In a passage that satirizes Mann's own literary career, Mann alludes to Friedrich Schiller, a notable figure in the history of German literature and philosophy. Summarizing the various (fictional) literary works written by Aschenbach, the narrator describes him as:
The author of the clear, powerful prose epic on the life of Frederick of Prussia; the patient artist who with untiring industry wove the novelistic tapestry called Maya, with its numerous characters, in which so many human destinies were gathered together to illustrate a grand idea; [...] finally (and this concludes the brief characterization of the works of his maturity), the writer of the passionate treatise Intellect and Art, a book whose power of organization and syllogistic eloquence led serious reviewers to place it immediately alongside Schiller’s disquisition on “naive” and “sentimental” literature—Gustav Aschenbach—was born in L., a district town in the province of Silesia [...]
Notably, the various works attributed to Aschenbach by the narrator reflect works planned (but not completed) by Mann himself. Together, they constitute a satirical mirror of Mann's career and of the literary trends of his day. The narrator describes Aschenbach's Intellect and Art as a "book whose power of organization and syllogistic eloquence led serious reviewers to place it immediately alongside Schiller’s disquisition on 'naive' and 'sentimental' literature."
Here, Mann alludes to Friedrich Schiller, considered one of the most important figures in the development of Weimar Classicism, a literary and cultural movement that spanned the latter decades of the 18th century into the early 19th century. More specifically, he alludes to a 1795 work in which Schiller delineates between the categories of “naive” poetry (which, he claims, presents a direct description or narrative) and “sentimental” poetry (which is instead more self-reflective.) Through this allusion to Schiller, then, Mann characterizes Aschenbach as a prominent member of the literary establishment, influential and well-respected by his peers, as Schiller was in his own time.
Mann alludes to Saint Sebastian, a third-century Christian martyr often depicted in art, in a passage that describes Aschenbach's literary career and his dedication to his art:
At an early stage in the author’s career, a clever analyst had written [...] that it was the concept “of an intellectual and youthful masculinity that grits its teeth in proud modesty and stands by calmly while its body is pierced by swords and spears.” That was elegant, witty and correct [...] because composure beneath blows of fate, graciousness in the midst of torment, does not signify mere endurance; it is an active achievement, a positive triumph, and the figure of Saint Sebastian is the most beautiful symbol, if not in all of art, then at least in the type of art we are discussing [...]
The narrator describes a "clever analyst" who suggested that the protagonists of Aschenbach's novels are typically young men who suffer through pain, illness, and injury with an attitude of noble resignation. This analyst was correct, the narrator suggests, as the ability to maintain "composure beneath blows of fate" is important to Aschenbach, who wakes up early every morning in order to write his books in a steady and consistent manner. Summarizing Aschenbach's attitudes, the narrator describes Saint Sebastian as "the most beautiful symbol [...] in the type of art we are discussing." Saint Sebastian was a common subject for painters in the medieval and Renaissance periods, who painted and sculpted the young saint as his exposed body is pierced by arrows. Through this allusion, then, Mann suggests that Aschenbach believes that there is something noble in pursuing a goal despite profound suffering.
Mann alludes to the famous Boy with a Thorn statue (sometimes also referred to as Spinario or Fedele) in a pivotal scene in which Aschenbach first observes Tadzio and his family at the hotel:
Softness and tenderness obviously presided over his existence. They had refrained from subjecting his beautiful hair to the shears; like that of the Boy with a Thorn, it curled over his forehead and ears and was even longer at the back of his neck. The laces, bows and embroidery on his English sailor suit, with its puffy sleeves that narrowed below and closed tightly around the delicate wrists of his still childlike but slim hands, gave his delicate figure a rich and pampered appearance. He sat in semiprofile opposite his observer, one foot, shod in black patent leather, placed in front of the other [...]
While Tadzio's sisters wear severe and modest outfits that Aschenbach thinks of as nun-like, Tadzio is allowed to dress in a more free and comfortable fashion, and his hair has been left quite long. As he stares at the boy, whom he feels has been raised in an environment of "softness and tenderness," Aschenbach thinks of the "Boy with a Thorn," a Greco-Roman (or Hellenistic) bronze sculpture that has been copied many times since antiquity. The statue, depicting a nude male youth with shoulder-length curling hair who attempts to remove a thorn from his foot, reflects classical beauty ideals and was also celebrated by neoclassical art historians and artists in the 18th and 19th centuries.
Mann's allusion to the sculpture highlights Aschenbach's tendency to view the world, and Tadzio in particular, through the lens of art. Throughout the novel, Aschenbach continues to compare Tadzio to various works of art and mythological figures associated with Ancient Greece, reflecting his inability to confront life directly.