Frightened, I looked at him fixedly.
“Can’t you tell me the rest of your dream?” I begged timidly.
He shook his head.
“No.”
The door opened and Mother Eve entered.
“There you are, sitting together! Children, I hope you aren’t sad?”
She looked fresh, her fatigue had quite vanished. Demian smiled at her, she came to us as a mother comes to frightened children.
“We aren’t sad, mother. We were simply trying to solve the riddle of these new signs. But that is of no importance; what is to come, will be here all of a sudden, and then we shall learn what we need to know.”
But I did not feel happy. When I said goodbye and went down alone through the hall, I felt that the hyacinths were faded and withered, reminding me of corpses. A shadow had fallen over us.
VIII
Beginning of the End
It had been decided that I should remain in H⸺ for the summer semester. Instead of staying in the house, we were almost always in the garden by the river. The Japanese, who by the way had been thoroughly beaten in the boxing match, was away, and the disciple of Tolstoy was also missing. Demian had procured a horse, and went for long rides every day. I was often alone with his mother.
Sometimes I wondered greatly at the peaceableness of my life. I had been so long accustomed to being alone, to practise renunciation, to fight toilfully my own battles, that these months in H⸺ seemed to me like a time passed on a dream island, where I might live tranquilly in beautiful, enchanted surroundings. I felt that this was a foretaste of that new, higher community, on which we meditated. And now and then I was seized by a deep feeling of sadness, for I knew that this happiness could not last. I was not destined to breathe in the fullness of peace and comfort, I needed torment to spur me on. I felt that one day I should wake up from these dreams of beautiful love-pictures to find myself standing once more alone, in the cold world of others, where for me there would be only loneliness and fighting, no peace, no community of spirit.
Then I yielded myself to the charms of Mother Eve’s presence. My feeling for her was now doubly tender. I was glad that my fate bore still these beautiful, tranquil features.
The summer weeks passed quickly and easily. Already the semester was drawing to a close. Leave-taking was near, I dared not think of it, and did not, but clung to the beautiful days like a butterfly to a honeyed flower. That was my period of happiness, the first fulfillment of my life’s wishes, and my reception into the league—what was to come next? I would again have to fight my battles, be consumed by longing, have dreams, be alone.
At this time the feeling, the foretaste of separation, came over me so strongly that my love for Mother Eve blazed up suddenly, causing me pain. My God! how soon would the time come to say goodbye, and I should see her no more, no more hear her firm step in the house, should find no more her flowers on my table! And what had I attained? I had dreamed and had lulled myself in comfort, instead of winning her, instead of fighting for her and drawing her to me for always! All that she had said to me about genuine love crossed my mind, hundreds of fine, suggestive words, a hundred tender invitations, promises perhaps—and what had I made of them? Nothing! Nothing!
I took up a position in the middle of my room, collected my whole conscious self together and thought of Eve. I wished to concentrate the forces of my soul, in order to let her feel my love, in order to draw her to me. She was to come, longing for my embrace. My kisses were to suck insatiably the ripe fruit of her lips.
I stood tense, until fingers and feet became stiff with cold. I felt force was going out of me. For a few seconds something seemed to take shape with me, something bright and cool; I had for a moment the sensation as if I carried a crystal in my heart, and I knew that was myself. A cold chill pierced to my heart.
As I woke out of my fearful state of tension I felt something was approaching. I was exhausted to the point of death, but I was prepared to see Eve step into the room, burning with passion, ravished.
The sound of horse’s hoofs clattering down the long street rang nearer and nearer, then suddenly ceased. I sprang to the window. Below Demian was dismounting.
“What is the matter, Demian? Nothing can have happened to your mother?”
He did not listen to my words. He was very pale, and perspiration ran down both sides of his forehead over his cheeks. His horse was flecked with foam. He tied the reins to the garden fence, then he took my arm and walked with me down the street.
“Have you already heard the news?” I had heard nothing.
Demian pressed my arm
