The Magic Mountain Part 18

"These papers," he said, "bear the stamp, in French, of the International League for the Organization of Progress. I have them from Lugano, where there is an office of a branch of the League. You inquire after its principles, its scope? I will define them for you, in two words. The League for the Organization of Progress deduces from Darwinian theory the philosophic concept that man's profoundest natural impulse is in the direction of self-realization. From this it follows that all those who seek satisfaction of this impulse must become co-labourers in the cause of human progress. Many are those who have responded to the call; there is a considerable membership, in France, Italy, Spain, Turkey, and in Germany itself. I myself have the honour or having my name inscribed on the roll. A comprehensive and scientifically executed programme has been drawn up, embracing all the projects for human improvement conceivable at the moment. We are studying the problem of our health as a race, and the means for combating the degeneration which is a regrettable accompanying phenomenon of our increasing industrialization. The League envisages the founding of universities for the people, the resolution of the cla.s.s conflict by means of all the social ameliorations which recommend themselves for the purpose, and finally the doing away with national conflicts, the abolition of war through the development of international law. You perceive that the objects toward which the League directs its efforts are ambitious and broad in their scope. Several international periodicals are evidence of its activities-monthly reviews, which contain articles in three or four languages on the subject of the progressive evolution of civilized humanity. Numerous local groups have been established in the various countries; it is expected that they will exert an edifying and enlightening influence by means of discussion evenings and appropriate Sunday observances. Above all, the League will strive its utmost to aid with the material at its disposal the political party of progress in every country. You follow me, Engineer?"

"Absolutely," Hans Castorp replied, with precipitation. He had, as he spoke, the feeling of a man who finds himself slipping, but for the moment contrives to keep his feet.

Herr Settembrini appeared satisfied. "I a.s.sume that these are new and surprising ideas to you?"

"Yes, I confess this is the first time I have heard of these-these endeavours."

"Ah," Settembrini murmured, "ah, if you had only heard of them earlier! But perhaps it is not yet too late. These circulars-you would like to know what they say? Listen. Last spring a formal meeting of the League was called, at Barcelona. You are aware that that city can boast of a quite special affinity with progressive political ideas. The congress sat for a week, with banquets and festivities. I wanted to go- good G.o.d, I yearned to be there and take part in the deliberations. But that scurvy rascal of a Hofrat forbade me on pain of death, so-well, I was afraid I should die, and I didn't go. I was in despair, as you may imagine, over the trick my unreliable health had played me. Nothing is more painful than to be prevented by our physical, our animal nature from being of service to reason. My satisfaction, therefore, over this communication from Lugano is the more lively. You are curious to know what it says? I can imagine. But first, a few brief explanations: the League for the Organization of Progress, mindful of its task of furthering human happiness-in other words, of combating human suffering by the available social methods, to the end of finally eliminating it altogether; mindful also of the fact that this lofty task can only be accomplished by the aid of sociology, the end and aim of which is the perfect State, the League, in session at Barcelona, determined upon the publication of a series of volumes bearing the general t.i.tle: The Sociology of Suffering The Sociology of Suffering. It should be the aim of the series to cla.s.sify human suffering according to cla.s.ses and categories, and to treat it systematically and exhaustively. You ask what is the use of cla.s.sification, arrangement, systematization? I answer you: order and simplification are the first steps toward the mastery of a subject-the actual enemy is the unknown. We must lead the human race up out of the primitive stages of fear and patient stupidity, and set its feet on the path of conscious activity. We must enlighten it upon two points: first, that given effects become void when one first recognizes and then removes their causes; and second, that almost all individual suffering is due to disease of the social organism. Very well; this is the object of the Sociological Pathology Sociological Pathology. It will be issued in some twenty folio volumes, treating every species of human suffering, from the most personal and intimate to the great collective struggles arising from the conflicting interests of cla.s.ses and nations; it will, in short, exhibit the chemical elements whose combination in various proportions results in all the ills to which our human flesh is heir. The publication will in every case take as its norm the dignity and happiness of mankind, and seek to indicate the measures and remedies calculated to remove the cause of each deviation. Famous European specialists, physicians, psychologists, and economists will share in the composition of this encyclopaedia of suffering, and the general editorial bureau at Lugano will act as the reservoir to collect all the articles which shall flow into it. I can read in your eyes the question as to what my share is to be in all these activities. Hear me to the end. This great work will not neglect the belletrist in so far as he deals with human suffering: a volume is projected which shall contain a compilation and brief a.n.a.lysis of such masterpieces of the world's literature as come into question by depicting one or other kind of conflict- for the consolation and instruction of the suffering. This, then, is the task entrusted to your humble servant, in the letter you see here."

"You don't say, Herr Settembrini! Allow me to offer you my heartiest congratulations! That is a magnificent commission, just in your line, I should think. No wonder the League thought of you! And what joy you must feel to aid in the elimination of human suffering!"

"It is a work very broad in its scope," Herr Settembrini said thoughtfully, "and will require much consideration and wide reading. Especially," he added, and his gaze seemed to lose itself in the immensity of his task, "since literature has regularly chosen to depict suffering, and even second- and third-rate masterpieces treat of it in one form or another. But what of that? So much the better! However comprehensive the work may be, it is at least of a nature that will permit me to carry it on, if needs must, even in this accursed place-though I hope I need not be here long enough to bring it to a conclusion. That is something," he said, moving closer to Hans Castorp, and subduing his voice nearly to a whisper, "that is something which can hardly be said of the duties nature lays upon you, Engineer! This is what I wanted to bring out, this is the word of warning I have been trying to utter. You know what admiration I feel for your profession. But as it is a practical, not an intellectual calling, you are differently situated from myself, in that you can only pursue it down in the world- only there can you be a true European, only there can you actively fight suffering, improve the time, further progress, with your own weapons and in your own way. If I have told you of the task that has fallen to my lot, it was only to remind you, only to recall you to yourself, only to clarify certain conceptions of yours which the atmospheric conditions up here were obviously beginning to becloud. I would urge it upon you: hold yourself upright, preserve your self-respect, do not give ground to the unknown. Flee from this sink of iniquity, this island of Circe, whereon you are not Odysseus enough to dwell in safety. You will be going on all fours-already you are inclining toward your forward extremities, and presently you will begin to grunt- have a care!"

The humanist had uttered these admonitions in the same low voice, shaking his head impressively. He finished with drawn brows and eyes directed toward the ground. To answer him slightly or jestingly, as Hans Castorp would once have done, was out of the question. The young man weighed that possibility for a second, standing with lowered lids. Then he lifted his shoulders and spoke, no louder than Herr Settembrini: "What shall I do?" "What I told you." "You mean-go away?"

Herr Settembrini was silent.

"What you mean to say is that I should leave for home?"

"It was the advice I gave you on the first evening, Engineer."

"Yes-and then I was free to do so, though it seemed to me silly to throw up the sponge just because the air up here put me about a bit. But now it is a rather different state of affairs: I have been examined, and Hofrat Behrens told me in so many words that it would be no good my going home, I should only have to come back again; and that if I stopped down there, the whole lobe would be at the devil before you could say Jack Robinson." "I know; and now you have the evidence in your pocket."

"You say that so ironically-with the right kind of irony, of course, that cannot for a moment be misunderstood, the direct and cla.s.sic device of oratory-you see, I remember the things you say. But do you mean that after you have seen this photograph, after the x-ray and Behrens's diagnosis, you take it upon yourself to advise me to go home?"

Settembrini hesitated for a second. Then he drew himself up, and directed the gaze of his black eyes full upon Hans Castorp's face. He answered, with an emphasis not quite without theatrical effect: "Yes, Engineer, I take it upon myself."

But Hans Castorp's bearing too had stiffened. He stood with his heels together, and looked straight at Herr Settembrini in his turn. This time it was a duel. Hans Castorp stood his ground. Influences from not far off gave him strength. Here was a schoolmaster-but yonder was a woman with narrow eyes. He made no apologies for his words, he did not beg Herr Settembrini not to take offence; he answered: "Then you are more prudent for yourself than for others. You did not go to Barcelona in the face of the doctor's orders. You were afraid of death, and you stopped up here."

To a certain point Herr Settembrini's pose was undeniably shaken; his smile, as he answered, was slightly forced.

"I know how to value a ready answer-even though your logic smacks of sophistry. It would disgust me to enter the lists in the sort of rivalry that is too current up here; otherwise I might reply that my case is far more serious than yours-so much more, in fact, that it is only by artificial means, almost by deliberate self-deception, that I can keep alive the hope of leaving this place and having sight of the world below before I die. In the moment when that hope can no longer be decently sustained, in that moment I shall turn my back on this establishment, and take private lodgings somewhere in the valley. That will be sad; but as the sphere of my labours is the freest, the least material in the world, the change cannot prevent me from resisting the forces of disease and serving the cause of humanity, up to my latest breath. The difference between us, in this respect, I have already pointed out to you. Engineer, you are not the man to a.s.sert your better self in these surroundings. I saw it at our first meeting. You reproach me with not having gone to Barcelona. I submitted to the prohibition, not to destroy myself untimely. But I did so with the most stringent reservations; my spirit protested in pride and anguish against the dictates of my wretched body. Whether that protest survives in you, as you comply with the behests of our powers that be-whether it is not rather the body, the body and its evil propensities, to which you lend a ready ear-"

"What have you against the body?" interrupted Hans Castorp suddenly, and looked at him with wide blue eyes, the whites of which were veined with blood. He was giddy with his own temerity and showed as much.-Whatever am I saying? he thought. I'm getting out of my depth. But I I won't give way; now I have begun, I won't give him the last word if I can help it. Of course he will have it anyhow, but never mind, I will make the most of it while I can.-He enlarged upon his objection: "But you are a humanist, are you not? What can you have to say against the body?" Settembrini's smile this time was unforced and confident. " 'What have you against a.n.a.lysis?' " he quoted, with his head on one side. " 'Are you down on a.n.a.lysis?' You will always find me ready to answer you, Engineer," he said, with a bow and a sweeping downward motion of the hand, "particularly when your opposition is spirited; and you parry not without elegance. Humanist-yes, certainly, I am a humanist. You could never convict me of ascetic inclinations. I affirm, honour, and love the body, as I protest I affirm, honour, and love form, beauty, freedom, gaiety, the enjoyment of life. I represent the world, the interest of this life, against a sentimental withdrawal and negation, cla.s.sicism against romanticism. I think my position is unequivocal. But there is one power, one principle, which commands my deepest a.s.sent, my highest and fullest allegiance and love; and this power, this principle, is the intellect. However much I dislike hearing that conception of moonshine and cobwebs people call 'the soul' played off against the body, yet, within the ant.i.thesis of body and mind, the body is the evil, the devilish principle, for the body is nature, and nature-within the sphere, I repeat, of her antagonism to the mind, and to reason-is evil, mystical and evil. 'You are a humanist?' By all means I am a humanist, because I am a friend of mankind, like Prometheus, a lover of humanity and human n.o.bility. That n.o.bility is comprehended in the mind, in the reason, and therefore you will level against me in vain the reproach of Christian obscurantism-" Hans Castorp demurred. won't give way; now I have begun, I won't give him the last word if I can help it. Of course he will have it anyhow, but never mind, I will make the most of it while I can.-He enlarged upon his objection: "But you are a humanist, are you not? What can you have to say against the body?" Settembrini's smile this time was unforced and confident. " 'What have you against a.n.a.lysis?' " he quoted, with his head on one side. " 'Are you down on a.n.a.lysis?' You will always find me ready to answer you, Engineer," he said, with a bow and a sweeping downward motion of the hand, "particularly when your opposition is spirited; and you parry not without elegance. Humanist-yes, certainly, I am a humanist. You could never convict me of ascetic inclinations. I affirm, honour, and love the body, as I protest I affirm, honour, and love form, beauty, freedom, gaiety, the enjoyment of life. I represent the world, the interest of this life, against a sentimental withdrawal and negation, cla.s.sicism against romanticism. I think my position is unequivocal. But there is one power, one principle, which commands my deepest a.s.sent, my highest and fullest allegiance and love; and this power, this principle, is the intellect. However much I dislike hearing that conception of moonshine and cobwebs people call 'the soul' played off against the body, yet, within the ant.i.thesis of body and mind, the body is the evil, the devilish principle, for the body is nature, and nature-within the sphere, I repeat, of her antagonism to the mind, and to reason-is evil, mystical and evil. 'You are a humanist?' By all means I am a humanist, because I am a friend of mankind, like Prometheus, a lover of humanity and human n.o.bility. That n.o.bility is comprehended in the mind, in the reason, and therefore you will level against me in vain the reproach of Christian obscurantism-" Hans Castorp demurred.

"You will," Herr Settembrini persisted, "level this reproach in vain, if humanistic pride one day learns to feel as a debas.e.m.e.nt and disgrace the fact that the intellect is bound up with the body and with nature. Did you know that the great Plotinus is said to have made the remark that he was ashamed to have a body?" asked Settembrini. He seemed eager for a reply, and Hans Castorp was constrained to confess that this was the first he had heard of it.

"We have it from Porphyrius. An absurd remark, if you like. But the absurd is the intellectually honourable; and nothing can be more pitiable than the reproach of absurdity, levelled against the mind as it a.s.serts its dignity against nature, and refuses to abdicate before her.-Have you heard of the Lisbon earthquake, Engineer?" "An earthquake? No-I see no newspapers up here-"

"You misunderstand me. En pa.s.sant En pa.s.sant, let me say it is a pity, and very indicative of the spirit of this place, that you neglect to read the papers. But you misunderstand me, the convulsion of nature to which I refer is not modern. It took place some hundred and fifty years ago."

"I see. Oh, wait-I have it. I have read that Goethe said to his servant, that night in his bedchamber-"

"No, it was not of that I was speaking," Settembrini interrupted him, closing hiseyes, and shaking his small sallow hand in the air. "Besides, you are confusing twocatastrophes. You are thinking of the earthquake of Messina. I have in mind the onethat visited Lisbon in the year 1755."

"Pardon."

"Well, Voltaire was outraged by it."

"Outraged? That is-how do you mean?"

"He rebelled. Yes. He declined to accept that brutal fatum et factum fatum et factum. His spirit refused to abdicate before it. He protested in the name of reason and the intellect against that scandalous dereliction of nature, to which were sacrificed thousands of human lives, and three-quarters of a flourishing city. You are astonished? You smile? You may well be astonished; but as for smiling, give me leave to tell you it is out of place. Voltaire's att.i.tude was that of a worthy descendant of those old Gauls that shot their arrows against the heavens. There, Engineer, you have the hostility the intellect feels against nature, its proud mistrust, its high-hearted insistence upon the right to criticize her and her evil, reason-denying power. Nature is force; and it is slavish to suffer force, to abdicate before it-to abdicate, that is, inwardly. And there too you have the humanistic position which runs not the slightest risk of involving itself in contradictions, or of relapsing into churchly hypocrisy, when it sees in the body the antagonist, the representative of the evil principle. The contradiction you imagine you see is at bottom always the same. 'What have you against a.n.a.lysis?' Nothing-when it serves the cause of enlightenment, freedom, progress. Everything when it is pervaded by the horrible haut gout haut gout of the grave. And thus too with the body. We are to honour and uphold the body when it is a question of emanc.i.p.ation, of beauty, of freedom of thought, of joy, of desire. We must despise it in so far as it sets itself up as the principle of gravity and inertia, when it obstructs the movement toward light; we must despise it in so far as it represents the principle of disease and death, in so far as its specific essence is the essence of perversity, of decay, sensuality, and shame." These last words Settembrini had uttered standing close to Hans Castorp, very rapidly and tonelessly, as though to make an end of the subject. Succour was nigh for the youth: Joachim entered the reading-room, with two postcards in his hand. The Italian broke off; and the dexterity with which he altered his tone for one in a lighter and fitting social key was not lost upon his pupil-if so Hans Castorp may be called. "There you are, Lieutenant! Have you been looking for your cousin? I must apologize; we had fallen into conversation-if I am not mistaken, we have even had a slight disagreement. He is not a bad reasoner, your cousin, a by no means contemptible antagonist in an argument-when he takes the notion." of the grave. And thus too with the body. We are to honour and uphold the body when it is a question of emanc.i.p.ation, of beauty, of freedom of thought, of joy, of desire. We must despise it in so far as it sets itself up as the principle of gravity and inertia, when it obstructs the movement toward light; we must despise it in so far as it represents the principle of disease and death, in so far as its specific essence is the essence of perversity, of decay, sensuality, and shame." These last words Settembrini had uttered standing close to Hans Castorp, very rapidly and tonelessly, as though to make an end of the subject. Succour was nigh for the youth: Joachim entered the reading-room, with two postcards in his hand. The Italian broke off; and the dexterity with which he altered his tone for one in a lighter and fitting social key was not lost upon his pupil-if so Hans Castorp may be called. "There you are, Lieutenant! Have you been looking for your cousin? I must apologize; we had fallen into conversation-if I am not mistaken, we have even had a slight disagreement. He is not a bad reasoner, your cousin, a by no means contemptible antagonist in an argument-when he takes the notion."

Humaniora

HANS CASTORP and Joachim Ziemssen, arrayed in white trousers and blue blazers, were sitting in the garden after dinner. It was another of those much-lauded October days: bright without being heavy, hot and yet with a tang in the air. The sky above the valley was a deep southern blue and the pastures beneath, with the cattle tracks running across and across them, still a lively green. From the rugged slopes came the sound of cowbells; the peaceful, simple, melodious tintinnabulation came floating unbroken through the quiet, thin, empty air, enhancing the mood of solemnity that broods over the valley heights.

The cousins were sitting on a bench at the end of the garden, in front of a semicircle of young firs. The small open s.p.a.ce lay at the north-west of the hedged-in platform, which rose some fifty yards above the valley, and formed the foundations of the Berghof building. They were silent. Hans Castorp was smoking. He was also wrangling inwardly with Joachim, who had not wanted to join the society on the verandah after luncheon, and had drawn his cousin against his will into the stillness and seclusion of the garden, until such time as they should go up to their balconies. That was behaving like a tyrant-when it came to that, they were not Siamese twins, it was possible for them to separate, if their inclinations took them in opposite directions. Hans Castorp was not up here to be company for Joachim, he was a patient himself. Thus he grumbled on, and could endure to grumble, for had he not Maria? He sat, his hands in his blazer pockets, his feet in brown shoes stretched out before him, and held the long, greyish cigar between his lips, precisely in the centre of his mouth, and drooping a little. It was in the first stages of consumption, he had not yet knocked off the ash from its blunt tip; its aroma was peculiarly grateful after the heavy meal just enjoyed. It might be true that in other respects getting used to life up here had mainly consisted in getting used to not getting used to it. But for the chemistry of his digestion, the nerves of his mucous membrane, which had been parched and tender, inclined to bleeding, it seemed that the process of adjustment had completed itself. For imperceptibly, in the course of these nine or ten weeks, his organic satisfaction in that excellent brand of vegetable stimulant or narcotic had been entirely restored. He rejoiced in a faculty regained, his mental satisfaction heightened the physical. During his time in bed he had saved on the supply of two hundred cigars which he had brought with him, and some of these were still left; but at the same time with his winter clothing from below, there had arrived another five hundred of the Bremen make, which he had ordered through Schalleen to make quite sure of not running out. They came in beautiful little varnished boxes, ornamented in gilt with a globe, several medals, and an exhibition building with a flag floating above it.

As they sat, behold, there came Hofrat Behrens through the garden. He had taken his midday meal in the dining-hall to-day, folding his gigantic hands before his place at Frau Salomon's table. After that he had probably been on the terrace, making the suitable personal remark to each and everybody, very likely displaying his trick with the bootlaces for such of the guests as had not seen it. Now he came lounging through the garden, wearing a check tail-coat, instead of his smock, and his stiff hat on the back of his head. He too had a cigar in his mouth, a very black one, from which he was puffing great white clouds of smoke. His head and face, with the over-heated purple cheeks, the snub nose, watery blue eyes, and little clipped moustache, looked small in proportion to the lank, rather warped and stooping figure, and the enormous hands and feet. He was nervous; visibly started when he saw the cousins, and seemed embarra.s.sed over the necessity of pa.s.sing them. But he greeted them in his usual picturesque and expansive fashion, with "Behold, behold, Timotheus!" going on to invoke the usual blessings on their metabolisms, while he prevented their rising from their seats, as they would have done in his honour.

"Sit down, sit down. No formalities with a simple man like me. Out of place too, you being my patients, both of you. Not necessary. No objection to the status quo status quo," and he remained standing before them, holding the cigar between the index and middle fingers of his great right hand.

"How's your cabbage-leaf, Castorp? Let me see, I'm a connoisseur. That's a good ash-what sort of brown beauty have you there?"

"Maria Mancini, Postre de Banquett Postre de Banquett, Bremen, Herr Hofrat. Costs little or nothing, nineteen pfennigs in plain colours-but a bouquet you don't often come across at the price. Sumatra-Havana wrapper, as you see. I am very wedded to them. It is a medium mixture, very fragrant, but cool on the tongue. Suits it to leave the ash long, I don't knock it off more than a couple of times. She has her whims, of course, has Maria; but the inspection must be very thorough, for she doesn't vary much, and draws perfectly even. May I offer you one?" "Thanks, we can exchange." And they drew out their cases.

"There's a thorough-bred for you," the Hofrat said, as he displayed his brand. "Temperament, you know, juicy, got some guts to it. St. Felix, Brazil-I've always stuck to this sort. Regular 'begone, dull care,' burns like brandy, has something fulminating toward the end. But you need to exercise a little caution-can't light one from the other, you know-more than a fellow can stand. However, better one good mouthful than any amount of nibbles."

They twirled their respective offerings between their fingers, felt connoisseur-likethe slender shapes that possessed, or so one might think, some organic quality of life, with their ribs formed by the diagonal parallel edges of the raised, here and there porous wrapper, the exposed veins that seemed to pulsate, the small inequalities of the skin, the play of light on planes and edges.

Hans Castorp expressed it: "A cigar like that is alive-it breathes. Fact. Once, at home, I had the idea of keeping Maria in an air-tight tin box, to protect her from damp. Would you believe it, she died! Inside of a week she perished-nothing but leathery corpses left."

They exchanged experiences upon the best way to keep cigars-particularly imported ones. The Hofrat loved them, he would have smoked nothing but heavy Havanas, but they did not suit him. He told Hans Castorp about two little Henry Clays he had once taken to his heart, in an evening company, which had come within an ace of putting him under the sod.

"I smoked them with my coffee," he said, "and thought no more of'it. But after a while it struck me to wonder how I felt-and I discovered it was like nothing on earth. I don't know how I got home-and once there, well, this time, my son, I said to myself, you're a goner. Feet and legs like ice, you know, reeking with cold sweat, white as a table-cloth, heart going all ways for Sunday-sometimes just a thread of a pulse, sometimes pounding like a trip-hammer. Cerebration phenomenal. I made sure I was going to toddle off-that is the very expression that occurred to me, because at the time I was feeling as jolly as a sand-boy. Not that I wasn't in a funk as well, because I was-I was just one large blue funk all over. Still, funk and felicity aren't mutually exclusive, everybody knows that. Take a chap who's going to have a girl for the first time in his life; he is in a funk too, and so is she, and yet both of them are simply dissolving with felicity. I was nearly dissolving too-my bosom swelled with pride, and there I was, on the point of toddling off; but the Mylendonk got hold of me and persuaded me it was a poor idea. She gave me a camphor injection, applied icecompresses and friction-and here I am, saved for humanity."

The Hofrat's large, goggling blue eyes watered as he told this story. Hans Castorp, seated in his capacity of patient, looked up at him with an expression that betrayed mental activity. "You paint sometimes, don't you, Herr Hofrat?" he asked suddenly.

The Hofrat pretended to stagger backwards. "What the deuce! What do you take me for, youngster?"

"I beg your pardon. I happened to hear somebody say so, and it just crossed my mind."

"Well, then, I won't trouble to lie about it. We're all poor creatures. I admit such a thing has happened. Anch' io sono pittore Anch' io sono pittore, as the Spaniard used to say."

"Landscape?" Hans Castorp asked him succinctly, with the air of a connoisseur, circ.u.mstances betraying him to this tone.

"As much as you like," the Hofrat answered, swaggering out of sheer selfconsciousness. "Landscape, still life, animals-chap like me shrinks from nothing." "No portraits?" "I've even thrown in a portrait or so. Want to give me an order?"

"Ha ha! No, but it would be very kind of you to show us your pictures some time- we should enjoy it."

Joachim looked blankly at his cousin, but then hastened to add his a.s.surances that it would be very kind indeed of the Hofrat.

Behrens was enchanted at the flattery. He grew red with pleasure, his tears seemed this time actually on the point of falling.

"With the greatest pleasure," he cried. "On the spot if you like. Come on, come along with me, I'll brew us a Turkish coffee in my den."

He pulled both young men from the bench and walked between them arm in arm, down the gravel path which led, as they knew, to his private quarters in the north-west wing of the building.

"I've dabbled a little in that sort of thing myself," Hans Castorp explained. "You don't say! Gone in for it properly-oils?"