The Magic Mountain

appeared, this followed of itself; no other course seemed possible. This was perhaps partly the fruit of his nephew’s calm and invulnerable self-assurance; perhaps it was not absolutely the only and inevitable course to pursue⁠—but how was a man of his breeding to distinguish? Nothing could be clearer than that the abundant second breakfast should follow upon the rest period, after which the stroll down to the Platz appeared the natural and inevitable sequence⁠—and then Hans Castorp did his uncle up again. He did him up⁠—the right phrase for it⁠—and there, in the autumn sunlight, in a chair whose qualities should be sung rather than spoken, he let him lie, until a clanging gong summoned the patients to the midday meal. So lavish was it, so altogether tip-top and first-rate, that the main rest period which ensued seemed an inward necessity rather than an outward conformity, and James participated in it with the sincerest personal conviction. And so on until the mighty supper and the social evening in the salon with the optical diversions. What objection could be brought against a daily regimen like that, which so blandly took acquiescence for granted? None, surely, even though the Consul’s critical powers had not been diminished by a physical discomfort which, while not actual illness, yet, composed of mingled fatigue and excitement, with the concomitants of chill and feverishness, was burdensome enough.

Hans Castorp had availed himself of the official channels in arranging for that ardently desired consultation with Hofrat Behrens: he had given a message to the bathing-master, which the latter passed on to the Oberin, and Consul Tienappel had the opportunity of making the acquaintance of this peculiar personality. She appeared to him as he lay upon his balcony, and her extraordinary manner put a severe strain on the good breeding of the hapless gentleman lying there in his chair like a sausage-roll. He would be so good, he was told, to have patience for a few days; the Hofrat was busy, there were operations and general examinations, suffering humanity must take precedence, that was a sound Christian principle; and as he was ostensibly in good health, he must get used to the idea that he was not number one up here, that he must stand back and await his turn. It would be different if he wished to make an appointment for an examination⁠—she, Adriatica, would not have been surprised if he had. When she looked him straight in the eyes⁠—like that⁠—she found his rather blurred and flickering; and he looked, as he lay, not as though everything were in the best of order with him, she herself would hardly give him a clean bill of health. Was it really an examination or a private interview he wanted? “The latter, of course,” James assured her. Then he would be so good as to wait until she let him know. The Hofrat had not much time for private interviews.

In short, it all turned out quite otherwise than James had expected, and the conversation with the Directress no little disturbed his equanimity. A man of his breeding hesitated to say rudely to his nephew that he found her an appalling person: it would be indiscreet, considering how plainly Hans Castorp’s manner revealed his acceptance of all the extraordinary phenomena up here. James merely tapped at his nephew’s door, and insinuated that Fräulein Mylendonk was surely extremely original. Hans Castorp looked up inquiringly, and half assented; asking, in his turn: “Did she sell you a thermometer?” “Me⁠—no,” said his uncle. “Is that the custom up here?” The worst of it was that Hans Castorp would clearly not have been surprised if she had. It was “We don’t feel the cold” all over again. And the Consul did feel the cold, felt it persistently, though his head was hot. He thought to himself that if the Oberin had offered him a thermometer, he would certainly have refused it, and thereby have committed a blunder, since he could not ask to use his nephew’s⁠—he was too civilized for that.

Some days passed, perhaps four or five. The life of the ambassador ran on rails⁠—the rails laid for it to run on⁠—and that it should run off them was unthinkable. The Consul had his experiences, got his impressions⁠—in which we shall not trouble to follow him. One day, in Hans Castorp’s room, he lifted from its easel on the chest of drawers a black glass plate, one of the small personal articles with which the owner adorned his cleanly quarters. He held it toward the light; it proved to be a photographic negative. He looked at it⁠—“What is that?” he said. He might well ask. It showed the headless skeleton of a human form⁠—the upper half, that is⁠—enveloped in misty flesh; he recognized the female torso. “That? Oh, a souvenir,” the nephew answered. To which the uncle replied: “Pardon me,” and hastily replaced the picture on its easel. We give this merely as example of the sort of experience the four or five days supplied him. He attended one of Dr. Krokowski’s conférences⁠—that he should stop away was unthinkable. On the sixth day he achieved the much-desired private talk with the Hofrat. He was sent for, and after breakfast descended the stairs to the basement, to have a serious word with the man on the subject of his nephew and the way he spent his time.

When he came up, he asked, in a still, small voice: “Did you ever hear the like of that?”

But it was plain that Hans Castorp had. It was plain that whatever James could tell him would not make him “feel the cold.” So James broke off, and to his nephew’s further, mildly interested query answered: “Oh, nothing.” But from hour to hour he developed a new habit: of peering diagonally upwards, with drawn brows and puckered lips, then suddenly turning his head to repeat the same gaze in the opposite direction. Had the interview with the Hofrat also gone off