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    Demian
    Demian
    Demian
    Ebook220 pages4 hours

    Demian

    By Hermann Hesse

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    "All I really wanted was to try and live the life that was spontaneously welling up within me. Why was that so very difficult?"
    Generations of readers have recognized the impassioned cry that introduces the young narrator of Demian, and embraced this tale of a troubled young man's struggle toward self-awareness. Initially published in Berlin in 1919, the novel met with instant critical acclaim, as well as great popular success among people seeking answers amid the devastating aftermath of World War I.
    A brilliant psychological portrait of an individual's departure from social conventions in the search for spiritual fulfillment, Demian encompasses many of the themes associated with Hermann Hesse, its Noble Prize–winning author, particularly the duality of human nature and the quest for inner peace.
    Considered an important work in the evolution of 20th-century European literature, this perceptive coming-of-age novel enjoys a particular resonance with young adults, a fact that has made Demian a perennial favorite in schools and colleges all over the world. This inexpensive edition, featuring an excellent new English translation, is sure to be welcomed by teachers and students, and by the legions of confirmed Hesse fans.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherDover Publications
    Release dateApr 10, 2012
    ISBN9780486111674
    Author

    Hermann Hesse

    Hermann Hesse was born in 1877. His books include Siddhartha, Steppenwolf, Narcissus and Goldmund, and Magister Ludi. He died in 1962.

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    Reviews for Demian

    4/5

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    • 4/5
      Published in 1919, it’s the coming-of-age story of a middle class boy and his struggle between a “world of light” and a "world of illusion". This was my first Hermann Hesse book, and I’ve added several more to my reading list. Good stuff.
    • 5/5
      This book made such a progress in my brain, that at the moment I finished it, I literally threw it in the ground and couldn't speak for half an hour. It made me think of things I have never thought before. Amazing. :D
    • 3/5
      Although an early work Hesse was 42 at time of publication and no youth. Overall I think he tried to do too much and the novel doesn't come together dissolving into a morass of symbols. The ideas are complex requiring external reading and in the end unless you are religious it won't be terribly profound, except as an intellectual exercise. It was perfect for the post-FIrst World War generation in Germany who questioned authority and God in the face of defeat. And I might have liked it as a younger person in the 1960s counter-culture environment. Hesse is a godfather of counter-culture, though not by design, he was 40 years ahead of his time and couldn't have predicted beats and hippies. But there is a connection worth exploring. Germany's collapse created a new culture that spread westward, not unlike what is happening with new Russian culture spreading in the decades after its collapse. Sadly the Russians do it through a different form of art then prestige literature.
    • 5/5
      Demian, is a book about the growth of an individual,a story about a boy becoming an adult.Demian offers a poignant statement of the terrors and torments of adolescence."Now everything changed. My childhood world was breaking apart around me. My parents eyed me with a certain embarrassment. My sisters had become strangers to me. A disenchantment falsified and blunted my usual feelings and joys: the garden lacked fragrance, the woods held no attraction for me, the world stood around me like a clearance sale of last year's secondhand goods, insipid, all its charm gone. Books were so much paper, music a grating noise. That is the way leaves fall around a tree in autumn, a tree unaware of the rain running down its sides, of the sun or the frost, and of life gradually retreating inward. The tree does not die. It waits." _ Hermann HesseOne of the major themes is the existence of opposing forces (good and evil) and the idea that both are necessary using the God Abraxas as a Symbol through the story.
    • 4/5
      Herman Hesse has a way with writing that it makes you feel like he is telling you the secrets of the world. The book is mainly insight driven. You experience a person's struggle as he grows up and experiences the world outside the safety of his home. There are many allusions of good vs evil and I feel Herman Hesse does a good job showing that it is not as easy to define as some would think. The protagonist meets many "guides" along the way that help him with his journey, which only we could all be so lucky. But it served as a good way of detailing the ups and downs of life, growth and experiences, but mainly that you really have to work on yourself to figure out who you are and where you would like to fit in the world. While this book is good, if you are looking to start a Herman Hesse book I would recommend starting with his other books as they are much stronger reads.
    • 3/5
      One of the books that made Hesse into such a hero back in the day. We are entertained, but also prodded into thinking.
    • 3/5
      I love Hesse, one of my favorite authors ever. Not only is the spirtualism/sensualism dichotomy (which forms the major theme of all of his works) one of the more interesting philosophical questions of mankind, but I can't think of any author who has continually revealed his own personal neuroses and self-doubts through their characters. This quality has always provoked a certain empathy, admiration, and even self-recognition when I read his books. As someone concerned with those important questions of life, I can identify with his characters, and, because his characters are so autobiographical, I feel like I can consequently identify with Hesse himself.

      One of the more fascinating thought exercises related to Hesse is studying his works as attempts to reconcile these two aspects of life: the ethereal, divine and ecstatic with the corporeal, material and sensual. As brilliant as he was, he never figured out how to do it completely, which is what makes all of his novels ultimately unsatisfying. The interesting part, however, is that each successive novel comes closer to the answer, so that Demian feels by far the least developed, and while Hesse realizes "Nirvana" in Siddhartha, it never feels authentically earned. Steppenwolf feels altogether more on the right track before devolving into a psychedelic madhouse (perhaps precisely because he didn't know where next to take it?), and then Narcissus and Goldmund and The Journey to the East get even closer to the ultimate reconciliation while still falling short. The Glass Bead Game is by far the most developed of his novels and gets tantalizingly close to a "solution" for this problem, but it still leaves the reader vaguely grasping at the "how" of Hesse's prescription.

      As obsessed as Hesse was with this issue, he was never able to solve it, and it leaves us with the suspicion that it is an insoluble problem, perhaps THE insoluble issue of humanity. His books are so enjoyable, though, precisely because nobody has ever taken up the question with such earnest seriousness. All of his books leave us unsatisfied, but upon further thought one concludes that they are unsatisfactory only because they so unerringly reflect the great human predicament: the paradox of the divine animal. **Full Disclosure: I can no longer remember concretely, but I suspect that I owe a lot of credit for this analysis to Colin Wilson, from his fantastic The Outsider.**
    • 5/5
      Herman Hesse writes in the Prologue to Demian, "Each man's life represents a road toward himself, an attempt at such a road, the intimation of a path."(p 2) Is there a reality apart from our "constructed self"? Rather is each man on the road? The story of Emil Sinclair and his relationship with Max Demian is Hesse's attempt to narrate one young man's journey on the road toward himself. Hesse draws upon Nietzsche, Jung and others for his ideas, but the story is almost an archetypical example of the search both for meaning and identity. The forming of an identity involves discovering values, forming beliefs, and learning how to deal with reality. For Emil this includes his dream life. He tells a friend, "I live in my dreams--that's what you sense. Other people live in dreams, but not in their own. That's the difference." (p 118) The experiences of Emil are dramatic and result in a rejection of the convention life for one of a seeker. In his search Emil confronts his beliefs, dreams, and more. An epiphany occurs on one Spring day when he is attracted by a young woman in the park. He names her Beatrice and is soon transformed "into a worshipper in a temple." (p 81) He says,"I had an ideal again, life was rich with intimations of mystery and a feeling of dawn that made me immune to all taunts. I had come home again to myself, even if only as the slave and servant of a cherished image."(p 81)Thus the narrator describes what in Jungian terms is his "anima". This inspires him to create and to read as his journey takes him in a new direction. For Hesse and the reader it is always a path on "a road toward himself".
    • 5/5
      Why had I not discover this book when I was a teenager? Would I have enjoyed it so much if I had??

      Hesse is a great writer. A great read for anyone really interested in exploring what it means to think independently.
    • 5/5
      I thought this was brilliant when I was a teenager. Someday I should reread it and see if I agree as an adult.
    • 4/5
      Published in 1919, it’s the coming-of-age story of a middle class boy and his struggle between a “world of light” and a "world of illusion". This was my first Hermann Hesse book, and I’ve added several more to my reading list. Good stuff.
    • 3/5
      This was swallowed the same period as Steppenwolf. I recall this one for the inclusion of jazz in its milieu. Not much of a chance for a return.
    • 3/5
      Demian is the story of Emil Sinclair, a boy who doesn't fit in with the other boys, his family, or society in general, and how he comes to embrace his uniqueness as he grows into adulthood with the help of another oddball named Max Demian. So far, so good.Unfortunately, the latter part of the novel consists mainly in a lot of self-congratulatory mutual back-patting about how special they are, along with Max's mother Eva, and not part of the herd...but as far as I could tell, there was practically no substance behind their sense of their own specialness (or their utter contempt for the masses), which was rather based on nothing more than their choice to be their own little herd of three. This illustrates the problem with this sort of Nietzschean pseudo-egoism very well: the alternative to populism is not elitism, but individualism...and elitism is by definition not individualism. As one dictionary aptly puts it, elitism is "consciousness of or pride in belonging to a select or favored group"...it may be a smaller group, but it is still defining oneself primarily in terms of and in relation to the group.Then there's all that stuff about Emil's crush on his best friend's mother, which came off not so much as liberating as just plain awkward. Throw in some all-too-obvious Jungian symbolism and bad Nietzschean philosophy (Nietzsche is explicitly mentioned more than once), and what started out as an interesting coming of age story degenerates into an overblown and in some respects absolutely ludicrous exercise in pomposity.Still, I enjoyed this more than Siddhartha...but not as much as Narcissus and Goldmund, which felt both more honest and more relevant to me. But there are some nice passages here, and the beginning was pretty good, and it was certainly instructive to see what Beyond Good and Evil would look like put into practice (not very impressive)...so it might be worth reading once if you're interested in this sort of thing.
    • 5/5
      Long my favorite novel. I'm just a sucker for an existentialist Bildungsroman.
    • 5/5
      Excellent book. Great coming of age story with an emphasis on spiritual and philosophical development. Love the subtle supernatural elements. Brilliant and more than a little creepy.
    • 3/5
      DemianHesse has yet to live up to his reputation as far as I am concerned. Of what little I have read nothing has stood out to me as having been fantastic. Demian did not do much to rectify this. It is another book about hollow nameless spirituality. The book has been described as elusive by the friend who handed it to me. I found it to be vague, though I can understand why some would mistake the one for the other. It has a lot to do with Hesse’s technical skill as a writer. He is, in that respect, good. But it is the substance of the piece that fails. The character Demian is seen throughout the book in an almost magical light, and it is the quest for the root of this magic that drove me as a reader to the end. And then it stopped short. At the end of the tunnel there appeared to be simply more tunnel. Part of it might be my own fault. I am truly one of the people that will one day confront God with a simple ‘Would you have bought it?’ Keeping something vague does not spell a complicated argument for me – it spells poor articulation.At the end of the book knowing that there indeed was this enclave of chosen people – who had somehow mysteriously been uplifted to a higher spiritual existence to which I simply was not and will not be invited – did not make me feel better.It made me feel damned.
    • 3/5
      Hesse is a great writer and thinker; I have always liked his work but I think he misses the mark a bit with Demian. What I liked:- The expression of the importance and difficulty of the path to discovering oneself ("if Nature has made you a bat you shouldn't try to be an ostrich.")- As in some of his other books, Hesse's ability to capture the angst of growing up- Demian's inverted view of the story of Cain and Abel as well as his critical commentary about the story of Christ's death and religion in general- The book is conciseWhat I didn't like:- The story itself is weak; after a couple of very interesting initial chapters it devolves into philosophy- The characters and their actions are often unrealistic (characters feeling their way to find others, or feeling it when another is thinking of them); the book seems overly influenced by Hesse's study of Jung.- Symbolism seems a bit forced; the painting, Eva/Eve, Demian/Daemon, etcFavorite quotes: "Many people experience the dying and rebirth - which is our fate - only this once during their entire life. Their childhood becomes hollow and gradually collapses, everything they love abandons them and they suddenly feel surrounded by the loneliness and mortal cold of the universe. Very many are caught forever in this impasse, and for the rest of their lives cling painfullly to an irrevocable past, the dream of the lost paradise - which is the worst and most ruthless of dreams.""But the world consists of something else besides. And what is left over is ascribed to the devil, this entire slice of world, this entire half is suppressed and hushed up. In exactly the same way they praise God as the father of all life but simply refuse to say a word about our sexual life on which it's all based, describing it whenever possible as sinful, the work of the devil. I have no objection to worshipping this God Jehovah, far from it. But I mean we ought to consider everything sacred, the entire world, not merely this artificially separated half! Thus alongside the divine service we should also have a service for the devil.""But we consist of everything the world consists of, each of us, and just as our body contains the genealogical table as far back as the fish and even much further, so we bear everything in our soul that once was alive in the soul of men. Every god and devil that ever existed, be it among the Greeks, Chinese, or Zulus, are within us, exist as latent possibilities, as wishes, as alternatives. If the human race were to vanish from the face of the earth save for one halfway talented child that had received no education, this child would rediscover the entire course of evolution, it would be capable of producing everything once more, gods and demons, paradises, commandments, the Old and New Testament.""If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn't part of ourselves doesn't disturb us."
    • 5/5
      A new way of thinking of the Cain & Abel story; an evil guy with an extraordinary power of making everything sound real...Nowadays, he'd probably be a SALES person.One of my favorite Hesse's tales.
    • 5/5
      1173. Demian: The Story of Emil Sinclair's Youth, by Herman Hesse (read 26 Jul 1972) This is the first book of Hesse's I read and I was much moved, being reminded of Kafka and The Wanderer by Alain Fournier, I having read The Wanderer in June of 1961, but felt Demian was much more connected and less obviously dreamlike. I was carried away by the word painting of mood: "But I felt dispirited, and when I took my leave and walked alone thru the hallway, the stale scent of the hyacinth seemed cadaverous. A shadow had fallen over us." I went on to read seven other Hesse books, with appreciation of nearly all of them.
    • 5/5
      wonderfull book, reminded me of some of my own feelings when growing up.
    • 3/5
      a darker yet more approachable child shouting out to the education system, being too smart for his own good, growing up, and dying. hesse at his in-between.
    • 5/5
      a favourite and classic book!
    • 5/5
      An enlightening examination of duality and individual transformation that everyone should read. Those who do not wholly identify with Sinclair will still be absorbed by the great story and beautiful language. Those who do identify with Sinclair however, will be amazed that someone was able to articulate in writing this scarce man whose path is rarely comprehended. None better than Hesse to do it, surely. An amazing novel by an amazing novelist. One of my favorites.
    • 4/5
      My younger sister bought this book for me, informing me that it was pivotal to her own life story, that she reads it twice a year. So honestly my reading is very much entrenched in understanding her psyche, and with what relevance comes this novel?I have a reverence for Hesse, I find his existential "crises" to be refreshing, and Siddhartha is a story that I enjoy and often suggest to others. Demian, however, is quite entrenched in religious imagery and I wonder if many who read it understand that this is Christian imagery.For instance, the band around the arm of Demian, friend of Emil Sinclair, to symbolize the death of his "father"- is this the Father ie God/Jesus? This again played out in the changing relationship between Sinclair and his own father, and that he feels he cannot "return to his father's house." Intriguing.The inner struggle that Sinclair finds himself in is also incredibly overcome by his connection to his "inner self," rather than to others- a great difference between the enlightenment of those religious greats that Hesse later reflected upon, such as Siddhartha, who found enlightenment through love and compassion to others, a more complete connection to the divinity in humanity and the connection of all people.Is this the great change that Hesse is pointing to through Demian and Sinclair? That of a truer humanity rather than of "forced gaiety"?"Most people love to lose themselves. He had loved and had found himself."
    • 5/5
      This is an excellent book that chronicles a young man's discovery of a personal philosophy. The duality of nature as well as many of the tenants of individualism are fictionalized in an engaging manner. Personally I found the book to be an easy read, but there were certain passages that I read over and over out of sheer joy.
    • 5/5
      I first read Demian (my first Hermann Hesse) when I was 14. It was eye-opening and I fell in love with Bildungsroman in general, probably because at that time I was a teenager myself. The struggles Emil Sinclair goes through are not unlike those of many other young people, and the issue of belonging and peer pressure is explored in a realistic and yet lyrical manner by Hesse. On a borader and more universal level, the book also is an exercise in personal judgment, beliefs and reasoning right as Europe was emerging from the ashes of the Great War. Beautiful book, it should be required reading in high schools across the United States.
    • 4/5
      This book was one of my first introductions to the idea of following an unconventional spiritual path. Rereading it recently, I found the story of how Max Demian guided the young Emil Sinclair away from his familiar world and into the pursuit of spiritual fulfillment just as engrossing as I had the first time. I was also struck by how similar Demian’s message was to so many modern spiritual teachers today. The idea that he and Sinclair were among a select few with the courage to break free of societal limitations and help humanity leap forward into a new stage of evolution sounded exactly like something I might have heard yesterday from the local guru-du-jour. I found myself wondering just what it says about human evolution that this book was first published in 1919—does that mean humanity made a quantum leap back then, and is now working on a new one? Or are we still trying at that first one almost a hundred years later? Hmmm…..
    • 2/5
      What should have taken me only hours to read ended up taking me nearly three days; Demian can be an exhausting read, especially if you're not used to heavy philosophical diatribes passed-off as dialogue. I'm sure that Demian is a lot better than I've suggested here, but it depends on the person reading, and I really struggled. It isn't the first Hesse novel I've read, but I'm frankly put off now, and it'll take a lot to get me back in. I'll stick with what I can more readily understand.
    • 3/5
      Unfortunately I read Narcissus and Goldmund before this book, so I was not as impressed as I may have been otherwise. Demian is Narcissus and Goldmund's less experienced little brother; both books explore the same ideas about education, sprituality, and individual will, but N&G is much longer and more developed, spanning the entire lives of its main characters, whereas I felt Demian ended abruptly with too many questions left unanswered. If you are going to read this, read it before Narcissus and Goldmund.

    Book preview

    Demian - Hermann Hesse

    CHAPTER ONE

    Two Worlds

    I BEGIN MY STORY with an experience from the time I was ten years old and attending the grammar school³ in our small town.

    Many memories are wafted to me, touching me inwardly with melancholy and with pleasurable thrills: narrow, dark streets and bright houses and steeples, the chiming of clocks and people’s faces, rooms filled with hominess and warm comfort, rooms filled with mystery and profound fear of ghosts. There is a smell of cozy confinement, of rabbits and servant girls, of home remedies and dried fruit. Two worlds coincided there, day and night issued from two poles.

    One world was my father’s house, but it was even more restricted than that: it actually comprised only my parents. For the most part, this world was very familiar to me; it meant mother and father, love and severity, exemplary manners and school. This was the world of a warm glow, clarity, and cleanliness; gentle, friendly speech, washed hands, clean clothes, and proper behavior were at home here. Here the morning chorale was sung, here Christmas was celebrated. In this world there were straight lines and paths leading to the future, there were duty and guilt, a troubled conscience and confession, forgiveness and good resolutions, love and respect, Bible sayings and wisdom. This was the world to adhere to if one’s life was to be bright and pure, lovely and well-ordered.

    On the other hand, the other world began right in our own house; it was altogether different, smelled different, spoke differently, made different promises and demands. In this second world there were maids and journeymen, ghost stories and scandalous rumors; there was a motley flow of uncanny, tempting, frightening, puzzling things, things like slaughterhouse and jail, drunks and bickering women, cows giving birth, horses collapsing, stories of burglaries, killings, suicides. All these beautiful and scary, wild and cruel things existed all around, in the next street, in the next house; policemen and vagrants ran around, drunks beat their wives, clusters of young girls poured out of the factories in the evening, old women could cast a spell on you and make you sick, bandits lived in the woods, arsonists were caught by the constabulary—this second, violent world gushed out fragrantly everywhere, except in our rooms, where Mother and Father were. And that was very good. It was wonderful that here among us there was peace, order, and repose, duty and a clear conscience, forgiveness and love—and wonderful that all the rest existed, all those noisy, glaring, somber, and violent things, which nevertheless could be escaped with a single bound toward one’s mother.

    And the strangest thing of all was how the two worlds bordered each other, how close together they were! For example, when our maid Lina sat by the parlor door at our evening prayers and joined in the hymn with her bright voice, her scrubbed hands flat on her smoothed-down apron, she belonged totally with Father and Mother, with us, with brightness and correctness. Immediately afterward, in the kitchen or woodshed, when she told me the story of the headless gnome or wrangled with female neighbors in the little butcher shop, she was someone else, she belonged to the other world, she was enveloped in mystery. And so it was with everything, especially with myself. Naturally I belonged to the bright and correct world, I was my parents’ child; but wherever I turned my eyes and ears, the other world was there and I lived in it, too, even though it was often unfamiliar and uncanny to me, even though I regularly got pangs of conscience and anxiety from it. In fact, at times I preferred to live in the forbidden world, and frequently my return home to the bright realm, no matter how necessary and good that might be, was almost like a return to someplace less beautiful, more boring and dreary. At times I knew my goal in life was to become like my father and mother, just as bright and pure, superior and well-ordered as they. But that was a long road to travel; before you got there, you had to attend schools and study and take tests and exams, and the road constantly led you alongside that other, darker world, and right through it, so that it was quite possible to get stuck there and go under. There were stories of prodigal sons to whom that had happened; I had read them excitedly. Their return home to their father and a good life was always so satisfying and splendid; I realized keenly that that was the only proper, good, and desirable outcome, but the part of the story that took place among the wicked and the lost was by far the more appealing, and, if one were free to state and admit it, it was sometimes actually a downright shame that the prodigal repented and was found again. But one didn’t say that and didn’t even think it. The idea was merely somehow present as a premonition or possibility, deep down in your mind. When I visualized the Devil, I could quite easily imagine him down in the street, disguised or clearly identifiable, or else at the fair, or in a tavern, but never in our house.

    My sisters also belonged to the bright world. It often seemed to me that their nature was closer to our father’s and mother’s; they were better, more well-behaved, faultless compared to me. They had shortcomings, they could be naughty, but, as I saw it, that wasn’t very serious, it wasn’t as it was with me; in my case, contact with evil was often so burdensome and torturing, the dark world was much nearer at hand. Like my parents, my sisters were people to be protected and honored; after any fight with them, my own conscience declared me to be the one in the wrong, the instigator, the one who had to ask forgiveness. For, by insulting my sisters, I was insulting my parents, the good and imposing faction. There were secrets I could much sooner share with the coarsest street boys than with my sisters. On good days, days of brightness and an untroubled conscience, it was often delightful to play with my sisters, to be good to them and well-behaved, and to see myself in a fine and noble aura. That’s how it must be to be an angel! That was the highest goal within our ken, and we imagined it was sweet and wonderful to be an angel, enveloped in bright music and fragrance, like Christmas and happiness. Oh, how seldom it was possible to live such hours and days! Often while playing, playing good, inoffensive, permissible games, I became too excited and violent for my sisters to put up with; this led to arguments and unhappiness, and when anger overcame me at such times, I was a terror, doing and saying things whose vileness I felt deeply and painfully at the very moment I did and said them. Then came vexing, dark hours of regret and contrition, and then the awful moment when I asked to be forgiven, and then once again a ray of brightness, a silent, grateful sense of undivided happiness that would last hours or only moments.

    I attended grammar school; the mayor’s son and the son of the chief forest ranger were in my class and visited me sometimes; though wild boys, they nevertheless belonged to the good, permissible world. And yet I had close relations with neighbor boys who went to the ordinary elementary school, boys we usually looked down on. It’s with one of them that I must begin my story.

    On one afternoon when there were no classes—I was not much more than ten years old—I was hanging around with two boys from the neighborhood. Then a bigger boy joined us, a burly, rough fellow of about thirteen, from the elementary school, the son of a tailor. His father drank and his whole family had a bad reputation. I knew Franz Kromer well and I was afraid of him, so that I didn’t like his joining us then. He already acted like a grown-up man, mimicking the walk and speech habits of the young factory laborers. With him as leader, we went down to the riverbank next to the bridge and hid from the world under the first arch of the bridge. The narrow bank between the vaulted bridge wall and the sluggishly flowing water consisted entirely of refuse, broken crockery and junk, tangled clusters of rusty wire and other rubbish. Sometimes usable items could be found there; under Franz Kromer’s direction we had to examine the stretch of ground and show him what we discovered. Then he either pocketed it or threw it into the water. He ordered us to pay special attention to any lead, brass, or pewter items that might be there; he pocketed them all, as well as an old horn comb. I felt very tense in his presence, not because I knew my father would forbid me to associate with him if he knew about it, but out of fear of Franz himself. I was glad that he took me along and treated me like the others. He gave orders and we obeyed, as if it were an old custom, even though I was with him for the first time.

    Finally we sat down on the ground; Franz spat into the water and looked like a grown man. He spat through a gap in his teeth and could hit any mark he aimed at. A conversation began, and the boys started boasting and showing off, relating all sorts of schoolboy heroics and mischievous pranks. I kept silent but was afraid that this very silence would draw attention to me and make Kromer angry at me. From the outset my two companions had withdrawn from me and gone over to his side; I was a stranger among them, and I felt that my clothing and manners provoked them. As a grammar-school pupil and a rich kid, I couldn’t possibly be popular with Franz, and I was well aware that, the minute it came to that, the other two would disavow me and leave me in the lurch.

    At last, out of pure fear, I started telling a story, too. I made up an elaborate tale of thievery, making myself the hero. My story was that, in an orchard near the Corner Mill, along with a friend I had stolen a sackful of apples at night, and not just ordinary apples but exclusively Reinettes and Golden Pearmains, the best varieties. I took refuge in this story from the dangers of the moment; I was a fluent inventor and teller of tales. In order not to finish too soon and thus perhaps become involved in something worse, I showed off all my inventive skills. One of us, I narrated, had to stand guard the whole time that the other one was in the tree throwing down the apples; and the sack was so heavy that we finally had to open it again and leave half the apples behind, but we returned a half-hour later and fetched the rest.

    When I was finished, I hoped for a little applause; I had gradually become enthusiastic and intoxicated by my own yarn-spinning. The two younger boys were silent in expectation, but Franz Kromer looked at me penetratingly through half-closed eyes and asked me in a menacing voice: Is that true?

    Yes, I said.

    So it’s really and truly so?

    Yes, really and truly, I defiantly affirmed while choking inwardly with anxiety.

    Can you swear to it?

    I got very frightened, but I immediately said yes.

    Then say: ‘By God and my salvation!’

    I said: By God and my salvation.

    All right, then, he said, and he turned away.

    I thought that was the end of it, and I was glad when shortly afterward he stood up and started walking back. When we were on the bridge, I timidly said that I had to go home.

    Don’t be in such a hurry, Franz laughed, after all, we’re going the same way.

    He sauntered ahead slowly, and I didn’t dare to make a break for it, but he did actually walk toward our house. When we were there, when I saw our house door with its thick brass knob, the sunshine in the windows and the curtains in my mother’s room, I drew a deep breath of relief. Oh, I was back home! Oh, I had made a good, blessed return home, a return to brightness and peace!

    When I opened the door quickly and slipped inside, prepared to close it behind me, Franz Kromer pushed his way in, too. He stood beside me in the cool, dark passage with its tiled floor, where the light came only from the yard; he held me by the arm and said quietly: Hey, you, don’t rush away like that!

    I looked at him in fright. His grip on my arm was as hard as iron. I thought about his possible intentions and whether he might want to hit me. If I were to call out now, I thought, call out loudly and violently, would someone from upstairs show up fast enough to rescue me? But I decided not to.

    What is it? I asked. What do you want?

    Not much. I just have to ask you something else. The others don’t need to hear it.

    Is that right? Well, what else am I supposed to tell you? I’ve got to go upstairs, you know.

    Franz said quietly, I’m sure you know who owns the orchard by the Corner Mill.

    No, I don’t. I think, the miller.

    Franz had flung his arm around me and now he drew me very close to himself, so that I was forced to look directly into his face. His eyes were malicious, he had a nasty smile, and his face was full of cruelty and power.

    Yes, boy, I’m the one who can tell you who owns the orchard. I’ve known for some time that the apples were stolen, and I also know that the man said he’d give two marks to whoever could tell him who stole the fruit.

    My God! I exclaimed. But you won’t tell him anything, will you?

    I felt that it would be useless to appeal to his sense of honor. He came from that other world, for him backstabbing was no crime. I was completely convinced of that. In matters like this, the people from the other world weren’t like us.

    Not tell him anything? Kromer laughed. My dear friend, do you think I’m a counterfeiter and can make my own two-mark pieces? I’m a poor guy, I don’t have a rich father like you, and whenever I can earn two marks, I’ve got to earn them. Maybe he’ll even give more.

    He suddenly let go of me again. Our vestibule no longer smelt of peace and security, the world was tumbling down around me. He was going to turn me in, I was a criminal, my father would be informed, maybe the police would actually come. All the terrors of chaos threatened me, everything ugly and dangerous was mustered up against me. That I hadn’t really stolen anything was completely beside the point. On top of that, I had sworn an oath. My God, my God!

    Tears welled up in my eyes. I felt that I had to buy myself off, and I rummaged desperately through all my pockets. There was nothing in them, not an apple, not a pocket knife. Then I remembered my watch. It was an old silver watch, and it didn’t go; I wore it just for the sake of it. It came from our grandmother. I quickly pulled it out.

    Kromer, I said, listen, you mustn’t turn me in, that wouldn’t be nice of you. I’ll give you my watch, look; unfortunately, I have nothing else. You can have it, it’s silver, and the works are good; it just has a minor defect, it has to be repaired.

    He smiled and took the watch into his large hand. I looked at that hand and felt how rough and deeply hostile it was to me, how it was reaching out for my life and my peace of mind.

    It’s silver— I said timidly.

    I don’t give a hoot for your silver or that old watch of yours! he said with profound contempt. Get it repaired yourself!

    But, Franz, I exclaimed, trembling with the fear that he might run away. Please wait a minute! Do take the watch! It’s real silver, really and truly. And I just don’t have anything else.

    He looked at me with cool

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