The Magic Mountain

One summer, the “ordinary” Hans Castorp leaves his hometown of Hamburg and heads to the mountains, to a sanatorium in Davos Platz. He plans to stay there for three weeks. Getting there requires a long and arduous journey through the Alps. It requires boarding a train at Rorschach, then boarding another train to Landquart. Up to that point the journey is dull, and the passing scenery is unremarkable. But upon boarding another train at Landquart, the wild and treacherous ascent up the mountains begins. 

Hans Castorp is alone in a small compartment on the train. The only things he has with him are an alligator suitcase—which was a gift from his uncle (Consul Tienappel, who is Hans’s guardian)—a blanket, and his winter coat. The window is open, and the air grows colder as the train makes its ascent. Hans, who is rather delicate and pampered, rolls up the delicate silk collar of his overcoat. He has been traveling for two days now.

People describe time as “water from the river Lethe,” but being in a strange place—breathing “alien air”—is not so different. Though less “profound, it works all the more quickly.” Hans has experienced this sensation already, though he went into the trip trying not to take it too seriously and not expecting to emerge from it changed. Yesterday, he was still preoccupied with thoughts of his everyday life: of his exams, and of Tunder and Wilms, the firm he was about to join. He just wanted to get the next three weeks over with. But now, as he is transported into a new and strange place, he can’t help but be fully invested in his journey. He’s excited, despite himself, and he wonders what it’ll be like “up there.” Being born just above sea level, he wonders if it’s even healthy for him to be up this high.

Eventually the train reaches the end of its ascent and pulls into the small station of Davos-Dorf. Hans Castorp hears someone at the station call his name. Suddenly, his cousin Joachim Ziemssen is beside him. Joachim looks healthier than Hans has ever seen him. In a friendly, easygoing voice, he tells Hans that they’re near the sanitorium—it’s time for Hans to disembark. Hans gathers his belongings and gets off the train. The concierge of the International Sanatorium Berghof takes Hans’s trunk to store it while Joachim and Hans get dinner.

Once inside their carriage, Hans asks Joachim how his own health is—Joachim looks well enough to return to the military—and if Joachim will be “coming back down” when Hans leaves in three weeks. This puzzles Joachim—he can’t fathom that Hans is already thinking about leaving when he’s just arrived. And “up here,” three weeks is practically nothing—time, Joachim explains, is totally different “up here” than it is “down below.” In fact, Joachim’s next appointment isn’t even for another six months. This shocks Hans, who can’t imagine wasting so much of one’s life. Joachim says that Hans will start seeing things differently once he’s been here a while. Then, to answer Hans’s initial question, Joachim says that he’s feeling better, though the lower lobe is still rattling around quite a bit. 

The carriage heads up a hilly road, and Hans sees the sanatorium in the distance. It’s a long building with so many balconies along its walls that from afar it almost looks like a sponge. As the sun sets, Hans considers the magnificent scenery that surrounds him. He notes how glorious the air is up here. Joachim, looking extremely disgusted, says that Hans will soon tire of it. Inwardly, Hans thinks it’s really strange how frequently Joachim is using the phrase “us up here.”  

Joachim casually mentions that because of the high altitude here, sanatoriums must use bobsleds to cart the bodies down the mountains. The absurdity of how calmly Joachim has just spoken about dead bodies causes Hans to laugh, and he jokes that Joachim has become cynical since coming here. Joachim merely shrugs and explains that Behrens, the surgeon, is a cynic. Joachim thinks Hans will like him. He also mentions Krokowski, Behrens’s assistant, who “dissects the patients’ psyches.”