Deliverance from my troubles came from quite an unexpected quarter, and
with it something new entered into my life, which has up to the present
day exercised a strong influence.
A short time before we had had a new boy at our Latin school. He was
the son of a well-to-do widow who had moved to our town. He was in
mourning and wore a crape band round his sleeve. His form was above
mine, and he was several years older, but I soon began to take notice
of him, as did all of us. This remarkable boy impressed one as being
much older than he looked. He made on no one the impression of being a
mere schoolboy. With us childish youngsters he was as distant and as
mature as a man, or rather, as a gentleman. He was by no means popular,
he took no part in the games, much less in the fooling. It was only the
self-conscious and decided tone which he adopted towards the masters
that pleased the others. His name was Max Demian.
One day it happened, as it occasionally did in our school, that for
some cause or other, another class was sent into our large schoolroom.
It was Demian’s form. We little ones were having Biblical history, the
big ones had to write an essay. While we were having the story of Cain
and Abel knocked into us, I kept looking across at Demian, whose face
fascinated me strangely, and saw his wise, bright, more than ordinarily
strong features bent attentively and thoughtfully over his task. He did
not look at all like a schoolboy doing an exercise, but like a research
worker solving a problem. I did not find him really agreeable. On the
contrary, I had one or two little things against him. With me he was
too distant and superior, he was much too provokingly sure of himself,
and the expression of his eyes was that of an adult--which children
never like--rather sad with occasional flashes of scorn. Yet I could
not resist looking at him, whether I liked him or not. But the minute
he looked in my direction I looked away, somewhat frightened. If to-day
I consider what he looked like as a schoolboy, I can say that he was
in every respect different from the others, and bore the stamp of a
striking personality and therefore attracted attention. But at the same
time he did everything to prevent himself from being remarked--he bore
and conducted himself like a disguised prince who finds himself among
peasant boys and makes every effort to appear like them.
He was behind me on the way home from school. When the others had run
on, he overtook me and said: “Hello!” Even his manner of greeting,
although he imitated our schoolboy tone of voice, was polite and like
that of a grown-up person.
“Shall we go a little way together?” he questioned in a friendly way. I
was flattered and nodded. Then I described to him where I lived.
“Oh, there?” he said laughingly. “I know the house already. There is a
remarkable work of art over your door, which interested me at once.”
I did not guess immediately to what he was referring, and was
astonished that he seemed to know our house better than I did. There
was indeed a sort of crest which served as a keystone over the arch of
the door, but in course of time it had become faint and had often been
painted over. As far as I knew, it had nothing to do with us, or with
our family.
“I don’t know anything about it,” I said timidly. “It’s a bird, or
something like it; it must be very old. They say that the house at one
time belonged to the abbey.”
“Very likely,” he nodded. “We’ll have another good look at it. Such
things are often interesting. It is a hawk, I think.”
We continued our way. I was considerably embarrassed. Suddenly Demian
laughed, as if something funny had struck him.
“Oh, I was present at your lesson,” he said with animation. “The story
of Cain, who carried the mark on his forehead, was it not? Do you like
it?”
Generally I used not to like anything of all the things we had to
learn. But I did not dare to say so--it was as though a grown-up person
were talking to me. I said I liked the story very much.
Demian tapped me on the shoulder. “No need to impose on me, old fellow.
But the story is really rather remarkable. I think it is much more
remarkable than most of the others we get at school. The master didn’t
say very much about it, only the usual things about God and sin, et
cetera. But I believe----” he broke off, smiled, and questioned: “But
does it interest you?”
“Well,” he continued, “I think one can conceive this story of Cain
quite differently. Most things we are taught are certainly quite true
and right, but one can consider them all from a different standpoint
from the master’s, and most of them have a much better meaning then.
For instance, we can’t be quite content with the explanation given us
with regard to this fellow Cain and the mark on his forehead. Don’t
you find it so, too? It certainly might happen that he should kill
one of his brothers in a quarrel, it is also possible that he should
afterwards be afraid, and have to come down a peg. But that he should
be singled out into the bargain with a decoration for his cowardice,
which protects him and strikes terror into everyone else, that is
really rather odd.”
“Certainly,” I said, interested. The case began to interest me. “But
how else should one explain the story?” He clapped me on the shoulder.
“Quite simply! The essential fact, and the point of departure of the
story, was the sign. Here was a man who had something in his face which
terrified other people. They did not dare to molest him, he made a big
impression on them, he and his children. Perhaps, or rather certainly,
it was not really a sign on his forehead like an office stamp--things
are not as simple as that in real life. I would sooner think it was
something scarcely perceptible, of a peculiar nature--a little more
intelligence and boldness in his look than people were accustomed to.
This man had power, other people shrank from him. He had a ‘sign.’
One could explain that as one wished. And one always wishes what is
convenient and agrees with one’s opinions. People were afraid of Cain’s
children, they had a ‘sign.’ And so they explained the sign not as it
really was, a distinction, but as the contrary. The fellows with this
sign were said to be peculiar, and they were courageous as well. People
with courage and character are always called peculiar by other people.
That a race of fearless and peculiar men should rove about was very
embarrassing. And so people attached a surname and a story to this
race, in order to revenge themselves on it, in order to compensate
themselves more or less for all the terror with which it had inspired
them. Do you understand?”
“Yes--that means to say, then--that Cain was not at all wicked? And the
whole story in the Bible isn’t really true?”
“Yes and no. Such ancient, primitive stories are always true, but they
have not always been recorded and explained in the proper manner. In
short, I mean that Cain was a thundering good fellow, and this story
got attached to his name simply because people were afraid of him. The
story was merely a report, something people might have set going in a
gossiping way, and it was true in so far as Cain and his children did
actually wear a sort of ‘sign’ and were different from most people.”