of tough little scruples, and if we get the better of them, well, that jus t shows that the whole thing has had another meaning all along.
“With a human being, it puts this hardness into his character, into his consciousness as a human being, into the sense of responsibility he has as a part of the spirit of the universe. And if a human being loses this consciousness, he loses himself. But if a human being has lost himself, abandoned himself, he has lost the special and peculiar purpose for which Nature created him as a human being. And this is the case in which one can be perfectly certain that one is dealing with something unnecessary, an empty form, something that has already long been deserted by the spirit of the universe.”
Törless felt no inclination to argue. He was not even listening very attentively. He himself had never felt the need to go in for such a metaphysical train of thought, nor had he ever wondered how anyone of Beineberg's intellect could indulge in such notions. The whole problem had simply not yet risen over the horizon of his life.
Thus he made no effort to enquire into the possible meaning, or lack of meaning, of Beineberg's remarks. He only half listened.
One thing he did not understand, and that was how anyone could approach this matter in such a longwinded way. Everything in him quivered, and the elaborate formality with which Beineberg produced his ideas-wherever he got them from-seemed to him ridiculous and out of place; it irritated him.
But Beineberg continued calmly: “Where Reiting is concerned, on the other hand, it's all very different. He has also put himself in my power by doing what he has done, but his fate is certainly not so much a matter of indifference to me as Basini's is. You know his mother is not very well off. So if he gets expelled, it'll be all up with his plans. If he stays here, he may get somewhere. If not, there's not likely to be much chance for him. And Reiting never liked me-see what I mean?-he's always hated me. He used to try to damage me wherever he could. I think he would still be glad if he could get rid of me. Now do you see what an immense amount I can make out of what I've discovered?”
Törless was startled-and it was strangely as if Reiting's fate affected him personally, were almost his own. He looked at Beineberg in dismay. Beineberg had narrowed his eyes to a mere slit, and to Törless he looked like a great, weird spider quietly lurking in its web. His last words rang in Törless's ears with the coldness and clarity of an ultimatum.
Törless had not been following, had only known: Beineberg is talking about his ideas again, and they have nothing at all to do with the matter in hand.. .And now all at once he did not know how it had reached this point.
The web, which had, after all, been begun somewhere far off in a realm of abstractions, as he vaguely remembered, seemed to have contracted suddenly and with miraculous speed. For all at once it was there, concrete, real, alive, and there was a head twitching in it-choking.
He was far from having any liking for Reiting, but he now recalled the agreeable, impudent, carefree way in which he set about all his intrigues, and in contrast Beineberg seemed infamous as he sat there, calm and grinning, pulling his many-threaded, grey, abominable web of thoughts tight around the other.
Involuntarily Törless burst out: “You mustn't turn it to account against him!” What impelled him to th e exclamation was perhaps partly his constant secret repugnance for Beineberg.
But after a few minutes' reflec tion Beineberg said of his own a ccord: “What good would it do, anyway? Where he is concerned it would really be a pity. From now on in any case he's no danger to me, and after all he's not so worthless that one should trip him up over a silly thing of this kind.” And so that aspect of the affair was settled. But Beineberg went on talking, now again turning his attention to Basini's fate.
“Do you
“With a human being, it puts this hardness into his character, into his consciousness as a human being, into the sense of responsibility he has as a part of the spirit of the universe. And if a human being loses this consciousness, he loses himself. But if a human being has lost himself, abandoned himself, he has lost the special and peculiar purpose for which Nature created him as a human being. And this is the case in which one can be perfectly certain that one is dealing with something unnecessary, an empty form, something that has already long been deserted by the spirit of the universe.”
Törless felt no inclination to argue. He was not even listening very attentively. He himself had never felt the need to go in for such a metaphysical train of thought, nor had he ever wondered how anyone of Beineberg's intellect could indulge in such notions. The whole problem had simply not yet risen over the horizon of his life.
Thus he made no effort to enquire into the possible meaning, or lack of meaning, of Beineberg's remarks. He only half listened.
One thing he did not understand, and that was how anyone could approach this matter in such a longwinded way. Everything in him quivered, and the elaborate formality with which Beineberg produced his ideas-wherever he got them from-seemed to him ridiculous and out of place; it irritated him.
But Beineberg continued calmly: “Where Reiting is concerned, on the other hand, it's all very different. He has also put himself in my power by doing what he has done, but his fate is certainly not so much a matter of indifference to me as Basini's is. You know his mother is not very well off. So if he gets expelled, it'll be all up with his plans. If he stays here, he may get somewhere. If not, there's not likely to be much chance for him. And Reiting never liked me-see what I mean?-he's always hated me. He used to try to damage me wherever he could. I think he would still be glad if he could get rid of me. Now do you see what an immense amount I can make out of what I've discovered?”
Törless was startled-and it was strangely as if Reiting's fate affected him personally, were almost his own. He looked at Beineberg in dismay. Beineberg had narrowed his eyes to a mere slit, and to Törless he looked like a great, weird spider quietly lurking in its web. His last words rang in Törless's ears with the coldness and clarity of an ultimatum.
Törless had not been following, had only known: Beineberg is talking about his ideas again, and they have nothing at all to do with the matter in hand.. .And now all at once he did not know how it had reached this point.
The web, which had, after all, been begun somewhere far off in a realm of abstractions, as he vaguely remembered, seemed to have contracted suddenly and with miraculous speed. For all at once it was there, concrete, real, alive, and there was a head twitching in it-choking.
He was far from having any liking for Reiting, but he now recalled the agreeable, impudent, carefree way in which he set about all his intrigues, and in contrast Beineberg seemed infamous as he sat there, calm and grinning, pulling his many-threaded, grey, abominable web of thoughts tight around the other.
Involuntarily Törless burst out: “You mustn't turn it to account against him!” What impelled him to th e exclamation was perhaps partly his constant secret repugnance for Beineberg.
But after a few minutes' reflec tion Beineberg said of his own a ccord: “What good would it do, anyway? Where he is concerned it would really be a pity. From now on in any case he's no danger to me, and after all he's not so worthless that one should trip him up over a silly thing of this kind.” And so that aspect of the affair was settled. But Beineberg went on talking, now again turning his attention to Basini's fate.
“Do you
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