crisping at the corner of his mouth grew crisper—”more than one interpretation upon your laughter. How many months have our Minos and Rhadamanthus knocked you down for?” The slang phrase sounded droll on his lips. “Shall I guess? Six? Nine? You know we are free with the time up here—”
Hans Castorp laughed, astonished, at the same time racking his brains to remember who Minos and Rhadamanthus were. He answered: “Not at all—no, really, you are under a misapprehension, Herr Septem—”
“Settembrini,” corrected the Italian, clearly and with emphasis, making as he spoke a mocking bow.
“Herr Settembrini—I beg your pardon. No, you are mistaken. Really I am not ill. I have only come on a visit to my cousin Ziemssen for a few weeks, and shall take advantage of the opportunity to get a good rest—”
“Zounds! You don’t say? Then you are not one of us? You are well, you are but a guest here, like Odysseus in the kingdom of the shades? You are bold indeed, thus to descend into these depths peopled by the vacant and idle dead—”
“Descend, Herr Settembrini? I protest. Here I have climbed up some five thousand feet to get here—”
“That was only seeming. Upon my honour, it was an illusion,” the Italian said, with a decisive-wave of the hand. “We are sunk enough here, aren’t we, Lieutenant?” he said to Joachim, who, no little gratified at this method of address, thought to hide his satisfaction, and answered reflectively:
“I suppose we do get rather one-sided. But we can pull ourselves together, afterwards, if we try.”
“At least, you can, I’m sure—you are an upright man,” Settembrini said. “Yes, yes, yes,” he said, repeating the word three times, with a sharp s, turning to Hans Castorp again as he spoke, and then, in the same measured way, clucking three times with his tongue against his palate. “I see, I see, I see,” he said again, giving the s the same sharp sound as before. He looked the newcomer so steadfastly in the face that his eyes grew fixed in a stare; then, becoming lively again, he went on: “So you come up quite of your own free will to us sunken ones, and mean to bestow upon us the pleasure of your company for some little while? That is delightful. And what term had you thought of putting to your stay? I don’t mean precisely. I am merely interested to know what the length of a man’s sojourn would be when it is himself and not Rhadamanthus who prescribes the limit.”
“Three weeks,” Hans Castorp said, rather pridefully, as he saw himself the object of envy.
“ O dio! Three weeks! Do you hear, Lieutenant? Does it not sound to you impertinent to hear a person say: ‘I am stopping for three weeks and then I am going away again’? We up here are not acquainted with such a unit of time as the week—if I may be permitted to instruct you, my dear sir. Our smallest unit is the month. We reckon in the grand style—that is a privilege we shadows have. We possess other such; they are all of the same quality. May I ask what profession you practise down below? Or, more probably, for what profession are you preparing yourself? You see we set no bounds to our thirst for information—curiosity is another of the prescriptive rights of shadows.” “Pray don’t mention it,” said Hans Castorp. And told him.
“A ship-builder! Magnificent!” cried Settembrini. “I assure you, I find that magnificent—though my own talents lie in quite another direction.”
“Herr Settembrini is a literary man,” Joachim explained, rather self-consciously. “He wrote the obituary notices of Carducci for the German papers—Carducci, you know.” He got more self-conscious still, for his cousin looked at him in amazement, as though to say: “Carducci? What do you know about him? Not any more than I do,
I’ll wager.”
“Yes,” the Italian said, nodding. “I had the honour of telling your countrymen the story of our great poet and freethinker, when his life
Hans Castorp laughed, astonished, at the same time racking his brains to remember who Minos and Rhadamanthus were. He answered: “Not at all—no, really, you are under a misapprehension, Herr Septem—”
“Settembrini,” corrected the Italian, clearly and with emphasis, making as he spoke a mocking bow.
“Herr Settembrini—I beg your pardon. No, you are mistaken. Really I am not ill. I have only come on a visit to my cousin Ziemssen for a few weeks, and shall take advantage of the opportunity to get a good rest—”
“Zounds! You don’t say? Then you are not one of us? You are well, you are but a guest here, like Odysseus in the kingdom of the shades? You are bold indeed, thus to descend into these depths peopled by the vacant and idle dead—”
“Descend, Herr Settembrini? I protest. Here I have climbed up some five thousand feet to get here—”
“That was only seeming. Upon my honour, it was an illusion,” the Italian said, with a decisive-wave of the hand. “We are sunk enough here, aren’t we, Lieutenant?” he said to Joachim, who, no little gratified at this method of address, thought to hide his satisfaction, and answered reflectively:
“I suppose we do get rather one-sided. But we can pull ourselves together, afterwards, if we try.”
“At least, you can, I’m sure—you are an upright man,” Settembrini said. “Yes, yes, yes,” he said, repeating the word three times, with a sharp s, turning to Hans Castorp again as he spoke, and then, in the same measured way, clucking three times with his tongue against his palate. “I see, I see, I see,” he said again, giving the s the same sharp sound as before. He looked the newcomer so steadfastly in the face that his eyes grew fixed in a stare; then, becoming lively again, he went on: “So you come up quite of your own free will to us sunken ones, and mean to bestow upon us the pleasure of your company for some little while? That is delightful. And what term had you thought of putting to your stay? I don’t mean precisely. I am merely interested to know what the length of a man’s sojourn would be when it is himself and not Rhadamanthus who prescribes the limit.”
“Three weeks,” Hans Castorp said, rather pridefully, as he saw himself the object of envy.
“ O dio! Three weeks! Do you hear, Lieutenant? Does it not sound to you impertinent to hear a person say: ‘I am stopping for three weeks and then I am going away again’? We up here are not acquainted with such a unit of time as the week—if I may be permitted to instruct you, my dear sir. Our smallest unit is the month. We reckon in the grand style—that is a privilege we shadows have. We possess other such; they are all of the same quality. May I ask what profession you practise down below? Or, more probably, for what profession are you preparing yourself? You see we set no bounds to our thirst for information—curiosity is another of the prescriptive rights of shadows.” “Pray don’t mention it,” said Hans Castorp. And told him.
“A ship-builder! Magnificent!” cried Settembrini. “I assure you, I find that magnificent—though my own talents lie in quite another direction.”
“Herr Settembrini is a literary man,” Joachim explained, rather self-consciously. “He wrote the obituary notices of Carducci for the German papers—Carducci, you know.” He got more self-conscious still, for his cousin looked at him in amazement, as though to say: “Carducci? What do you know about him? Not any more than I do,
I’ll wager.”
“Yes,” the Italian said, nodding. “I had the honour of telling your countrymen the story of our great poet and freethinker, when his life
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