“Yes, old man, now we’re in for it. You know of the strained relations with Russia—”
“What? Is it war? I had never believed it.”
He spoke in an undertone, although no one was near.
“It is not yet declared. But it’s war. Rely on it. I haven’t worried you lately, but I have seen three new omens since. It will be no foundering of the world, no earthquake, no revolution. It’s war. You will see how that strikes everybody. It will be a joy to people; everyone already rejoices that hostilities are about to commence. So insipid has life become for them. But you will see now, Sinclair, that is only the beginning. This will perhaps be a great war, a very great war. The new dispensation commences and for those who adhere to the old, the new will be terrible. What will you do?”
I was perplexed, everything sounded so strange and improbable.
“I don’t know—and you?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“As soon as mobilization orders are out, I join up. I am a lieutenant.”
“You? I had no idea of that.”
“Yes. It was one of my adaptations. You know, I have never wanted to appear out of the ordinary, and have rather done too much, in order to be correct, to do the right thing. In eight days, I think, I shall be already in the field.”
“For God’s sake!”
“Look here, old fellow, you mustn’t take things so sentimentally. At bottom it certainly won’t give me pleasure to order machine gunfire to be turned on living creatures, but that is a secondary matter. Now each one of us will be seized by the great wheel of fate. You as well. You will certainly be called up.”
“And your mother, Demian?”
Then for the first time I recollected what I was doing a quarter of an hour before. How the world had changed! I had summoned together all my force in order to conjure up the sweetest picture, and now fate had suddenly put on a new, horrible mask.
“My mother? We need have no cares for her safety. She is safe, safer than anyone else in the world today. You love her so very much?”
“You knew it, Demian?” He laughed brightly and without any embarrassment.
“You child! Naturally I knew it. No one has yet called my mother Mother Eve without loving her. By the way, how was that? You have called to either her or myself today, haven’t you?”
“Yes, I called—I called to Mother Eve.”
“She felt it. She suddenly sent me away, I was to come to you. I had just told her the news about Russia.”
We turned back, scarcely speaking, he untied his horse and mounted.
I first realized in my room how exhausted I was by Demian’s message, and even more so by my previous spiritual exertions. But Mother Eve had heard me! My thoughts had reached her. She would have come herself, if—how wonderful all this was, and how beautiful! Now it was to be war. Now what we had so often spoken of was about to happen. And Demian had known so much in advance. How strange that the world’s stream would no longer flow somewhere or other by us—that now it was suddenly flowing through us, that fate and adventure called us, and that now, or soon, the moment would come when the world would need us, when it would be transformed. Demian was right, one should not be sentimental over it. Only it was strange that I was now to experience that lonely thing, “fate,” with so many, with the whole world. Good then!
I was ready. In the evening, when I went through the town, every corner was alive with bustle and excitement. Everywhere the word “war”!
I went to Mother Eve’s house. We had supper in the summer house. I was the only guest. No one spoke a word about the war. But later, shortly before I left, Mother Eve said: “Dear Sinclair, you called me today. You know why I did not come myself. But don’t forget, you know the call now and if ever you need someone who bears the sign, call me again.”
She rose and went out through the gloaming into the garden. Tall and queenly, invested with mystery, she stepped between the trees, the foliage ceased its whispering at her approach, and over her head glimmered tenderly the many stars.
I am coming to the end. Events marched quickly. War was declared. Demian, who looked strange in uniform, with a silver-grey cloak, went away. I brought his mother home. Soon after I also said goodbye to her. She kissed me on the lips and held me a moment on her breast, and her large eyes burned steadily close to mine.
And all men were like brothers. They had in mind their country and their honor. But it was fate, they peeped for a moment into the unveiled face. Young men came out of barracks, stepped into trains, and on many a face I saw a sign—not ours—a beautiful and dignified sign, signifying love and death. I as well was embraced by people I had never seen before. I understood and responded gladly. It was an atmosphere of intoxication in which they moved, not that of a fated will. But the intoxication was sacred, it was due to the fact that they had all looked into the rousing eyes of destiny.
It was already nearly winter when I went to the front.
At first, in spite of the sensation of the bombardment, I was disappointed with everything. Formerly I had often wondered why people so seldom were able to live for an ideal. Now I saw that many, yes, all men, are capable of dying for an ideal, provided that such an ideal is not personal, not chosen of their own free will. For them it had to be an ideal accepted by and common to a great number.
But with time I saw that I had underestimated men. Although service and a common danger
