“And do you believe then, that the affair of the murder is absolutely
untrue?” I asked, much impressed.
“Not at all! It is certainly true. The strong man killed a weak one.
One may doubt of course whether it was really his brother or not. It
is not important, for, in the end, all men are brothers. A strong man,
then, has killed a weak one. Perhaps it was a deed of heroism, perhaps
it was not. But in any case the other weak people were terrified,
they lamented and complained, and when they were asked: ‘Why don’t
you simply kill him as well?’ they did not answer, ‘Because we are
cowards,’ but they said instead: ‘You can’t. He has a sign. God has
singled him out!’ The humbug must have arisen something after this
style---- Oh, I am keeping you from going in. Good-bye, then!”
He turned into Old Street and left me alone, more astonished than I
had ever been before. Scarcely had he gone when everything that he
had said seemed to me quite unbelievable! Cain a noble fellow, Abel a
coward! Cain’s sign a distinction! It was absurd, it was blasphemous
and infamous. What was God’s part in the matter? Had he not accepted
Abel’s sacrifice, did he not love Abel? Demian’s story was nonsense!
I suspected him of making fun of me and of wishing to mislead me. The
devil of a clever fellow, and he could talk, but--well----
Still, I had never thought so much about any of the Biblical or other
stories before. And for some time past I had never so completely
forgotten Frank Kromer, for hours, for a whole evening. At home I
read through the story once again, as it stands in the Bible, short
and clear. It was quite foolish to try to find a special, secret
meaning. If it had one, every murderer could look upon himself as a
favorite of God! No, it was nonsense. But Demian had a nice way of
saying such things, so easily and pleasantly, as if everything were
self-evident--and then his eyes!
My ideas were certainly a little upset, or rather they were very much
confused. I had lived in a bright, clean world, I myself had been a
sort of Abel, and now I was so firmly fixed in the other and had
sunk so deeply, but really what could I do to help it? What was my
position now? A reminiscence glowed in me which for the moment almost
took away my breath. I remembered that wretched evening, from which my
present misery dated, when I looked for an instant into the heart of my
father’s bright world and despised his wisdom! Then I was Cain and bore
the sign; I imagined that it was in no way shameful, but a distinction,
and in my wickedness and unhappiness I stood on a higher level than my
father, higher than good and pious people.
It was not in such a clear-thinking way that my experience then
presented itself to me, but all this was contained therein. It was only
a flaming up of feeling, of strange emotions which caused me pain and
yet filled me with pride.
When I considered the matter, I saw how strangely Demian had spoken of
the fearless and the cowards! How curiously he had explained the mark
on Cain’s forehead. How singularly his eyes had lit up, those peculiar
eyes of a grown person! And indistinctly it shot through my brain: Is
not he himself, this Demian, a sort of Cain? Why did he defend him, if
he did not feel like him? Why had he this force in his gaze? Why did he
speak so scornfully of the “others,” of the fearsome, who are really
the pious and the well-considered of God?
This thought led me to no definite conclusion. A stone had fallen into
the well, and the well was my young soul. And this business with Cain,
the murder and the sign, was for a long, a very long, time the point
from which my seekings after knowledge, my doubts and my criticisms
took their departure.
I noticed that the other boys also occupied themselves a good deal with
Demian. I had not told anyone of his version of the story of Cain,
but he appeared to interest the others as well. At least, many rumors
concerning the “new boy” became current. If only I still knew all of
them, each would help to throw fresh light on him, each would serve
to interpret him. I only remember the first rumor was that Demian’s
mother was very rich. It was also said that she never went to church,
nor the son either. Another rumor had it that they were Jews, but they
could just as easily have been, in secret, Mohammedans. Furthermore,
tales were told of Max Demian’s strength. So much was certain, that the
strongest boy in his form, who challenged him to a fight, and who at
his refusal branded him coward, suffered a terrible humiliation at his
hands. Those who were there said that Demian had simply taken him by
the nape of the neck with one hand and had brought such a pressure to
bear that the boy went white and afterwards crawled away, and that for
several days he was unable to use his arm. For a whole evening a rumor
even ran that he was dead. For a time everything was asserted and
believed, everything that was exciting and wonderful. Then there was
a satiety of rumors for a while. A little later new ones circulated,
which asserted that Demian had intimate relations with girls and “knew
everything.”
Meanwhile my affair with Frank Kromer took its inevitable course. I
could not get away from him, for although he left me in peace for
days together, I was still bound to him. In my dreams he lived as my
shadow, and thus my fantasy credited him with actions which he did not,
in reality, do; so that in dreams I was absolutely his slave. I lived
in these dreams--I was always a deep dreamer--more than in reality.
These shadowy conceptions wasted my strength and my life force. I often
dreamed, among other things, that Kromer ill-treated me, that he spat
on me and knelt on me and, what was worse, that he led me to commit
grave crimes--or rather I was not led, but simply forced, through his
powerful influence. The most terrible of these dreams, from which I
woke up half mad, presented itself as a murderous attack on my father.
Kromer whetted a knife and put it in my hand, as we were standing
behind the trees of a lane, and lying in wait for someone--whom I knew
not; but when someone came along and Kromer through a pressure of the
arm informed me that this was the man, whom I was to stab, it turned
out to be my father! Then I woke up.
With all these troubles, I still thought a great deal about Cain and
Abel, but much less about Demian. It was, strangely enough, in a dream
that he first came in contact with me again. I dreamed once more, of
assault and ill-treatment which I suffered, but instead of Kromer,
this time it was Demian who knelt upon me. And, what was quite new and
profoundly impressive, everything that I suffered resistingly and in
torment at the hands of Kromer, I suffered willingly from Demian, with
a feeling which was composed as much of joy as of fear. I had this
dream twice, then Kromer occupied his old position in my thoughts.
For a long time I have not been able to separate what I experienced in
these dreams from what I underwent in reality. But in any case my evil
relation with Kromer took its course, and was by no means at an end,
when I had at last, by petty thefts, paid the boy the sum owed. No, for
now he knew of these thefts, as he always asked me where the money came
from, and I was more in his hands than ever. He frequently threatened
to tell my father everything, and my terror then was scarcely as
great as the profound regret that I had not myself done that in the
beginning. However, miserable as I was, I did not repent of everything,
at least not always, and sometimes felt, I thought, that things could
not have helped being as they were. The hand of fate was upon me, and
it was useless to want to break away.
I conjecture that my parents suffered not a little in these
circumstances. A strange spirit had come over me, I no longer fitted
into our community which had been so intimate, and for which I often
felt a maddening homesickness, as for a lost paradise. I was treated,
particularly by mother, more like a sick person than like a miserable
wretch. But the actual state of affairs I was able to observe best
in the conduct of my two sisters. It was quite evident from their
behavior, which was very considerate and which yet caused me endless
pain, that I was a sort of person possessed, who was more to be pitied
than blamed for his condition, but yet in whom evil had taken up
residence. I felt that I was being prayed for in a different way from
formerly, and realized the fruitlessness of these prayers. I often felt
burning within me an intense longing for relief, an ardent desire for
a full confession, and yet I realized in advance that I should not be
able to tell everything to father and mother properly, in explanation
of my conduct. I knew that I should be received in a friendly way,
that much consideration and compassion would be shown me, but that I
should not be completely understood. The whole affair would have been
looked upon as a sort of backsliding, whereas it was really the work of
destiny.
I know that many people will not believe that a child scarcely eleven
years old could feel thus. But I am not relating my affairs for their
benefit. My narration is for those who know mankind better. The
grown-up person who has learned to convert part of his feelings into
thoughts, feels the absence of these ideas in a child, and comes to
believe that the experiences are likewise lacking. But they have seldom
been so vivid and not often in my life have I suffered as keenly as
then.
One rainy day I was ordered by my tormentor to Castle Place, and there
I stood, waiting and digging my feet in the wet chestnut leaves, which
were still falling regularly from the black, dripping branches. Money
I had none, but I had brought with me two pieces of cake that I had
stolen in order at least to be able to give Kromer something. I had
long since been accustomed to stand about in any odd corner waiting for
him often for a very long time, and I put up with the unalterable.
Kromer came at last. That day he did not stay long. He poked me several
times in the ribs, laughed, took the cake, and even offered me a mouldy
cigarette, which however I did not accept. He was more friendly than
usual.
“Oh,” he said, as he went away, “before I forget--next time you can
bring your sister along, the elder one. What’s her name? Now tell the
truth.”
I did not understand, and gave no answer. I only looked at him
wonderingly.
“Don’t you get me? You must bring your sister along.”
“But Kromer, that won’t do. I mustn’t do that, and besides she wouldn’t
come.”
I thought this was only another pretext for vexing me. He often did
that, requiring me to do something impossible, and so terrifying me.
And often, after humiliating me, he would by degrees become more
tractable. I then had to buy myself off with money or with some other
gift.
This time he was quite different. He was really not at all angry at my
refusal.
“Well,” he said airily, “you’ll think about it, won’t you? I should
like to make your sister’s acquaintance. It will not be so difficult.
You simply take her out for a walk, and then I come along. To-morrow
I’ll whistle for you, and then we can talk more about it.”
When he had gone, a glimpse of the meaning of his request dawned on me.
I was still quite a child, but I knew by hearsay that boys and girls,
when they were somewhat older, did things which were forbidden, things
of a secret and scandalous nature. And now I should also have to--it
was suddenly quite clear to me how monstrous it was! I immediately
resolved never to do that. But I scarcely dared think of what would
happen in that case and how Kromer would revenge himself on me. A new
torment began, I had not yet been tortured enough.
I walked disconsolately across the empty square, my hands in my
pockets. Fresh torments, a new servitude!
Suddenly a fresh, deep voice called to me. I was terrified and began to
run on. Someone ran after me, a hand gripped me from behind. It was Max
Demian.