Christopher Lee Professor Phelan

What does Mann's "Mario und der Zauberer" tell us about

free will in action?
It is intriguing to note how, since the publication of “Mario und der Zauberer” in
September 1929, many critics have managed to misplace its essential intention.
Interpretations of the text over the 20th century have largely ranged from the purely
autobiographical exposition of one of Mann's experiences on holiday to the typical post-
WWII reading of “Mario” as a direct allegory of Italian fascism; no more, no less.1 Yet both
interpretations, which represent logical extremes in their understanding of the text,
presuppose the unlikely condition that Mann writes either in an exclusively
autobiographical capacity or in rigid, mechanical allegories. What does emerge from
“Mario”, however, is a subtle combination of personal experience and political doctrine on
a literal level in a symbolic, rather than strictly allegorical, depiction of the struggle of
free will against the “forces of the occult”2. This conflict of free will is explored not just in
terms of the threat of fascism amongst the crowds at Torre di Venere and during Cipolla's
show, but also in terms of the narrator's personal conflict - as an individual forming a part
of the crowd, as well as an artist trapped between his duties of political responsibility and
his fascination with romantic nature of Cipolla's hypnotic performance.

In examining the theme of free will in “Mario”, one cannot deny that the text does
contain strong implications about how fascist rule – the rule of a leader over a collective
crowd – affects the will of the individual. Mann goes to great lengths to put the reader in a
desired frame of mind about fascism and its grip on Italian society from the start, in his
description of the collective nationalism exhibited by the vulgar, lower-middle-class crowd
at “Torre di Venere” and the display of prudish effrontery at the nudity of the narrator's
young daughter on the beach. Cipolla, too, is almost certainly a symbol of the dictator
Mussolini – his theatrical rhetoric, flambuoyant mannerisms and ability to bend the crowd
to his will evoke images of “Il Duce” at political rallies. Specific emblems – such as
Cipolla's riding crop – serve to associate the magician's control over his audience with the
captivating charm Mussolini held over his supporters, while the fascist appropriation of
classical elements (the term “fascism” is derived from the Roman fasces – a symbol of
the Roman Republic) is mirrored in Mann's description of Cipolla as a “Philippika”3 and his
whip as “der Stab der Kirke”4. Indeed, Cipolla's open chauvinism (in its original bellicose,
patriotic meaning) and downright absurd lies - “Jedermann kann schreiben in Italien,
dessen Groesse der Unwissenheit und Finsternis keinen Raum bietet” link “Mario” directly
to the nationalistic element of Italian fascism, while expounding on the relationship
between leader and the led in a fascist context - “Befehlen und Gehorchen, sie bildeten
zusammen nur ein Prinzip...wie Volk und Fuehrer ineinander einbegriffen sind...”
Furthermore, Cipolla exhorts the audience to collectively submit to his will, claiming “die

1 J.G. Brennan; Thomas Mann's World (New York: Columbia University Press, 1942)
2 Henry Hatfield; Thomas Mann's “Mario und der Zauberer”: An Interpretation (New York:
Columbia University 1945)
3 “eine Philippika” or a Philippic, here: a reference to Cicero's attacks on Anthony, and originally
from Demosthenes' attacks on Philip II of Macedonia
4 Here: a reference to Circe, the sorceress of the Odyssey, in Mann's description of Cipolla's whip
Christopher Lee Professor Phelan

Freiheit existiert, und auch der Wille...aber die Willensfreiheit nicht”, and his successful
hypnotising the Roman gentleman whose “Wille richtet sich auf seine Freiheit” is an
indication how the charisma of Mussolini converted many Italians to the fascist cause. In
this context, the audience's underestimation of Cipolla's hypnotic abilities (one
remembers that he had billed himself as a mere prestigitator) is reminiscent of the
dismissal of fascism in most of 1920s Europe as a radical but ultimately isolated political
force, a view that, in hindsight (as in “Mario”) proves to be both careless and
shortsighted.

However, where the argument that “Mario” is an apological account of the dangers
of fascism falls down is the (attempted) categorisation of the story as purely allegorical.
There has been no shortage of awkward attempts to force characters and narrative
details of the narrative into strict patterns; yet there are certain inconsistencies in such a
rigid approach. Taking the figure of Cipolla as an example, one sees a notable difference
between Cipolla's need for artificial stimulants to sustain his crippled, deformed body,
and Mussolini's athleticism and healthy exuberance. Neither is there any obvious
connection to Hitler – only minor traits of Cipolla's performance, such as the insalubrious
locale, the lateness of hour and the deliberately delayed appearance of the speaker,
bear any resemblance to Hitler's political rallies. Speirs5 posits a possible comparison of
Cipolla to Goebbels, whose cunning malevolence and arrogance in his pursuit of power6
can be likened to Cipolla's personality. Seen from this angle, the notion that “Mario” is a
purely allegorical tale about fascism breaks down; Cipolla is almost certainly meant to be
a composite figure of several contemporary fascist figures in Europe, and not any one
politician in particular.

Furthermore, most readings of “Mario” as a “political” Novella about the fascist

control of Italy fail to take into account Mann's division of the story into two seemingly
disparate parts – the events in the Grand Hotel and on the beach, followed by the
terrifying account of Cipolla's performance. If we are to take “Mario” to be a warning
against the hypnotic, mind-bending powers of a fascist leader, the first part, which Cleigh
describes as consisting of “pleasant anecdotes”7 seems no serve little, if any discernible
function in advancing the nature of fascism apart from setting the scene. While specific
incidents perhaps suggest a new-found air of theatricality, prudery and overzealous
nationalism among the lower-middle-class “rabble” at Torre di Venere resulting from their
relinquishment of personal identity and will in favour of a claim to a collective, national
persona8, the narrator rather unreliably resorts to lofty stereotypification, castigating the
“vulgar” middle classes on the beach for falling prey to the fascist malaise whilst praising
members of the Italian upper class such as Signora Angiolieri for their judgement,
criticising the “Byzantine” manager of the aforementioned hotel whilst refusing to say a
word against the ignorant, capricious “Prinzessa” - whose subconscious xenophobia is

5 Ronald Speirs; Mario and the Magician (London, Grant & Cutler, 1990)
6 According to Speirs, these character traits, as well as his unusually large head, earned Goebbels
the nickname of “Mephistopheles” amongst his contemporaries.
7 James Cleigh; Thomas Mann, a Study (London 1933)
8 Ronald Speirs; Mario and the Magician (London, Grant & Cutler, 1990)
Christopher Lee Professor Phelan

almost certainly fascist in nature. Were “Mario” to be about fascism and its control of the
collective, it remains unlikely that the events preceding Cipolla's show serve the rather
vague, throwaway function of merely setting the scene – especially given Mann's
discerning, elegant literary style in his Novellen. Far more probable, instead, that Mann
links his own experience of Italy to relate the events in “Mario” to the sphere of politics
through the use of partial analogy and symbolism.

Much has been said about the crowd's struggle for free will; however, it is worth
briefly noting that Cipolla arguably engages in a personal conflict of his own during his
performance. Despite the flippancy with which the Cavaliere claims that it is he, not his
victims, who suffers during his feats of hypnotism, there is some truth to this statement.
Arrogance, malice and a desire for control predominate in his character, yet this is an
obvious compensation for his ugliness and deformity, which fosters in him a profound
hatred of mankind.9As opposed to the Roman gentleman who challenges him in the name
of freedom without actually having a end to this freedom in mind – hence Mann's rather
ironic labelling of him as a doomed “Freiheitskaempfer” - Cipolla has a concrete goal in
mind: he is intent on seeking revenge on mankind through his powers of control. His
malicious targeting of youths with athletic physiques, for instance, is deliberate, given his
resentment of all that is handsome and beautiful, “die Blonden und Blauaeugigen”10 The
artist is usually inspired by love – Cipolla is inspired by a burning hate. Yet it must be
stressed that the Cavaliere is, to some extent, driven on by this demonic, lonely hatred
that governs his mind and actions. In a sense, Cipolla is a victim of his own hatred, and
his very existence can be seen as a struggle of free will – his artistic impulse is confined
to and constrained by a prison of hatred borne out of his “outsider” status in society as a
deformed cripple - hence the twisted manifestations of his hypnotic actions. The
significance, then, of Cipolla's final act of hypnosis, in which he compels Mario to kiss him
on the lips (in the mistaken belief that he is kissing his beloved Silvestra) lies in the
realisation of Cipolla's subconscious desires – the Cavaliere wishes to humiliate Mario by
coercing him into unwittingly engaging in an intimate act of love with a deformed cripple
of the same sex – himself. Yet in Cipolla's decision to have Mario kiss him, of all people in
the crowd, in his final act of revenge on his audience, lies a secret, unwitting desire of his
own to be loved and to be part of society, as well as to realise his sexual frustration.
Cipolla's malevolence and desire for control is ultimately the result of his physical
deformity, which renders him unable to integrate into society as a whole as well as to
relieve his pent-up sexual feelings – he, too, could be said to have failed to exert his will
in allowing his hatred and loneliness to dominate his mind.

At this point, the role of the narrator emerges as a intriguing component of the
general struggle between free will and the captivating forces of fascism as exerted by
Cipolla. A less overtly apparent dimension of the text, due to the overwhelming presence
of Cipolla11, the narrator is no less important a character in “Mario”. While certain critics

9 Henry Hatfield; Thomas Mann's “Mario und der Zauberer”: An Interpretation (New York:
Columbia University 1945)
10 See Tonio Kroeger, in Die Erzaehlenden Schiften (Berlin: S Fischer, 1928)
11 A.F. Bance, The Narrator in Thomas Mann's 'Mario ind der Zauberer'
Christopher Lee Professor Phelan

equate the narrative figure with Mann himself, an assumption borne out by the
autobiographical similarities of the narrator's holiday at Torre di Venere and Mann's family
holiday at Forte dei Marmi in the summer of 1926, the significance of the narrator in
“Mario” seems above all to lie in Mann's consideration the role of the artist, which comes
to take on a complex dimension. On one level, the narrator, as a member of the crowd,
faces a personal struggle between free will and the forces of the occult – depictied
through the social malaise in the Grand Hotel and on the beach at Torre di Venere, as well
as through Cipolla's performance – this is reflected by his retrospective account of his
holiday and constant reflection on his actions at certain junctures. On another level,
though, the narrator, who can be seen as an artist and intellectual12 in his mannerisms
and method of storytelling, also struggles with the relationship between literature and
political responsibility.

In giving his account of the events befalling him and his family at Torre di Venere,
the narrator attempts to maintain a stance of painstaking objectivity throughout, as
evidenced through the high level of detail with which the Italian seaside resort is
described – in the opening paragraphs, for instance, the narrator extols the virtues of
Torre di Venere as a holiday destination in comparison it to Portoclemente in the style of a
Baedeker travel guide. Yet we are reminded by the narrator's frequent reflections and
opinionated judgements about the Italians that the text is ultimately a subjective account
of the narrator's experience, from which the question of guilt rapidly arises. The narrator
feels guilty throughout the text – ostensibly due to his failure, as a responsible parents,
to protect his children from the evil experience of Cipolla's performance. The narrator's
account is retrospective; as he recalls the events leading up to Cipolla's show, he seeks in
vain for a reason for staying in Italy despite the occurrence of events that, in hindsight,
provide an indication of the fascist malaise slowly sweeping across Italy – the rise of
nationalism amonst the children at the beach, the xenophobia encountered by the
narrator and his family at the Grand Hotel, the somewhat distressing level of prudery
displayed by the gentleman in the top hat. Yet much as he wills himself to leave, the
narrator is drawn to the atmosphere of Torre di Venere, and so assuages himself with all
manner of excuses – the struggle for free will has begun, even before Cipolla's
performance.

The narrator's failure of will on the fatal evening13, as Bance puts it, is expressed in
his consent in bringing his children to Cipolla's show, and, later on, his failure to remove
his children after the interval. Cipolla's performance sees a dramatic “Aufsteigerung” of
the symptoms of fascism the narrator senses at Torre in Venere. The narrator clearly
recognises the nature of Cipolla's act as evil and dangerous; yet his surrender to the
Cavaliere's hypnotic performance means that he, along with his family, stays on until the

12 Or “pseudo-intellectual”, according to Ockenden, referring back to “Homers Sonne, und so

weiter”, which would seem to suggest that the narrator is actually attempting to justify his
association of the weather at Torre di Venere with that of classical antiquity by reciting facts
learned during his schoolboy years - rather than providing the reader with any deep,
philosophical insight.
13 A.F. Bance, The Narrator in Thomas Mann's 'Mario ind der Zauberer'
Christopher Lee Professor Phelan

end of the show, exposing his children to the malice of Cipolla's exploits and its traumatic
culmination. Despite being an educated man, a “superior” status that the narrator is at
pains to emphasise , the fact that he has chosen to take his family to the show and ends
up staying until the end represents a humiliating submission to the general fascist
malaise, and from a broader point of view, a general example of the “European liberal
mind (being) in the grip of the demagogue's will”14 Ultimately, his assumption that, as a
German with an “uneinfachem, tiefem Geist”, he would have the presence of mind to
withstand the fascist presence at Torre di Venere and Cipolla's hypnotic machinations, is
completely debunked as he first underestimated and then succumbs to Cipolla's hypnotic
machinations towards the end of the show. His recollection of this submission is doubly
humilitating, given the fact that he has potentially endangered his wife and children
through his failure to exert his will. Seen in this context, “Mario” appears to serve a
psycho-analytical function15 - burdened by his bad conscience, the narrator feels a need
to recount his traumatic experiences and search for an explanation for the failure of his
will.

Upon a close reading of the text, one also notes an added dimension to the
narrator's predicament as an artist. In particular, a quote from the description of the show
- “ich versichere, dass wir ihr gehorchen wollten, dieser ruehrenden Mahnung, es
ernstlich wollten” (italics mine) - reveals a more complex layer to the narrator's
submission – that of volition. In the context of Cipolla's performance, it appears that the
narrator wants to listen to Cipolla – not only has he failed to exert his own will, but it also
seems that the narrator actually expresses a certain degree of volition in submitting to
Cipolla. The narrator's guilt apparently runs deeper than the humiliation of failing to exert
his will and neglecting his parental duties. Returning to the narrator's statement of
volition during Cipolla's performance, another potential reason for the his bad conscience
is his fascination with Cipolla as an artist. As an “artist” himself in the elaborate way he
recounts his story, the narrator shares an admiration of Cipolla in that he considers the
magician as an equal, given that they share a superior but illicit knowledge of artistic
manipulation16 - just as Cipolla manipulates his audience, the narrator manipulates our
understanding of “Mario” by channeling his account of events through his unique
perspective. The narrator seems also to be “detained” by the fascinating lure of Cipolla's
performance – just as Hans Castorp is detained by the lure of Romanticism and death in
Mann's “Der Zauberberg”. The issue at hand here is the problem encountered by German
artists and authors in the early 20th century of bridging the transition between the
German Romantic tradition and modern political responsibility; the former called for the
artist to explore new experience, regardless of its morality, while German authors such as
Mann recognised the amorality and shortsightedness of such an approach,17 particularly

14 J.P. Stern; The Fuehrer and the People (Glasgow, 1975)

15 Ronald Speirs; Mario and the Magician (London, Grant & Cutler, 1990)
16 A.F. Bance, The Narrator in Thomas Mann's 'Mario ind der Zauberer'
17 Furness writes that Mann's conversion to democracy after WWI was an acknowledgement that a
nation cannot forever live like Faust and that at such a time no responsible writer could be
“interesting” rather than morally correct. Taken from Raymond Furness; The 20th Century; The
Literary History of Germany (London, 1978)
Christopher Lee Professor Phelan

in the unstable political situation in the aftermath of WWI. In particular, the 1920s saw a
juncture in European history when, through the notorious “aestheticising of politics”, the
aesthetic was permeating through into both social and political spheres, impinging upon
the life of the ordinary citizen. Fascism in Europe drew on elements of the German
Romantic Tradition – Wagner was a personal favourite of many senior figures in the
NSDAP – which saw a focus not on science and reason, but a throwback to classical
antiquity and primitive man; indeed, some German romanticists believed that the true
nature of modern man was obscured by reason, a line that was quickly taken up by many
right-wing writers such as Ludwig Klages, with his “Der Geist als Widersache der Seele” -
an open attack on the faculty of reason.

The narrator in “Mario” actively experiences this conflict between 'das Gescheute'
and 'das Gesunde'18 - his will is trapped between the paradoxical duties of the artist (as
per the German Romantic tradition) of the amoral approach of being open to all new
experience, i.e. to explose himself to the artful deceptions of Cipolla's performance, and
that of moral, and in the fascist context of “Mario”, political responsibility. Here, it seems,
the will of the narrator towards exercising his responsibility – in upholding his parental
duties, as well as his political and moral convictions – is undermined by the subconscious
attraction of the illicit, amoral mysteries of the occult, represented here by Cipolla's
irresponsible use of his hypnotic abilities for his own evil ends. Moving back into the real-
world, political sphere, Mann seems to suggest in “Mario” that there is a real danger that
artists – including writers such as himself – are forcibly drawn towards the the fascist
dictator that Cipolla symbolises due to the lure of his mysterious, captivating charisma.
Though many critics have, at this point, seen this as an opportunity to equate the
narrator in “Mario” to Mann himself, this seems to be a conjecture too far – rather, if
anything, Mann is providing a warning to his literary and artistic contemporaries about
the Wagnerian, romantic charm of fascism, which, in the early 1920s, had come to take
on the guise of political respectibility in Western Europe under the banner of right-wingers
such as Klages - especially in cities like Munich (where Mann lived), which had become an
unofficial centre for right-wing radicals in the 1920s. Returning to the text, the narrator in
“Mario” fails to exert his will and perform his duties as a moral, responsible artist – to
rectify this, he writes an account afterwards in an attempt not only to explain to himself
why he has committed certain actions at the time, but ultimately as a warning to others
as well to shun the Faustian allure of fascist ideology with its allusions to classicism and
the occult, and to uphold their moral responsibilies in a period of social and political
instability.

Mann's “Mario und der Zauberer” is neither exclusively fascist allegory nor
autobiographical account, tempting though both extremes may seem to the critic.
Instead, it is effectively a story exploring the struggles of the various characters in
“Mario” – the Italian crowd, the narrator, Cipolla - for free will, a conflict dominated by
symbolic fascist elements of control and a sense of lonely hatred respectively that all
three ultimately lose over the course of the Novella. Yet from the humiliating defeat of the

18 Ibid.
Christopher Lee Professor Phelan

narrator in his struggle to exert free will as a parent responsible for protecting his
children, emerges on a deeper level a call for responsible moral and political values in a
time of social and political instability. While the narrator may have succumbed in his
struggle for free will, Mann articulates a clear message to be drawn by readers of “Mario”
- the universal need for reason and objective judgement - through the elaborately
structured story of an artist's predicament in layers upon layers, stories within stories – in
a complex, multi-faceted literary style unique to Mann.