The Magic Mountain Part 6

They were now walking on the city pavement, the main street, obviously, of an international centre. They met the guests of the cure, strolling about, young people for the most part: gallants in "sporting," without their hats; white-skirted ladies, also hatless. One heard Russian and English. Shops with gay show-windows were on either side of the road, and Hans Castorp, his curiosity struggling with intense weariness, forced himself to look into them, and stood a long time before a shop that purveyed fas.h.i.+onable male wear, to decide whether its display was really up to the mark.

They reached a rotunda with covered galleries, where a band was giving a concert. This was the Kurhaus. Tennis was being played on several courts by long-legged, clean-shaven youths in accurately pressed flannels and rubber-soled shoes, their arms bared to the elbow, and sunburnt girls in white frocks, who ran and flung themselves high in the sunny air in their efforts to strike the white ball. The well-kept courts looked as though coated with flour. The cousins sat down on an empty bench to watch and criticize the game. "You don't play here?" Hans Castorp asked.

"I am not allowed," Joachim answered. "We have to lie-nothing but lie. Settembrini says we live horizontally-he calls us horizontallers; that's one of his rotten jokes. Those are healthy people, there-or else they are breaking the rules. But they don't play very seriously anyhow-it's more for the sake of the costume. As far as breaking the rules goes, there are more forbidden things besides tennis that get played here-poker, and pet.i.ts-chevaux pet.i.ts-chevaux, in this and that hotel. At our place there is a notice about it; it is supposed to be the most harmful thing one can do. Even so, there are people who slip out after the evening visit and come down here to gamble. That prince who gave Behrens his t.i.tle always did it, they say."

Hans Castorp barely attended. His mouth was open, for he could not have breathed through his nose without sniffing; he felt with dull discomfort that his heart was hammering out of time with the music; and with this combined sense of discord and disorder he was about to doze off when Joachim suggested that they go home. They returned almost in silence. Hans Castorp stumbled once or twice on the level street and grinned ruefully as he shook his head. The lame man took them up in the lift to their own storey. They parted, with a brief "See you later" at the door of number thirty-four; Hans Castorp piloted himself through his room to the balcony, where he dropped just as he was upon his deck-chair and, without once s.h.i.+fting to a more comfortable posture, sank into a dull half-slumber, broken by the rapid beating of his unquiet heart.

Of Course, A Female! A Female!

HOW long it lasted he could not have told. When the moment arrived, the gong sounded. But it was not the gong for the meal, it was only the dressing-bell, as Hans Castorp knew, and so he still lay, until the metallic drone rose and died away a second time. When Joachim came to fetch him, Hans Castorp wanted to change, but this Joachim would not allow. He hated and despised unpunctuality. Would he be likely, he asked, to get on, and get strong enough for the service, if he was too feeble to observe the hours for meals? Wherein he was, of course, quite right, and Hans Castorp could only say that he was not ill at all, but only utterly and entirely sleepy. He confined himself to was.h.i.+ng his hands; and then for the third time they went down together to the dining-hall.

The guests streamed in through both entrances, they even came through the open verandah door. Soon they all sat at their several tables as though they had never risen. Such at least was Hans Castorp's impression-a dreamy and irrational impression, of course, but one which his muddled brain could not for an instant get rid of, in which it even took a certain satisfaction, so that several times in the course of the meal he sought to call it up again and was always perfectly successful in reproducing the illusion. The gay old lady continued to talk in her semifluid tongue at the care-worn Dr. Blumenkohl, diagonally opposite; her lean niece actually at last ate something else than yogurt; namely, the thick cream of barley soup, which was handed round in soup-plates by the waitresses. Of this she took a few spoonfuls and left the rest. Pretty Marusja giggled, then stuffed her dainty handkerchief in her mouth-it gave out a scent of oranges. Miss Robinson read the same letters, in the same round script, which she had read at breakfast. Obviously she knew not a word of German, nor wished to do so. Joachim, preux chevalier, preux chevalier, said something to her in English, which she answered in a monosyllable without ceasing to chew, and relapsed again into silence. Frau Stohr, sitting there in her woollen blouse, gave the table to know she had been examined that forenoon; she went into particulars, affectedly drawing back her upper lip from the rodent-like teeth. There were rhonchi to be heard in the upper right side, and under the left shoulder-blade the breathing was still very limited; the "old man" said she would have to stop another five months. It sounded very common to hear her refer thus to Herr Hofrat Behrens. She displayed, moreover, a feeling of injury because the "old man" was not sitting at her table to-day, where he should by rights be sitting if he had taken them " said something to her in English, which she answered in a monosyllable without ceasing to chew, and relapsed again into silence. Frau Stohr, sitting there in her woollen blouse, gave the table to know she had been examined that forenoon; she went into particulars, affectedly drawing back her upper lip from the rodent-like teeth. There were rhonchi to be heard in the upper right side, and under the left shoulder-blade the breathing was still very limited; the "old man" said she would have to stop another five months. It sounded very common to hear her refer thus to Herr Hofrat Behrens. She displayed, moreover, a feeling of injury because the "old man" was not sitting at her table to-day, where he should by rights be sitting if he had taken them "a la tournee"-by which she presumably meant in turn-instead of going to the next table again. (There, in fact, he really was sitting, his great hands folded before his place.) But of course that was Frau Salomon's table, the fat Frau Salomon from Amsterdam, who came decolletee decolletee to table even on week-days, a sight which the "old man" liked to see, though for her part-Frau Stohr's-she never could understand why, since he could see all he wanted of Frau Salomon at every examination. She related, in an excited whisper, that last night, in the general rest-hall up under the roof, somebody had put out the light, for purposes which she designated as "transparent." The "old man" had seen it, and stormed so you could hear it all over the place. He had not discovered the culprit, of course, but it didn't take a university education to guess that it was Captain Miklosich from Bucharest, for whom, when in the society of ladies, it could never be dark enough: a man without any and all refinement-though he did wear a corset-and, by nature, simply a beast of prey-a perfect beast of prey, repeated Frau Stohr, in a stifled whisper, beads of perspiration on her brow and upper lip. The relations between him and Frau ConsulGeneral Wurmbrandt from Vienna were known throughout Dorf and Platz-it was idle any longer to speak of them as clandestine. Not merely did the captain go into the Frau Consul-General's bedroom while she was still in bed, and remain there throughout her toilet; last Thursday he had not to table even on week-days, a sight which the "old man" liked to see, though for her part-Frau Stohr's-she never could understand why, since he could see all he wanted of Frau Salomon at every examination. She related, in an excited whisper, that last night, in the general rest-hall up under the roof, somebody had put out the light, for purposes which she designated as "transparent." The "old man" had seen it, and stormed so you could hear it all over the place. He had not discovered the culprit, of course, but it didn't take a university education to guess that it was Captain Miklosich from Bucharest, for whom, when in the society of ladies, it could never be dark enough: a man without any and all refinement-though he did wear a corset-and, by nature, simply a beast of prey-a perfect beast of prey, repeated Frau Stohr, in a stifled whisper, beads of perspiration on her brow and upper lip. The relations between him and Frau ConsulGeneral Wurmbrandt from Vienna were known throughout Dorf and Platz-it was idle any longer to speak of them as clandestine. Not merely did the captain go into the Frau Consul-General's bedroom while she was still in bed, and remain there throughout her toilet; last Thursday he had not left left the Wurmbrandt's room until four in the morning; that they knew from the nurse who was taking care of young Franz in number nineteen-his pneumothorax operation had gone wrong. She had, in her embarra.s.sment, mistaken her own door, and burst suddenly into the room of Herr Paravant, a Dortmund lawyer. Lastly Frau Stohr held forth for some time on the merits of a "cosmic" establishment down in the village, where she bought her mouthwash. Joachim gazed stonily downwards at his plate. the Wurmbrandt's room until four in the morning; that they knew from the nurse who was taking care of young Franz in number nineteen-his pneumothorax operation had gone wrong. She had, in her embarra.s.sment, mistaken her own door, and burst suddenly into the room of Herr Paravant, a Dortmund lawyer. Lastly Frau Stohr held forth for some time on the merits of a "cosmic" establishment down in the village, where she bought her mouthwash. Joachim gazed stonily downwards at his plate.

The meal was as faultlessly prepared as it was abundant. Counting the hearty soup, it consisted of no less than six courses. After the fish followed an excellent meat dish, with garnis.h.i.+ngs, then a separate vegetable course, then roast fowl, a pudding, not inferior to yesterday evening's, and lastly cheese and fruit. Each dish was handed twice and not in vain. At all seven tables they filled their plates and ate: they ate like wolves; they displayed a voracity which would have been a pleasure to see, had there not been something else about it, an effect almost uncanny, not to say repulsive. It was not only the light-hearted who thus laced into the food-those who chattered as they ate and threw pellets of bread at each other. No, the same appet.i.te was evinced by the silent, gloomy ones as well, those who in the pauses between courses leaned their heads on their hands and stared before them. A half-grown youth at the next table on the left, by his years a schoolboy, with his wrists coming out of his jacket sleeves, and thick, round eye-gla.s.ses, cut all the heaped-up food on his plate into a sort of mash, then bent over and gulped it down; he reached with his serviette behind his gla.s.ses now and then and dried his eyes-whether it was sweat or tears he dried one could not tell.

There were two incidents during the course of the meal of which Hans Castorp took note, so far as his condition permitted. One was the banging of the gla.s.s door, which occurred while they were having the fish course. Hans Castorp gave an exasperated shrug and angrily resolved that this time he really must find out who did it. He said this not only within himself, his lips formed the words. "I must find out," he whispered with exaggerated earnestness. Miss Robinson and the schoolmistress both looked at him in surprise. He turned the whole upper half of his body to the left and opened wide his bloodshot blue eyes.

It was a lady who was pa.s.sing through the room; a woman, or rather girl, of middleheight, in a white sweater and coloured skirt, her reddish-blond hair wound in braids about her head. Hans Castorp had only a glimpse of her profile. She moved, in singular contrast to the noise of her entrance, almost without sound, pa.s.sing with a peculiarly gliding step, her head a little thrust forward, to her place at the furthest table on the left, at right angles to the verandah door: the "good" Russian table, in fact. As she walked, she held one hand deep in the pocket of her close-fitting jacket; the other she lifted to the back of her head and arranged the plaits of her hair. Hans Castorp looked at the hand. He was habitually observant and critical of this feature, and accustomed when he made a new acquaintance to direct his attention first upon it. It was not particularly ladylike, this hand that was putting the braids to rights; not so refined and well kept as the hands of ladies in Hans Castorp's own social sphere. Rather broad, with stumpy fingers, it had about it something primitive and childish, something indeed of the schoolgirl. The nails, it was plain, knew nothing of the manicurist's art; they were cut in rough-and-ready schoolgirl fas.h.i.+on, and the skin at the side looked almost as though someone were subject to the childish vice of finger biting. But Hans Castorp sensed rather than saw this, owing to the distance. The laggard greeted her table-mates with a nod, and took her place on the inner side of the table with her back to the room, next to Dr. Krokowski, who was sitting at the top. As she did so, she turned her head, with the hand still raised to it, toward the dining-room and surveyed the public; Hans Castorp had opportunity for the fleeting observation that her cheek-bones were broad and her eyes narrow.-A vague memory of something, of somebody, stirred him slightly and fleetingly as he looked.

"Of course, a female!" he thought, or rather he actually uttered, in a murmur, yet so that the schoolmistress, Fraulein Engelhart, understood. The poor old spinster smiled in sympathy.

"That is Madame Chauchat,"' she said. "She is so heedless. A charming creature."

And the downy flush on her cheek grew a shade darker-as it did whenever shespoke.

"A Frenchwoman?" Hans Castorp asked, with severity.

"No, she is a Russian," was the answer. "Her husband is very likely French or of French descent, I am not sure."

Hans Castorp asked, still irritated, if that was he-pointing to a gentleman with drooping shoulders who sat at the "good" Russian table.

"Oh, no," the schoolmistress answered, "he isn't here; he has never been here, no one knows him."

"She ought to learn how to shut a door," Hans Castorp said. "She always lets it slam. It is a piece of ill breeding."

And on the schoolmistress's meekly accepting this reproof as though she herself had been the guilty party, there was no more talk of Madame Chauchat.

The second event was the temporary absence of Dr. Blumenkohl from the room- nothing more. The mildly disgusted facial expression suddenly deepened, he looked with sadder fixity into s.p.a.ce, then un.o.btrusively moved back his chair and went out. Whereupon Frau Stohr's essential ill breeding showed itself in the clearest light; probably out of vulgar satisfaction in the fact that she was less ill than Dr. Blumenkohl. She accompanied his exit with comments half pitying, half contemptuous.

"Poor creature," she said. "He'll soon be at his last gasp. He had to go out for a talk with his 'Blue Peter.' "

Quite stolidly, without repulsion, she brought out the grotesque phrase-Hans Castorp felt a mixture of repugnance and desire to laugh. Presently Dr. Blumenkohl came back in the same un.o.btrusive way, took his place, and went on eating. He too ate a great deal, twice of every dish, always in silence, with the same melancholy, preoccupied air.

Thus the midday meal came to an end. Thanks to the skilled service-the dwarf at Hans Castorp's table was one of the quickest on her feet-it had lasted only a round hour. Breathing heavily, and not quite sure how he got upstairs, Hans Castorp lay once more in his capital chair upon his loggia; after this meal there was rest-cure until tea-time-the most important and rigidly adhered-to rest period of the day. Between the opaque gla.s.s walls that divided him on the one side from Joachim, on the other from the Russian couple, he lay and idly dreamed, his heart pounding, breathing through his mouth. On using his handkerchief he discovered it to be red with blood, but had not enough energy to think about the fact, though he was rather given to worrying over himself and by nature inclined to hypochondria. Once more he had lighted a Maria Mancini, and this time he smoked it to the end, no matter how it tasted. Giddy and oppressed, he considered as in a dream how very odd he had felt since he came up here. Two or three times his breast was shaken by inward laughter at the horrid expression which that ignorant creature, Frau Stohr, had used.

Herr Albin

BELOW in the garden the fanciful banner with the caduceus lifted itself now and again in a breath of wind. The sky was once more evenly overcast. The sun was gone, the air had grown almost inhospitably cool. The general rest-hall seemed to be full; talking and laughter went on below.

"Herr Albin, I implore you, put away your knife; put it in your pocket, there will be an accident with it," a high, uncertain voice besought. Then: "Dear Herr Albin, for heaven's sake, spare our nerves, and take that murderous tool out of our sight," a second voice chimed in.

A blond young man, with a cigarette in his mouth, sitting in the outside easy-chair, responded pertly: "Couldn't think of it! I'm sure the ladies haven't the heart to prevent me from amusing myself a little! I bought that knife in Calcutta, of a blind wizard. He could swallow it, and then have his boy dig it up fifty paces from where he stood. Do look-it is sharper than a razor. You only need to touch the blade; it goes into your flesh like cutting b.u.t.ter. Wait a minute, I'll show it you close by." And Herr Albin stood up. A shriek arose. "Or rather," said he, "I'll fetch my revolver; that will be more interesting. Piquant little tool-useful too. Send a bullet through anything.- I'll go up and get it."

"No, no, don't, pray don't, Herr Albin!" in a loud outcry from many voices. But Herr Albin had already come out to go up to his room: very young and lanky, with a rosy, childish face, and little strips of side-whisker close to his ears.

"Herr Albin," cried a lady's voice from within, "do fetch your greatcoat instead, and put it on; do it just to please me! Six weeks long you have lain with inflammation of the lungs, and now you sit here without an overcoat, and don't even cover yourself, and smoke cigarettes! That is tempting Providence; on my word it is, Herr Albin!" He only laughed scornfully as he went off, and in a few minutes returned with the revolver in his hand. The silly geese squawked worse than before, and some of them even made as if they would spring from their chairs, wrap their blankets round them, and flee.

"Look how little and s.h.i.+ny he is," said Herr Albin. "But when I press him here, then he bites." Another outcry. "Of course, he is loaded-to the hilt," he continued. "In this disk here are the six cartridges. It turns one hole at each shot. But I don't keep him

merely for a joke," he said noticing that the sensation was wearing off. He let the revolver slip into his breast pocket, sat down again, flung one leg over the other, and lighted a fresh cigarette. "Certainly not for a joke," he repeated, and compressed his lips.

"What for, then-what for?" they asked, their voices trembling.

"Horrible!" came a sudden cry, and Herr Albin nodded.

"I see you begin to understand," he said. "In fact, you are right, that is is what I keep it for," he went on airily, inhaling, despite the recent inflammation of the lungs, a ma.s.s of smoke and breathing it slowly out again. "I keep it in readiness for the day when I can't stand this farce any longer, and do myself the honour to bid you a respectful adieu. It is all very simple. I've given the matter some study, and I know precisely how to do it." Another screech at the word. "I eliminate the region of the heart, the aim is not very convenient there. I prefer to annihilate my consciousness at its very centre by introducing my charming little foreign body direct into this interesting organ."-Herr Albin indicated with his index finger a spot on his close-cropped blond pate. "You aim here"-he drew the nickel-plated revolver out of his pocket once more and tapped with the barrel against his skull-"just here, above the artery; even without a mirror the thing is simple-" what I keep it for," he went on airily, inhaling, despite the recent inflammation of the lungs, a ma.s.s of smoke and breathing it slowly out again. "I keep it in readiness for the day when I can't stand this farce any longer, and do myself the honour to bid you a respectful adieu. It is all very simple. I've given the matter some study, and I know precisely how to do it." Another screech at the word. "I eliminate the region of the heart, the aim is not very convenient there. I prefer to annihilate my consciousness at its very centre by introducing my charming little foreign body direct into this interesting organ."-Herr Albin indicated with his index finger a spot on his close-cropped blond pate. "You aim here"-he drew the nickel-plated revolver out of his pocket once more and tapped with the barrel against his skull-"just here, above the artery; even without a mirror the thing is simple-"

A chorus of imploring protest arose, mingled with heavy sobbing. "Herr Albin, Herr Albin, put it away, take it from your temple, it is dreadful to see you! Herr Albin, you are young, you will get well, you will return to the world, everybody will love you! But put on your coat and lie down, cover yourself, go on with your cure. Don't drive the bathing-master away next time he comes to rub you down with alcohol. And stop smoking cigarettes-Herr Albin, we implore you, for the sake of your young, your precious life!"

But Herr Albin was inexorable. "No, no," he said "let me alone, I'm all right, thanks. I've never refused a lady anything yet; but you see it's no good trying to put a spoke in the wheel of fate. I am in my third year up here-I'm sick of it, fed up, I can't play the game any more-do you blame me for that? Incurable, ladies, as I sit here before you, an incurable case; the Hofrat himself is hardly at the pains any longer to pretend I am not. Grant me at least the freedom which is all I can get out of the situation. In school, when it was settled that someone was not to move up to the next form, he just stopped where he was; n.o.body asked him any more questions, he did not have to do any more work. It's like that with me; I am in that happy condition now. I need do nothing more, I don't count, I can laugh at the whole thing. Would you like some chocolate? Do take some-no, you won't be robbing me, I have heaps of it in my room, eight boxes, and five tablets of Gala-Peter and four pounds of Lindt. The ladies of the sanatorium gave it to me when I was ill with my inflammation of the lungs-"

From somewhere a ba.s.s voice was audible, commanding quiet. Herr Albin gave a short laugh, a ragged, wavering laugh; then stillness reigned in the rest-hall, a stillness as of a vanished dream, a disappearing wraith. Afterwards the voices rose again, sounding strange in the silence. Hans Castorp listened until they were quite hushed. He had an indistinct notion that Herr Albin was a puppy, yet could not resist a certain envy. In particular, the school-days comparison made an impression on him; he himself had stuck in the lower second and well remembered this situation, of course rather to be ashamed of and yet not without its funny side. In particular he recalled the agreeable sensation of being totally lost and abandoned, with which, in the fourth quarter, he gave up the running-he could have "laughed at the whole thing." His reflections were dim and confused, it would be difficult to define them; but in effect it seemed to him that, though honour might possess certain advantages, yet shame had others, and not inferior: advantages, even, that were well-nigh boundless in their scope. He tried to put himself in Herr Albin's place and see how it must feel to be finally relieved of the burden of a respectable life and made free of the infinite realms of shame; and the young man shuddered at the wild wave of sweetness which swept over him at the thought and drove on his labouring heart to an even quicker pace.

Satana Makes Proposals That Touch OurHonour AFTER a while he lost consciousness. It was half past three by his watch when he was roused by voices behind the left-hand gla.s.s part.i.tion. Dr. Krokowski at this hour made the rounds alone, and he was talking in Russian with the unmannerly pair on the next balcony, asking the husband how he did, it seemed, and inspecting the fever chart. He did not, however, continue his route by the balconies, but skirted Hans Castorp's section, pa.s.sing along the corridor and entering Joachim's room by the door. Hans Castorp felt rather hurt to have Krokowski circle round and leave him out-even though a tete-a-tete with the gentleman was something he was far from hankering after. Of course he was healthy, he was not included with the other inmates; up here, he reflected, it was the sound and healthy person who did not count, who got no attention-and this the young man found vastly annoying.

Dr. Krokowski stopped with Joachim two or three minutes; then he went on down the row of balconies, and Hans Castorp heard his cousin say that it was time to get up and make ready for tea.

"Good," he answered, and rose. But he was giddy from long lying, and the unrefres.h.i.+ng half-slumber had made his face burn anew; yet he felt chilly; perhaps he had not been well enough covered as he lay.

He washed his eyes and hands, brushed his hair, put his clothing to rights, and met Joachim outside in the corridor. "Did you hear that Herr Albin?" he asked, as they went down the steps.

"I should say I did," his cousin answered. "The man ought to be disciplined- disturbing the whole rest period with his gabble, and exciting the ladies so that it puts them back for weeks. A piece of gross insubordination. But who is there to denounce him? On the contrary, that sort of thing makes quite a welcome diversion."

"Do you think he would really do it-put a bullet into himself? It's a 'very simple matter,' to use his own words."

"Oh," answered Joachim, "it isn't so out of the question, more's the pity. Such things do happen up here. Two months before I came, a student who had been here a long time hanged himself down in the wood, after a general examination. It was a good deal talked about still, in the early days after I came."

Hans Castorp gaped excitedly. "Well," he declared, "I am certainly far from feeling fit up here. I couldn't say I did. I think it's quite possible I shan't be able to stop, that I'll have to leave-you wouldn't take it amiss, would you?"

"Leave? What is the matter with you?" cried Joachim. "Nonsense! You've just come. You can't judge from the first day!"

"Good Lord, is it still only the first day? It seems to me I've been up here a long time-ages."

"Don't begin to philosophize again about time," said Joachim, "You had me perfectly bewildered this morning."

"No, don't worry, I've forgotten all of it," answered Hans Castorp, "the whole 'complex.' I've lost all the clear-headedness I had-it's gone. Well, and so it's timefor tea."

"Yes; and after that we walk as far as the bench again, like this morning."

"Just as you say. Only I hope we shan't meet Settembrini again. I'm not up to any more learned conversation. I can tell you that beforehand."