Intro & Preface & Contents
Previous: XXIII. Silence
Morning after morning, of late, I have taken my walk in the same direction, my purpose being to look at a plantation of young larches. There is no lovelier colour on earth than that in which they are now clad; it seems to refresh as well as gladden my eyes, and its influence sinks deep into my heart. Too soon it will change; already I think the first radiant verdure has begun to pass into summer’s soberness. The larch has its moment of unmatched beauty -- and well for him whose chance permits him to enjoy it, spring after spring.
Could anything be more wonderful than the fact that here am I, day by day, not only at leisure to walk forth and gaze at the larches, but blessed with the tranquillity of mind needful for such enjoyment? On any morning of spring sunshine, how many mortals find themselves so much at peace that they are able to give themselves wholly to delight in the glory of heaven and of earth? Is it the case with one man in every fifty thousand? Consider what extraordinary kindness of fate must tend upon one, that not a care, not a preoccupation, should interfere with his contemplative thoughts for five or six days successively! So rooted in the human mind (and so reasonably rooted) is the belief in an Envious Power, that I ask myself whether I shall not have to pay, by some disaster, for this period of sacred calm. For a week or so I have been one of a small number, chosen out of the whole human race by fate’s supreme benediction. It may be that this comes to every one in turn; to most, it can only be once in a lifetime, and so briefly. That my own lot seems so much better than that of ordinary men, sometimes makes me fearful.
Beta.
I have mentioned Hans Castorp and my obsession with The Magic Mountain (and the related obsession with Faust) before, but reading this section -- for the 3rd time! -- I finally realized just how similar the positions of Henry Ryecroft and Hans Castorp really are. That they themselves have almost nothing in common perhaps distracted me from seeing the similarity of their positions. This was not my original intention, but it seems that I am going to now lay-out the premise of The Magic Mountain. I will let you judge if I’m just seeing the Tristero everywhere (Thomas Pynchon, Crying of Lot 49, reference).
Young Hans takes a break, between completing his engineering education and starting his job at a Hamburg shipyard, and takes a train to Davos in the high Swiss Alps to visit his ailing (of tuberculosis) cousin, Joachim Ziemssen. Within the two weeks of his visit, he too, is diagnosed with tuberculosis and so joins his cousin in the rigorous treatment of a deluxe sanitorium in 1907. This treatment consists of eating frequent, large, and excellent meals -- there are two breakfasts and an afternoon tea -- interspersed with ambles on the scenic grounds and extended periods of rest, while bundled up in blankets and furs, on comfortable lounge chairs set on balconies looking out over the valley, with the peaks of the Alps as a backdrop.
As a patient, Han’s task is to rest and get well enough to return to the flatlands. As character, Han’s task is to revel in the freedom (for a good Lutheran German this freedom takes on a quasi-sexual aspect) of not doing anything productive but just enjoying himself and thinking -- what he calls “taking stock” in one translation and “playing king” in another. The German term is Regeiren which seems to mean “to govern,” but perhaps has additional connotations -- if only in Mann’s coinage. (I’m having a surprisingly hard time learning any more about the German background of this crucial word in a significant German work of literature. My neighborhood Goethe-Institut was of no assistance at all.)
So, like Henry, Hans wanders the countryside picking and studying flowers, spends hours on his balcony or in his room reading the latest scholarship on a wide variety of scientific topics that interest him, particularly biology and anything having to do with how the body lives and, even more interesting to young Hans, how it dies. He thinks about all the big questions of science and philosophy and religion. And, also like Henry, exists outside the everyday world of commerce and (dare I say it) striving -- these two are anything but Faustian. Hans and Henry are fantasies for thinking people. They have nothing to do but think and read with servants to bring them the best food and see to the housekeeping, and lovely scenery out every window. Death is lurking about in both cases, but such is life. Sickness and death is not an obstruction but part of the curriculum. Enough for now.
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