Origins of a Name: the Chauchat files

I embraced "Clavdia Chauchat" (the name, not necessarily the character) after reading Thomas Mann's novel The Magic Mountain for a graduate class.
She is a sort of anti-Vergil, leading the hero Hans Castorp through the intricacies of "dissolute sweetness" in a sanatorium for the vaguely ill. Immediately compelling, she irritates Hans, and then infatuates him. He obsesses over her form, her dress, her languid and disinterested manner. She represents for him everything the the life of the invalid has to offer: complete freedom.

Her own words:

I love freedom above all is my illness that gives me seems that one ought not to search for morality in virtue, which is to say in reason, in discipline, in good behavior, in respectability--but in just the opposite, I would say, in sin, in abandoning oneself to danger, to
whatever is harmful, consumes us. It seems to us that it is more moral to lose oneself and let oneself be ruined than to preserve oneself.

A complicated woman, she remains in silence for much of the book, observed by the hero and observing the world through half-closed eyes. She glides when she moves, she sits slump-shouldered, she has relations with other invalids; she is abandoned, intellectual, "unnatural," and completely mesmerizing to Hans.

The first time he sees her:

It was a lady who crossed the hall now, a young girl really, of only average height, in a white sweater and brightly colored skirt, with reddish-blond hair, which she wore in a simple braid wound up on her head. Hans Castorp saw only a little of her profile--almost nothing, in fact. In quite marvelous contrast to her noisy entrance, she walked soundlessly, with a peculiar slinking gait, her head thrust slightly forward...As she walked she kept one hand in the pocket of her close-fitting wool jacket, while the other was at the back of her head, tucking and arranging her hair.

Not an extraordinary outfit by any stretch of the imagination, but it is the way she wears these items that become so compelling. Later, she enters into the breakfast hall, appearing in:

a flowing open-sleeved lace peignoir, and stood there at attention--having first slammed the glass door--and charmingly presented herself, as it were, to the dining hall, before proceeding in her slinking gait to her table; and her attire suited her so splendidly that Hans Castorp's neighbor, the teacher from Kronsberg, expressed her unequivocal enthusiasm.
As Hans falls under her spell, he becomes a bit philosophic about women and their dress.