Barbara
Benjamin
2156
words
Spirits of Chaos: An Explication of Death in
by Thomas Mann
Considering that the novella, Death in Venice,
is about the progressive disintegration of an aging writer, Gustav von Aschenbach, culminating in his death, that the story opens
in the spring strikes me as peculiar; notably since spring represents a universal
symbol of life. Looking further, though,
we learn this is not a normal spring, rather a "premature summer" that
follows weeks of cold, wet weather, in a "year that for months glowered threateningly
over [the] continent" (3). Nothing in the text specifically denotes what
visitation threateningly glowers over the continent; however, it coincides with
the beginning of something insidious, emerging and taking hold of the protagonist,
Aschenbach, leaving him defenseless against its power.
Could it be merely by a convergence of coincidental factors or by design
that prompts Aschenbach, utterly exhausted from his writing activities,
to set off "on a rather long walk"?
A close look at just the first few pages should reveal the answer.
The strange weather appears to be an accomplice to
a mysterious series of events which ensnare Aschenbach. The weather's abrupt change, from weeks of cold
and wet weather to this premature summer, foreshadows abrupt changes about to
occur in Aschenbach's routine and character. Something, whether internal or external, seems
to be driving Aschenbach that is beyond his control.
His customary relaxing sleep during the day now eludes
him; he's also unable "to halt the running on of the productive machinery
within him," a continuous motion of the spirit (3).
He struggles with a particularly difficult literary project, requiring
"discretion, caution, penetration, and precision of will" (3). At this crucial time, when he needs a maximum
of discipline, he fights an inner energy, a "spirit"
energy, at odds with his need and demand for severe concentration, a need for
intellectual or mental energy.
The translator uses the word "dangerous"
to describe the type of work Aschenbach labors on.
Without access to the novella in the German language, I can't develop with
certainty any significance associated with this word.
However, if the translation is accurate, this word bears the weight of
any one, or all, of several consequential meanings.
First, it could surmise the nature of the literary piece he struggles with. Second, the word could also refer to Aschenbach's state of physical health, suggesting that he's
pushing his endurance to a dangerous limit. And,
finally, it could suggest danger of being at the brink mentally.
In other words, the intensity required of him for this difficult endeavor
may be the catalyst which ultimately pushes him beyond endurance and towards the
abyss. Indeed, as knowledge of his past emerges, it
does appear that the long years of obsessive, perhaps even excessive, commitment
to discipline and form, strains and weakens his will, leaving him susceptible
to the strange convergence now closing around him. The narrator comments, "Was his enslaved
sensitivity now avenging itself by leaving him, refusing to advance his project
and give wings to his art, taking with it all his joy, all his delight in form
and expression?" (6).
To refresh his mind, Aschenbach
goes for a lengthy walk. The path he takes
appears predestined, for taking this path seems instrumentally to eventually lead
him to his death. Rather than consciously
deciding where to go, Aschenbach seems directed by some
unconscious force. The translated version
reads, "increasingly quiet paths led [italics mine] Aschenbach
toward Aumeister, where he spent a moment surveying
the lively crowd in the beer garden" (3).
If we can trust the translation, the path "led" him.
The contrast between "increasingly quiet paths" and the "lively
crowds" he surveys, generates an illusion he remains
apart from of it, truly one being "led." After a lengthy walk, he then "took a route
homeward outside the park over the open fields" (3). Here, too, there's a mesmerizing character,
directing him to take a route outside the park and walking over an open field. There's no particular reason given why he doesn't
walk through the park, an expected place for a walk. (I checked the map of
Deciding to
take a bus the rest of the way home, Aschenbach stops
at the cemetery bus stop. The sun is going
down and the area is completely deserted. "Nothing
stirred" and the mortuary chapel "lay silent," even the stonemasons'
shops appear deserted. This complete isolation,
aloneness, and silence feels created and not likely attributable to chance.
Ending his walk at a cemetery bus stop reveals an ironic force at work,
because Aschenbach will soon return---for burial. Aschenbach is unaffected
by the solitude beside a cemetery and mortuary at sunset, unlike the effect most
people would experience. In fact, he seems
curiously at ease here. His eye wanders
to the Greek art on the mortuary facade. Because of his ardent devotion to Greek principles
of order and beauty, the symmetrically arranged scriptural quotations draw him
in. He slips into a reverie while looking
at them. The association of Greek art and
the cemetery can't be overlooked here. From this point on, Aschenbach
will gradually succumb to his impulses towards Dionysian chaos, taking him away
from his long devotion to Apollonian values. The
mesmerizing trance he slips into while viewing the Greek art seems to mark the
beginning of the slow decline, and eventual death, of the Apollonian element that
has controlled so much of his life.
Almost as if from out of Aschenbach's
pleasant reveries while gazing at the quotations, an odd and sinister looking
man appears. The stranger's unexpected
appearance on the mortuary steps possesses an air of mystery; although Aschenbach doesn't seem to realize it. The narrator describes the area when Aschenbach arrives as absolutely deserted. So, this unexpected appearance of someone suggests
a presence intruding from the "other side." Further descriptions lend credence to this observation.
First, Aschenbach notices him after coming out
of a reverie, although he still seems to be experiencing some strange state.
Second, the stranger's face bears strong resemblance to a human skull: he has a "strikingly" snub-nose, which
traditionally suggests a skull; he has the milky-white complexion of a red-haired
race, similar to the pallor of death; and he has colorless eyes.
The most ghastly details of his face are his lips and teeth.
Aschenbach notices that the lips are "insufficient"
or "afflicted by a facial deformity" because "they were retracted
to such an extent that his teeth, revealed as far as the gums, menacingly displayed
their entire white length" (4). Such an expression would appear more than menacing---it
would be ghastly and macabre. The stranger's
face bears one more oddity: between his eyes are "two stark vertical
furrows that went rather oddly with his short, turned-up nose" (4). This illusion would possibly be horns---the
look of Satan. In any event, certainly,
he's the look of death.
Several other features suggest, too, that this man
may be an apparition from the other side. He's
described as very thin with a thin neck, a natural illusion of a skeleton corresponding
to the skull. The narrator describes his
Adam's apple as "protruded nakedly from the thin neck" (4).
A predominate Adam's apple "protruding nakedly" unmistakably
suggests Adam after eating the apple and turned out of the garden aware of his
nakedness. The fallen-Adam image establishes a relationship
between the strange looking man and Aschenbach's eventual
fall.
While the stranger's looks demand scrutiny, where
he stands in the portico portends ominous warnings that foreshadow future events
and Aschenbach's behavior. The stranger stands conspicuously "above
the two apocalyptic beasts guarding the front steps" (4). Thus far, many signs point to Aschenbach's impending death. Then, considering these death signs and this
skeleton-like man standing atop apocalyptic beasts guarding the entrance of the
house of "death"---the mortuary---we realize that Aschenbach's
approaching death will not be a gentle, peaceful one. Rather, we'll see his life slowly disintegrate,
then plunge into unrestrained desire, succumbing as "a powerless victim of
the demon" (57). The long repressed
part of Aschenbach slowly emerges to take control as
he embraces Dionysian chaos.
While staring at the stranger, Aschenbach
observes that the stranger's elevated location makes his posture convey "an
impression of imperious surveillance, fortitude, even wildness" (4).
(This comment, at least, appears to be Aschenbach's
thoughts because free indirect speech is used here.)
As we see, the stranger's stance atop the apocalyptic beasts confirms increasingly
ominous signs, but Aschenbach's instincts seem to be failing him. Though he recognizes something odd about the
stranger's appearance, his peculiar mental state or trance, apparently blunts
his cognitive powers and prevents clear perception of the impending dangers.
Everything about the stranger at the cemetery flashes
warnings to proceed with caution; but Aschenbach remains
oblivious to the symbols the stranger represents. Instead, he seems swept away in a kind of mystical
absorption, which begins with his walk, or possibly even before. Aschenbach is "half-distracted,
half-inquisitive" when he observes the stranger.
When their eyes meet, his stare is belligerent and aggressive, which
causes Aschenbach to avert his eyes. In the staring act, the one who averts the stare
assumes the submissive position. From all
indications, the stranger is clearly the dominant party---but to what degree?
Suggested by the eye contact, the stranger's return stare evinces more
than annoyance at Aschenbach. Mysteriousness
about this stranger indicates probable responsibility in some way for Aschenbach's
arrival at the cemetery, leading him full circle back to it---as a resident, not
a visitor. This stranger is not a friendly spirit.
The narrator provides additional evidence that the
stranger possesses other-worldly powers. He
says that the stranger may have "exercised some physical or spiritual influence"
over Aschenbach's imagination.
Such a comment indicates that the stranger is indeed responsible somehow
for Aschenbach's future destructive behavior.
How else can it be explained that Aschenbach
now feels "a sudden, strange expansion of his inner space, a rambling unrest,
a youthful thirst for faraway places, a feeling so intense, so new---or rather
so long unused and forgotten---that he stood rooted to the spot. . .pondering
the essence and direction of his emotion" (5)?
Until this encounter, Aschenbach
had been a severely self-disciplined man, following the rules of propriety and
strict moral character. His writing also
reflected these same disciplines. Now,
he thinks and acts as a thoroughly different man. He develops a "wanderlust,"
one that "rose to a passion and even to a delusion" (5). At the cemetery, he began to envision a landscape,
a primitive wilderness in a tropical swamp "moist, luxuriant, and monstrous."
Descriptions used are images of decadence, decay, and fear, such as: terrors, stagnant, lurking, horror, mysterious,
weirdly. Something inside Aschenbach has been unleashed. His vision soon fades, but only after "a
shake of his head" (5). He then "resumed
his promenade along the fences bordering the headstone-makers' yard" (5).
Aschenbach seems now to have forgotten that he
intended to take the bus back home from here.
Instead, he walks past the headstone-makers' yard again---or, is he "led"
past it? Likely, on some subconscious level he realizes
he's a doomed man.
Similar versions of the stranger's likeness loom throughout
the story and further support the assessment of the stranger's role as an evil
death symbol. These demonic-like death
figures represent, by their attitudes or manner of dress, Aschenbach's "deal with the devil," so to speak.
Perhaps they appear to provoke, as evil Dionysian spirits,
Aschenbach's fall. Each time they appear, except as the dowdy old
man on the ship, the characters display an evil quality, such as the insolence
and combativeness of the gondolier and the contemptuous attitude of the singer.
Although repulsive to Aschenbach, the dowdy old man on the ship prefigures Aschenbach's similar attempt to look more youthful to attract
the young Tadzio.
There is a last bit of evidence toward the end of
the story that corroborates the stranger's demonic role in Aschenbach's
life. After Aschenbach
learns the truth about the epidemic in