Book Segmentation

Prompt

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. 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. 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 today 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. 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. “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. “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.” 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 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.” “Very likely,” he nodded. “We’ll have another good look at it. Such things are often interesting. It is a hawk, I think.” We continued our way. I was considerably embarrassed. Suddenly Demian laughed, as if something funny had struck 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?” 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. 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?” “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.” “Certainly,” I said, interested. The case began to interest me. “But how else should one explain the story?” He clapped 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?” “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 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.” I was much astonished. “And do you believe then, that the affair of the murder is absolutely untrue?” I asked, much 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. 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— 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! SEGMENT THIS into chunks by character and output as json