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The Magic Mountain By Thomas Mann
AN UNASSUMING young man was traveling, in midsummer, from his native city of Hamburg to Davos-Platz in the Canton of the Grisons, on a three weeks’ visit.
From Hamburg to Davos is a long journey – too long, indeed, for so brief a stay. It crosses all sorts of countries, goes uphill and down dale.
Descends from the plateau of Southern Germany to the shore of Lake Constance, over its bounding waves and on across marshes once thought to be bottomless.
At this point, the route, which has been so far over trunk lines, gets up. There are stops and formalities. Ar Rorschach, in Swiss territory.
You take the train again, but only as far as Landquart, a small Alpine station, where you have to change. Here, after a long and windy wait in a spot devoid of charm.
You mount a narrow-gauge train; and as the small but very powerful engine gets underway, there begins the thrilling part of the journey, a steep and steady climb that seems never to come to an end.
For the station of Landquart lies at a relatively low altitude, but now the wild and rocky route pushes grimly onward into the Alps themselves.
Hans Castorp-such as the young man’s name-sat alone in his little grey-upholstered compartment, with his alligator-skin handbag, a present from his uncle and guardian.
Consul Tienappel -Jet us get the introductions over with at once-his traveling rug, and his winter overcoat swinging on its hook.
The window was down, the afternoon grew cool, and he, a tender product of the sheltered life, had turned up the collar of his fashionably cut, silk-lined summer overcoat.
Near him on the seat lay a paperbound volume entitled Ocean Steamships; earlier in the journey, he had studied it off and on, but now it lay neglected, and the breath of the panting engine, streaming in, defiled its cover with particles of soot.
Translated By H T Lowe-Porter
|Fiction & Novel
Thomas Mann The Magic Mountain Book PDF Free Download