of the X-ray and after the diagnosis of the Hofrat the journey home?”

Mr. Settembrini hesitated for a moment. Then he sat up, opened his eyes, which he fixed blackly and firmly on Hans Castorp, and replied with an emphasis that was not without theatrical and effective impact:

“Yes, engineer. I want to take responsibility for it.”

But Hans Castorp’s attitude had now also tightened. He kept his heels closed and also looked straight at Mr. Settembrini. This time it was a skirmish. Hans Castorp stood his ground. Influences from near “strengthened” him. There was a teacher, and out there was a narrow-eyed woman. He didn’t even apologize for what he said; he didn’t add, “Don’t blame me.” He replied:

“Then you are more careful of yourself than of other people! You did not travel to the Progress Congress in Barcelona against a doctor’s orders. They feared death and stayed here.”

To a certain extent Mr. Settembrini’s pose was undoubtedly destroyed by this. He smiled not quite effortlessly and said:

“I appreciate a quick witted answer, even if your logic isn’t far from sophistry. It disgusts me to compete in a hideous contest customary here, else I would tell you that I am considerably more ill than you are — unfortunately so ill, in fact, that I have every hope of ever leaving this place and going to the underworld to be able to return, only artificially and a little self-deceptivelydelay. The moment it proves utterly indecent to maintain it, I shall turn my back on this institution and take up private quarters somewhere in the valley for the rest of my days. That will be sad, but since my work sphere is the freest and most spiritual, it will not prevent me from serving the cause of humanity to my last breath and defying the spirit of disease. I have already drawn your attention to the difference between us in this relationship. Engineer, you’re not the man to claim your better nature here, I saw that when we first met. They accuse me of not having traveled to Barcelona. I submitted to the prohibition in order not to destroy myself prematurely. But I did it with the strongest caveat under the proudest and most painful protest of my mind against the dictates of my poor body. Whether this protest is also alive in you by following the regulations of the local powers – whether it is not ratheris the body and its evil propensity, which you obey only too willingly…”

“What do you have against the body?” Hans Castorp interrupted him quickly and looked at him with his blue eyes, the whites of which were streaked with red veins. His foolhardiness made him dizzy, and you could see it. “What am I talking about?” he thought. “It’s going to be outrageous. But I once quarreled with him and will not let him have the last word as long as possible. Of course he’ll have it, but that doesn’t matter, I’ll still benefit from it. I will provoke him.” He added to his objection:

“You’re a humanist, aren’t you? How can you be bad on the body?”

Settembrini smiled, this time easily and confidently.

“‘What do you have against analysis?'” he quoted, his head on his shoulder. “‘Are you feeling bad about the analysis?’ – You will always find me ready to answer your questions, engineer,” he said, bowing and waving his hand towards the floor in salute, “especially if your objections have spirit. They do not parry without elegance. Humanist – certainly I am. You will never convict me of ascetic tendencies. I affirm, I honor and love the body, as I affirm, honor and love form, beauty, freedom, serenity and enjoyment, – as I represent the ‘world’, the interests of life against sentimental escapism, – classicismo against romanticism. I think my position is clear. But there is a power, a principle, to which my highest affirmation, my highest and ultimate respect and love is, and that power, that principle is Spirit. How I loathe to see some suspicious moonlight phantom and specter called ‘the soul’ played off against the body – within the antithesis of bodyand spirit , the body signifies the evil, the devilish principle, for the body is nature, and nature – within its antithesis to spirit, to reason, I repeat! – is evil, – mystical and evil. ‘You are a humanist!’ Indeed I am, for I am a friend of man as Prometheus was, a lover of mankind and its nobility. But this nobility is determined in spirit, in reason,and therefore it will be in vain for you to raise the accusation of Christian obscurantism…”

Hans Castorp fended off.

“…You will raise this reproach in vain,” Settembrini insisted, “if humanistic pride of nobility learns to feel the bondage of the spirit to the physical, to nature, as humiliation, as abuse. Do you know that the great Plotinus said that he was ashamed to have a body?” asked Settembrini, demanding an answer so earnestly that Hans Castorp was forced to admit that it was the first thing he heard.

“Porphyrius reports it. An absurd statement, if you will. But the absurd is the spiritually honorable, and nothing can be more pathetic than the objection of absurdity, where the spirit wants to assert its dignity against nature, refuses to abdicate before it… Have you heard of that earthquake belongs to Lisbon?”

“No, – an earthquake? I don’t see any newspapers here…”

“You misunderstand me. As an aside, it is unfortunate – and characteristic of this place – that you fail to read the press here. But you misunderstand me, the natural event I am talking about is not current, it happened about a hundred and fifty years ago…”

“So yes! Oh wait – right! I read that Goethe said to his servant in his bedroom that night in Weimar…”

“Ah, – that’s not what I wanted to talk about,” Settembrini interrupted him, closing his eyes and shaking his little brown hand in the air. “By the way, mix them updisasters. You have the Messina earthquake in mind. I mean the tremor that struck Lisbon in 1755.”

“Excuse me.”

“Well, Voltaire rebelled against it.”

“That means… how? He revolted?”

“He revolted, yes. He did not accept the brutal fate and fact, he refused to abdicate before it. He protested in the name of spirit and reason against this scandalous folly of nature that claimed three quarters of a thriving city and thousands of lives… amazed? They smile? However, you may be amazed as far as the smile is concerned, I take the liberty of pointing it out to you! Voltaire’s attitude was that of a true descendant of those ancient Gauls who hurled their arrows at the sky… You see, engineer, there is spirit’s hostility to nature, its proud distrust of it, its magnanimous insistence on what is right Criticism of her and her evil, irrational power. For she is the power, and it is servile to accept the power,to come to terms with her internally . But there you also have that humanity that absolutely does not get caught up in any contradiction, is not guilty of a relapse into Christian cowardice when it decides to see the evil, the adversarial principle in the body. The contradiction you think you see is basically always the same. ‘What do you have against the analysis?’ Nothing…if it is a matter of teaching, liberation, and progression. Anything… if the ghastly haut-goût of the grave clings to you. Itis no different with the body. He must be honored and defended when it comes to his emancipation and beauty, to freedom of the senses, to happiness, to lust. One must despise it insofar as it opposes the movement towards light as a principle of heaviness and inertia, abhor it insofar as it even represents the principle of sickness and death, insofar as its specific spirit is the spirit of perversity, the spirit of decay , lust and shame…”

Settembrini had spoken the last words, standing close to Hans Castorp, almost silently and very quickly, in order to finish. Relief approached for Hans Castorp: Joachim, two postcards in hand, entered the reading room, the writer’s speech broke off, and the dexterity with which his expression changed to something socially easy did not fail to impress his pupil – if one Hans Castorp could call it that.

“There you are, Lieutenant! You must have been looking for your cousin – forgive me! We got into a conversation – if I’m right, we even had a little quarrel. He is not a bad reasoner, your cousin, a by no means harmless opponent in arguments when it matters to him.”