Cain

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.

Relief from my troubles came from a completely unexpected source. With it, something new entered my life that still has a strong influence on me today.

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.

A short time earlier, a new boy had joined our Latin school. He was the son of a wealthy widow who had moved to our town. He was in mourning and wore a black crepe band around his sleeve. He was in a class above mine and was several years older. But I soon began to notice him, as we all did. This remarkable boy seemed much older than he looked. No one thought of him as just a schoolboy. With us younger children, he was as distant and mature as a man, or rather, a gentleman. He was not at all popular. He took no part in games, let alone in fooling around. The only thing the others liked about him was his confident, assertive manner with the teachers. 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.

One day, another class was sent into our large classroom for some reason. This happened occasionally at our school. It was Demian’s class. We younger children were studying Bible stories, while the older ones had to write an essay. As the story of Cain and Abel was drilled into us, I kept looking across at Demian. His face fascinated me strangely. I saw his wise, bright, unusually strong features bent attentively and thoughtfully over his work. He didn’t look like a schoolboy doing an exercise. He looked like a researcher solving a problem. I didn’t really like him. In fact, I had one or two small complaints about him. He was too distant and superior with me, and he was far too sure of himself. I found that irritating. His eyes had the expression of an adult, which children never like. They looked rather sad, with occasional flashes of scorn. Yet, whether I liked him or not, I couldn’t stop looking at him. But the moment he looked my way, I looked away, a little frightened. Looking back now, I can say that Demian was different from the other schoolboys in every way. He had a striking personality, and that drew attention. But at the same time, he did everything he could to avoid being noticed. He carried himself like a prince in disguise among peasant boys, doing his best to seem 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.

He was behind me on the way home from school. After the others ran ahead, he caught up with me and said: “Hello!” He copied the way we schoolboys spoke, but even his greeting was polite and adult-like.

“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.

“Shall we walk together for a little while?” he asked in a friendly tone. I was flattered and nodded. Then I told 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.”

“Oh, there?” he said with a laugh. “I already know the house. There’s a remarkable work of art above your door. It caught my interest right away.”

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 didn't immediately understand what he meant. I was surprised that he seemed to know our house better than I did. There was indeed a kind of crest set as a keystone above the doorway. But over time, the crest had faded and had often been painted over. As far as I knew, it had nothing to do with us or 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.”

“I don’t know anything about it,” I said timidly. “It’s a bird, or something like one. It must be very old. They say the house once 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.”

“Probably,” he said, nodding. “We’ll take another good look at it. Things like that are often interesting. I think it’s a hawk.”

We continued our way. I was considerably embarrassed. Suddenly Demian laughed, as if something funny had struck him.

We kept walking. I was quite embarrassed. Suddenly, Demian laughed, as if something funny had occurred to 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?”

“Oh, I was at your lesson,” he said eagerly. “It was the story of Cain, who had a mark on his forehead, wasn’t it? Do you like the story?”

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.

Usually, I didn't like any of the things we had to learn. But I didn't dare say so. It was as if a grown-up 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?”

Demian tapped me on the shoulder. “No need to impose on me, my friend. But the story is really quite remarkable. I think it’s much more remarkable than most of the other stories we hear at school. The teacher didn’t say much about it, just the usual things about God and sin and so on. But I think...” He stopped, smiled, and asked, “Are you interested in it?”

“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.”

“Well,” he continued, “I think there’s a very different way to understand the story of Cain. Most things we’re taught are certainly true and right. But we can look at all of them from a different point of view than the teacher’s. Then most of them have a much better meaning. For example, we can’t be entirely satisfied with the explanation we’re given about Cain and the mark on his forehead. Don’t you think so too? He certainly might have killed one of his brothers in a quarrel. It’s also possible that he was afraid afterward and had to be humbled. But it’s really rather odd that he should also be singled out with a kind of decoration for his cowardice. The mark protects him and strikes terror into everyone else.”

“Certainly,” I said, interested. The case began to interest me. “But how else should one explain the story?” He clapped me on the shoulder.

“Of course,” I said, intrigued. The case was beginning to interest me. “But how else could you explain the story?” He patted 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?”

“Quite simply! The essential fact, and the starting point of the story, was the sign. Here was a man with something in his face that terrified other people. They did not dare harm him. He and his children made a strong impression on them. Perhaps, or rather certainly, it was not really a mark on his forehead like an official stamp. Things are not that simple in real life. I would think it was something barely noticeable, something unusual. Perhaps his look showed a little more intelligence and boldness than people were used to. This man had power, and other people shrank from him. He had a ‘sign.’ You could explain that however you wanted. And people always want an explanation that is convenient and agrees with their opinions. People were afraid of Cain’s children. They had a ‘sign.’ So people explained the sign as the opposite of what it really was, a mark of distinction. The men with this sign were said to be strange, and they were courageous too. Other people always call people with courage and character strange. It was very troubling to have a race of fearless, strange men roaming about. So people gave this race a name and a story to get revenge on them. They wanted to make up, more or less, for all the terror these men had inspired in 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, so does that mean Cain wasn’t wicked at all? And that 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.”

“Yes and no. Ancient, primitive stories like these are always true. But they have not always been recorded and explained properly. In short, I mean that Cain was a really good fellow. The story became attached to his name simply because people were afraid of him. It was just a report, the kind of thing people might spread as gossip. And it was true in one way: Cain and his children did actually bear a kind of ‘sign’ and were different from most people.”

I was much astonished.

I was very surprised.

“And do you believe then, that the affair of the murder is absolutely untrue?” I asked, much impressed.

“So, do you believe the story about the murder is completely untrue?” I asked, deeply 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!”

“Not at all! It’s certainly true. A strong man killed a weak man. Of course, you might doubt whether the weak man was really his brother. But it doesn’t matter, because in the end, all men are brothers. So a strong man killed a weak man. Perhaps it was a heroic act, perhaps it wasn’t. But either way, the other weak people were terrified. They mourned and complained. When they were asked, ‘Why don’t you just kill him too?’ they didn’t answer, ‘Because we’re cowards.’ Instead, they said, ‘You can’t. He has a mark. God has singled him out!’ That nonsense must have started something like that. Oh, I’m keeping you from going in. Goodbye, 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——

He turned into Old Street and left me alone, more astonished than I had ever been. As soon as he was gone, everything he had said seemed unbelievable! Cain a noble man, Abel a coward! Cain’s mark a sign of distinction! It was absurd, blasphemous, and disgraceful. What about God’s part in the matter? Hadn’t he accepted Abel’s sacrifice? Didn’t he love Abel? Demian’s story was nonsense! I suspected he was making fun of me and trying to mislead me. He was devilishly clever and knew how to 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!

Still, I had never thought so much about any Bible story or other story before. And for the first time in a while, I had completely forgotten Frank Kromer for hours, for a whole evening. At home, I read the story again as it appears in the Bible, short and clear. It was foolish to look for a special, secret meaning in it. If the story had one, every murderer could see himself as a favorite of God! No, that was nonsense. But Demian had a nice way of saying such things. He spoke so easily and pleasantly, as if everything were obvious. And then there were 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.

My thoughts were certainly a little unsettled, or rather, they were deeply confused. I had lived in a bright, clean world, and I had been a kind of Abel. Now I was firmly rooted in the other world and had sunk so deeply into it. But really, what could I do about it? Where did I stand now? A memory glowed inside me and almost took my breath away. I remembered that miserable evening when all my present troubles began. For an instant, I had looked into the heart of my father’s bright world and despised his wisdom! Then I was Cain and bore the mark. I imagined it was not shameful at all, but a mark of distinction. In my wickedness and unhappiness, I stood above my father, above 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.

At the time, I did not understand my experience so clearly, but all of this was part of it. It was only a flare of feeling, of strange emotions that hurt me 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?

When I thought about it, I realized how strangely Demian had spoken about the fearless and the cowards! How oddly he had explained the mark on Cain’s forehead. And how strangely his eyes had lit up, those unusual eyes that looked like a grown person’s! A vague thought flashed through my mind: Was Demian himself a kind of Cain? Why did he defend Cain if he did not feel like him? Why was his gaze so powerful? Why did he speak so scornfully of the “others,” the fearful ones, who are really the pious and those favored by 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.

This thought led me to no clear conclusion. A stone had fallen into the well, and the well was my young soul. For a long, very long time, the story of Cain, the murder and the sign, was where my search for knowledge, my doubts, and my criticisms began.

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.”

I noticed that the other boys spent a lot of time thinking about Demian too. I had not told anyone his version of the story of Cain, but he seemed to interest the others too. At least, many rumors spread about the “new boy.” If only I could still remember them all. Each one would shed new light on him and help explain him. I only remember that the first rumor was that Demian’s mother was very rich. People also said that neither she nor her son ever went to church. Another rumor claimed they were Jews, but they could just as easily have been Muslims in secret. There were also stories about Max Demian’s strength. One thing was certain. The strongest boy in his class had challenged him to a fight. When Demian refused, the boy called him a coward, and Demian terribly humiliated him. Those who were there said Demian had simply grabbed the back of his neck with one hand. He squeezed so hard that the boy turned white and crawled away afterward. For several days, the boy could not use his arm. For one whole evening, a rumor even spread that he was dead. For a while, people said and believed anything exciting and marvelous about Demian. Then, for a time, they had their fill of rumors. A little later, new ones spread. These claimed 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.

Meanwhile, my affair with Frank Kromer followed its inevitable course. I could not escape him. Although he left me alone for days at a time, I was still bound to him. In my dreams, he lived like my shadow. My imagination made him do things he did not actually do. In my dreams, I was completely his slave. I had always been a deep dreamer, and I lived in these dreams more than in reality. These shadowy visions drained my strength and life force. I often dreamed, among other things, that Kromer mistreated me. He spat on me and knelt on me. Worse still, I dreamed that he led me to commit serious crimes. Or rather, he did not lead me. His powerful influence simply forced me to commit them. The most terrible dream showed me attacking my father with the intent to kill him. I woke from it half mad. In the dream, Kromer sharpened a knife and put it in my hand. We were standing behind the trees along a lane, waiting for someone. I did not know who. When someone came along, Kromer pressed my arm to tell me this was the man I had to stab. But 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.

Despite all these troubles, I still thought a great deal about Cain and Abel, but much less about Demian. Strangely enough, Demian first came back into contact with me in a dream. Once again, I dreamed that I was being attacked and mistreated. But this time, Demian was kneeling on me instead of Kromer. Something else was entirely new and made a deep impression on me. With Kromer, I had resisted and suffered in torment. But I willingly suffered the same things at Demian’s hands, with a feeling that was as much joy as fear. I had this dream twice. Then Kromer returned to his old place 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.

For a long time, I have been unable to separate what I experienced in those dreams from what happened in reality. In any case, my troubled relationship with Kromer continued. It was far from over when I finally paid him what I owed through small thefts. No, he now knew about the thefts, because he always asked where the money came from. I was more under his control than ever. He often threatened to tell my father everything. When he did, my fear was hardly as great as my deep regret that I had not told my father myself at the beginning. Yet miserable as I was, I did not regret everything, at least not always. Sometimes I thought I felt that things could not have been otherwise. The hand of fate was upon me, and it was useless to want to break free.

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 imagine my parents suffered a great deal under these circumstances. A strange spirit had come over me, and I no longer fit into our once close-knit family. I often felt a maddening longing for that closeness, as if it were a lost paradise. My mother especially treated me more like a sick person than a miserable wretch. But I could see the true state of things most clearly in the way my two sisters behaved. They were very considerate, yet their behavior caused me endless pain. It was clear that they saw me as someone possessed, more to be pitied than blamed for his condition. Yet they also saw me as someone in whom evil had taken up residence. I felt that my family was praying for me differently than before, and I knew their prayers were in vain. I often felt a burning need for relief and a deep desire to confess everything. Yet I knew beforehand that I would not be able to explain everything properly to my father and mother. I knew they would receive me kindly and show me great consideration and compassion. But they would not completely understand me. They would have seen the whole affair as a kind of backsliding, when 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.

I know many people will not believe that a child barely eleven years old could feel this way. But I am not telling my story for them. I am telling it for those who know human nature better. An adult has learned to turn some feelings into thoughts. Seeing that a child lacks these thoughts, the adult comes to believe that the child also lacks the experiences. But those experiences have seldom been so vivid. And I have rarely suffered as intensely as I did 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.

One rainy day, my tormentor ordered me to Castle Place. I stood there waiting, digging my feet into the wet chestnut leaves. They were still falling steadily from the black, dripping branches. I had no money, but I had stolen two pieces of cake so I could at least give Kromer something. By then, I was used to waiting for him in some out of the way corner, often for a long time. I put up with what I could not change.

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.

Kromer finally came. He did not stay long that day. He poked me in the ribs several times, laughed, and took the cake. He even offered me a moldy cigarette, but I did not take it. He was friendlier 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.”

“Oh,” he said as he walked away, “before I forget, next time you can bring your older sister along. What’s her name? Now tell the truth.”

I did not understand, and gave no answer. I only looked at him wonderingly.

I didn’t understand and didn’t answer. I just looked at him in wonder.

“Don’t you get me? You must bring your sister along.”

“Don’t you understand? You have to bring your sister with you.”

“But Kromer, that won’t do. I mustn’t do that, and besides she wouldn’t come.”

“But Kromer, that won’t work. 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.

I thought this was just another excuse to torment me. He often did that, frightening me by demanding that I do something impossible. And often, after humiliating me, he would gradually become more willing to compromise. Then I had to buy my way out with money or some other gift.

This time he was quite different. He was really not at all angry at my refusal.

This time he was different. He wasn't angry at all when I refused.

“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.”

“Well,” he said casually, “you’ll think about it, won’t you? I’d like to meet your sister. It won’t be so difficult. Just take her out for a walk, and I’ll come along. Tomorrow 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.

After he left, I began to understand what his request meant. I was still just a child, but I had heard that older boys and girls did things that were forbidden. These things were secret and scandalous. And now I would have to do them too. I suddenly saw how monstrous it was! I immediately decided I would never do it. But I hardly dared think about what would happen then or how Kromer would get his revenge 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!

I walked sadly across the empty square, my hands in my pockets. Fresh torment, a new kind of bondage!

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.

Suddenly, a clear, deep voice called out to me. Terrified, I started running. Someone ran after me and grabbed me from behind. It was Max Demian.

I let myself be taken prisoner. I surrendered.

I let them take me prisoner. I gave up.

“It’s you?” I said uncertainly. “You frightened me so!”

“It’s you?” I said uncertainly. “You scared me so much!”

He looked at me, and never had his glance been more like that of an adult, of a superior and penetrating person. For a long time past we had not spoken with one another.

He looked at me. His gaze had never seemed more like that of an adult, someone superior and perceptive. We had not spoken to each other for a long time.

“I am sorry,” he said in his courteous and at the same time very determined manner. “But listen, you mustn’t let yourself be frightened like that.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, politely but firmly. “But listen, you mustn’t let yourself get so scared.”

“Oh, that can happen sometimes.”

“Oh, that can happen sometimes.”

“So it appears. But look here: If you shrink like that from someone who hasn’t hurt you, then this someone begins to think. It makes him curious, he wonders what can be the matter. This somebody thinks to himself, how awfully frightened you are, and he thinks further: one is only like that when one is terrified. Cowards are always frightened; but I believe you aren’t really a coward. Ain’t I right? Of course, you aren’t a hero either. There are things of which you are afraid. There are also people of whom you are afraid. And that should never be. No one should ever be afraid of other people. You aren’t afraid of me? Or are you, perhaps?”

“So it seems. But look: if you shrink away from someone who hasn’t hurt you, that person starts to think. He gets curious and wonders what could be wrong. He thinks about how terribly frightened you are. Then he thinks: you only act that way when you’re terrified. Cowards are always frightened, but I don’t think you’re really a coward. Am I right? Of course, you’re not a hero either. There are things you’re afraid of. There are also people you’re afraid of. And that should never be. No one should ever be afraid of other people. You’re not afraid of me, are you? Or perhaps you are?”

“Oh no, of course not.”

“Oh no, of course not.”

“There, you see. But there are people you are afraid of?”

“There, you see. But are there people you’re afraid of?”

“I don’t know ... let me go, what do you want of me?”

“I don’t know ... let me go. What do you want from me?”

He kept pace with me—I was going quicker with the idea of escaping—I felt his look directed on me from the side.

He kept pace with me. I walked faster, hoping to escape. I could feel him looking at me from the side.

“Just assume,” he began again, “that I mean well with you. In any case you needn’t be afraid of me. I would very much like to try an experiment with you—it’s funny, and you can learn something that’s very useful. Listen: I often practise an art which is called mind-reading. There’s no witchcraft in it, but it seems very peculiar if one doesn’t know how to do it. You can surprise people very much with it. Well, let us try it. I like you, or I interest myself in you, and I would like to find out what your real feelings are. I have already made the first step towards doing that. I have frightened you—you are, then, easily frightened. There are things and people of which and of whom you are afraid. Why is it? One need be afraid of no one. If you fear somebody then it is due to the fact that he has power over you. For example, you have done something wrong, and the other person knows it—then he has power over you. D’you get me? It’s clear, isn’t it?”

“Just assume,” he began again, “that I mean you well. In any case, you don’t need to be afraid of me. I’d very much like to try an experiment with you. It’s fun, and you can learn something very useful from it. Listen: I often practice an art called mind-reading. There’s no witchcraft involved, but it seems very strange if you don’t know how to do it. You can really surprise people with it. Well, let’s try it. I like you, or at least I’m interested in you, and I’d like to find out how you really feel. I’ve already taken the first step toward finding out. I frightened you, so you’re easily frightened. There are things and people you’re afraid of. Why is that? You don’t need to be afraid of anyone. If you fear someone, it’s because that person has power over you. For example, if you’ve done something wrong and someone else knows about it, that person has power over you. Do you understand? It’s clear, isn’t it?”

I looked helplessly into his face, which was serious and prudent as always, and kind as well, but without any tenderness—his features were rather severe. Righteousness or something akin lay therein. I was not conscious of what was happening; he stood like a magician before me.

I looked helplessly at his face. As always, he looked serious and thoughtful. He was kind, too, but not tender. His features were rather stern. There was righteousness in his face, or something like it. I was not aware of what was happening. He stood before me like a magician.

“Have you understood?” he questioned again.

“Do you understand?” he asked again.

I nodded. I could not speak.

I nodded. I couldn't speak.

“I told you mind-reading looked rather strange, but the process is quite natural. I could for example tell you more or less exactly what you thought about me when I once told you the story of Cain and Abel. But that has nothing to do with the matter in hand. I also think it possible that you have dreamed of me. But let’s leave that out! You’re a clever kid, most of ’em are so stupid. I like talking now and then with a clever fellow whom I can trust. You have no objections, have you?”

“I told you mind-reading looked pretty strange, but the process is completely natural. For example, I could tell you more or less exactly what you thought of me when I told you the story of Cain and Abel. But that has nothing to do with what we’re discussing. I also think you might have dreamed about me. But let’s leave that aside! You’re a clever kid. Most of them are so stupid. I like talking now and then with a clever fellow I can trust. You don’t mind, do you?”

“Oh, no! Only I don’t understand.”

“Oh, no! I just don’t understand.”

“Let’s keep to our old experiment! We have found that: the boy S. is easily frightened—he is afraid of somebody—he apparently shares a secret with this other person, which causes him much disquietude. Is that about right?”

“Let’s stick with our old experiment! We’ve found that the boy S. is easily frightened. He’s afraid of someone. He apparently shares a secret with this person, and the secret troubles him deeply. Is that about right?”

As in a dream I lay under the influence of his voice, of his personality. I only nodded. Was not a voice talking there, which could only come from myself? Which knew all? Which knew all in a better, clearer way than I myself?

As if in a dream, I lay under the influence of his voice, his personality. I only nodded. Wasn’t a voice speaking there that could only come from within me? A voice that knew everything? That knew everything better and more clearly than I did?

Demian gave me a powerful slap on the shoulder.

Demian slapped me hard on the shoulder.

“That’s right then. I thought so. Now just one question more: Do you know the name of the boy who has just gone away?”

“That’s right, then. I thought so. Just one more question: Do you know the name of the boy who just left?”

I sank back, he had the key to my secret, this secret which twisted back inside me as if it did not want to see the light.

I sank back. He had the key to my secret, which twisted back inside me as if it didn't want to see the light.

“What sort of a fellow? There was no one there, except myself.”

“What kind of man? There was no one there but me.”

He laughed.

He laughed.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me,” said he laughingly. “What’s his name?”

“Don’t be afraid to tell me,” he said with a laugh. “What’s his name?”

I whispered: “Do you mean Frank Kromer?”

I whispered, “Do you mean Frank Kromer?”

He nodded contentedly.

He nodded with satisfaction.

“Bravo! You’re a smart chap, we shall be good friends yet. But now I must tell you something else: this Kromer, or whatever his name is, is a nasty fellow. His face tells me he’s a rascal! What do you think?”

“Great! You’re a smart guy. We’ll be good friends yet. But now I have to tell you something else. This Kromer, or whatever his name is, is a nasty guy. I can tell from his face that he’s a scoundrel! What do you think?”

“Oh yes,” I sobbed out, “he is nasty, he’s a devil! But he mustn’t know anything! For God’s sake, he mustn’t know anything. D’you know him? Does he know you?”

“Oh yes,” I sobbed, “he’s nasty, he’s a devil! But he mustn’t find out anything! For God’s sake, he mustn’t find out anything. Do you know him? Does he know you?”

“Don’t worry! He’s gone, and he doesn’t know me—not yet. But I should like to make his acquaintance. He goes to the public school?”

“Don’t worry! He’s gone, and he doesn’t know me yet. But I’d like to meet him. Does he go to the public school?”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

“In which standard?”

“Which grade?”

“In the fifth. But don’t say anything to him! Please, don’t say anything to him!”

“In the fifth. But don’t say anything to him! Please, don’t say anything to him!”

“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. I suppose you wouldn’t like to tell me a little more about this fellow Kromer?”

“Don’t worry, nothing will happen to you. I suppose you wouldn’t want to tell me a little more about this guy Kromer?”

“I can’t! No, let me go!”

“I can’t! No, let me go!”

He was silent for a while.

He was silent for a while.

“It’s a pity,” he said, “we might have been able to carry the experiment still further. But I don’t want to bother you. You know, don’t you, that it is not right of you to be afraid of him? Such fear quite undermines us, you must get rid of it. You must get rid of it, if you want to become a real man. D’you understand?”

“That’s a shame,” he said. “We might have been able to take the experiment further. But I don’t want to bother you. You know it’s wrong to be afraid of him, don’t you? That kind of fear weakens us. You must get rid of it. You must get rid of it if you want to become a real man. Do you understand?”

“Certainly, you are quite right ... but it won’t do. You don’t know....”

“Of course, you’re right ... but that won’t work. You don’t know....”

“You have seen that I know a lot, more than you thought. Do you owe him any money?”

“You can see that I know a lot, more than you thought. Do you owe him any money?”

“Yes, I do, but that isn’t the essential point. I can’t tell, I can’t!”

“Yes, I do, but that isn’t the main point. I can’t tell, I can’t!”

“It won’t help matters, then, if I give you the amount you owe him? I could very well let you have it.”

“So it wouldn’t help if I gave you the money you owe him? I could easily give it to you.”

“No, no, that is not the point. And please: don’t say anything to anybody! Not a word! You are making me miserable!”

“No, no, that’s not the point. And please, don’t tell anyone! Not a word! You’re making me miserable!”

“Rely on me, Sinclair. Later you can share your secrets with me.”

“Count on me, Sinclair. Later you can share your secrets with me.”

“Never, never!” I exclaimed vehemently.

“Never, never!” I cried fiercely.

“Just as you please. I only mean, perhaps you will tell me something more later on. Only of your own free will, you understand. Surely you don’t think I shall act like Kromer?”

“Whatever you like. I only mean that perhaps you’ll tell me more later. Only if you want to, of course. You don’t really think I’ll act like Kromer, do you?”

“Oh no—but you don’t even know anything about it!”

“Oh no, but you don’t even know anything about it!”

“Absolutely nothing. But I think about it. And I shall never act like Kromer, believe me. Besides, you don’t owe me anything.”

“Absolutely nothing. But I think about it. And I’ll never act like Kromer, believe me. Besides, you don’t owe me anything.”

We remained a long time silent, and I became more tranquil. But Demian’s knowledge became more and more of a puzzle to me.

We sat in silence for a long time, and I grew calmer. But what Demian knew puzzled me more and more.

“I’m going home now,” he said, and in the rain he drew his coat more closely about him. “I should only like to repeat one thing to you, since we have gone so far in the matter—you ought to get rid of this fellow! If there is nothing else to be done, then kill him! It would impress me and please me, if you were to do that. Besides, I would help you.”

“I’m going home now,” he said, pulling his coat tighter around him in the rain. “I just want to say one more thing, since we’ve gone this far. You should get rid of this guy! If there’s nothing else you can do, then kill him! I’d be impressed and pleased if you did. Besides, I’d help you.”

I was again terrified. I suddenly remembered the story of Cain. I had an uncanny feeling and I began to cry softly. So much that was weird seemed to surround me.

I was terrified again. I suddenly remembered the story of Cain. I felt uneasy and began to cry softly. So many strange things seemed to surround me.

“All right,” Max Demian said, smilingly. “Go home now! We will put things square, although murder would have been the simplest. In such matters the simplest way is always the best. You aren’t in good hands, with your friend Kromer.”

“All right,” Max Demian said with a smile. “Go home now! We’ll set things right, although murder would have been the simplest solution. In such matters, the simplest way is always the best. You’re not in good hands with your friend Kromer.”

I came home, and it seemed to me as if I had been away a year. Everything looked different. Between myself and Kromer there now stood something like future freedom, something like hope. I was lonely no longer! And then I realized for the first time how terribly lonely I had been for weeks and weeks. And I immediately recollected what I had on several occasions turned over in my mind: that a confession to my parents would afford me relief and yet would not quite liberate me. Now I had almost confessed, to another, to a stranger, and as if a strong perfume had been wafted to me, sensed the presentiment of salvation!

I came home feeling as if I had been away for a year. Everything looked different. Between Kromer and me, there was now something like the promise of freedom, something like hope. I was no longer lonely! Only then did I realize how terribly lonely I had been for weeks and weeks. I immediately remembered something I had thought about several times. Confessing to my parents would give me relief, but it would not completely free me. Now I had almost confessed to someone else, a stranger. And, as if a strong perfume had drifted toward me, I sensed that salvation was near!

Still my fear was far from being overcome, and I was still prepared for long and terrible mental wrestlings with my evil genius. So it was all the more remarkable to me that everything passed off so very secretly and quietly.

Still, I was far from overcoming my fear. I was still prepared for long and terrible mental struggles with my evil genius. So I was all the more surprised that everything passed so secretly and quietly.

Kromer’s whistle remained absent from our house for a day, two days, three days, a whole week. I dared not believe my senses, and lay inwardly on the watch, to see whether he would not suddenly stand before me, just at that moment when I should expect him no longer. But he was, and remained, away! Distrustful of my new freedom, I still could not bring myself to believe in it whole-heartedly. Until at last I met Frank Kromer. He was coming down the street, straight in my direction. When he saw me, he drew himself together, twisted his features in a brutal grimace, and turned away without more ado, in order to avoid meeting me.

Kromer’s whistle was not heard outside our house for a day, then two days, then three, then a whole week. I hardly dared believe it. I stayed on guard, waiting for him to appear suddenly, just when I had stopped expecting him. But he stayed away! I distrusted my new freedom and still could not quite believe in it. At last I met Frank Kromer. He was coming down the street, straight toward me. When he saw me, he stiffened and twisted his face into a brutal grimace. Then he turned away without another word, avoiding me.

That was a wonderful moment for me! My enemy ran away from me! My devil was afraid of me! Surprise and joy shook me through and through!

What a wonderful moment that was for me! My enemy ran away from me! My devil was afraid of me! I was shaken to my core by surprise and joy!

In a few days Demian showed himself once again. He waited for me outside school.

A few days later, Demian appeared again. He waited for me outside school.

“Hullo,” I said.

“Hello,” I said.

“Good morning, Sinclair. I only wanted to hear how you’re getting on. Kromer leaves you in peace, doesn’t he?”

“Good morning, Sinclair. I just wanted to hear how you’re doing. Kromer is leaving you alone, isn’t he?”

“Did you manage that? But how did you do it? How? I don’t understand it. He hasn’t come near me.”

“Did you do that? But how did you do it? How? I don’t understand. He hasn’t come near me.”

“Splendid. If he should come again—I don’t think he will, but he’s a cheeky fellow—then simply tell him to remember Demian.”

“Great. If he comes again, just tell him to remember Demian. I don’t think he’ll come again, but he’s a cheeky fellow.”

“But what does it all mean? Have you had a fight with him and thrashed him?”

“But what does it all mean? Did you fight him and beat him up?”

“No, I’m not so keen on that. I simply talked to him, as I did to you, and I made it clear to him that it is to his own advantage to leave you in peace.”

“No, I’m not very interested in that. I just talked to him, as I did with you. I made it clear that leaving you alone is in his own best interest.”

“Oh, but you haven’t given him any money?”

“Oh, but you haven’t given him any money?”

“No, kid. You have already tried that way yourself.”

“No, kid. You’ve already tried that yourself.”

I attempted to pump him on the matter, but he disengaged himself. The old, embarrassed feeling concerning him came over me—an odd mixture of gratitude and shyness, of admiration and fear, of affection and inward resistance.

I tried to question him about it, but he avoided the subject. My old, awkward feelings toward him came over me. They were a strange mix of gratitude and shyness, admiration and fear, affection and inner resistance.

I had the intention of seeing him again soon, and then I wanted to talk more about everything, about the Cain affair as well. But I did not see him. Gratitude is not one of the virtues in which I believe, and to require it of a child would seem to me wrong. So I do not wonder very much at the complete ingratitude which I evinced towards Max Demian. To-day I believe positively that I should have been ruined for life if he had not freed me from Kromer’s clutches. At that time also I already felt this release as the greatest event of my young life—but I left the deliverer on one side as soon as he had accomplished the miracle.

I meant to see him again soon and talk more about everything, including the Cain affair. But I did not see him. Gratitude is not one of the virtues I believe in, and I think it would be wrong to demand it of a child. So I am not very surprised by the complete ingratitude I showed Max Demian. Today I am certain that I would have been ruined for life if he had not freed me from Kromer’s clutches. Even then, I felt that this release was the greatest event of my young life. But as soon as Demian had worked the miracle, I put my deliverer aside.

As I have said, ingratitude seems to me nothing strange. Solely, the lack of curiosity I evinced is odd. How was it possible that I could continue for a single day my quiet mode of life without coming nearer to the secrets with which Demian had brought me in contact? How could I restrain the desire to hear more about Cain, more about Kromer, more about the thought-reading?

As I have said, my ingratitude does not seem strange to me. Only my lack of curiosity seems odd. How could I have gone on living quietly for even one day without exploring the secrets Demian had introduced me to? How could I hold back my desire to hear more about Cain, more about Kromer, and more about the mind-reading?

It is scarcely comprehensible, and yet it is so. I suddenly saw myself extricated from the demoniacal toils, saw again the world lying bright and cheerful before me. I was no longer subject to paroxysms of fear. The curse was broken, I was no longer a tormented and condemned creature, I was a schoolboy again. My temperament sought to regain its equilibrium and tranquillity as quickly as possible, and so I took pains above all things to put behind me all that had been ugly and menacing, and to forget it. The whole, long story of my guilt, of my terrifying anxiety, slipped from my memory wonderfully quick, apparently without having left behind any scars or impressions whatsoever.

It is almost impossible to understand, but it is true. I suddenly saw that I had escaped the devil’s trap. Once again, the world lay bright and cheerful before me. I was no longer seized by fits of fear. The curse was broken. I was no longer a tormented and condemned creature. I was a schoolboy again. My nature sought to regain its balance and calm as quickly as possible. So, above all, I tried to put everything ugly and threatening behind me and forget it. The whole long story of my guilt and terrifying fear slipped from my memory remarkably quickly. It seemed to have left no scars or traces at all.

The fact that I likewise tried as quickly to forget my helper and deliverer, I understand to-day as well. Instinctively my mind turned from the damning recollection of my awful servitude under Kromer, and I sought to recover my former happy, contented mental outlook, to regain that lost paradise which opened once more to me, the bright father-and-mother world, where my sisters dwelt in the fragrant atmosphere of purity, in loving kindness such as God had extended to Abel.

Today I also understand why I tried just as quickly to forget the person who had helped and rescued me. Instinctively, my mind turned away from the damning memory of my terrible servitude under Kromer. I tried to regain my former happy, contented outlook and return to the lost paradise that had opened to me again. It was the bright world of my father and mother, where my sisters lived in an atmosphere fragrant with purity. They lived in loving kindness like the kindness God had shown Abel.

On the very next day after my short conversation with Demian, when I was at last fully convinced of my newly-born freedom and feared no longer a relapse to my condition of slavery, I did what I had so often and so ardently desired to do—I confessed. I went to mother and showed her the little savings box with the broken lock, filled with toy mark pieces instead of with real money, and I told her how long I had been in the thrall of an evil tormentor, through my own guilt. She did not understand everything, but she saw the money box, she saw my altered look and heard my changed voice—she felt that I was healed, that I had been restored to her.

The very next day after my brief conversation with Demian, I finally felt sure of my newfound freedom. I no longer feared falling back into slavery. So I did what I had so often and so desperately wanted to do. I confessed. I went to Mother and showed her my little savings box, with its broken lock. It was filled with toy mark pieces instead of real money. I told her how long I had been under the power of a cruel tormentor, through my own fault. She did not understand everything. But she saw the savings box and the change in my face, and she heard the change in my voice. She felt that I was healed and had been restored to her.

And then with lofty feelings I celebrated my readmission into the family, the prodigal son’s return home. Mother took me to father, the story was repeated, questions and exclamations of wonder followed in quick succession, both parents stroked my hair and breathed deeply, as in relief from a long oppression. It was all lovely, like the stories I had read, all discords were resolved in a happy ending.

Then, filled with pride, I celebrated being welcomed back into the family, like the prodigal son returning home. Mother took me to Father, and the story was told again. Questions and exclamations of wonder followed one after another. Both my parents stroked my hair and breathed deeply, as if a long burden had been lifted. It was all lovely, like the stories I had read. All the conflicts were resolved in a happy ending.

I surrendered myself passionately to this harmonious state of affairs. I could not have enough of the idea that I was again free and trusted by my parents. I was a model boy at home and played more frequently than ever with my sisters. At prayers I sang the dear, old hymns with the blissful feeling of one converted and redeemed. It came straight from my heart, it was no lie this time.

I threw myself wholeheartedly into this peaceful life. I could not get enough of the thought that I was free again and had my parents’ trust. I was a model boy at home and played with my sisters more often than ever. During prayers, I sang the beloved old hymns with the joyful feeling of someone converted and redeemed. My singing came straight from my heart. This time, it was no lie.

And yet it was not at all as it should have been. And this is the point which alone can truly explain my forgetfulness of Demian. I ought to have made a confession to him! The confession would have been less touching and less specious, but for me it would have borne more fruit. I was now clinging fast to my former paradisaical world, I had returned home and had been received in grace. But Demian belonged in no wise to this world, he did not fit into it. He also—in a different way from Kromer—but nevertheless he also was a seducer, he too bound me to the second, evil, bad world, and of this world I never wanted to hear anything more. I could not now, and I did not wish to give up Abel and help to glorify Cain, now when I myself had again become an Abel.

And yet things were not at all as they should have been. This alone can truly explain why I forgot Demian. I should have confessed to him! My confession would have been less moving and less plausible, but it would have done me more good. I was now clinging tightly to the paradise I had known before. I had returned home and been welcomed back with grace. But Demian did not belong to that world at all. He did not fit into it. He too was a tempter, though in a different way from Kromer. He too bound me to the second world, the evil, bad world. I never wanted to hear anything more about that world. Now that I had become an Abel again, I could not and would not give up Abel and help glorify Cain.

So much for the outward correlation of events. But inwardly it was like this: I had been freed from the hands of Kromer and the devil, but not through my own strength and effort. I had ventured a footing on the paths of the world, and they had been too slippery for me. Now that the grasp of a friendly hand had saved me, I ran back, without another glance round, to mother’s lap, to the protecting, godly and tender security of childhood. I made myself younger, more dependent on others, more childlike than I really was. I had to replace my dependence on Kromer by a new one, since I was powerless to strike out for myself. So I chose, in the blindness of my heart, the dependence on father and mother, on the old, beloved, “bright world,” on this world which I knew already was not the sole one. Had I not done this, I should have had to hold to Demian, to entrust myself to him. The fact that I did not, appeared to me then to be due to justifiable distrust of his strange ideas; in reality it was due to nothing else than fear. For Demian would have required more of me than did my parents, much more. By stimulation and exhortation, by scorn and irony he would have tried to make me more independent. Alas, I know that to-day: nothing in the world is so distasteful to man as to go the way which leads him to himself!

That is how events unfolded on the outside. But inside, it was different. I had been freed from Kromer and the devil, but not through my own strength or effort. I had tried to find my footing on the paths of the world, but they were too slippery for me. A friendly hand had saved me. So I ran back, without another glance around, to my mother’s lap and the protective, godly, tender safety of childhood. I made myself younger, more dependent on others, more childlike than I really was. I had to replace my dependence on Kromer with a new dependence, since I was powerless to strike out on my own. So, in the blindness of my heart, I chose to depend on my father and mother. I chose to depend on the old, beloved, “bright world,” though I already knew it was not the only world. If I had not done this, I would have had to turn to Demian and trust myself to him. At the time, I thought I had not done so because I had good reason to distrust his strange ideas. In reality, it was simply fear. Demian would have demanded much more of me than my parents did. He would have tried to make me more independent by encouraging and urging me on, and by using scorn and irony. Alas, I know now that nothing in the world is so unpleasant to a person as taking the path that leads to himself!

And yet, about half a year later, I could not resist the temptation to ask my father while we were out for a walk, what was to be made of the fact that many people declared Cain to be better than Abel.

And yet, about six months later, I could not resist asking my father about it while we were out walking. What were we to make of the fact that many people said Cain was better than Abel?

He was much surprised, and explained to me that this was a conception by no means novel. It had even emerged in the early Christian era, and had been professed by sects, one of which was called the “Cainites.” But naturally this foolish doctrine was nothing else than an attempt of the devil to undermine our belief. For, if one believes that Cain was right and Abel was wrong, then it follows that God has erred, and that the God of the Bible is not the true and only God, but a false one. The Cainites really used to profess and preach something approximating this doctrine; but this heresy vanished from among mankind a long time ago and he wondered the more that a school friend had been able to learn something on the subject. Nevertheless, he earnestly exhorted me not to let these ideas occupy my attention.

He was very surprised and explained that the idea was not new at all. It had appeared in the early Christian era and had been taught by religious sects. One of these sects was called the “Cainites.” But naturally, this foolish teaching was nothing more than the devil’s attempt to undermine our faith. For if Cain was right and Abel was wrong, then God made a mistake. And that would mean the God of the Bible is not the one true God, but a false one. The Cainites really had believed and preached something close to this teaching. But this heresy had disappeared from humanity long ago. That made him all the more surprised that a school friend had managed to learn something about it. Nevertheless, he strongly urged me not to give these ideas any attention.