It would have been difficult to estimate his age, it must have been between thirty and forty, because even if his overall appearance appeared youthful, the hair on his head was already silvery at the temples and noticeably thinning further up: two bald bays sprang up next to the narrow, sparse parting and raised the forehead. His suit, those loose, pale yellow checked trousers and a fluffy, too-long skirt with two rows of buttons and very large lapels, was far from pretending to be elegant; also his stand-up collar, which was turned round, was already a bit roughened at the edges from frequent washing, his black tie was worn out, and he was obviously not wearing cuffs at all – Hans Castorp recognizedit was the slack way the sleeves hung around his wrist. Nevertheless he could see that he was dealing with a gentleman; the stranger’s cultivated facial expression, his free, even handsome bearing left no doubt about it. But this mixture of shabbiness and grace, black eyes and the softly curved mustache immediately reminded Hans Castorp of certain foreign musicians who played in the home courtyards at Christmas time and held out their slouch hats with raised velvet eyes so that ten-penny pieces could be thrown in through the windows . “An organ grinder!” he thought. And so he wasn’t surprised at the name he heard when Joachim got up from the bench and introduced himself with some embarrassment:
“My cousin Castorp, – Mr. Settembrini.”
Hans Castorp had also stood up to greet them, the traces of his outburst of hilarity still on his face. But the Italian politely asked both of them not to be disturbed in their comfort and forced them back to their places while he himself remained in his pleasant pose in front of them. He smiled as he stood there and looked at the cousins, especially Hans Castorp, and this fine, somewhat mocking deepening and curling of the corner of his mouth under his full mustache, where it curved upwards in a beautiful curve, had a peculiar effect , it encouraged mental clarity and vigilance, so to speak, and sobered the drunken Hans Castorp for a moment so that he felt ashamed. Settembrini said:
“The gentlemen are in a good mood – with reason, with reason. A glorious morning! The sky is blue, the sunlaughs -” and with a light and successful swing of his arm he raised his small, yellowish hand to heaven, while at the same time he sent a slanting, cheerful look up there as well. “You might actually forget where you are.”
He spoke without a foreign accent, one could only have recognized the foreigner by the accuracy of his phonetic formation. His lips formed the words with a certain lust. One heard him with pleasure.
“And the gentleman had a pleasant journey to us?” he turned to Hans Castorp … “Are you already in possession of his judgement? I mean: has the sombre ceremony of the first investigation already taken place?” – Here he should have kept silent and waited if it was important to him to hear; for he had asked his question, and Hans Castorp prepared to answer. But the stranger immediately went on to ask: “Did it go smoothly? From your desire to laugh -” and he was silent for a moment, while the creases in the corner of his mouth deepened – “disparate conclusions can be drawn. How many months did our Minos and Radamanth give you?” The word “fear” sounded particularly funny on his lips. “Should I guess? Six? Or just nine? You’re not stingy…”
Hans Castorp laughed in astonishment, trying to remember who Minos and Radamanth had been. He answered:
“But why. No, you are mistaken, Mr. Septem-“
“Settembrini”, the Italian corrected clearly and with verve by bowing humorously.
“Mr. Settembrini, – pardon me. No, you are mistaken.I’m not sick at all. I’m just visiting my cousin Ziemssen for a few weeks and I want to take this opportunity to relax a little -“
“Bloody thousand, aren’t you one of our kind? You’re healthy, you’re just observing here, like Odysseus in the shadowy realm? What boldness to climb down into the depths where the dead dwell in vain and senseless -“
“In depth, Mr. Settembrini? I have to ask! I climbed up to you about five thousand feet—”
“It just seemed so to you! On my word, that was a deception,” said the Italian with a decisive hand movement. “We are deeply sunk beings, aren’t we, Lieutenant,” he turned to Joachim, who was not a little pleased about this address, but tried to hide it and replied calmly:
“I guess we’re really oversimplified. But eventually you can pull yourself together again.”
“Yes, I trust you; You’re a decent person,” Settembrini said. “So, so, so,” he said three times with a sharp S, turning back to Hans Castorp, and then just as often clicked his tongue softly on the upper palate. “See, see, see,” he then said, also three times, and in a sharp S-sound, looking so steadily into the novice’s face that his eyes became fixed and blind, and then drove, reviving his gaze , continued:
“So you’re coming up to us who are downcast quite voluntarily and want to give us the pleasure of your company for a while. Well that’s nice. And what deadlinehave you considered? I don’t ask fine. But it should surprise me to hear how much one dictates to oneself when one has to decide for oneself and not Radamanth!”
“Three weeks,” said Hans Castorp with a bit of vain ease, realizing that he was being envied.
” Oh dear , three weeks! Did you hear, Lieutenant? Isn’t there something almost impertinent to say: I’ll come here for three weeks and then leave again? We don’t know the weekly measure, sir, if I may instruct you. Our smallest unit of time is the month. We reckon on a grand scale, – that is a prerogative of the shadows. We have others and they are all of similar quality. May I ask what job you have down there in life – or more correctly: what are you preparing for? You see, we don’t put any shackles on our curiosity. We also consider curiosity to be one of our prerogatives.”
“You’re welcome,” said Hans Castorp. And he gave information.
“A shipbuilder! But this is great!” exclaimed Settembrini. “Be assured that I think that’s great, although my own abilities lie in a different direction.”
“Mr. Settembrini is a man of letters,” Joachim explained, somewhat embarrassed. “He wrote the obituary for Carducci for German newspapers – Carducci, you know.” And he became even more embarrassed because his cousin looked at him in amazement and seemed to say: What do you know about Carducci? Neither do I, I should think.
“That’s right,” said the Italian, nodding his head. “I had the honor of telling your compatriots of the life of this greatto tell poets and freethinkers when it was finished. I knew him, I can call myself his pupil. I sat at his feet in Bologna. I owe to him what I call my own in terms of education and cheerfulness. But we were talking about you. A shipbuilder! Do you know that you are growing steadily in my eyes? You are sitting there suddenly, as the representative of a whole world of work and practical genius!”
“But Mr. Settembrini – I’m actually still a student and just getting started.”
“Certainly, and every beginning is difficult. Anyway, all work worthy of the name is hard, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the devil knows that!” said Hans Castorp, and it came from his heart.
Settembrini quickly raised his eyebrows.
‘You even call on the devil,’ he said, ‘to corroborate that? Satan incarnate? Do you also know that my great teacher addressed a hymn to him?”
“Permit me,” said Hans Castorp, “to the devil?”
‘To himself. It is sometimes sung in my country, on festive occasions. O salute, o Satana, o Ribellione, o forza vindice della Ragione… A wonderful song! But this devil was hardly what you had in mind, because he’s on excellent terms with the work. The one you meant, who hates work because he fears it, is probably that other one who is said not to give him the little finger -“
All this had a very strange effect on the good Hans Castorp. He didn’t understand Italian, and he wasn’t any more comfortable with the rest. It tasted like a Sunday sermonalthough it was delivered in a light and jokingly conversational tone. He looked at his cousin, who lowered his eyes, and then said:
“Oh, Mr. Settembrini, you take my words far too precisely. The devil thing was just a phrase of mine, I assure you!”
“Someone must have spirit,” said Settembrini, looking melancholy into the air. But reinvigorating, exhilarating, and gracefully compromising, he continued:
“In any case, I am right to conclude from your words that you have chosen a profession that is as arduous as it is honorable. My God, I’m a humanist, a homo humanus, I don’t know anything about ingenious things, however sincere the respect I pay you. But I can well imagine that the theory of your subject requires a clear and sharp head and its practice a whole man – isn’t that so?”
“Certainly it is so, yes, I can absolutely agree with you there,” answered Hans Castorp, making an involuntary effort to speak a little eloquently. “The requirements are colossal these days, don’t realize how tough they are or you could really get discouraged. No, it’s not fun. And even if you’re not the strongest… I’m only a guest here, but I’m not exactly the strongest either, and I’d have to lie if I said that my work is so excellent for me. Rather, it takes me quite a bit, I have to say. I only feel really healthy when I’m not doing anything -“
“Like now?”
“Now? Oh, I’m so new up here now – a bit confused, you can imagine.”
“Ah, – confused.”
“Yes, I didn’t sleep very well either, and then the first breakfast was really too extensive … I’m used to a decent breakfast, but today’s was, it seems, too compact for me, too rich , huh the English say. In short, I feel a bit uneasy, and I especially didn’t like my cigar this morning – think about it! That hardly ever happens to me, only when I’m seriously ill – and now it tasted like leather to me today. I had to throw them away, there was no point in forcing it. Are you a smoker, may I ask? Not? Then you can’t imagine what a nuisance and disappointment this is for someone who has been a smoker from a young age, like me…”
‘I am inexperienced in this field,’ replied Settembrini, ‘and, by the way, I am not in bad company for that inexperience. A number of noble and sober spirits have abhorred smoking tobacco. Carducci didn’t love him either. But you will find understanding with our Radamanth. He is a follower of your vice.”
“Well, – vice, Mr. Settembrini…”
“Why not? One must denote things with truth and power. This amplifies and increases life. I have vices too.”
“So Hofrat Behrens is a cigar connoisseur? A lovely man.”
“You find? Ah, so you’ve already made his acquaintance?”
“Yes, earlier when we were leaving. It was almost a consultation, but sine pecunia , you know. He saw right away that I’m pretty anemic. And then he advised me to live here like my cousin, to lie on the balcony a lot, and he said I should measure myself right away.”
“Really?” exclaimed Settembrini… “Excellent!” he shouted up into the air, leaning back laughing. “What is it called in the opera?your master? ‘I’m the bird catcher, always funny, heisa, hopsassa!’ In short, this is very amusing. Will you take his advice? Without a doubt. How shouldn’t you. A bastard, that Radamanth! And really ‘always funny’, if a little forced at times. He tends to be melancholy. His vice doesn’t suit him – otherwise it wouldn’t be a vice, by the way – the smoking tobacco makes him melancholy – which is why our venerable madam superior has taken care of the provisions and only gives him small daily rations. It is said that he succumbs to the temptation to steal from her, and then he succumbs to melancholy. In a word: a confused soul. Do you already know our superior? Not? But this is a mistake! You are wrong not to solicit her acquaintance. From the family of Mylendonk, Sir! She differs from the Medicean Venus in that where the bosom of the goddess is, she wears a cross…”
“Ha, ha, excellent!” laughed Hans Castorp.
“Her first name is Adriatica.”
“That too?” cried Hans Castorp … “Listen, thatis strange! From Mylendonk and then Adriatica. It sounds as if she must have died long ago. It seems downright medieval.”
‘My sir,’ answered Settembrini, ‘there is much here that ‘appears medieval’, as you like to put it. Personally, I am convinced that our Radamanth made this petrefact the superintendent of his palace of terror solely out of artistic sense of style. He’s an artist, don’t you know that? He paints in oil. What do you want, it’s not forbidden, isn’t it, everyone is free to do so… Frau Adriatica tells everyone who wants to hear it, and the others too, that a Mylendonk was abbess of a monastery in Bonn am Rheine in the middle of the thirteenth century . She herself could not have seen the light of day long after that…”
“Ha, ha, ha! But I find you mocking, Mr Settembrini.”
“Mocking? You mean: mischievous. Yes, I’m a little mischievous -” said Settembrini. “My sorrow is that I am doomed to squander my wickedness on such wretched objects. I hope you don’t mind the malice, engineer? In my eyes it is reason’s brightest weapon against the forces of darkness and ugliness. Malice, sir, is the spirit of criticism, and criticism is the origin of progress and enlightenment.’ And in a moment he began to speak of Petrarch, whom he called ‘the father of modern times’.
“But we have to take a rest cure now,” said Joachim calmly.
The man of letters had his words with graceful hand movementsaccompanied. Now he rounded off this game of gestures with a gesture that pointed to Joachim and said:
“Our lieutenant drives to duty. So let’s go. We have the same way – ‘to the right, which strives towards Dis, the mighty, walls’. Ah, Virgil, Virgil! Gentlemen, he is second to none. I believe in progress, of course. But Virgil has epithets such as none modern has…’ And as they were walking home he began to recite Latin verses in Italian pronunciation, but stopped when some young girl, a daughter of the town, like it seemed, and not at all very pretty, to meet them, and resorted to a lazy smile and trills. “T, t, t,” he snapped. “Oh, oh, oh! La-la-la! You sweet bug, do you want to be mine? Behold, ‘her eye sparkles with slippery light,'” he quoted – God knew
That’s a real windbag, thought Hans Castorp, and he stuck to it when Settembrini began to meditate again after his gallant tirade. Mainly he had his eye on Hofrat Behrens, teasing the girth of his feet and dwelling on his title, which he had received from a prince suffering from cerebral tuberculosis. The whole area is still talking about the scandalous way of life of this prince, but Radamanth turned a blind eye, both eyes, every inch a privy councillor. By the way, did the gentlemen know that he was the inventor of the summer season? Yes, he, and no other. The crown of merit. In the past, only the most loyal of the loyal would have stayed in this valley during the summer. Since “our humorist” with incorruptiblePerspicacity recognized that this grievance was nothing but the fruit of a prejudice. He had taught that, at least to be so farInstitute comes into question, the summer cure is not only no less recommendable, but even particularly effective and downright indispensable. And he knew how to get this theorem among the people, wrote popular articles about it and launched them in the press. Since then, business has been going as well in summer as it does in winter. “Genius!” said Settembrini. “In-tu-i-tion!” he said. And then he panted through the rest of the sanatoriums in the square and scathingly praised the earning power of their owners. Here’s Professor Kafka… Every year, at the critical time when the snow melts, when many patients want to leave, Professor Kafka finds himself forced to leave for eight more days, promising to do the discharge when he returns. But then he stayed away for six weeks, and the poorest waited, which, incidentally, increased their bills. Kafka was allowed to come as far as Fiume, but he did not travel until five thousand good Swiss francs were secured, which took fourteen days. A day after the arrival of the Celebrissimo the sick man died. As for Doctor Salzmann, he said after Professor Kafka that he didn’t keep his syringes clean enough and that he taught the patients mixed infections. He rides on rubber, Salzmann says, so that his dead don’t hear him – whereas Kafka claims that at Salzmann’s patients “the vine’s exhilarating gift” is forced on the patients in such quantities – namely also for the purpose of rounding off their calculations – that people like them Flies were dying, and not of phthisis, but of drinking liver… Kafka was allowed to come as far as Fiume, but he did not travel until five thousand good Swiss francs were secured, which took fourteen days. A day after the arrival of the Celebrissimo the sick man died. As for Doctor Salzmann, he said after Professor Kafka that he didn’t keep his syringes clean enough and that he taught the patients mixed infections. He rides on rubber, Salzmann says, so that his dead don’t hear him – whereas Kafka claims that at Salzmann’s patients “the vine’s exhilarating gift” is forced on the patients in such quantities – namely also for the purpose of rounding off their calculations – that people like them Flies were dying, and not of phthisis, but of drinking liver… Kafka was allowed to come as far as Fiume, but he did not travel until five thousand good Swiss francs were secured, which took fourteen days. A day after the arrival of the Celebrissimo the sick man died. As for Doctor Salzmann, he said after Professor Kafka that he didn’t keep his syringes clean enough and that he taught the patients mixed infections. He rides on rubber, Salzmann says, so that his dead don’t hear him – whereas Kafka claims that at Salzmann’s patients “the vine’s exhilarating gift” is forced on the patients in such quantities – namely also for the purpose of rounding off their calculations – that people like them Flies were dying, and not of phthisis, but of drinking liver… during which fourteen days passed. A day after the arrival of the Celebrissimo the sick man died. As for Doctor Salzmann, he said after Professor Kafka that he didn’t keep his syringes clean enough and that he taught the patients mixed infections. He rides on rubber, Salzmann says, so that his dead don’t hear him – whereas Kafka claims that at Salzmann’s patients “the vine’s exhilarating gift” is forced on the patients in such quantities – namely also for the purpose of rounding off their calculations – that people like them Flies were dying, and not of phthisis, but of drinking liver… during which fourteen days passed. A day after the arrival of the Celebrissimo the sick man died. As for Doctor Salzmann, he said after Professor Kafka that he didn’t keep his syringes clean enough and that he taught the patients mixed infections. He rides on rubber, Salzmann says, so that his dead don’t hear him – whereas Kafka claims that at Salzmann’s patients “the vine’s exhilarating gift” is forced on the patients in such quantities – namely also for the purpose of rounding off their calculations – that people like them Flies were dying, and not of phthisis, but of drinking liver…
So it went on, and Hans Castorp laughed heartily and good-naturedly at this torrent of glib blasphemies. The suade of the Italian sounded peculiarly pleasant in its unconditional purity and correctness, free from any dialect. The words came plump, nice, and as if newly created from his flexible lips; he enjoyed the educated, snappy, agile phrases and forms he used, even the grammatical inflection and modification of the words, with an obvious, communicative, and cheery satisfaction and seemed far too clear and present of mind to make a single slip of the tongue.
“You speak so drollly, Herr Settembrini,” said Hans Castorp, “so animatedly—I don’t know what to call it.”
“Plastic, isn’t it?” replied the Italian, fanning himself with his handkerchief, although it was rather chilly. “That will be the word you are looking for. I have a plastic way of speaking, you mean. But stop!” he shouted. “What do I see! There walk our hell judges! What a sight!”
The walkers had already rounded the bend in the path again. Was it Settembrini’s speeches that were due to the slope of the road, or were they actually less far from the sanatorium than Hans Castorp had believed – because a path that we walk for the first time is significantly longer than the same when we already know him -: in any case, the march back was surprisingly quick. Settembrini was right, it was the couple of doctors who were striving along the back of the sanatorium down there in the open space, led by the privy councilor in a white coat, with his neck sticking out and moving his hands like oars, on his trail Dr. Krokowski in blackOvershirt and looking around all the more self-confidently when clinical custom forced him to keep behind the boss on official trips.
“Ah, Krokowski!” exclaimed Settembrini. “There he goes, knowing all the secrets of our ladies. One asks to note the subtle symbolism of his clothing. He wears black to indicate that his primary field of study is the night. This man has only one thought in his head, and it’s dirty. Engineer, how come we haven’t spoken of him yet! You made his acquaintance?”
Hans Castorp said yes.
“Well, and? I’m beginning to suspect you liked him, too.”
“I really don’t know, Mr. Settembrini. I only met him fleetingly. And then I’m not very quick to judge. I look at people and I think: So that’s what you’re like? Well.”
“That’s stupid!” replied the Italian. “Judge! Nature has given you eyes and brains for this. They thought I spoke maliciously; but if I did it, it was perhaps not without pedagogical intent. We humanists all have a pedagogical streak… Gentlemen, the historical connection between humanism and pedagogy proves their psychological nature. One should not take the office of education from the humanist – one cannot take it from him, for only with him is the tradition of the dignity and beauty of man. He once replaced the priest, who was allowed to lead the youth in gloomy and misanthropic times. Since,Gentlemen, absolutely no new type of educator has emerged. The humanistic grammar school – call me backwards, engineer, but fundamentally, in abstracto , I ask you to understand me well, I remain its supporter …”
He continued to explain this while still in the elevator and only fell silent when the cousins on the second floor left the elevator. He himself drove on to the third, where, as Joachim said, he lived in a small room at the back.
“He doesn’t have any money?” asked Hans Castorp, who was accompanying Joachim. It looked exactly the same with Joachim as it did with him over there.
“No,” said Joachim, “he probably didn’t. Or just enough to cover your stay here. His father was a writer too, you know, and I think his grandfather too.”
“Yes, then,” said Hans Castorp. “Is he actually seriously ill?”
“It’s not dangerous as far as I know, but it’s persistent and keeps coming back. He’s had it for years and has been away from time to time, but soon had to return.”
“Poor guy! When he seems to be so enthusiastic about work. He’s very talkative, it’s so easy for him to get from one thing to another. He was a bit cheeky with the girl, I was embarrassed at the moment. But what he later said about human dignity sounded splendid, just like at a ceremony. Are you with him often?”