| For almost four weeks […] added nothing | TM’s chronology is hardly plausible, for it would imply that Z. wrote chapters XLI–XLV in the span of about a week. |
| “Werwolf,” a unit of berserk boys | TM first commented on the “Werwolf” resistance movement, which never constituted a serious threat to the victorious Allies, in a diary entry for April 2, 1945. |
| | The American general George S. Patton (1885–1945). TM was one of the first Germans to comment on the liberation of the concentration camps in writing, in his essay “The Camps” (May 1945), to which the following two paragraphs are heavily indebted. The “local concentration camp” Z. mentions is Buchenwald. |
| it was in fact tens of thousands […] who committed the acts | Statements like this one, uncontroversial as they may seem to the contemporary American reader, were highly provocative during Mann’s lifetime and earned him the instant enmity of many of his compatriots. |
| like the Jews of the ghetto | A very strange comparison, but indicative of TM’s thoughts about Judaism. See 427/590. |
| Damn, damn those corruptors | The question whether Germans were willing participants in the crimes of the Nazis or had to be “corrupted” first remained controversial for many decades to come, as is shown by the controversy surrounding Daniel Goldhagen’s 1996 study Hitler’s Willing Executioners. |
| A patriotism […] be more high-minded than conscientious | This attitude that Nazism was “without roots” in German history was characteristic of many left-leaning émigrés, such as Bertolt Brecht, Ludwig Marcuse (1894–1971), and TM’s older brother Heinrich. In 1943, these men urged TM to publicly declare himself along similar lines. The author at first assented, but to the chagrin of his compatriots retracted his signature after further deliberation. TM’s Library of Congress lecture “Germany and the Germans” can in part be understood as a response to this controversy. |
| Because the last years […] belong in fact to the ascent and spread of that usurping power | In the German federal elections of September 1930, the Nazis’ share of the popular vote jumped from roughly 2.6% to 18.3%. |
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| pupils […] as if they were not subject to the influence of any change in light | A characteristic symptom of tertiary syphilis, but perhaps also a symbolic indicator of the fact that L. is now beyond the reach of saving grace. Compare Echo’s similar development on 502/693. |
| a chaconne by Jacopo Melani | Jacopo Melani (1623–1676) was an Italian composer whose potential usefulness for DF was pointed out to TM by his musical advisor Theodor W. Adorno. As with most of the other of L.’s musical works, the description of the Lamentation in the following pages owes a great deal to written suggestions provided by Adorno. |
| Germany’s liberation, its liberation of itself | The German employs the reflexive noun Selbstbefreiung, which makes it even clearer that Z. is dreaming of a liberation of Germany not only “of itself” but also “by itself.” Over the course of the 1940s, TM became increasingly convinced that such a self-liberation was impossible and would have to come by a conquering force, as it indeed did in 1945. |
| | Latin: “out of the depths.” See Psalms 130:1. |
| In order for such an event […] to occur | The German carries a clear allusion to a couplet from the concluding chorus of Goethe’s Faust II: “Das Unzulängliche, / Hier wird’s Ereignis.” |
| | Latin: “behold the man!” The words and gesture used by Pilate in John 19:5 when he presents Jesus to the Jewish people. Ecce Homo is also the title of a book by Friedrich Nietzsche, who served as one of the models for L. throughout DF. |
| all expression is in fact lament […] music becomes a lament | The two earliest known operas, L’Orfeo (1607) and L’Arianna (1608) by Claudio Monteverdi (1567–1643), both revolve around musical lamentations. |
| | Latin: “Let me die.” Title of an aria from the (otherwise lost) opera L’Arianna by Claudio Monteverdi. |
| a conversation I had with Adrian | |
| lasting approximately an hour and a quarter. | The Lamentation of Doctor Faustus has almost exactly the same performance length as Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony, the work that it is meant to “take back.” |
| It will be recalled that in the old chapbook | Specifically, in chapters 67 and 68 of the Chapbook. |
| | This phrase refers to the custom, popular in the Catholic world until the eighteenth century, to dedicate the last glass of wine at a communal meal to St. John the Apostle. The custom recalls the Last Supper, of which Faust’s final meal with his students is a parody. |
| oratio Fausti ad studiosus | Latin: “Faust’s speech to the students.” |
| “For I die as both a wicked and good Christian” | In the original: Denn ich sterbe als ein böser und guter Christ. See 5/11. |
| Working uninhibitedly within preorganized material […] can abandon himself to subjectivity. | These lines distill the ultimate essence of the political allegory at the heart of DF: the idea that the inhabitants of the “new Germany” dreamt up by Nazism, just like the composers who embrace the twelve-tone technique, are free to express their subjectivity in whichever way they choose, as long as they do not in any way challenge the “preorganized material” of the state itself. |
| The episode where Faust calls up Helen | In chapters 49 and 59 of the Chapbook. |
| a kind of process of alchemistic distillation | Music has been linked to alchemy throughout DF, starting on 44/63. |
| the “Watch with me!” of Gethsemane | |
| the good old “physician and gossip” | See chapter 52 of the Chapbook. There, however, the pious neighbor is depicted not as a tempter-figure, but rather as a genuine Christian who makes a last-ditch effort to save the soul of Faustus. |
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| But yet another final […] a light in the night. | The description of the Lamentation ends on a hopeful note, however uncertain. TM’s original draft of the passage was even more explicit in this regard; he changed it at the insistence of Adorno. |
| One instrumental group after the other steps back | Likely real-world models for this technique include the “Farewell Symphony” (1772) by Joseph Haydn (1732–1809), and the “Lyric Suite” (1926) by Alban Berg. |