It had been decided that I should remain in H---- for the summer
semester. Instead of staying in the house, we were almost always in the
garden by the river. The Japanese, who by the way had been thoroughly
beaten in the boxing match, was away, and the disciple of Tolstoy was
also missing. Demian had procured a horse, and went for long rides
every day. I was often alone with his mother.
Sometimes I wondered greatly at the peaceableness of my life. I had
been so long accustomed to being alone, to practise renunciation, to
fight toilfully my own battles, that these months in H---- seemed to me
like a time passed on a dream island, where I might live tranquilly in
beautiful, enchanted surroundings. I felt that this was a foretaste of
that new, higher community, on which we meditated. And now and then I
was seized by a deep feeling of sadness, for I knew that this happiness
could not last. I was not destined to breathe in the fulness of peace
and comfort, I needed torment to spur me on. I felt that one day I
should wake up from these dreams of beautiful love-pictures to find
myself standing once more alone, in the cold world of others, where for
me there would be only loneliness and fighting, no peace, no community
of spirit.
Then I yielded myself to the charms of Mother Eve’s presence. My
feeling for her was now doubly tender. I was glad that my fate bore
still these beautiful, tranquil features.
The summer weeks passed quickly and easily. Already the semester was
drawing to a close. Leave-taking was near, I dared not think of it, and
did not, but clung to the beautiful days like a butterfly to a honeyed
flower. That was my period of happiness, the first fulfillment of my
life’s wishes, and my reception into the league--what was to come next?
I would again have to fight my battles, be consumed by longing, have
dreams, be alone.
At this time the feeling, the foretaste of separation, came over me
so strongly that my love for Mother Eve blazed up suddenly, causing
me pain. My God! how soon would the time come to say good-bye, and
I should see her no more, no more hear her firm step in the house,
should find no more her flowers on my table! And what had I attained?
I had dreamed and had lulled myself in comfort, instead of winning
her, instead of fighting for her and drawing her to me for always! All
that she had said to me about genuine love crossed my mind, hundreds
of fine, suggestive words, a hundred tender invitations, promises
perhaps--and what had I made of them? Nothing! Nothing!
I took up a position in the middle of my room, collected my whole
conscious self together and thought of Eve. I wished to concentrate the
forces of my soul, in order to let her feel my love, in order to draw
her to me. She was to come, longing for my embrace. My kisses were to
suck insatiably the ripe fruit of her lips.
I stood tense, until fingers and feet became stiff with cold. I felt
force was going out of me. For a few seconds something seemed to take
shape with me, something bright and cool; I had for a moment the
sensation as if I carried a crystal in my heart, and I knew that was
myself. A cold chill pierced to my heart.
As I woke out of my fearful state of tension I felt something was
approaching. I was exhausted to the point of death, but I was prepared
to see Eve step into the room, burning with passion, ravished.
The sound of horse’s hoofs clattering down the long street rang nearer
and nearer, then suddenly ceased. I sprang to the window. Below Demian
was dismounting.
“What is the matter, Demian? Nothing can have happened to your mother?”
He did not listen to my words. He was very pale, and perspiration ran
down both sides of his forehead over his cheeks. His horse was flecked
with foam. He tied the reins to the garden fence, then he took my arm
and walked with me down the street.
“Have you already heard the news?” I had heard nothing.
Demian pressed my arm and turned his face to me, with a dark,
compassionate, singular look.
“Yes, old man, now we’re in for it. You know of the strained relations
with Russia----”
“What? Is it war? I had never believed it.”
He spoke in an undertone, although no one was near.
“It is not yet declared. But it’s war. Rely on it. I haven’t worried
you lately, but I have seen three new omens since. It will be no
foundering of the world, no earthquake, no revolution. It’s war. You
will see how that strikes everybody. It will be a joy to people;
everyone already rejoices that hostilities are about to commence. So
insipid has life become for them. But you will see now, Sinclair, that
is only the beginning. This will perhaps be a great war, a very great
war. The new dispensation commences and for those who adhere to the
old, the new will be terrible. What will you do?”