THIS IS A BORZOI BOOK PUBLISHED BY ALFRED A. KNOPF First included in Everyman’s Library, 2005 Copyright © 1995 by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc. Bibliography and Chronology Copyright © 2005 by Everyman’s Library Originally published as Der Zauberberg in Germany By S. Fischer Verlag, 1924 First Published in Great Britain, in a different translation, By Martin Seeker, 1928 All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. Published in the United States by Alfred A. Knopf, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Distributed by Random House, Inc., New York. Published in the United Kingdom by Everyman’s Library, Northburgh House, 10 Northburgh Street, London EC1V 0AT, and distributed by Random House (UK) Ltd. US website: http://www.randomhouse/everymans ISBN: 1-4000-4421-9 (US) 1-85715-289-1 (UK) A CIP catalogue reference for this book is available from the British Library CONTENTS Cover Title Page Introduction Select Bibliography Foreword 1 Arrival Room 34 In the Restaurant 2 The Baptismal Bowl/Grandfather in His Two Forms At the Tienappels’/Hans Castorp’s Moral State 3 The Shadow of Respectability Breakfast Teasing/Viaticum/Interrupted Merriment Satana Clarity of Mind One Word Too Many But of Course—a Female! Herr Albin Satana Makes Shameful Suggestions 4 A Necessary Purchase Excursus on the Sense of Time He Tries Out His Conversational French Politically Suspect Hippe Analysis Doubts and Considerations Table Talk Growing Anxiety/Two Grandfathers and a Twilight Boat Ride The Thermometer 5 Eternal Soup and Sudden Clarity “My God, I See It!” Freedom Mercury’s Moods Encyclopedia Humaniora Research Danse Macabre Walpurgis Night 6 Changes Someone Else The City of God and Evil Deliverance An Outburst of Temper/Something Very Embarrassing An Attack Repulsed Operationes Spirituales Snow A Good Soldier 7 A Stroll by the Shore Mynheer Peeperkorn Vingt et Un Mynheer Peeperkorn (Continued) Mynheer Peeperkorn (Conclusion) The Great Stupor Fullness of Harmony Highly Questionable The Great Petulance The Thunderbolt About the Translator About the Introducer Titles in Everyman’s Library INTRODUCTION In 1912 Thomas Mann’s wife, Katja, stayed in Dr. Friedrich Jessen’s ‘Waldsanatorium’ from March to September, suffering from a lung complaint. Mann himself visited her for four weeks in May and June. During that time, he said, he suffered a troublesome catarrh of the upper air passages, owing to the damp, cold atmosphere on the balcony. The consultant diagnosed a ‘moist spot’ of tubercular infection, just as Dr. Behrens in the novel diagnoses Hans Castorp. Mann, however, did not stay in the magic mountain, but hastened back to Flatland and Munich, where his own doctor advised him to pay no attention. There is an ironic twist to this story which would have amused the novelist— Katja, it appears was misdiagnosed, whereas Mann himself, in his post-mortem, was indeed seen to bear the marks of an earlier tubercular illness. This is the biographical germ of the novel. Its intellectual germ is related to Mann’s great novella, Death in Venice. Death in Venice was a classically constructed tragedy of the fall of a great artist and intellectual. The Magic Mountain was to be the satyr play that accompanied the tragedy—the comic and parodic tale of a jeune homme moyen sensuel, caught up in the dance of death, amongst the macabre crew of the sanatorium. Both tales represented the fate of someone out of context, on a holiday visit, encountering love, sickness and death with a peculiarly German mixture of fascination and resignation. Work on the novella was interrupted by the First World War. Mann spent the war years writing passionately in support of the German cause. His ‘Thoughts in War’, his praise of Frederick the Great as a man of action, his Reflections of an Unpolitical Man, are definitions of the German genius which, he asserts, is concerned with Nature, not Mind, with Culture as opposed to Civilization, with military organization and soldierly virtues. Culture is compatible with all kinds of horrors—oracles, magic, pederasty, human sacrifice, orgiastic cults, inquisition, witch-trials etc.—by which civilization would be repelled; for civilization is Reason, Enlightenment, moderation, manners, skepticism, disintegration— Mind (Geist).* *T. J. Reed, Thomas Mann: The Uses of Tradition. Culture is German. Civilization is predominantly French. Mann opposes Frederick the Great and Voltaire as archetypes of the opposition. Voltaire is a man of thought; Frederick, a greater hero, is a man of action. What Mann was arguing was very much what most German artists and writers were arguing—the ‘decadent’ took strength from a sudden nationalist identification. There was, also, a personal battle furiously pursued through the battle of ideas. Thomas Mann’s brother, Heinrich, was against the war, and in favor of socialism, civilization and reason. In November 1915 Heinrich Mann published an essay on Zola, praising Zola’s defense of Dreyfus, praising Zola as a civilized ‘intellectual’, castigating those in France (and by implication those in Germany) who compromised themselves by supporting unjust rulers and warmongers. There is a sense in which the wartime attitudes of the brothers mirror the conflict between the civilized Settembrini and the spiritual nihilist Naphta, in the novel as we read it. And in Thomas Mann’s Unpolitical Reflections (published in October 1918) he makes a direct attack on his brother, in the figure of the Zivilisationsliterat, who claims that he sides with Life, Reason, Progress, and is against death and decay. He quotes the author of ‘that lyrical-political poem which has Emile Zola as its hero’ as saying he himself has ‘the gift of life... the deepest sympathy with life’. Mann the ironist observes that ‘the problem of what “health” is, is not a simple problem’. In August 1915 Mann wrote to Paul Amann: Before the war I had begun a longish tale, set in a lung-disease sanatorium a story with basic pedagogic-political intentions, in which a young man has to come to terms with the most seductive power, death, and is led in a comic-horrid manner through the spiritual oppositions of Humanism and Romanticism, Progress and Reaction, Health and Sickness, but more for the sake of finding his way and acquiring knowledge than for the sake of making decisions. The spirit of the whole thing is humorous-nihilistic, and on the whole the story inclines towards sympathy with death. It is called The Magic Mountain and has a touch of the dwarf Nase for whom seven years passed like seven days, and the ending, the resolution—I can see no alternative to the outbreak of war. In March 1917 Mann wrote again to Amman about the novel, this time describing the opposed figures of a ‘disciple of work and progress, a disciple of Carducci’ and a ‘doubting, brilliantly clever reactionary’, and qualifying his hero’s sympathy with death as ‘unvirtuous’. He has to write his unpolitical reflections, he claims, to avoid overloading the novel with ideas. reflections, he claims, to avoid overloading the novel with ideas. When the thousand-page novel was finally published in November 1924, Mann was reconciled with his brother after a bitter rift, and his attitudes to German culture and the justification of war had changed. The Magic Mountain itself was now a large and complicated work of art, working as a mixture of Dantesque allegory and modern European realism, of German mythic culture and intellectual debate, of Bildungsroman and farce. * The magic mountain itself is a myth and a symbol with multiple meanings and charms. The German magic mountain is the Brocken, up whose dangerous paths Goethe’s Mephistopheles leads the delinquent Faust, to join in the lawless and phantasmagoric delights of the Witches’ Sabbath, or Walpurgisnacht. In the Walpurgisnacht chapter of the novel Settembrini quotes Faust (as he often does): Allein bedenkt! Der Berg ist heute zaubertoll, Und wenn ein Irrlicht Euch die Wege weisen soll, So müsst Ihr’s so genau nicht nehmen. But bear in mind the mountain’s mad with spells tonight And should a will-o’-the-wisp decide your way to light. Beware—its lead may prove deceptive. The Walpurgisnacht of the novel is Shrove Tuesday—the Munich ‘Fasching’ or licentious carnival feast of disorder. Mann marks the curiously timeless passing of time in the magic mountain with feast days like Midsummer, as well as fleeting seasonal weather. The hectic patients become phantasms and apparitions—Behrens, the superintendant is compared by Settembrini to Goethe’s leading warlock, Herr Urian. But there are other, equally powerful magic mountains. There is the Venusberg of Wagner’s Tannhäuser, in which the Thuringian Wartburg becomes the secret dwelling of Venus, who entices young knights into its depths, and surrounds them with sensuous delights, amongst nymphs and sirens. This Venus is a descendant of an ancient German goddess Holda, originally the white lady of spring, a figure not unlike the fairy queen who in British fairy story lures True Thomas into the hillside, where, also, seven years appear to be only one day. The dwarf, Nase (Nose), of Mann’s letter to Amann is also a fairy-tale figure, in a Romantic tale by Wilhelm Hauff—a little boy imprisoned by an enchantress and transformed into a dwarf—for whom also time passes at seven years in a day. The mysterious Clavdia Chauchat, and Castorp’s increasing erotic obsession with her, are part of these Venus-dreams, which shrivel and distort everyday reality. German literature is a dialogue between German classicism and German romanticism, and there is also a German-classical original of the magic mountain. Nietzsche uses the precise word, ‘Zauberberg’ in The Birth of Tragedy (1870–71) to refer to Mount Olympus. ‘Now,’ he writes, ‘the Olympian magic mountain opens itself before us, showing its very roots.’ This ‘now’ in The Birth of Tragedy, is the moment when Nietzsche quotes the wisdom of Dionysus’s satyr companion, Silenus, who tells King Midas what is the greatest good of the human condition: ‘Ephemeral wretch, begotten by accident and toil, why do you force me to tell you what it would be your greatest boon not to hear? What would be best for you is quite beyond your reach: not to have been born, not to be, to be nothing. But the second best is to die soon.’ What is the relation of the Olympian gods to this popular wisdom? It is that of the entranced vision of the martyr to his torment. Now the Olympian magic mountain opens itself before us, showing its very roots. The Greeks were keenly aware of the terrors and horrors of existence; in order to be able to live at all they had to place before them the shining fantasy of the Olympians. Here is a very pertinent concatenation of a satyr, the desire for death which tempts Hans Castorp, and a mountain hutching illusory forms. Nietzsche’s argument in The Birth of Tragedy is that the beauty of Greek tragedy derives from the satyr chorus, which was originally a religious ritual celebrating the dismemberment and eating of the dying god, Dionysus, and later became the chorus, and the comic fourth satyr play which accompanied the classical tragic trilogy of plays at the City Dionysia. Nietzsche’s text turns on the opposition between the Apollonian and Dionysiac principles in Greek art. Apollo goes with clarity, definition, individuality, dream and illusion. Dionysus represents the drive to bloody dissolution, annihilation, and a strong and gleeful admission of the terror and meaninglessness of life. Sophoclean heroes, Nietzsche tells us, are Apollonian masks, which are the opposite of the dark circles we see when looking at the sun. They are luminous spots designed to ‘cure an eye hurt by ghastly night’. The Birth of Tragedy haunts European culture. Freud’s Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920) establishes a death drive, or principle of thanatos, to change his