While emotional inspiration is often seen as being contrary to intellectual introspection, most art theory suggests a balance of the two to be more desirable than either extreme. Such a view of art, and of the artist, can be found in Mann’s Death in Venice. This dichotomy becomes manifest in two of the recurring themes of the novel: Apollo, the giver of light, depicting intelligence; and Dionysus, the bringer of ecstasy, illustrating the emotional component of humanity. Mann’s philosophy is also reflected in the perception of age in the novel. From the outset, youth is associated with Dionysus and emotion, while old age is correlated with Apollo and reason.
Aschenbach is himself the apotheosis of the intellect as instrument to artistic creation. Continually likened to Apollo, the author in his older years has become a consummate craftsman of his medium. His life has become ritualized in order to provide an undisturbed environment in which he can compose, and indeed, this orderly life has caused him to become static in his writings. His style is described as “traditionalist, conservative, formal, and even formulaic” (p. 10), and interestingly was the culmination of a lifelong ambition. He had always sought the wisdom and craftsmanship of age, and thus to achieve perfection in his art, he began as a young man to “[curb] and [chill] the emotions” (p. 5) and to be constantly working—indeed “he had never known idleness...[nor] the carefree recklessness of youth” (p. 6). Therefore it is no surprise when Aschenbach shows a great deal of contempt towards the dandy, who is the other elderly figure in the novel, on the boat to Venice.. The dandy attempts to rejuvenate himself by living as the young around him, dressing in their style and copying their mannerisms. Yet Aschenbach quickly sees through this façade to the wrinkles, wig, and died hair, and is disgusted. The reason for this abhorrence becomes explicit when he sees the dandy inebriated: the old man has rejected the natural consequence of his years—the astuteness and discretion inherent in Apollo—for the drunken illusions of Dionysian ecstasy. He has lost his balance, both literally and figuratively, and Mann makes an effort to demonstrate this extreme.
The proper balance between the Apollonian and the Dionysian is embodied in Tadzio; indeed, when he is likened to a Greek statue one is to recall classical teachings of beauty. This form first attracts Aschenbach to Tadzio, and he philosophizes about it: beauty is the perfect symmetry of regularity and individuality. Indeed, the youth displays both characteristics: Aschenbach is as equally drawn to the disciplined respect paid by Tadzio to his governess, as he is to the youth’s ‘rebellious’ seclusion in a few instances. It is also reflected in his features: his classically constructed face contrasts perfectly with the careless abandon of his hair. For this reason, Aschenbach is attracted to the boy and not to any of his sisters. The beauty of their youthful forms is subverted by their “uniform conventlike garb” and hair “plastered down close to the head” (p. 21); their youth has been controlled by reason to an unnatural extreme. Yet, the ideal of youth remains important in deciphering Aschenbach’s behaviour. The balance between emotion and intellect is only available in the passionate energy and beauty of a young person. For Plato and equally for Mann, a youthful form is a beautiful one, and beauty inspires the philosopher to imagine the divine. Through the most graceful Tadzio, Aschenbach is inspired to create, and indeed, as the translation notes, he becomes enraptured by enthusiasm. It is at this point that he is compelled to write, or in Mann’s words, manifest the “idea that can be totally transformed into emotion, and the emotion that can be totally transformed into an idea” (p. 37). By assimilating the “boy’s form as a model for his writing” (p. 38), Aschenbach regains the joy he once felt for words. The description of his work is fundamental: the balance between the Apollonian and the Dionysian is readily apparent in prose of “purity, nobility and pulsating emotional tension” (p. 38).
Simultaneously however, Aschenbach’s previously conservative conscience warns him of such emotional excess. He does not in fact demonstrate any such intemperance until he begins to hunt the boy. It is at this stage that he becomes wholly possessed by Dionysian ecstasy. The hunter motif indeed represents Aschenbach’s mindset by the end of the novel: he becomes, in effect, the tiger that haunted his dreams early in the text; simultaneously, it suggests the consummation of flesh which is the culmination of the Dionysian ritual. Indeed, he begins to fall in love with Tadzio as a person and not for the ‘divine balance’ that he represents; his worship becomes readily apparent when Aschenbach follows the boy into a church. He loses the reason he once applied to Tadzio and begins to delude himself, believing that “his friendly feelings and attention were not wholly unreciprocated” (p. 41). By rejecting reason, Aschenbach also demonstrates the hatred that he now feels for his old age, which he had once longed for. In order to appeal to the youth, he paints his face in the same artificial manner as did the dandy that he once abhorred. Other symbols demonstrate that this is in fact as hopeless a cause for Aschenbach as it was for the dandy: the “overripe, soft” (p. 59) strawberries that he eats in Freudian terms represent a man incurably past his sexual prime.
Desiring the ecstasies of youth and emotion, the entire fifth chapter quite literally is a quest by Aschenbach to rekindle the fires of youth that he had in fact never experienced. Ultimately, he is consumed by this pursuit. Speaking through the guise of Plato, Mann questions whether Aschenbach was in fact doomed to such an end, as “poets cannot travel the path of beauty without Eros joining company...and taking the lead” (p. 60). Aschenbach was indeed led by Eros; “form...lead to intoxication and desire” and ultimately, “to the abyss” (p. 60). The abyss for him turned out to be a solitary death transfixed by the sight of his beloved.
Bibliography
Mann, Thomas. Death in Venice. Trans. Stanley Appelbaum. New York: Dover Publications, 1995.
Supplementary:
Hamilton, Edith. Mythology. Boston, USA: Little Brown and Company, 1942.
Mann, Thomas. Death in Venice. Trans. David Luke. The Norton Anthology of World Masterpieces. Gen. Ed. Maynard Mack. 6th ed. Vol. 2. New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 1992. 1555-1610.
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