The lure of eros

... that hardened heart softened at once the first time the literary man spoke to him again... though it was only in passing and in the form of a mythological allusion, which to be understood required an education in the traditions of the West. It occurred after dinner; they ran into one another at the door that no longer slammed. Catching up with the young man, but with the intent of moving right past him, Settembrini said, "Well, my good engineer, how did you like the pomegranate?"

Hans Castorp smiled in confused delight. "I'm sorry - what did you say, Herr Settembrini? Pomegranate? We haven't had any pomegranates, have we? I don't think I've ever. . . no, wait, I did once drink some pomegranate juice and soda. It was too sweet for me."

Already past him now, the Italian looked back over his shoulder and carefully stated: "The gods and mortals have on occasion visited the realm of shades and found their way back. But those who reside in the nether world know that he who eats the fruits of their realm is forever theirs."


From The Magic Mountain by Mann, translated by John Woods

The Credo

It was midsummer 1819, the period when Beethoven was working on the Missa at the Hafner house in Modling, in despair that every section was turning out much longer than expected, so that the deadline for its completion - it was a date in March the next year, for the installation of Archduke Rudolf as archibishop of Olmutz - could not possibly be met. And it happened that two friends, both musicians, came to visit him one afternoon, and no sooner had they entered the house than they heard shocking news. Both the master's maids had bolted that same morning after a wild scene that had occurred the night before, around one o'clock, awakening the entire house from slumber. The master had worked all evening, well into the night, on the Credo, the Credo with its fugue, never giving a thought to his evening meal, which still stood on the stove, whereupon the serving girls, having waited long in vain, at least yielded to nature and went to bed. But when, between twelve and one, the master had demanded his meal, he had found the maids asleep, the food ruined and charred, and had broken into the most violent rage, paying still less heed to the sleeping household since he could not even hear the racket he was making. "Could ye not watch with me one hour?" he had thundered over and over. But it had been five, six hours - and so the aggrieved maids had absconded by the first light of day, leaving to his own devices so uncontrollable a master, who, having had no midday meal either, had not eaten a bite since yesterday noon. Instead he had labored in his room, on the Credo, the Credo with its fugue; his disciples could hear him working behind the closed door. The deaf man sang, howled, and stomped over that Credo - the sound of it so horrifyingly moving that the blood froze in the eavesdroppers' veins. Just as they were about to depart in great trepidation, the door was flung open, and there in the doorframe stood Beethoven - what a sight! What a horrifying sight! In desheveled clothes, his facial features so distorted that they could inspire fear, his eyes listening and filled with mad abstraction, he had stared at them, looking as if he had just come from a life-and-death struggle with all the hostile spirits of counterpoint. He had first stammered something incoherent and then broken into complaints and curses about the mess in his household, about how everyone had run off, how they were letting him starve. The two attempted to calm him - one helped him to get properly dressed, the other ran to an inn to order a cheering meal... Not until three years later was the mass completed.

From Mann's Doctor Faustus