Death in Venice

Days pass, and Aschenbach no longer considers leaving Venice as he settles into a comfortable routine of idleness. He has never enjoyed relaxing but now finds himself bewitched and content with his leisure. Recalling how he struggled to write and work back in Germany, he is pleased to be at his ease here. He often sees Tadzio around the hotel, particularly in the mornings, when he watches Tadzio playing on the beach with his companions under the supervision of his female relatives. Aschenbach derives significant pleasure from the sight of his beauty whether Tadzio is staring out to sea or playing or lying in the sand. Under the warmth of the sun, Aschenbach’s reason succumbs to the pleasurable drunkenness of a sensual reawakening of his youthful feelings of sexual attraction to other boys—feelings he has long since repressed.

Aschenbach fantasizes himself and Tadzio as characters in one of Plato’s famous Discourses, taking on the roles of Socrates and Phaedrus respectively. He imagines lecturing the boy on the importance of beauty to the soul of the artist, and the importance of the lover in admiring and venerating such beauty. Aschenbach works while watching Tadzio on the beach. Using the boy’s beauty as inspiration and his body as a model for the form of his writing, Aschenbach produces a short but deeply felt essay on a topic of current artistic interest. The essay is received with admiration and enthusiasm by critics, and Aschenbach thoroughly enjoys the process of its creation although it does exhaust him and trouble his conscience.

The following morning Aschenbach sees Tadzio walking to the beach alone and considers taking this opportunity to start up a casual conversation with him. As he catches up to the boy, however, ready to tap his shoulder and speak to him in French, Aschenbach finds himself unable to speak. His heart pounds violently, his breath is short, and he realizes that he’s been hesitating too long walking close behind Tadzio. Afraid of being embarrassed, Aschenbach hurries past, surrendering any hope of a wholesome connection with Tadzio. He revels in the intoxication of his excessive passion and is too full of self-respect to dissect his motives.

Aschenbach no longer has any plans to return home; he is only worried about the day that the Polish family must eventually leave. His nights are happily restless; he goes to bed as soon as Tadzio retires and wakes early. Watching the sunrise and reveling in its beauty, he recognizes a reawakening of his youthful passions and previously stifled emotional yearnings. Aschenbach smiles beatifically and mouths a name which is presumably “Tadzio.”

Instead of rationing his energy for work, he indulges his emotions throughout the day. He watches Tadzio avidly and mentally compares the boy with figures from classical mythology. Though they’ve not spoken to each other, there naturally grows between them the strained familiarity and tense respect that arises between strangers who cross paths often enough to recognize each other by sight but never interact. Aschenbach senses some reciprocation of his interest on Tadzio’s part, for instance in the fact that Tadzio always walks close by Aschenbach’s seat on his way to the seashore. Aschenbach always waits for the boy’s passage although he feigns indifference and only sometimes meets Tadzio’s curious gaze with composure.

One evening, the Polish family is unexpectedly absent from dinner. Disturbed, Aschenbach goes for a walk in the hotel gardens and comes across the Polish family returning from a dinner in the city. He is unprepared and thus fails to conceal his pleasure and admiration at seeing Tadzio under the moonlight. Tadzio smiles charmingly in response, and Aschenbach is deeply affected. He hurries away, admonishing Tadzio in whispers to himself for the audacity of smiling so provocatively. As he recovers on a secluded bench he whispers “I love you” to Tadzio.