Chapter 14

10 min

A vault, like the vault of a sepulchre—human heads so closely crowded as to produce the effect of clods of a freshly ploughed field. All faces turned to one point: to the source of a light, as mild as God. Candles burnt with sword-like flames. Slender, lustrous swords of light stood in a circle around the head of a girl.

A vaulted chamber, like a tomb. Human heads were packed so closely together they looked like clods in a freshly plowed field. All faces turned toward one point: the source of a light as gentle as God. Candles burned with sword-like flames. Slender, shining swords of light formed a circle around a girl's head.

Freder stood pressed into the background of the arch—so far from the girl that he perceived of her face nothing but the shimmer of its pallor, the wonder of the eyes and the blood-red mouth. His eyes hung upon this blood-red mouth as though it were the middle point of the earth, to which, by eternal law, his blood must pour down. Tantalising was this mouth.... All the seven Deadly Sins had such a mouth.... The woman on the scarlet-coloured beast, who bore the name Babylon on her forehead, had such a mouth....

Freder stood pressed into the shadows of the arch, far from the girl. He could see only the shimmer of her pale face, her wondrous eyes, and her blood-red mouth. His eyes stayed fixed on that mouth. It was as though her mouth were the center of the earth, and his blood must flow toward it by eternal law. Her mouth was tantalizing.... All seven Deadly Sins had a mouth like that.... The woman on the scarlet beast, who had the name Babylon on her forehead, had a mouth like that....

He pressed both hands to his eyes in order no longer to see this mouth of deadly sin.

He pressed both hands over his eyes so he would no longer see this mouth of deadly sin.

Now he heard more clearly.... Yes, that was her voice, the voice which sounded as though God could refuse it nothing.... Was that really it? The voice came from out the blood-red mouth. It was like a flame, hot and pointed. It was full of a wicked sweetness....

Now he could hear more clearly.... Yes, that was her voice. It sounded as if God could refuse it nothing.... Was that really it? The voice came from her blood-red mouth. It was like a flame, hot and pointed. It was full of a wicked sweetness....

The voice said: “My brothers....”

But no peace proceeded from out these words. Little red snakes hissed through the air. The air was hot—an agony to breathe....

But these words brought no peace. Little red snakes hissed through the air. The air was hot. It was agony to breathe....

Groaning heavily, Freder opened his eyes.

Freder opened his eyes, groaning heavily.

Dark, angry waves were the heads before him. These waves frothed, raged and roared. Here and there a hand shot up into the air. Words sprang up, foam flecks of the surf. But the voice of the girl was like a tongue of fire, drawing, enticing, burning above the heads.

The heads before him were like dark, angry waves. The waves foamed, raged, and roared. Here and there, a hand shot into the air. Words burst out like flecks of foam from the surf. But the girl's voice was like a tongue of fire above the heads, drawing them in, enticing them, burning.

“Which is more pleasant: water or wine?”

“Which is more enjoyable: water or wine?”

“... Wine is more pleasant!”

“... Wine is nicer!”

“Who drinks the water?”

“... We!”

“Who drinks the wine?”

“... The masters! The masters of the machines!”

“Which is more pleasant: meat or dry bread?”

“Which is better: meat or dry bread?”

“... Meat is more pleasant!”

“Who eats the dry bread?”

“... We!”

“Who eats the meat?”

“... The masters! The masters of the machines!”

“Which is more pleasant to wear: blue linen or white silk?”

“Which is more comfortable to wear: blue linen or white silk?”

“... White silk is more pleasant to wear!”

“... White silk is more comfortable to wear!”

“Who wears the blue linen?”

“... We!”

“Who wears the white silk?”

“... The masters! The sons of the masters!”

“Where is it more pleasant to live: upon or under the earth?”

“Where is it more pleasant to live, above or below the earth?”

“... It is more pleasant to live upon the earth!”

“... It is nicer to live on earth!”

“Who lives under the earth?”

“Who lives underground?”

“... We!”

“Who lives upon the earth?”

“Who lives on the earth?”

“... The masters! The masters of the machines!”

“Where are your wives?”

“... In misery!”

“Where are your children?”

“... In misery!”

“What do your wives do?”

“... They starve!”

“... They are starving!”

“What do your children do?”

“... They cry!”

“What do the wives of the masters of the machines do?”

“What do the wives of the machine masters do?”

“... They feast!”

“What do the children of the masters of the machines do?”

“What do the children of those who control the machines do?”

“... They play!”

“Who are the providers?”

“... We!”

“Who are the squanderers?”

“Who are the people wasting everything?”

“... The masters! The masters of the machines!”

“What are you?”

“... Slaves!”

“No!—what are you?”

“No! What are you?”

“... Dogs!”

“No!—what are you?”

“No! What are you?”

“... Tell us!—tell us!”

“... Tell us! Tell us!”

“You are fools! Blockheads! Blockheads! Throughout your morning, your midday, your evening, your night, the machine howls for food, for food, for food—! You are the food! You are the living food!—The machine devours you like fodder and then spews you up again! Why do you batten the machines with your bodies?—Why do you oil the joints of the machines with your brains?—Why do you not let the machines starve, you fools?—Why do you not let them perish, blockheads—? Why do you feed them—? The more you feed them the more they greed for your flesh, for your bones, for your brains. You are ten thousand! You are a hundred thousand! Why do you not throw yourselves—a hundred thousand murdering fists—upon the machines and strike them dead—? You are the masters of the machines—you! Not the others who walk in their white silk—! Turn the world about—! Stand the world on its head—! Murder the living and the dead—! Take the inheritance from living and dead—! You have waited long enough—! The hour has come!”

“You are fools! Idiots! Idiots! Morning, noon, evening, and night, the machine howls for food, for food, for food! You are the food! You are living food! The machine devours you like animal feed and then spits you out again! Why do you feed the machines with your bodies? Why do you oil their joints with your brains? Why don’t you let the machines starve, you fools? Why don’t you let them die, idiots? Why do you feed them? The more you feed them, the more they crave your flesh, your bones, your brains. You are ten thousand! You are a hundred thousand! Why don’t you throw yourselves at the machines, a hundred thousand fists ready to kill? Why don’t you strike them dead? You are the masters of the machines, you! Not the others who walk around in white silk! Turn the world around! Turn the world upside down! Murder the living and the dead! Take the inheritance from the living and the dead! You have waited long enough! The time has come!”

A voice shouted from among the multitude:

A voice shouted from the crowd:

“Lead us on, Maria—!”

“Lead us, Maria!”

A mighty wave—all the heads broke forward. The blood-red mouth of the girl laughed and flamed. The eyes above it flamed, huge and greenish black. She raised her arms with an unspeakably difficult, burden-raising, sweet, mad gesture. The slim body grew and stretched itself up. The girl’s hands touched above her hair-parting. Over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, her knees, there ran an incessant, a barely perceptible trembling. It was as though the girl were carried higher and higher by this trembling, though she did not move her feet.

Like a mighty wave, all the heads surged forward. The girl’s blood-red mouth laughed and blazed. Above it, her huge, greenish-black eyes blazed. She raised her arms in a sweet, mad gesture, as if lifting an impossibly heavy burden. Her slim body rose and stretched upward. Her hands touched above the part in her hair. An endless, barely visible tremor ran through her shoulders, breasts, hips, and knees. It was as though the trembling carried her higher and higher, though she did not move her feet.

She said: “Come...! Come...! I will lead you...! I will dance the dance of Death before you...! I will dance the dance of the Murderers before you...!”

She said: “Come...! Come...! I will lead you...! I will dance the dance of Death for you...! I will dance the dance of the Murderers for you...!”

The multitude moaned. The multitude gasped. The multitude stretched out its hands. The multitude bowed head and neck low, as though its shoulders, its backs, should be a carpet for the girl. The multitude fell on its knees with a groan, one single beast felled with the hatchet. The girl raised her foot and stepped upon the neck of the outstretched beast....

The crowd moaned. The crowd gasped. The crowd reached out its hands. The crowd bowed its heads and necks low, as if its shoulders and backs should be a carpet for the girl. The crowd fell to its knees with a groan, a single beast struck down with a hatchet. The girl raised her foot and stepped onto the neck of the fallen beast....

A voice shouted out, sobbing with rage and pain:

A voice shouted, sobbing with rage and pain:

“You are not Maria—!”

“You are not Maria!”

The multitude turned around. The multitude saw a man standing in the background of the arch, a man, from whose shoulders the coat had fallen. Under the coat he wore the white silk. The man was more ghastly to see than one who has bled to death. He stretched out his hand and pointed to the girl. He yelled out:

The crowd turned around. They saw a man standing at the back of the arch. His coat had fallen from his shoulders, revealing the white silk he wore beneath it. He looked more ghastly than someone who had bled to death. He stretched out his hand and pointed to the girl. He shouted:

“You are not Maria!! No—!! You are not Maria—!!”

“You are not Maria!! No!! You are not Maria!!”

The heads of the multitude stared at the man who was a stranger among them, who wore the white silk....

The crowd stared at the man in white silk, a stranger among them....

“You are not Maria—!” he yelled. “Maria preaches peace—and not murder—!”

“You are not Maria!” he yelled. “Maria preaches peace, not murder!”

The eyes of the multitude began to glare dangerously.

The crowd's eyes began to glare with menace.

The girl stood bolt upright in the neck of the multitude. She began to totter. It seemed as though she would fall—fall over on to her white face in which the blood-red mouth—the mouth of deadly sin, flamed like hell-fire.

The girl stood rigidly upright in the narrow part of the crowd. She began to sway. It seemed she would fall forward onto her white face. Her blood-red mouth, the mouth of deadly sin, blazed like hellfire.

But she did not fall. She held herself upright. She swayed slightly, but she held herself upright. She stretched out her arm and pointed at Freder, calling in a voice which sounded like glass:

But she did not fall. She stayed upright. She swayed slightly, but she stayed upright. She stretched out her arm and pointed at Freder. She called out in a voice that sounded like glass:

“Look—! Look—! The son of Joh Fredersen—! The son of Joh Fredersen is among you—!”

“Look! Look! Joh Fredersen’s son! Joh Fredersen’s son is among you!”

The multitude shouted. The multitude hurled itself around. The multitude made to lay hold of the son of Joh Fredersen.

The crowd shouted. The crowd surged around. The crowd tried to seize Joh Fredersen's son.

He did not resist. He stood pressed against the wall. He stared at the girl with a gaze in which belief in eternal damnation was to be read. It seemed as if he were already dead, and as though his lifeless body were falling, ghost-like upon the fists of those who wished to murder him.

He did not resist. He stood pressed against the wall. He stared at the girl, his gaze showing his belief in eternal damnation. He seemed already dead, as if his lifeless body were falling like a ghost onto the fists of those who wanted to murder him.

A voice roared:

“Dog in white-silken skin—!!”

“Dog with white, silky skin!!”

An arm shot up, a knife flashed out....

An arm shot up, and a knife flashed....

Upon the billowing neck of the multitude stood the girl. It was as if the knife came flying from out her eyes....

The girl stood on the crowd's heaving neck. It was as if the knife came flying from her eyes....

But, before the knife could plunge into the white silk which covered the heart of the son of Joh Fredersen, a man threw himself as a shield before his breast, and the knife ripped open blue linen. Blue linen was dyed purple-red....

But before the knife could plunge into the white silk covering the heart of Joh Fredersen's son, a man threw himself in front of him as a shield. The knife ripped open the man's blue linen. The blue linen turned purple-red....

“Brothers...!” said the man. Dying, yet standing upright, he was covering the son of Joh Fredersen with his whole body. He turned his head a little to catch Freder’s glance. He said with a smile which was transfigured in pain:

“Brothers...!” said the man. Though dying, he stood upright, shielding Joh Fredersen’s son with his whole body. He turned his head slightly to catch Freder’s eye. He spoke with a smile transformed by pain:

“Brothers....”

Freder recognised him. It was Georgi. It was number eleven thousand eight hundred and eleven which was now going out, and which, going out, was protecting him.

Freder recognized him. It was Georgi. Number 11811 was going out now, protecting Freder as he went.

He wanted to push past Georgi. But the dying man stood like one crucified, with outstretched arms and hands clawing into the edge of the niches which were behind him. He held his eyes, which were like jewels, fixedly set on the multitude which was storming towards him.

He wanted to push past Georgi. But the dying man stood like someone crucified, his arms outstretched. His hands clawed at the edges of the niches behind him. His eyes, like jewels, stared fixedly at the crowd storming toward him.

“Brothers ...” he said.

“He said: ‘Murderers.... Brother murderers ...’” said the dying mouth.

The multitude left him alone and raced on. On the shoulders of the multitude the girl was dancing and singing. She sang with her blood-red mouth of deadly sin!

The crowd left him alone and raced on. The girl danced and sang on the shoulders of the crowd. With her blood-red mouth, she sang of deadly sin!

“We’ve passed sentence upon the machines! We have condemned the machines to death! The machines must die—to hell with them! Death!—Death!—Death to the machines—!”

“We’ve sentenced the machines! We’ve condemned the machines to death! The machines must die! To hell with them! Death! Death! Death to the machines!”

Like the rush of a thousand wings the step of the multitude thundered through the narrow passages of the City of the Dead. The girl’s voice died away. The steps died away. Georgi loosened his hands and pitched forward.

Like the rush of a thousand wings, the crowd’s footsteps thundered through the narrow passages of the City of the Dead. The girl’s voice faded away. The footsteps faded away. Georgi loosened his hands and fell forward.

Freder caught him. He sank upon his knee. Georgi’s head fell upon his breast.

Freder caught him. He sank to his knee. Georgi’s head fell against his chest.

“Warn ... warn ... the town ...” said Georgi.

“And are you dying—?” gave Freder as answer. His bewildered eyes ran along the walls in the niches of which slept the thousand-year-old dead. “There is no justice in this world!”

“And are you dying?” Freder replied. His bewildered eyes moved along the walls. In their niches slept the thousand-year-old dead. “There is no justice in this world!”

“Uttermost justice ...” said eleven thousand eight hundred and eleven. “From weakness—sin.... From sin—atonement.... Warn ... the town!—Warn...!”

“Perfect justice ...” said eleven thousand eight hundred and eleven. “Weakness leads to sin.... Sin leads to atonement.... Warn ... the town! Warn...!”

“I’m going to leave you alone—!”

“I’m going to leave you alone!”

“I beg you to ... beg you—!”

“I beg you to ... I beg you!”

Freder got up, despair in his eyes. He ran to the passage, in which the multitude had died away.

Freder got up, despair in his eyes. He ran to the passage, where the crowd had disappeared.

“Not that way—!” said Georgi. “You won’t get through that way any more—!”

“Not that way!” said Georgi. “You can’t get through that way anymore!”

“I know no other way....”

“I don't know any other way....”

“I’ll take you....”

“You are dying, Georgi! The first step is your death—!”

“You are dying, Georgi! The first step is your death!”

“Won’t you warn the town? Do you want to be an accessory?”

“Won’t you warn the town? Do you want to be involved in the crime?”

“Come!” said Freder.

He raised Georgi up. With his hand pressed to his wound, the man began to run.

He helped Georgi up. Pressing his hand to his wound, the man began to run.

“Pick up your lamp and come!” said Georgi. He ran so that Freder could hardly follow him. Into the ten-thousand-year-old dust dripped the blood which welled up from the freshly inflicted wound. He held Freder’s arm clasped, pulling him forwards.

“Pick up your lamp and come!” said Georgi. He ran so fast that Freder could hardly keep up. Blood from the fresh wound dripped into the ten-thousand-year-old dust. Georgi gripped Freder’s arm, pulling him forward.

“Hurry!” he murmured. “Hurry—there’s not time to lose!”

“Hurry!” he murmured. “Hurry, there’s no time to lose!”

Passages—crossings—passages—steps—passages—a flight of stairs which led steeply upward.... Georgi fell at the first step. Freder wanted to hold him. He pushed him away.

Passages, crossings, passages, steps, passages, a staircase leading steeply upward.... Georgi fell on the first step. Freder tried to hold him, but Georgi pushed him away.

“Hurry!” he said. He indicated the stairs with his head. “Up—! You can’t go wrong now ... hurry up—!”

“Hurry!” he said. He nodded toward the stairs. “Up! You can’t go wrong now ... hurry up!”

“And you, Georgi?—and you—?”

“And you, Georgi? And you?”

“I—” said Georgi, turning his head to the wall—“I am not going to answer any more questions....”

“I...” Georgi turned his head toward the wall. “I’m not going to answer any more questions....”

Freder let go of Georgi’s hand. He began to run up the stairs. Night embraced him—the night of Metropolis—this light-mad, drunken night....

Freder let go of Georgi’s hand and began to run up the stairs. Night embraced him. It was the night of Metropolis, wild with light and drunkenness....

Everything was still the same as usual. Nothing indicated the storm which was to break out from inside the earth, under Metropolis, to murder the machine-city.

Everything was still as usual. Nothing hinted at the storm that would erupt from inside the earth beneath Metropolis and kill the machine-city.

But it seemed to Joh Fredersen’s son as if the stones were giving way under his feet—as though he heard in the air the rushing of wings—the rushing of the wings of strange monsters: beings with women’s bodies and snakes’ heads—beings, half bull, half angel—devils adorned with crowns—human faced lions....

But Joh Fredersen’s son felt as if the stones were giving way beneath his feet. It was as if he could hear wings rushing through the air. They were the wings of strange monsters: beings with women’s bodies and snakes’ heads, beings half bull and half angel, devils wearing crowns, lions with human faces....

It seemed to him as if he saw death sitting on the New Tower of Babel, in hat and wide cloak, whetting his propped up scythe....

It seemed to him as if he saw death sitting on the New Tower of Babel. Death wore a hat and a wide cloak and sharpened his scythe, which was propped up....

He reached the New Tower of Babel. Everything was as usual. The Dawn was fighting the first fight with the Early Morning. He looked for his father. He did not find him. Nobody could say where Joh Fredersen had gone at midnight.

He reached the New Tower of Babel. Everything was as usual. Dawn was fighting its first battle with Early Morning. He looked for his father but could not find him. No one could say where Joh Fredersen had gone at midnight.

The Brain-pan of the New Tower of Babel was empty.

Freder wiped from his brow the sweat which was running in drops over his temples.

Freder wiped the sweat from his forehead as it dripped down his temples.

“I must find my father—!” he said. “I must call him—cost what it may!”

“I must find my father!” he said. “I must call him, no matter the cost!”

Men, with servants’ eyes looked at him. Men who knew nothing apart from blind obedience—who could not advise, still less help....

Men looked at him with the eyes of servants. They knew nothing but blind obedience. They could not advise him, much less help him....

Joh Fredersen’s son stepped into his father’s place, at the table where his great father used to sit. He was as white as the silk which he wore as he stretched out his hand and pressed his fingers on the little blue metal plate, which no man ever touched apart from Joh Fredersen.

Joh Fredersen’s son took his father’s place at the table where his great father used to sit. He was as pale as the silk he wore. He reached out and pressed his fingers on the small blue metal plate that no one but Joh Fredersen ever touched.

... Then the great Metropolis began to roar. Then she raised her voice—her Behemoth-voice. But she was not screaming for food—no, she was roaring:

... Then the great Metropolis began to roar. She raised her voice, her Behemoth voice. But she was not screaming for food. No, she was roaring:

Danger...!

Above the gigantic city, above the slumbering city, the monster-voice roared: Danger—! Danger—!

Above the giant city, above the sleeping city, the monster's voice roared: Danger! Danger!

A barely perceptible trembling ran through the New Tower of Babel, as if the earth which bore it were shuddering, frightened by a dream, betwixt sleeping and waking....

A barely noticeable tremor ran through the New Tower of Babel. It was as if the earth beneath it were shuddering, frightened by a dream, between sleep and waking....