The Magic Mountain: Chapter 3 (Part Two)

Clarity of Mind

As the cousins return to Joachim’s room, where the latter will begin to demonstrate for Hans the chief ritual of the sanatoriums’s daily routine. He stretches out on his specially designed balcony chair to begin the first of several formal "rest-cure" sessions that occur throughout the day and basically fill the life of each patient. First, however, he must take and record his temperature. (Significantly, the thermometer must be held in the mouth for seven minutes. Metaphorically speaking, this is how long it will take the mountain’s "magic" to work.)


The ritual prods the cousins into the first of many conversations about time which will occur throughout the novel. "Time" is one of the major themes of The Magic Mountain. In many ways, it is not only a motif in the book, but part of its primary subject matter. The mystery of time, considered from scientific, psychological, philosophical and aesthetic points of view reoccur constantly in the book. Hans Castorp, beginning in this scene, will become increasingly obsessed with the concept of time, and in a way it can be seen that this particular discussion is the beginning of his true initiation on his quest to discover the meaning and purpose of life.

The conversation begins casually enough, with Joachim observing that time seems to go more slowly when he is taking his temperature, just because he is paying attention to it. He dismisses this as an illusion, however, since time always proceeds at the same rate.

Suddenly, something is triggered within Hans Castorp, and he immediately reacts skeptically to the conventional notion of the uniformity of time. I do not think that it is any accident that Hans begins this questioning immediately after his first encounter with Herr Settembrini, who has chided Hans for accepting things at face value and exhorted him to engage in critical analysis. Indeed, this may be the first time in Hans Castorp’s life that he has ever challenged "traditional" or "conventional" wisdom on any serious level.

With a spark of inspiration that smacks of the true opening of consciousness to the world around him, Hans suddenly declares, "There’s nothing ‘actual’ about time. If it seems long to you, then it is long, and if it seems to pass quickly, then it’s short. But how long or how short it is in actuality, no one knows."

Joachim is puzzled by this notion of time’s relativity and subjectivity. To him, time is an absolute: "A minute is as long as . . . it takes a second hand to complete a circle." But this pat answer is no longer sufficient for Hans:


"But how long that takes can vary greatly - according to how we feel it! And in point of fact . . . I repeat, in point of fact . . . that’s a matter of motion, of motion in space correct? Wait, here me out! And so we measure time with space. But that is the same thing as trying to measure space with time - the way uneducated people do."

Hans has just crossed over a line that will permanently separate him from the "flatlanders" down below. By looking beyond simple convention, he has grasped his first fundamental insight into the grand mystery of being. He has also, without knowing it, joined the grand tradition of the German philosophic tradition. As he becomes more excited with every thought, he soon comes very close to Kantian territory:

"So then, what is time? . . . We perceive space with our senses, with vision and touch. But what is our organ for our sense of time? Would you please tell me that? You see, you’re stuck. But how are we ever going to measure something about which, precisely speaking, we know nothing at all - cannot list a single one of its properties. We say time passes. Fine, let it pass for all I care. But in order to measure it . . . no, wait! In order to be measurable, it would have to flow evenly, but where is it written that it does that? It doesn’t do that for our conscious minds, we simply assume it does, just for the sake of convenience. And so all our measurements are merely conventions, if you please."

This is, unquestionably, an enormous conceptual leap on Hans’ part. The questions he are asking are some of the very ones that have bedeviled great the great philosophical minds of Germany throughout the 18th and 19th centuries, persisting up to the contemporary moment. Hans has hit very nearly on the radical disconnect between the subjectively apprehended "phenomenal world" and the never-accessible "thing-in-itself" of the "noumenal world." Moreover, he has correctly discerned that "time" is not observable through the senses, and is very nearly close to concluding that the medium of time itself can only be understood as "a category of thought" - a medium through which the mind experiences phenomenal sensations.

Joachim is shocked by his cousin’s sudden philosophizing. He himself is a simple, practical man of action, and he does not see what all this intellectual indulgence is leading to. This is a key distinction between Hans and Joachim that will remain throughout the book. The cousins are, in essence, two sides of the German character: the abstract and the practical. Mann clearly sees the conflict between the two modes of thought and attitude towards life and quietly highlights their apparent incompatibility. It is a great question whether the author ever commits himself to one side or the other without ambiguity.

If Hans can see deeper into reality, what does it matter, if he fails to act? And if Joachim is pure act, that is, he behaves conventionally without question, could not his actions simply lead to pure disaster? This will be one of ongoing dichotomies or "active dialectics" at work in this very philosophical novel, and we cannot begin to give an answer here, so very soon into the narrative. For Hans, the process of his transformation is only just beginning.

If we go back to what Dr. Behrens has observed, Hans has more "talent" for being a patient than does Joachim. One way this judgment can be interpreted is that Hans’ open and inquisitive nature leads him to use the time given to him on the mountain to grow both mentally and spiritually. Joachim, on the other hand, considers all his time up here merely a waste and wants to get back as soon as possible. The ironic question will persist for some time: which of the cousins has the healthier and most beneficial perspective and attitude? We shall see that there may not be such a simple answer.

As for Hans, he immediately displays his newly discovered "talent," and after leaving his cousin in peace, he moves to his own balcony to discover that one of the sanatorium’s specially designed "lounging chairs" has been deposited there for his own use. Hans is absolutely delighted with the "heavenly" chair with its stylish frame, thick cushions, neck support and the wooden arms. This chair will become an absolute fetish for Hans Castorp, and he is already wondering if he can purchase one and take it back to Hamburg with him.

We recall that Hans does not care for work, and he spends his hour in the chair feeling "marvelous." While he has brought a book called Ocean Steamships along, he is not even tempted to crack it open, but luxuriates for the entire time simply staring quietly staring at the landscape around him, as if it were a painting. We can see that, given Hans’ rather lazy character, how easily he could be seduced into spending his life simply sitting around and allowing time to pass. What we cannot say, unambiguously, is whether this would be a good thing for him. For better or for worse, however, Hans Castorp’s first "rest-cure" is unquestionably another step on his "initiation" into the life on the magic mountain.

As Hans sits, staring pleasantly at the scenery, and completely without warning, Mann inserts one of the funniest lines of the chapter: "Suddenly it came to him - and he said aloud into the silence, "That was a dwarf who served us at breakfast."

Yes, it was. Mann’s comical use of such a figure is obviously designed to reinforce the fairy-tale nature of his story. What makes it funny is the incongruity of Hans’ realization of it just now. It is just one more odd thing about the Berghof - though Joachim doesn’t find it odd, as he answers from his adjacent balcony, "So what?" Once again we see that Hans does indeed have more "talent" than his cousin. He notices things that others simply ignore or take for granted.

Joachim, along with the other patients at the sanatorium are more internalized than Hans. They are more under the "spell" of the mountain, and tend to be almost completely self-absorbed. Hans, on the other hand, being new to the place, is curious and fascinated by every strange thing that he sees. As long as he is awake and alert to his surroundings, he will advance and learn.

This is brought home almost immediately after the hour of the rest-cure, when the two cousins go to attend "second breakfast." Hans, whose very initial meeting with Settembrini has so sharpened his wits that he has turned into a budding philosopher, has difficulty eating, and is repulsed by the white sight of all the milk being served. He wants his morning glass of porter.

The dwarf, however, tells him they have no porter, but offers to bring him a Kulmbach beer, a very dark German brew. Hans gladly accepts the substitute and finds it delicious. Instead of putting him into his normal, pleasant stupor, however, he finds that the beer "had completely stupefied and lamed him." The full flush from the night before returns to his cheeks, and he is suddenly unable to speak clearly or follow conversations. He does not even react when the offending door rudely slams shut again.

It appears that Hans has not adjusted to the altitude yet - which does increase the effects of alcohol. But there is perhaps more to it than that. Settembrini had denounced tobacco smoke, but alcohol seems to have a much worse effect on Hans. All the "clarity" he had experienced in his mind is gone now after drinking a beer. It appears that the soothing effects of the joys of the flatlands are amplified up here to the point of distortion. Perhaps, more importantly, their effects may be signs to Hans Castorp to stay alert.

We shall see that all these strange bodily reactions are not only manifestations of a gradual acclimatization, but they are in fact symptoms of a greater transformation within Hans himself.

 

One Word Too Many

In this short section, we see just how extremely Hans Castorp’s body is beginning to react to his environment, as the cousins take a walk down to the little village of Dorf. Hans tries once again to smoke a cigar, and while this time, he is able to recognize the pleasant aroma occasionally, it still tastes "leathery. He finally gives up trying and throws it away.

Hans complains to Joachim that his heart is pounding away, "of its own accord," which is very disconcerting to him. "It’s as if the body were going off on its own and no longer had any connection to your soul." What precisely is Hans experiencing? While Dr. Behrens, no doubt, would attempt to define it in medical terms, metaphorically, we can see that the disassociation Hans is feeling from himself is the result of his falling under the "spell" of the mountain.

He continues to try to describe his strange feelings, and comes up with a way to describe it. He says he feels like a dead body that is still walking around "all of its own accord." He goes on to say that it is like it is still acting chemically and physically, "a regular hustle and bustle there inside."

Joachim takes offense to this phrase, and presumably, to Hans’ entire line of description here. The subheading of this section, "One Word Too Many" seems to pertain directly to this last statement, though "hustle and bustle" is three words in English. At any rate, it seems quite likely that Joachim takes Hans’ words personally, as he feels worthless sitting up here, wasting his time at the Berghof. Metaphorically, Joachim may view himself as something of a "dead man," still functioning physically, but doing nothing of value. He may even see in Hans’ phrase a vision of his own inevitable physical death. However, as before, Hans remains perfectly blind to the possible effects his words may have on his cousin. As opposed to the "man of action," Hans Castorp remains a person who is almost completely self-absorbed.

The two continue wandering about the little town, which has turned into a vacation spot for tourists, and discuss some of the other patients. Hans bungles the name of a pretty, large-breasted girl who sits at their table, a Russian named Marusya, whom he calls "Mazurka." Joachim’s face turns blotchy at the mention of her, so Hans changes the subject. We will see quite clearly that Joachim is quite smitten with this Russian girl, though he shyly refrains from talking to her. This is another example of Hans showing a lack of sensitivity for his cousin’s feelings.

The pair watch the tourists from all over Europe, including healthy people playing tennis. Joachim tells Hans that the patients are forbidden to play, although some of them do on the sly. He contrasts the patients with the tourists, telling Hans that Settembrini refers to them as "horizontals," as they live most of their lives in that position. Still, some of them sneak into the town in the evening to do "forbidden" things, such as gambling.

Taking the town and the patients metaphorically, we can perhaps see pre-war Europe as a thoughtless playground for the rich, who pursue their pleasures oblivious to the dangers and sufferings around them. The patients, the "horizontals," who exist in what Settembrini has referred to as the land of the dead, seem to fight against the notion that they are ill (or even figuratively dead) simply by pretending or ignoring the fact of their real situation.

All this time, Hans is suffering from his stupor, wandering about the town barely speaking and having trouble breathing. While he sees himself as one of the "tourists," his growing symptoms reveal that he is actually transforming into one of the "horizontals" without realizing it. After returning with difficulty to the sanatorium, Hans collapses immediately back onto his lounge chair in a daze.

 

But of Course - a Female!

After rest cure, Hans and Joachim return to the dining hall for supper. This is the chief meal of the day, a full six courses with extraordinary portions, and Mann notes how voraciously all of the patients eat, even those who seem the most sickly and despondent. As Hans sits in the same configuration of tables and people for the third time that day, he gets the odd impression that he has never left the dining hall, that there had only been one continuous, meal. This illusion is significant in that it demonstrates how the repetitiveness of routine can make time seem irrelevant, or even non-existent at the Berghof. Hans has already speculated about the subjective nature of time once today, and here he is directly experiencing it in a distorted fashion, as if to prove his own earlier premise true.

Hans sits at the table, still not feeling right, and he listens to the other diners - especially Frau Stöhr - gossiping about patients’ sexual scandals. It seems that the sanitorium residents, despite their illness, still engage in petty affairs as if they were quite well, the same way they sneak down to the town to gamble and carouse. Once again, this is a display of the willing ignorance that European society displays in its frivolous behavior and sense of denial in the years leading up to the war.

As Hans is observing everything around him with muddle-headed difficulty, he hears the door suddenly slam for the third time that day. Irritated again, he determines that he must finally discover who is performing the rude action, and when he looks around, he sees a young woman "slinking" toward the "Good Russian table," absent-mindedly fooling with her hair with one of her hands. "But of course - a female!" is his mental response. Apparently, in Hans Castorp’s mind, women are seen as less fastidiously conscious of their actions, and presumably, less polite. They are not held to the same standard of respectability as men, but we get no inkling of whether Hans Castorp is more tolerant of their behavior on that account.

His tablemates inform him that the lady in question is one Madame Chauchat, a Russian, who is married, though her husband never visits her at the sanatorium. Hans notices her "Oriental" features: "broad cheekbones and narrow eyes." In Hans’ view (and quite possibly in Mann’s), Easterners - including East Europeans - show a marked cultural distinction from the more self-controlled and properly dignified Westerners. (We have already seen his indignation with the boisterous sexual carryings-on of his Russian neighbors.) Settembrini, we shall also see, disdains Easterners for their lack of cultural refinement.

Whether these ethnic distinctions are meant in earnest or as a parody, it is difficult to tell from the novel’s text. Like so many other elements of The Magic Mountain, the irony of both the characters’ observations as well as the narrator’s comment often make it difficult to impossible to determine whether or how serious to take a given perspective. In either case, Madame Chauchat, with her "Eastern" features, manners and morals is going to have a definite effect on Hans Castorp all throughout the first part of the book. Her loud, thoughtless door-slamming (and Hans’ exaggerated response to it) is a fitting introduction of this more exotic, less rational element into his world on the mountain, and these are qualities that Hans associates with "femininity."

Over the course of the chapters to come, Hans will become increasingly fascinated, and finally driven to a kind of mesmerized seduction by, the "exotic" feminine qualities that Madame Chauchat embodies for him. She will also become an opposing compass pole for the the rationalist Settembrini, and will compete (probably unknowingly) with the Italian for the sympathy and attraction of Hans Castorp’s character (and hence, his soul.)

This somewhat bizarre polarity between the two extremes of character has a political resonance in the book on a metaphorical level as well. Just as Hans Castorp represents the as-yet undeveloped nature of the young German democratic republic, both Settembrini and Madame Chauchat can be seen as cultural tendencies towards which the nation may be drawn. Throughout the book, and especially in the sections immediately to come, the lure of the East, with its softness and sensuality, combined with its capacity to be led by superstition and hierarchical power structures will be contrasted with the strong-willed and rationalistic self-determinism of Western values.

It is strongly implied that Hans’ growing illness makes him increasingly susceptible to the enchanting charms of the East, while the feminizing effects of this fascination in turn makes him more susceptible to illness. Plus, we have already seen a pronounced tendency in Hans Castorp’s character to be attracted to the lure of Oriental-style indulgence. He dislikes work, for one thing, and is only really happy when he is doing nothing. Now, the sight of Madame Chauchat triggers a hazy recognition of something buried deep within him: "A vague memory of something or somebody brushed over him." This memory, we shall see, will grow into something quite tangible and strange.

As Hans gratefully returns to his "splendid lounge chair" on the balcony for the day’s major rest cure, he discovers traces of red blood on his handkerchief after using it, a definite sign that he is indeed becoming ill, but he does not even have the energy to worry about it. This shows that the entire complex of the forces at work upon his mind and body on the magic mountain are already having their strange effect upon him, but like the other patients, he is too self-absorbed and wrapped up in denial to even recognize what is happening to him. Soon it will be too late.

 

Herr Albin

As Hans sits on his balcony, he becomes aware of a commotion in the pavilion in the garden below where several guests are gathered for a communal rest cure. Among several frightened ladies there is "a blond young man" with a cigarette dangling from his lips intentionally frightening them by showing off a particularly sharp knife. Hans hears them call his name as they beg him to stop: Herr Albin.

Not satisfied with the sadistic response he is getting from his knife, he goes to his room and returns, carrying a revolver. As the ladies shriek, Herr Albin informs them that it is fully loaded, and what’s more, he is planning to use it do himself in once he becomes too bored with being up here. He points the gun to his temple to achieve even more hysterical responses.

The ladies beg the young man to be more considerate of himself and his "young life," arguing that he will get well. They also chide him for not wearing a jacket in the chilly air and for smoking, even though he has just recovered from a bout of pneumonia. Herr Albin merely laughs at them, however, announcing that he is "incurable." The fact that he will never get any better grants him a unique license, he explains. He is free to do whatever he likes.


"It’s just the same as in high school when you know you’ll be held back . . . I don’t need to do anything anymore . . . and I can laugh at the whole thing."

Hans Castorp, listening up above with his muddled head and pounding heart notes that he begins to feel a little "envious" of Herr Albin. He remembers his sophomore year at school, when he was held back, and the enormous freedom that was granted to him by not having to worry about anything.


On the whole, however, it seemed to him that although honor had its advantages, so, too, did disgrace, and that indeed the advantages of the latter were almost boundless.

In short, Hans Castorp is being shown a potential version of himself, especially if he succumbs to the tempting illness of life at the Berghof. We have already noted his inherent laziness and his lack of motivation and ambition. An incurable illness would spare him the bother of having to work hard all his life at a career. The fact that he has already experienced with pleasure the situation that Herr Albin uses as a metaphor makes it plain that this wild young man below is Hans’ doppelganger, as is the fact that he is young and blonde and enjoys smoking. In a sense, the mountain is showing Hans a vision of what he could become.

It is very significant that Hans views Herr Albin with "envy," rather than with alarm or disgust. In the shape that he is in - the ongoing "spell" of the mountain which distorts reality, he is not thinking clearly, and in his addled state, he is allowing its effects to seduce him. The fact that Hans Castorp is able to look upon Herr Albin with a sense of positive association tells us just how far he could go up here. Hans, the more "talented" patient would succumb much more quickly to the Berghof’s effects than his cousin Joachim, who prides himself so much on "honor" that he continually thinks of nothing but leaving. Hans, on the other hand, is reaching a point where "disgrace" would be quite acceptable, if only he could have the boon of unlimited freedom from responsibility.

We are find ourselves more and more caught within the boundaries of a traditional fairy-tale structure, as the "magical spell" of some temptation is leading him to his doom. This is a very precarious time for young Hans, and we must pay close attention to see how he will respond. We must realize, however, that he is now reaching the height of danger.

Herr Albin’s knife and gun bring home the seriousness of this danger in the form of a very physical manifestation. The image of this young man holding a gun to his temple should give us pause. Herr Albin’s fate is the far end of what Hans Castorp could ultimately reach.

Yet there is something very inauthentic about Herr Albin. If had really arrived at such an extreme state, would he not have already shot himself? Why play with and tease the ladies with his weapons, his threats, his excesses if he has truly passed the point of no return. It is clear that Herr Albin is not ready to die, and deploys his "games" simply to postpone the ultimate act of self-annihilation.

In a sense, then, Herr Albin is not really taking illness and death seriously. He uses them as an excuse to keep up his pretenses and not have to come to grips with the facts. It would not be too far a stretch to see in Herr Albin the same tendency in pre-war Europe not to take the real warnings of catastrophe seriously before it becomes too late to prevent the inevitable conflagration. Politically, society is in denial of the real dangers surrounding it, just as Herr Albin’s nihilism is really a sham of a philosophy that keeps him from dealing with the inevitable.

We are getting closer and closer to the key question, however: which path with Hans Castorp take?

 

Satana Makes Shameful Suggestions

Hans Castorp awakes from dozing during the late afternoon rest cure and hears the sound of Dr. Krokowski moving along the balconies, checking on the patients. Hans is somewhat miffed that the doctor does not visit his room, but goes around it, through the hall, directly to Joachim’s. Of course, he reminds himself that he is only a visitor, but his feeling slighted in this regard is yet another indicator of his inner desire to remain at the Berghof.

On their way down to the "snack" - the fourth meal of the day - Hans brings up the subject of Herr Albin and his gun. He asks his cousin if he thought it possible that the young man might actually shoot himself, and Joachim nonchalantly replies in the affirmative. "That sort of thing happens up here." He goes on to tell Hans of a patient who hanged himself in the woods after a checkup.

Disturbed and still feeling dizzy and unwell, Hans suddenly suggests to his cousin that it might be wise for him to go ahead and return home. Joachim reacts with surprise, saying he has just arrived. How can he judge after only one day?

"Good Lord, is this still just my first day?" is Hans’ reply. "It seems to me as if I’d been up here with you all for a long, long time." And indeed, the reader might be shocked to discover that this is the case himself. This day has contained so much in the detail of narrative, some 40 pages or so of events, observations and conversations that it almost feels as though all the action involved has approached real time. In addition, there has been so much repetition of action, all surrounding the meals and the rest cures that this day’s activity could easily seem like a week or more. Plus, Mann has artfully reinforced this sensibility through his repeated use of leitmotifs, a technique he will maintain throughout the novel, though for different effects.

Hence, the reader, along with Hans Castorp, actually experiences the sense of the subjective relativity of time that Hans was discussing with his cousin earlier in the day. As noted before, "time" is one of the great subjects - and mysteries - of The Magic Mountain. The strangeness of time, its elasticity and its elusive nature are not only major themes in the book, but sometimes seem to rise to become the absolute nature of the narrative itself. Time will not only be dissected in countless ways throughout the course of the novel, but Mann will use it as an experiential tool of his story-telling, making both his characters and his readers experience it in strange and baffling ways, and forcing them both to confront the questions that it suggests.

The repetition of the day continues: the cousins eat in the same dining hall with the same configuration of patients, they take the same walk that they took after first breakfast, they take another rest cure, then find themselves back in the dining hall once again, this time for supper, the final meal of the day. Hans orders another Kulmbach beer, but barely makes it halfway through the glass before he realizes that he is overwhelmed with fatigue and ready for bed. His head is muddled, sitting at the table and he listens to Frau Stöhr babble away incessantly. He overhears - or believes he overhears - the silly woman declaring that she knows how to make twenty-eight different kinds of fish sauces.

This statement strikes Hans as so bizarre and absurd that, in his confused state, he begins to doubt whether she has actually said it or whether he, Hans himself, somehow imagined that this is what she has said. This confused blurring of reality with internal perception is clearly an indication that Hans is beginning to merge his consciousness with the environment of the sanitorium. At the beginning of his arrival, he was clearly an "outsider" and made sharp and clear demarcations between his own "normal" reality and the seemingly bizarre reality of the Berghof. Now, by the end of just one day in the institution, this distinction is blurring, and Hans’ consciousness is beginning to merge with his surroundings to the point where he cannot be sure of what is actually "real." In fairy tale terms, the mountain’s "spell" over him is reaching a critical peak.

After supper, all of the guests move into an adjoining lobby for a social hour before retiring. There, Hans discovers a small array of "optical gadgets" for the amusement of the guests. Examining each one individually, Hans does not seem conscious of the irony of the fact that each one of these toys is designed to distort the appearance of reality. In the same way, the entire ritualized, artificial life of the Berghof distorts reality, indeed actually "replaces" reality with a new construction all of its own. These "gadgets" should be warning signs for Hans as to the predicament in which he is finding himself increasingly engulfed, but his brain is so addled that he cannot think clearly.

Madame Chauchat removes herself to a separate, adjoining lobby, along with other members of the "Good Russian table," who apparently form a clique apart from the other patients. This removal, this distance, accentuates the fact that Madame Chauchat - and thus all the "Oriental" factors of the world - occupy a place apart from Hans and his world, that is, the world of Western Europe, and more specifically, Germany itself. As he stares into this other room, he looks at Madame Chauchat’s unique, foreign features, he once again feels a strange sign of recognition: "She reminds me of something, but I can’t really say what." This is a mystery yet to be solved, but it is important to note that Hans is already being emotionally and psychologically "pulled" in her direction.

Immediately, as if an antidote to the lure of the Russian woman, Herr Settembrini appears and confronts Hans, referring to him as, "my good engineer." Just his appearance and the rational sound of his voice momentarily "sobers’ Hans. This is the effect that the rationalist will have on him throughout the book, and we are already confronted with the polarity between Settembrini and Madame Chauchat, representing opposing forces between which Hans will be increasingly drawn.

Settembrini begins by asking how Hans is feeling, which suggests that his internal confusion is somehow being manifested in his bearing or behavior. Amazingly, displaying just how disoriented he is, Hans confesses that when he had first met Settembrini earlier in the day that he thought the Italian was an organ-grinder. Settembrini makes no response to this bizarre personal and racist insult and continues conversing with Hans, who babbles some more inanities. Suddenly Settembrini asks him precisely how old he is - and to his great astonishment and embarrassment, Hans cannot remember!

After a little further examination of Hans’ condition, Herr Settembrini strongly suggests that Hans should ready himself immediately and leave the mountain resort on the first train in the morning. The Italian is quite aware, therefore, that Hans is in danger of succumbing to the negative effects of his environment, and he quite rationally, and for Hans’ own good, believes that he should leave before it is too late.

Hans once again spots Madame Chauchat in the adjoining room. He them protests to Settembrini that leaving after only one day would be ridiculous. He admits to having some difficulty in becoming "acclimatized up here," but he does not think it is anything serious. Moreover: "If I were to throw in the towel so soon, simply because I’ll be a little confused and flushed for a few days - why I’d be ashamed of myself, I’d feel like a coward.

We should note that the title of this final section of Chapter 3 is Satana Makes Shameful Suggestions, and of course, keeping Mann’s irony in mind, we must take careful consideration of what the author is implying here. First of all, as narrator, the author is specifically identifying Settembrini with Satan once again. And in making the "shameful suggestion" that Hans should depart, he should be seen as the Devil "tempting" the hero to leave. This requires very careful interpretation.

Let us remember that by Settembrini’s own words that there are two "Devils." The first, the one that Carducci wrote about, is a symbol of rebellion, the "avenging force of human reason." This is the Devil that Settembrini represents. The second, "other Devil," who "considers labor an abomination because he fears it," will turn out to be none other that Director Behrens, who will do everything he can to keep Hans (and Joachim) to remain at the Berghof, thus tempting him to a life of idleness. (In the Walpurgis Night section at the climax of Chapter 5, Mann will use all his descriptive powers to associate Behrens with the figure of Satan, urging all the patients deeper into their "enchanted" state by serving them punch and challenging them to draw a pig with their eyes closed.)

If Hans interprets Settembrini’s suggestions as "shameful," which he does, it is because of his distorted perspective of what his own duty is at this particular junction. Hans may believe that his leaving at this point would be an abandonment of his cousin, but we must remember that he has just recently asked Joachim if it would be all right if he went ahead and left. Joachim’s objection is probably what made Hans feel like going away now would be a "cowardly" thing to do. He is really looking at his own ego rather than truly caring for his cousin, for whom "duty" is everything. Hans does not want to look like a coward. But of course, he does not realize at this point quite the degree of danger he is in, both in terms of his health and his soul.

This metaphorical pull between the two Satans is interesting, but it cannot help bring up a very obvious question. If there are two "Devils" at work, warring for control of Hans’ destiny, where is God?

Indeed, where in the entire novel is God? He does not seem to be present at all, either in the minds or lives of the characters or in any mythological representation in the novel. Looking back to the first chapter, in the scene at the restaurant, Hans rubs his hands together before he eats. The narrator explains he does this "perhaps because his forbears had prayed before every meal." Hans, then, does not pray, and presumably no one else does back at his home either. God is conspicuously absent from any discussion at the Berghof, an odd thing considering it is filled with sick and dying people whom one would assume, would take comfort from religion. Nor is there any ecclesiastical authority figure at the resort - a priest or a pastor for counselling. Everything up here seems purely secular.

Joachim, we remember, accidently ran into a priest in the hallway, but he was merely a messenger of death, being sent to deliver the last rites to "the little Hujus girl" who reacted by hiding, kicking and screaming in fear beneath her blanket. And we might recall that Settembrini had said this morning that "the humanist" had taken over the role of the educator of youth "from the priest." So who does represent God on the magic mountain.

In the latter portions of the book, of course, we shall see the Jesuit priest Leo Naphta emerge as Settembrini’s primary antagonist and opposite, but even then, the two men will not argue about the existence or non-existence of God. While it is certainly too early in the book to begin discussing the essence of the conflict between these two characters (and points of view), it is obvious now - just as it will be obvious later - that even the hint of the presence of God is conspicuously absent in the novel.

There is someone, however, whose presence is never mentioned explicitly, but whose thoughts and writings permeate almost every page:


God is dead. God remains dead. And we have killed him. How shall we comfort ourselves, the murderers of all murderers? What was holiest and mightiest of all that the world has yet owned has bled to death under our knives: who will wipe this blood off us? What water is there for us to clean ourselves? What festivals of atonement, what sacred games shall we have to invent? Is not the greatness of this deed too great for us? Must we ourselves not become gods simply to appear worthy of it?

- Friedrich Nietzsche, The Gay Science

As it was with his entire nation, Thomas Mann’s questioning world view was shaped to a very sharp degree by the great traditions of modern German philosophy. And we will find, throughout The Magic Mountain, implications of thoughts and judgements put forward by Kant, Hegel, and Schopenhaur. But most of all, Mann’s great novel will be shot through with the challenging postulates of Germany’s most extreme modernist prophet of ideas: Friedrich Nietzsche.

While one cannot state without a great deal of qualification that Thomas Mann was a "follower" of the radical philosopher, it is unquestionable that Nietzsche’s ideas had a great influence on the writer’s thinking, and we will find implications of many of Nietzsche’s themes and writings throughout The Magic Mountain. To be able to recognize them, however, is not the same as being able to interpret them, however, and both the complexity and the densely layered irony of the novel is such that it is very difficult (if not impossible) to determine with certainty exactly where Mann’s philosophical sympathies lie at any given point.

Perhaps the best way for a reader to approach the question of the ideas of Nietzsche (or any other philosophical thinker) on Mann’s narrative, especially in the early stages of encountering his work, is to be acutely aware of the philosopher’s presence, both in the mind and text of the author, as well as in the cultural heritage of the Germany with which he concerns himself. For what we can be certain of is that Thomas Mann considered the implications of the thought and writings of these thinkers to be considerably important for the fate not only of fiction, but of culture (especially his own particular culture) as a whole, and finally, ultimately, for the definition of the condition of mankind.

The proper (if there are any) interpretations of Mann’s attitude toward any philosophical stance are contentious and problematic, and it is certainly beyond the proposed scope of this project to reach anything approaching what might be called a "final conclusion" about them. It is sufficient for our purposes to realize not only that such philosophical implications are present throughout the book, and that such questions do definitely cause problems - both for the characters themselves and for the readers and interpreters of the text.

For example, in this case, the seeming absence of the notion or concept of God in The Magic Mountain may very well be a reflection of the implication of Nietzche’s "death of God" pronouncement. If we have reason to believe that such is the case - and I believe that we can safely assume that such an implication is indeed present - we may not be able to make an interpretation of that notion as either an affirmation or a critique of the philosopher’s position without more evidence that I believe we can gather from the text itself. Perhaps the most we can do is to suppose that Mann is "positing" the implications of Nietzche’s premise in order to examine its possible effects upon the characters, and by extension, the cultural and existential position of human beings if such a premise is accepted.

In other words, Mann’s book may function as a kind of laboratory where one might say something to this effect: Nietzsche has declared the death of God. If we truly do live in a post-God society, how will people think and behave? What will their philosophies and values look like? Will things be radically different, and if so, how?

This, I believe, is as far as we can take such questions, especially in an introductory examination of the work as this is intended to be. Throughout The Magic Mountain, we will come across problems that we know were initiated by such important figures as Nietzsche, Schopenhauer and others: questions of time, the nature of life and matter, i.e., metaphysical questions. Those metaphysics will necessarily entail epistemological quandaries, moral dilemmas and crises of meaning. Their appearance is important for a thorough understanding of the basic text of the novel. But once again, that does not either mean or imply that there are basically determined answers to such questions in the book, much less that the reader will necessarily be able to correctly interpret the answers, given that they indeed exist.

For in the final analysis, especially in a fictional work of this sort, ambiguity reigns supreme. In great fiction, we will generally find more questions than answers, and we will also often find ourselves in the midst of dilemmas in which we as readers have to make the final choices and determinations of meaning. This is especially true of a work that is shot so thoroughly through with the spirit of irony as The Magic Mountain. Like most great literature, its greatest questions will permanently go unanswered - or at least the highest conclusions it inspires will have to stand with the strongest of qualifications.

Settembrini goes on to tell Hans the tale of a patient named Fräulein Kneifer, who even after she was completely cured, refused to leave the sanitorium. When Behrens insisted that she must go so that they could have her room, she began cheating on her fever chart, a ruse that Behrens shatters by employing a "silent sister": a thermometer without markings that the doctor measures himself. Finally, in desperation, she tried to make herself ill by swimming in near-freezing water, but failed. When finally forced to leave the Berghof, she had cried and moaned: "What is left for me down below? . . . This is my home!"

Herr Settembrini is obviously concerned that Hans may be succumbing to such an unhealthy attachment to the place, and his warnings are clearly meant to prevent the young man from "acclimatizing" too much, to the point of dependency. His symptoms of illness are all too familiar to the rationalist, who recognizes in them a tendency in Hans’ nature and constitution to submit to the mountain’s "spell" and become lost to the real world.

Joachim soon joins his cousin, however, and at Settembrini’s suggestion, takes Hans upstairs to go to bed. When they arrive in Joachim’s room, the cousin readies himself for his evening rest cure on the balcony, wrapping himself up in two blankets so deftly that Hans is quite impressed. Joachim replies that it is all a matter of practice, and that they will have to get Hans blankets as well. While Hans does not object, he does announce that he will not lie on the balcony at night: "Everything has its limits. And there has to be some way for me to tell that I’m only a visitor up here among you all."

As he sits in Joachim’s room, shivering and forcing himself to smoke his foul-tasting cigar, we can see that Hans has not quite succumbed to the spell of the Berghof, and he is consciously fighting what is apparently a strong bodily and psychological urge to undergo a full transformation to an "ill" patient. Still, he sits there feeling miserable, feeling chilled and flushed at the same time.

Suddenly, without any warning however, Hans is overcome by "a curiously extravagant sense of joy and hope" within him, but it quickly disappears. After waiting awhile in vain for it to return, he says goodnight and goes off to his own room, meaning to go to bed.

As he lies quietly in the bed, Hans cannot fall asleep, despite his great fatigue. He fancies that he hears someone beating a rug outside, only to finally realize that he is hearing the pounding of his own heart. The strange sensation of his body reacting to an invisible stimulus, which had bothered him so earlier in the day, is continuing, disrupting his ability to rest. All these physical symptoms are obviously signs of his body’s struggle to adjust to the altitude of the mountain resort, but metaphorically, they are much more than that. As Settembrini has foreseen, Hans is waging a war against falling ill both physically and spiritually. The mountain is fighting to claim him even as he lies in bed.

Hans remember’s that Joachim had blushed when he had mentioned Marusya to him, and he immediately realizes that his cousin has a strong infatuation for the lovely young Russian girl at their table. Once he understands this, he feels the return of "that sense of extravagant joy and hope" suddenly return to him. Mann is slowly building up to an obvious revelation that the "sickness" that he is feeling from his acclimatization is also being accompanied by a seductive "pull" - one that has a feminine, Oriental lure of profound indolence.

As Hans finally drifts off to sleep, he has many vivid and disturbing dreams - visions of people, things and experiences that he has encountered during his first day at the Berghof. As is common with dreams, many different images are merged together in strange combinations. Dr. Behrens appears and pulls down his eyelid and says "Won’t be about a few little years, a few spiffing years of service with us up here," thus predicting Hans’ fate to remain at the sanatorium. He also dreams of running away from Dr. Krokowski, who is attempting to dissect his psyche. Hans’ internal resistance to the rationalism of Settembrini is demonstrated by a vain attempt to force the Italian to move and shouting, "Go away, you’re only an organ grinder, and you are in my way here."

Most significant, however, is a dream he has of being back in his old schoolyard, where he borrows a pencil from Madame Chauchat. She gives him one but tells him he must give it back after class. This is both a remembrance and a prediction of actual incidents that will become fraught with meaning later in the book. Madame Chauchat returns in his final dream, entering the dining hall after slamming the door and moving toward him. She extends the palm of her hand - her girlish hand that Hans had been studying earlier in the day - and presents it to Hans for him to kiss it. He does, and is then overcome again by that same sensation of "dissolute sweetness" that he had felt earlier. It is plain that Hans is powerfully drawn to the feminine, erotic power power that Madame Chauchat represents, and in kissing her palm, he is, in effect, surrendering his will not only to her, but the entire seductive power of the mountain-world which she represents. On a psychological and emotional level, we can plainly see that Hans Castorp’s fate is sealed.