Thomas Mann was a famous German author whose heyday was the first half of the twentieth century. He had a Nobel Prize in literature for one of his novels and a reputation for writing psychological stories that were full of melancholy and longing for lost happiness.
In addition to his novels which were too long for my liking he wrote a handful of novellas that were collected in an English translation under the title “Death in Venice and Seven Other Stories.” One of these stories is named “Tristan” and is the story of a sanitarium up in the Alps that especially treated people suffering from tuberculosis which is never actually named in the story but only hinted at when a patient would cough and then check a handkerchief for blood. But in addition to the actual patients at this sanitarium called Einfried there was one resident who stayed there for the atmosphere; a “novelist” named Detlev Spinell. And novelist would be an exaggeration. No one has ever read his book and even letter-writing is an enormously slow and painful exercise when performed by him. In the story, this writer is the cause of the death of a woman who is attempting to recover from a mild case of tuberculosis which is several times emphatically stated to be only affecting “the trachea, and not the lungs, thank God.” He is a malevolent force that insinuates into the young woman’s mind that she is the victim of a crass, plebian existence that sacrificed her health and artistic spirit at the altar of mundane human activities, specifically; marriage and childbirth which was the event that sapped her strength and weakened her body sufficiently to allow the wasting disease to get the upper hand with her.
And this unhealthy influence by Spinell eventually causes her health to completely break down. And so, the doctors call for her husband to return to the sanitarium before her incipient death. And while this catastrophe is occurring Spinell takes it upon himself to write a letter to this husband who at this point is occupying a room in the same building. He painstakingly writes the letter, mails it, smiles at the husband in the hallways when they meet and gives no thought to what will happen when the letter returns from the post office to the building that they both reside in. The letter is an insulting and disparaging polemic attacking the husband for his “plebian” tastes and lack of artistic feeling. And he announces that he has awakened the wife to her true spiritual stature and thereby causes her to renounce her allegiance to ordinary life (and by that choice, life itself).
Now all of this is quite bizarre but Mann paints the personalities of husband, wife and Spinell very skillfully. And this allows the personalities and their relationships to each other to make sense. The husband is a very plain and “normal” individual. A businessman who embraces the life of a husband and father along with his hard charging life as a capitalist. He loves his wife and child but he isn’t above pinching a maid in a hallway when the opportunity arises. The wife loves her husband and child but she has the artistic side to her personality and she can be influenced into believing that the prosaic life of a housewife and mother is a demeaning occupation for someone as sensitive and with such an elevated soul as herself. And then there is Spinell. He is an abnormal spirit of the “artistic” type who sees life through a prism that only values the spiritual and pure emotions and sensibilities of the artist. All ordinary things like the normal male/female relations are fraught with unacceptable amounts of inartistic reality. Thus, his hatred of the husband in the story and his beatification of the wife.
The climax of the story, to my mind is the collision when the husband reads the letter and confronts Spinell down the hall from him. He reads parts of the letter to the author and then rains verbal abuse on the head of his frightened and contrite adversary. But just as his screaming abuse reaches its crescendo, from out in the hall, comes news that his wife’s lungs have collapsed under the ravages of her ailment, causing her to cough up an enormous quantity of blood and that she is on the edge of death. The husband shifts his focus onto the bearer of bad news:
‘“Is she dead?” yelled Herr Klaterjahn. As he spoke he clutched the Rätin by the arm and pulled her to and fro on the sill. “Not quite? Not dead; she can see me, can’t she? Brought up a little blood again, from the lung eh? Yes, I give in, it may be from the lung. Gabriele!” he suddenly cried out, and his eyes filled with tears; you could see what a burst of good, warm, honest human feeling came over him. “Yes, I’m coming.” He said and dragged the Rätin after him…’
Mann shows us the reality of life and compares it to the shadow of life that Spinell hides in. He uses art to hide from life. As for the husband, who really was a crass, plebian individual full of crass plebian faults, he is also a living, breathing human being. Spinell is a wraith. His artistic sensibilities and motives are pathetic and infantile. Now this is coming from Thomas Mann who embraced art as the central motive of his life. What I find interesting is that he so clearly shows us the primacy of life over art. I find that powerful.
