Demian by Hermann Hesse

Chapter 6: Eva

Once during my vacation I visited the house where years before Demian had lived with his mother. I saw anold woman strolling in the garden and, speaking with her, learned that it was her house. I inquired after theDemian family. She remembered them very well but could not tell me where they lived at present. Sensing myinterest she took me into the house, brought out a leather album and showed me a photo of Demian's mother. Icould hardly remember what she looked like, but now as I saw the small likeness my heart stood still: it wasmy dream image! That was she, the tall, almost masculine woman who resembled her son, with maternaltraits, severity, passion; beautiful and alluring, beautiful and unapproachable, daemon and mother, fate andbeloved. There was no mistaking her! To discover in this fashion that my dream image existed struck me as amiracle. So there was a woman who looked like that, who bore the features of my destiny! And to be Demian'smother. Where was she? Shortly afterwards I embarked on my trip. What a strange journey it was! I traveledrestlessly from place to place, following every impulse, always searching for this woman. There were dayswhen everyone I met reminded me of her, echoed her, seemed to resemble her, drew me through the streets ofunfamiliar cities, through railroad stations and into trams, as in an intricate dream. There were other dayswhen I realized the futility of my search. Then I would idly sit somewhere in a park or in some hotel garden,in a waiting room, trying to make the picture come alive within me. But it had become shy and elusive. Ifound it impossible to fall asleep. Only while traveling on the train could I catch an occasional brief nap.Once, in Zurich, a woman approached me, an impudent pretty creature. I took hardly any notice of her andwalked past as though she didn't exist. I would rather have died on the spot than have paid attention to anotherwoman, even for an hour. I felt my fate drawing me on, I felt the moment of my fulfillment coming near and Iwas sick with impatience at not being able to do anything. Once in a railroad station, in Innsbruck I think, Icaught sight of a woman who reminded me of her--in a train just pulling away. I was miserable for days. Andsuddenly the form reappeared in a dream one night. I awoke humiliated and dejected by the futility of my huntand I took the next train home. A few weeks later I enrolled at the university of H. I found everythingdisappointing. The lectures on the history of philosophy were just as uninspired and stereotyped as theactivities of most of the students. Everything seemed to run according to an old pattern, everyone was doingthe same thing, and the exaggerated gaiety on the boyish faces looked depressingly empty and ready-made.But at least I was free, I had the whole day to myself, lived quietly and peacefully in an old house near thetown wall, and on my table lay a few volumes of Nietzsche. I lived with him, sensed the loneliness of his soul,perceived the fate that had propelled him on inexorably; I suffered with him, and rejoiced that there had beenone man who had followed his destiny so relentlessly. Late one evening I was sauntering through town. Anautumn wind was blowing and I could hear the fraternities frolic in the taverns. Clouds of tobacco smokedrifted out open windows with a profusion of song, loud, rhythmic yet uninspired, lifelessly uniform. I stoodat a street corner and listened: out of two bars the methodically rehearsed gaiety of youth rang out against thenight. False communion everywhere, everywhere shedding the responsibility of fate, flight to the herd forwarmth. Two men slowly walked past behind me. I caught a few words of their conversation. "Isn't it justlike the young men's house in a kraal?" said one of them. "Everything fits down to the tattooing which is invogue again. Look, that's young Europe. " The voice sounded strangely and admonishingly familiar. Ifollowed the two of them down the dark lane. One of them was a Japanese, small and elegant. Under a streetlamp I saw his yellow face light up in a smile. The other was now speaking again. "I imagine it's just as badwhere you come from, in Japan. People that don't follow the herd are rare everywhere. There are some heretoo. " I felt a mixture of alarm and joy at each word. I knew the speaker. It was Demian. I followed him andthe Japanese through the wind-swept streets; listening to their conversation I relished the sound of Demian'svoice. It still had its familiar ring; the same old beautiful certainty and calm had all their old power over me.Now all was well. I had found him. At the end of a street in the suburbs the Japanese took his leave andunlocked his house door. Demian retraced his steps, I had stopped and was waiting for him in the middle ofthe street. I became very agitated as I saw him approach, upright, with elastic step, in a brown rubber raincoat.He came closer without changing his pace until he stopped a few steps in front of me. Then he removed his hatand revealed his old light-skinned face with the decisive mouth and the peculiar brightness on his broadforehead. "Demian, " I called out. He stretched out his hand. "So, it's you, Sinclair! I was expecting you. " "Did you know I was here?" "I didn't exactly know it but I definitely wished you were. I didn't catch sight ofyou until this evening. You've been following us for quite some time. " "Did you recognize me at once?" "Ofcourse. You've changed somewhat. But you have the sign. " "The sign. What kind of sign?" "We used to callit the mark of Cain earlier on--if you can still remember. It's our sign. You've always had it, that's why Ibecame your friend. But now it has become more distinct. " "I wasn't aware of that. Or actually, yes, once Ipainted a picture of you, Demian, and was astonished that it also resembled myself. Was that the sign?" "Thatwas it. It's good that you're here. My mother will be pleased, too. " Suddenly I was frightened. "Your mother?Is she here, too? But she doesn't know me. " "But she knows about you. She will recognize you even withoutmy saying who you are. We've been in the dark about you for a long time. " "I often wanted to write you, butit was no use. I've known for some time that I would find you soon. I waited for it each day. " He thrust hisarm under mine and walked along with me. An aura of calm surrounded him which affected me, too. Soon wewere talking as we used to talk in the past. Our thoughts went back to our time in school, the Confirmationclasses and also to that last unhappy meeting during my vacation. Only our earliest and closest bond, the FranzKromer episode, was never mentioned. Suddenly we found ourselves in the midst of a strange conversationtouching on many ominous topics. Picking up where Demian left off in his conversation with the Japanese, wehad discussed the life most of the students led, then came to something else, something that seemed to lie farafield. Yet in Demian's words an intimate connection became evident. He spoke about the spirit of Europeand the signs of the times. Everywhere, he said, we could observe the reign of the herd instinct, nowherefreedom and love. All this false communion--from the fraternities to the choral societies and the nationsthemselves--was an inevitable development, was a community born of fear and dread, out of embarrassment,but inwardly rotten, outworn, close to collapsing. "Genuine communion, " said Demian, "is a beautiful thing.But what we see nourishing everywhere is nothing of the kind. The real spirit will come from the knowledgethat separate individuals have of one another and for a time it will transform the world. The community spiritat present is only a manifestation of the herd instinct. Men fly into each other's arms because they are afraid ofeach other--the owners are for themselves, the workers for themselves, the scholars for themselves! And whyare they afraid? You are only afraid if you are not in harmony with yourself. People are afraid because theyhave never owned up to themselves. A whole society composed of men afraid of the unknown within them!They all sense that the rules they live by are no longer valid, that they live according to archaic laws--neithertheir religion nor their morality is in any way suited to the needs of the present. For a hundred years or moreEurope has done nothing but study and build factories! They know exactly how many ounces of powder ittakes to kill a man but they don't know how to pray to God, they don't even know how to be happy for a singlecontented hour. Just take a look at a student dive! Or a resort where the rich congregate. It's hopeless. DearSinclair, nothing good can come of all of this. These people who huddle together in fear are filled with dreadand malice, no one trusts the other. They hanker after ideals that are ideals no longer but they will hound theman to death who sets up a new one. I can feel the approaching conflict. It's coming, believe me, and soon. Ofcourse it will not 'improve' the world. Whether the workers kill the manufacturers or whether Germany makeswar on Russia will merely mean a change of ownership. But it won't have been entirely in vain. It will revealthe bankruptcy of present-day ideals, there will be a sweeping away of Stone Age gods. The world, as it isnow, wants to die, wants to perish--and it will. " "And what will happen to us during this conflict?" "To us?Oh, perhaps we'll perish in it. Our kind can be shot, too. Only we aren't done away with as easily as all that.Around what remains of us, around those of us who survive, the will of the future will gather. The will ofhumanity, which our Europe has shouted down for a time with its frenzy of technology, will come to the foreagain. And then it will become clear that the will of humanity is nowhere--and never was--identical with thewill of present-day societies, states and peoples, clubs and churches. No, what Nature wants of man standsindelibly written in the individual, in you, in me. It stood written in Jesus, it stood written in Nietzsche. Thesetendencies--which are the only important ones and which, of course, can assume different forms everyday--will have room to breathe once the present societies have collapsed. " It was late when we stopped infront of a garden by the river. 'This is where we live, " said Demian. "You must come visit us soon. We'vebeen waiting for you. " Elated I walked the long way home through a night which had now turned chill. Hereand there students were reeling noisily to their quarters. I had often marked the contrast between their almostludicrous gaiety and my lonely existence, sometimes with scorn, sometimes with a feeling of deprivation. Butnever until today had I felt with as much calm and secret strength how little it mattered to me, how remote anddead this world was for me. I remembered civil servants in my home town, worthy old gentlemen who clungto the memories of their drunken university days as to keepsakes from paradise and fashioned a cult of their"vanished" student years as poets or other romantics fashion their childhood. It was the same everywhere!Everywhere they looked for "freedom" and "luck" in the past, out of sheer dread of their presentresponsibilities and future course. They drank and caroused for a few years and then they slunk away tobecome serious-minded gentlemen in the service of the state. Yes, our society was rotten, and these studentstupidities were not so stupid, not so bad as a hundred other things. By the time I reached my distant houseand was preparing for bed, all these thoughts had vanished and my entire being clung expectantly to the greatpromise that this day had brought me. As soon as I wished, even tomorrow, I was to see Demian's mother. Letthe students have their drunken orgies and tattoo their faces; the rotten world could await its destruction--forall I cared. I was waiting for one thing--to see my fate step forth in a new guise. I slept deeply until late in themorning. The new day dawned for me like a solemn feast, the kind I had not experienced since childhood. Iwas full of a great restlessness, yet without fear of any kind. I felt that an important day had begun for me andI saw and experienced the changed world around me, expectant, meaningful, and solemn; even the gentleautumn rain had its beauty and a calm and festive air full of happy, sacred music. For the first time the outerworld was perfectly attuned to the world within; it was a joy to be alive. No house, no shop window, no facedisturbed me, everything was as it should be, without any of the flat, humdrum look of the everyday;everything was a part of Nature, expectant and ready to face its destiny with reverence. That was how theworld had appeared to me in the mornings when I was a small boy, on the great feast days, at Christmas orEaster. I had forgotten that the world could still be so lovely. I had grown accustomed to living within myself.I was resigned to the knowledge that I had lost all appreciation of the outside world, that the loss of its brightcolors was an inseparable part of the loss of my childhood, and that, in a certain sense, one had to pay forfreedom and maturity of the soul with the renunciation of this cherished aura. But now, overjoyed, I saw thatall this had only been buried or clouded over and that it was still possible--even if you had become liberatedand had renounced your childhood happiness--to see the world shine and to savor the delicious thrill of thechild's vision. The moment came when I found my way back to the garden at the edge of town where I hadtaken leave of Demian the night before. Hidden behind tall, wet trees stood a little house, bright and livable.Tall plants flowered behind plate glass; behind glistening windows dark walls shone with pictures and rows ofbooks. The front door led straight into a small, warm hallway. A silent old maid, dressed in black with a whiteapron, showed me in and took my coat. She left me alone in the hallway. I looked around and at once wasswept into the middle of my dream. High up on the dark wood-paneled wall, above a door, hung a familiarpainting, my bird with the golden-yellow sparrow hawk's head, clambering out of the terrestrial shell. Deeplymoved, I stood there motionless--I felt joy and pain as though at this moment everything I had ever done andexperienced returned to me in the form of a reply and fulfillment. In a flash I saw hosts of images throng pastmy mind's eye: my parents' house with the old coat of arms above the doorway, the boy Demian sketching theemblem, myself as a boy under the fearful spell of my enemy Kromer, myself as an adolescent in my room atschool painting my dream bird at a quiet table, the soul caught in the intricacies of its own threads--andeverything, everything to this present moment resounded once more within me, was affirmed by me,answered, sanctioned. With tears in my eyes I stared at my picture and read within myself. Then I lowered myeyes: beneath the painting of the bird in the open door stood a tall woman in a dark dress. It was she. I wasunable to utter a word. With a face that resembled her son's, timeless, ageless, and full of inner strength, thebeautiful woman smiled with dignity. Her gaze was fulfillment, her greeting a homecoming. Silently Istretched my hands out to her. She took both of them in her firm, warm hands. "You are Sinclair. I recognizedyou at once. Welcome!" Her voice was deep and warm. I drank it up like sweet wine. And now I looked upand into her quiet face, the black unfathomable eyes, at her fresh, ripe lips, the clear, regal brow that bore thesign. "How glad I am, " I said and kissed her hands. "I believe I have been on my way my whole life --andnow I have come home. " She smiled like a mother. "One never reaches home, " she said. "But where pathsthat have affinity for each other intersect the whole world looks like home, for a time. " She was expressingwhat I had felt on my way to her. Her voice and her words resembled her son's and yet were quite different.Everything was riper, warmer, more self-evident. But just as Max had never given anyone the impression ofbeing a boy, so his mother did not appear at all like a woman who had a full-grown son, so young and sweetwere her face and hair, so taut and smooth her golden skin, so fresh her mouth. More regal even than in mydreams she stood before me. This, then, was the new guise in which my fate revealed itself to me, no longerstern, no longer setting me apart, but fresh and joyful! I made no resolutions, took no vows--I had attained agoal, a high point on the road: from there the next stage of the journey appeared unhampered and marvelous,leading toward promised lands. Whatever might happen to me now, I was filled with ecstasy: that this womanexisted in the world, that I could drink in her voice and breathe her presence. No matter whether she wouldbecome my mother, my beloved or a goddess--if she could just be here! if only my path would be close tohers! She pointed up to my painting. "You never made Max happier than with this picture, " she saidthoughtfully. "And me, too. We were waiting for you and when the painting came we knew that you were onyour way. When you were a little boy, Sinclair, my son one day came home from school and said to me: thereis a boy in school, he has the sign on his brow, he has to become my friend. That was you. You have not hadan easy time but we had confidence in you. You met Max again during one of your vacations. You must havebeen about sixteen at the time. Max told me about it --" I interrupted: "He told you about that? That was themost miserable period of my life!" "Yes, Max said to me: Sinclair has the most difficult part coming now.He's making one more attempt to take refuge among the others. He's even begun going to bars. But he won'tsucceed. His sign is obscured but it sears him secretly. Wasn't it like that?" "Yes, exactly. Then I foundBeatrice and I finally found a master again. His name was Pistorius. Only then did it become clear to me whymy boyhood had been so closely bound up with Max and why I could not free myself from him. Dear mother,at that time I often thought that I should have to take my life. Is the way as difficult as this for everybody?" She stroked my hair. The touch felt as light as a breeze. "It is always difficult to be born. You know the chickdoes not find it easy to break his way out of the shell. Think back and ask yourself: Was the way all thatdifficult? Was it only difficult? Wasn't it beautiful, too? Can you think of a more beautiful and easier way?" Ishook my head. "It was difficult, " I said as though I were asleep, "it was hard until the dream came. " Shenodded and pierced me with a glance. "Yes, you must find your dream, then the way becomes easy. But thereis no dream that lasts forever, each dream is followed by another, and one should not cling to any particularone. " I was startled and frightened. Was that a warning, a defensive gesture, so soon? But it didn't matter: Iwas prepared to let her guide me and not to inquire into goals. "I do not know, " I said, "how long my dreamis supposed to last. I wish it could be forever. My fate has received me under the picture of the bird like a loverand like a beloved. I belong to my fate and to no one else. " "As long as the dream is your fate you shouldremain faithful to it, " she confirmed in a serious tone of voice. I was overcome by sadness and a longing todie in this enchanted hour. I felt tears--what an infinity since I had last wept--well up irresistibly in my eyesand overwhelm me. I turned abruptly away from her, stepped to the window, and stared blindly into thedistance. I heard her voice behind me, calm and yet brimful with tenderness as a beaker with wine. "Sinclair,you are a child! Your fate loves you. One day it will be entirely yours--just as you dream it--if you remainconstant to it. " I had gained control of myself and turned toward her again. She gave me her hand. "I have afew friends, " she said with a smile, "a few very close friends who call me Frau Eva. You shall be one of themif you wish. " She led me to the door, opened it, and pointed into the garden. "You'll find Max out there. " Istood dazed and shaken under the tall trees, not knowing whether I was more awake or more in a dream thanever. The rain dripped gently from the branches. Slowly I walked out into the garden that extended some wayalong the river. Finally I found Demian. He was standing in an open summer house, stripped to the waist,punching a suspended sandbag. I stopped, astonished. Demian looked strikingly handsome with his broadchest, and firm, manly features; the raised arms with taut muscles were strong and capable, the movementssprang playfully and smoothly from hips, shoulders, and wrists. "Demian, " I called out. "What are you doingthere?" He laughed happily. "Practicing. I've promised the Japanese a boxing match, the little fellow is asagile as a cat and, of course, just as sly, but he won't be able to beat me. There's a very slight humiliation forwhich I have to pay him back. " He put on his shirt and coat. "You've seen my mother?" he asked. "Yes,Demian, what a wonderful mother you have! Frau Eva! The name fits her perfectly. Sheis like a universalmother. " For a moment he looked thoughtfully into my face. "So you know her name already? You can beproud of yourself. You are the first person she has told it to during the first meeting. " From this day on I wentin and out of the house like a son or brother--but also as someone in love. As soon as I opened the gate, assoon as I caught sight of the tall trees in the garden, I felt happy and rich. Outside was reality: streets andhouses, people and institutions, libraries and lecture halls--but here inside was love; here lived the legend andthe dream. And yet we lived in no way cut off from the outside world; in our thoughts and conversations weoften lived in the midst of it, only on an entirely different plane. We were not separated from the majority ofmen by a boundary but simply by another mode of vision. Our task was to represent an island in the world, aprototype perhaps, or at least a prospect of a different way of life. I, who had been isolated for so long, learnedabout the companionship which is possible between people who have tasted complete loneliness. I never againhankered after the tables of the fortunate and the feasts of the blessed. Never again did envy or nostalgiaovercome me when I witnessed the collective pleasures of others. And gradually I was initiated into the secretof those who wear the sign in their faces. We who wore the sign might justly be considered "odd" by theworld; yes, even crazy, and dangerous. We wereaware or in the process of becoming aware and our strivingwas directed toward achieving a more and more complete state of awareness while the striving of the otherswas a quest aimed at binding their opinions, ideals, duties, their lives and fortunes more and more closely tothose of the herd. There, too, was striving, there, too, were power and greatness. But whereas we, who weremarked, believed that we represented the will of Nature to something new, to the individualism of the future,the others sought to perpetuate the status quo. Humanity--which they loved as we did--was for themsomething complete that must be maintained and protected. For us, humanity was a distant goal toward whichall men were moving, whose image no one knew, whose laws were nowhere written down. Apart from FrauEva, Max, and myself, various other seekers were more or less closely attached to the circle. Quite a few hadset out on very individual paths, had set themselves quite unusual goals, and clung to specific ideas and duties.They included astrologers and cabalists, also a disciple of Count Tolstoi, and all kinds of delicate, shy, andvulnerable creatures, followers of new sects, devotees of Indian asceticism, vegetarians, and so forth. Weactually had no mental bonds in common save the respect which each one accorded the ideals of the other.Those with whom we felt a close kinship were concerned with mankind's past search for gods and ideals--theirstudies often reminded me of Pistorius. They brought books with them, translated aloud texts in ancientlanguages, showed us illustrations of ancient symbols and rites and taught us to see how humanity's entirestore of ideals so far consisted of dreams that had emanated from the unconscious, of dreams in whichhumanity groped after its intimations of future potentialities. Thus we became acquainted with the wonderfulthousand-headed tangle of gods from prehistory to the dawn of the Christian conversion. We heard the creedsof solitary holy men, of the transformations religions undergo in their migrations from one people to another.Thus, from everything we collected in this manner, we gained a critical understanding of our time and ofcontemporary Europe: with prodigious efforts mighty new weapons had been created for mankind but the endwas flagrant, deep desolation of the spirit. Europe had conquered the whole world only to lose her own soul. Our circle also included believers, adherents of certain hopes and healing faiths. There were Buddhists whosought to convert Europe, a disciple of Tolstoi who preached nonresistance to evil, as well as other sects. Wein the inner circle listened but accepted none of these teachings as anything but metaphors. We, who bore themark, felt no anxiety about the shape the future was to take. All of these faiths and teachings seemed to usalready dead and useless. The only duty and destiny we acknowledged was that each one of us should becomeso completely himself, so utterly faithful to the active seed which Nature planted within him, that in living outits growth he could be surprised by nothing unknown to come. Although we might not have been able toexpress it, we all felt distinctly that a new birth amid the collapse of this present world was imminent, alreadydiscernible. Demian often said to me: "What will come is beyond imagining. The soul of Europe is a beast thathas lain fettered for an infinitely long time. And when it's free, its first movements won't be the gentlest. Butthe means are unimportant if only the real needs of the soul--which has for so long been repeatedly stunted andanesthetized--come to light. Then our day will come, then we will be needed. Not as leaders andlawgivers--we won't be there to see the new laws--but rather as those who are willing, as men who are ready togo forth and stand prepared wherever fate may need them. Look, all men are prepared to accomplish theincredibleif their ideals are threatened. But no one is ready when a new ideal, a new and perhaps dangerousand ominous impulse, makes itself felt. The few who will be ready at that time and who will go forth--will beus. That is why we are marked--as Cain was--to arouse fear and hatred and drive men out of a confining idylinto more dangerous reaches. All men who have had an effect on the course of human history, all of themwithout exception, were capable and effective only because they were ready to accept the inevitable. It is trueof Moses and Buddha, of Napoleon and Bismarck. What particular movement one serves and what pole one isdirected from are matters outside one's own choice. If Bismarck had understood the Social Democrats andcompromised with them he would have merely been shrewd but no man of destiny. The same applies toNapoleon, Caesar, Loyola, all men of that species in fact. Always, you must think of these things inevolutionary, in historical terms! When the upheavals of the earth's surface flung the creatures of the sea ontothe land and the land creatures into the sea, the specimens of the various orders that were ready to follow theirdestiny were the ones that accomplished the new and unprecedented; by making new biological adjustmentsthey were able to save their species from destruction. We do not know whether these were the same specimensthat had previously distinguished themselves among their fellows as conservative, upholders of the status quo,or rather as eccentrics, revolutionaries; but we do know they were ready, and could therefore lead their speciesinto new phases of evolution. That is why we want to beready. " Frau Eva was often present during theseconversations yet she did not participate in quite the same manner. She was a listener, full of trust andunderstanding, an echo for each one of us who explained his thoughts. It seemed as though all thinkingemanated from her and in the end went back to her. My happiness consisted in sitting near her, hearing hervoice occasionally and sharing the rich, soulful atmosphere surrounding her. She was immediately aware ofany change, any unhappiness or new development within me. It even seemed to me that my dreams at nightwere inspired by her. I would often recount them to her and she found them comprehensible and natural; therewas no unusual turn in them that she could not follow. For a time my dreams repeated patterns of our daytimeconversations. I dreamed that the whole world was in turmoil and that by myself, or with Demian, I wastensely waiting for the great moment. The face of fate remained obscured but somehow bore the features ofFrau Eva: to be chosen or spurned by her, that was fate. Sometimes she would say with a smile: "Your dreamis incomplete, Sinclair. You've left out the best part. " And then I would remember the part I had left out andnot understand how I could have forgotten it. At times I was dissatisfied with myself and tortured with desire:I believed I could no longer bear to have her near me without taking her in my arms. She sensed this, too, atonce. Once when I had stayed away for several days and returned bewildered she took me aside and said:"You must not give way to desires which you don't believe in. I know what you desire. You should, however,either be capable of renouncing these desires or feel wholly justified in having them. Once you are able tomake your request in such a way that you will be quite certain of its fulfillment, then the fulfillment will come.But at present you alternate between desire and renunciation and are afraid all the time. All that must beovercome. Let me tell you a story. " And she told me about a youth who had fallen in love with a planet. Hestood by the sea, stretched out his arms and prayed to the planet, dreamed of it, and directed all his thoughts toit. But he knew, or felt he knew, that a star cannot be embraced by a human being. He considered it to be hisfate to love a heavenly body without any hope of fulfillment and out of this insight he constructed an entirephilosophy of renunciation and silent, faithful suffering that would improve and purify him. Yet all his dreamsreached the planet. Once he stood again on the high cliff at night by the sea and gazed at the planet and burnedwith love for it. And at the height of his longing he leaped into the emptiness toward the planet, but at theinstant of leaping "it's impossible" flashed once more through his mind. There he lay on the shore, shattered.He had not understood how to love. If at the instant of leaping he had had the strength of faith in thefulfillment of his love he would have soared into the heights and been united with the star. "Love must notentreat, " she added, "or demand. Love must have the strength to become certain within itself. Then it ceasesmerely to be attracted and begins to attract. Sinclair, your love is attracted to me. Once it begins to attract me, Iwill come. I will not make a gift of myself, I must be won. " Another time she told me a different story,concerning a lover whose love was unrequited. He withdrew completely within himself, believing his lovewould consume him. The world became lost to him, he no longer noticed blue sky and green woods, he nolonger heard the brook murmur; his ears had turned deaf to the notes of the harp: nothing mattered any more;he had become poor and wretched. Yet his love increased and he would rather have died or been ruined thanrenounce possessing this beautiful woman. Then he felt that his passion had consumed everything else withinhim and become so strong, so magnetic that the beautiful woman must follow. She came to him and he stoodwith outstretched arms ready to draw her to him. As she stood before him she was completely transformed andwith awe he felt and saw that he had won back all he had previously lost. She stood before him andsurrendered herself to him and sky, forest, and brook all came toward him in new and resplendent colors,belonged to him, and spoke to him in his own language. And instead of merely winning a woman he embracedthe entire world and every star in heaven glowed within him and sparkled with joy in his soul. He had lovedand had found himself. But most people love to lose themselves. My love for Frau Eva seemed to fill mywhole life. But every day it manifested itself differently. Sometimes I felt certain that it was not she as aperson whom I was attracted to and yearned for with all my being, but that she existed only as a metaphor ofmy inner self, a metaphor whose sole purpose was to lead me more deeply into myself. Things she said oftensounded like replies from my subconscious to questions that tormented me. There were other moments when Isat beside her and burned with sensual desire and kissed objects she had touched. And little by little, sensualand spiritual love, reality and symbol began to overlap. Then it would happen that as I thought about her in myroom at home in tranquil intimacy I felt her hand in mine and her lips touching my lips. Or I would be at herhouse, would look into her face and hear her voice, yet not know whether she was real or a dream. I began tosense how one can possess a love constantly and eternally. I would have an insight while reading a book--andthis would feel the same as Eva's kiss. She caressed my hair and smiled at me affectionately and this felt liketaking a step forward within myself. Everything significant and full of fate for me adopted her form. She couldtransform herself into any of my thoughts and each of my thoughts could be transformed into her. I had beenapprehensive about the Christmas vacation--to be spent at my parents' house --because I thought it would beagony to be away from Frau Eva for two whole weeks. But it did not turn out like that. It was wonderful to beat home and yet be able to think of her. When I arrived back in H. I waited two more days before going to seeher, so as to savor this security, this being independent of her physical presence. I had dreams, too, in whichmy union with her was consummated in new symbolic acts. She was an ocean into which I streamed. She wasa star and I another on my way to her, circling round each other. I told her this dream when I first visited heragain. 'The dream is beautiful, " she said quietly. "Make it come true. " There came a day in early spring thatI have never forgotten. I entered the hallway, a window was open and a stream of air let in the heavy fragranceof the hyacinths. As no one was about, I went upstairs to Max Demian's study. I tapped lightly on the doorand, as was my custom, went in without waiting for a reply. The room was dark, all the curtains were drawn.The door to the small adjoining room stood open. There Max had set up a chemical laboratory. That's wherethe only light came from. I thought no one was in and drew back one of the curtains. Then I saw Maxslumped on a stool by the curtained window, looking oddly changed, and it flashed through me: You've seenthis before! His arms hung limp, hands in his lap, his head bent slightly forward, and his eyes, though open,were unseeing and dead; in one of his pupils as in a piece of glass a thin, harsh ray of light snapped the lensopen and shut, open and shut. The wan face was absorbed in itself and without expression, except for itsimmense rigidity; he resembled an age-old animal mask at the portal of a temple. He did not seem to breathe. Overcome by dread I quietly left the room and walked downstairs. In the hallway I met Frau Eva, pale andseemingly tired, which I had never known her to be before. Just then a shadow passed over the window, thewhite glare of the sun suddenly fled. "I was in Max's room, " I whispered rapidly. "Has something happened?He's either asleep or lost within himself, I don't know which; I saw him look like that once before. " "Youdidn't wake him, did you?" she quickly asked. "No. He didn't hear me. I left the room immediately. Tell me,what is the matter with him?" She swept the back of her hand once across her brow. "Don't worry, Sinclair,nothing will happen to him. He has withdrawn. It will soon pass. " She stood up and went out into thegarden--although it was beginning to rain. I felt that she did not want me to accompany her and so I walked upand down the hallway, inhaled the bewildering scent of the hyacinths, stared at my bird picture above thedoorway, and breathed the stifling atmosphere that filled the house that morning. What was it? What hadhappened? Frau Eva returned before long. Raindrops clung to her black hair. She sat down in her armchair.She seemed weary. I stepped up to her, bent over her head, and kissed the rain out of her hair. Her eyes werebright and calm but the raindrops tasted like tears. "Should I go and see how he is?" I asked in a whisper. Shesmiled weakly. "Don't be a little boy, Sinclair!" she admonished me, loudly as though trying to break a spellwithin herself. "Get along now and come back later. I can't talk to you now. " I half walked, half ran from thehouse and the town, toward the mountains. The fine rain slanted into my face, low clouds swept by as thoughweighed down with fear. Near the ground there was hardly a breath of air but in the higher altitudes a stormseemed to rage. Several times the lurid sun broke briefly through harsh rifts in the steel-gray clouds. Then aloose, yellow cloud swept across the sky, collided with the other, gray bank of cloud. In a few seconds thewind had fashioned a shape out of this yellow and blue-gray mass, a gigantic bird that tore itself free of thesteel-blue chaos and flew off into the sky with a great beating of wings. Then the storm became audible andrain rattled down mixed with hail. A brief, incredible, terrifying roar of thunder cracked across the rain-lashedlandscape and immediately afterwards a gleam of sunshine burst through. On the nearby mountains the palesnow shone livid and unreal above the brown forest. When, hours later, I returned wet and wind-blown,Demian himself opened the door. He took me up to his room. A gas jet was burning in his laboratory andpapers were strewn about the floor. He had evidently been working. "Sit down, " he invited, "you must beexhausted, it was horrible weather. One can see that you really were outside. There'll be tea in a moment. " "Something is the matter today, " I began hesitantly. "It can't only be a thunderstorm. " He looked at meinquiringly. "Did you see something?" "Yes. I saw a picture in the clouds, quite clearly for a moment. " "What kind of picture?" "It was a bird. " "The sparrow hawk? Your dream bird?" "Yes, it was my sparrowhawk. It was yellow and gigantic and it flew off into the blue-black clouds. " Demian heaved a great sigh. There was a knock on the door. The old servant brought in the tea. "Help yourself, Sinclair, please. I don'tbelieve you saw the bird just by chance. " "By chance? Does one get to see such things by chance?" "Quiteright. No, one doesn't. The bird has a significance. Do you know what?" "No. I only feel that it signifies someshattering event, a move on the part of destiny. I believe that it concerns all of us. " He was pacing excitedlyback and forth. "A move on the part of destiny!" he shouted. "I dreamed the same kind of thing last night andmy mother had a presentiment yesterday which conveyed the same message. I dreamed I was climbing up aladder placed against a tree trunk or tower. When I reached the top I saw the whole landscape ablaze --a vastplain with innumerable towns and villages. I can't tell you the whole dream yet, everything is still somewhatconfused. " "Do you feel that the dream concerns you personally?" "Of course. No one dreams anything thatdoesn't 'concern him personally. ' But it doesn't concern me only, you're right. I differentiate quite sharplybetween dreams that reveal movements within my own soul and the other, far rarer dreams in which the fate ofall mankind suggests itself. I have rarely had such dreams and never before one of which I could say that itwas a prophecy which was fulfilled. The interpretations are too uncertain. But I know for sure that I havedreamed something that doesn't concern me alone. For this dream links up with others, previous dreams I havehad, to which it is a sequel. These are the dreams, Sinclair, which fill me with the forebodings I've spoken ofto you. We both know that the world is quite rotten but that wouldn't be any reason to predict its imminentcollapse or something of the kind. But for several years I have had dreams from which I conclude, or whichmake me feel, that the collapse of an old world is indeed Imminent. At first these were weak and remoteintimations but they have become increasingly stronger and more distinct. I still know nothing exceptthatsomething is going to happen on a vast scale, something dreadful in which I myself will be involved.Sinclair, we will take part in this event that we have discussed so often. The world wants to renew itself.There's a smell of death in the air. Nothing can be born without first dying. But it is far more terrible than Ihad thought. " I stared at him aghast. "Can't you tell me the rest of your dream?" I asked shyly. He shook hishead. "No. " The door opened to let in Frau Eva. "You're not feeling sad, I hope. " She looked refreshed, alltrace of fatigue had vanished. Demian smiled at her and she came up to us as a mother approaches frightenedchildren. "No, we are not sad, mother. We've merely tried to puzzle out these new omens. But it's no useanyway. Whatever happens will suddenly be here; then we shall learn soon enough what we need to know. " But I felt dispirited, and when I took my leave and walked alone through the hallway, the stale scent of thehyacinths seemed cadaverous. A shadow had fallen over us.