Chapter 19

They had taken the children into the house and Freder’s eyes sought Maria, who was kneeling in the street, among the last remaining children, consoling them, and bestowing her loving smile upon weeping and bewildered eyes.

They had taken the children into the house. Freder looked for Maria. She was kneeling in the street among the last children still there. She comforted them, smiling lovingly at their tearful, bewildered faces.

Freder ran across to them and carried Maria into the house.

Freder ran over to them and carried Maria into the house.

“Don’t forget,” he said, letting her down upon a couch before the blazing fire in the entrance hall, and holding captive in his longing arms her half-lying, half-sitting, gently resisting form, “that Death and madness and something very like destruction of the world have passed very close by us—and that, after all that has happened, I do not even know the colour of your eyes—and that you have not yet kissed me once by your own free will....”

“Don’t forget,” he said, lowering her onto a couch before the blazing fire in the entrance hall. She lay half sitting up, gently resisting as he held her in his longing arms. “Death and madness and something very like the destruction of the world have passed very close to us. And after all that has happened, I still don’t even know the color of your eyes. And you haven’t yet kissed me once of your own free will....”

“Dearest,” said Maria, leaning towards him, so that her pure eyes, bathed in painless tears, were quite near to him, while, at the same time, a great, concentrated gravity kept her lips away from his, “are you sure that Death and madness have already passed by?”

“Dearest,” said Maria, leaning toward him until her pure eyes, filled with painless tears, were close to his. Yet a deep, intense seriousness kept her lips from his. “Are you sure that Death and madness have already passed us by?”

“By us, beloved—yes!”

“By us, my love, yes!”

“And all the others—?”

“And all the others?”

“Are you sending me away, Maria?” he asked, lovingly. She did not answer, at least not in words. But, with a gesture which was at once frank and touching, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him on the mouth.

“Are you sending me away, Maria?” he asked lovingly. She did not answer, at least not in words. But she put her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth, a gesture both open and touching.

“Go along,” she said, stroking his bewildered face with her virginal, motherly hands. “Go to your father. That is the most hallowed way.... I shall go to the children as soon as my clothes are a little dryer. For I’m afraid,” she added with a smile which made Freder blush to his eyes, “numerous as the women are who live in the ‘House of the Sons,’ and willing and eager as they may be, not one of them has a dress she could lend me...!”

“Go on,” she said, stroking his bewildered face with her innocent, motherly hands. “Go to your father. That is the most sacred path.... I’ll go to the children as soon as my clothes are a little drier. There are many women living in the ‘House of the Sons,’ and they may be willing and eager to help.” She smiled, and Freder blushed to his eyes. “But I’m afraid not one of them has a dress she could lend me...!”

Freder stood bending over her with lowered eyes. The flames of the huge fire glowed upon his handsome, open face, which wore an expression of shame and sadness. But when he raised his glance to meet Maria’s eyes, which were silently fixed upon him, without saying a word he took her hands and pressed them against his eye-lids, remaining thus for a long time.

Freder stood bending over her, his eyes lowered. The flames of the huge fire lit his handsome, open face, which showed shame and sadness. But when he looked up, he met Maria’s eyes. She was watching him silently. Without a word, he took her hands and pressed them against his eyelids. He stayed like that for a long time.

And all this while they both forgot that, on the other side of the wall which was protecting them, a city was throbbing in grisly conflict, and that among the ruins thousands of beings, themselves but ruins, hurled hither and thither, were losing their reason, and perishing, tortured by deadly fear.

All this while, they both forgot what was happening beyond the wall that protected them. The city was caught in a bloody struggle. Among the ruins, thousands of people, themselves reduced to ruins and thrown about, were losing their minds and dying in mortal terror.

The voice of the Archangel Michael, coming from the cathedral, recalled them to consciousness of the hour, and they parted hurriedly, as if caught neglecting their duty.

The voice of the Archangel Michael came from the cathedral, reminding them of the time. They hurriedly parted, as if caught neglecting their duty.

Maria listened to the man’s retreating step....

Maria listened to the man's footsteps as he walked away....

Then she turned and looked about her.

Then she turned and looked around her.

What a strange sound the Michael bell had.... The bell was calling so furiously—so agitatedly, as though to tumble over at every peal....

What a strange sound the Michael bell made.... It rang so furiously, so wildly, as if it might topple over with every peal....

Maria’s heart became an echo of the bell. It fluttered in its piteous fear, which had no source other than the general vibration of terror above the town. Even the warming flames of the fire frightened her, as if they had some knowledge of secrets of Horror.

Maria’s heart echoed the bell. It fluttered with pitiful fear, caused only by the wave of terror hanging over the town. Even the fire’s warming flames frightened her, as if they knew the secrets of Horror.

She sat up and put her feet to the ground. She felt the hem of her dress. It was still rather wet but she would go now. She took a few steps through the dimly-lighted room. How brown the air was outside the windows.... She hesitatingly opened the nearest door and listened....

She sat up and put her feet on the floor. She felt the hem of her dress. It was still quite wet, but she would go now. She took a few steps through the dimly lit room. How brown the air was outside the windows.... She hesitated, then opened the nearest door and listened....

She was standing in the room in which she had stood on the day when she saw Freder for the first time, when she had led the train of little, grey child-spectres to those who were care-free and joyous—when she had called to Freder’s heart with her gentle:

She was standing in the room where she had first seen Freder. That day, she had led the line of little, gray child-specters to those who were carefree and joyful. She had spoken gently to Freder’s heart:

“Look, these are your brothers!”

“Look, these are your brothers!”

But of all the dearly beloved sons of boundlessly wealthy fathers, to whom this house belonged, not one was to be seen. They must have left the tottering town long ago.

But none of the beloved sons of the enormously wealthy fathers who owned this house could be seen. They must have left the tottering town long ago.

Sparsely distributed candles were burning, giving the room an inward cosiness and a warm air of comfort. The room was filled with the tender twittering of sleepy child-voices, chattering like swallows before they fly to their nests.

A few candles burned around the room, giving it a cozy, warm air of comfort. The room was filled with the gentle twitter of sleepy children, chattering like swallows before they fly to their nests.

Answering them in tones which were but little darker, came the voices of the beautiful, brocaded, painted women, who had once been the playthings of the sons. Equally frightened at the thought of flight as of remaining where they were, they eventually stayed in the “House of the Sons,” being still undecided; and Maria had brought the children to them, because they could have found no better refuge; for, by the beautiful and dreadful chance of all that had taken place, the troup of loving little harlots became a troup of loving little mothers, burning with a new fire in the execution of their new duties.

The beautiful women answered them in voices only slightly deeper. Dressed in brocade and wearing makeup, they had once been the sons’ playthings. They were just as afraid to flee as they were to stay. Still undecided, they eventually stayed in the “House of the Sons.” Maria had brought the children to them because the children could have found no better refuge. For, by the beautiful and dreadful chance of all that had happened, the group of loving little harlots became a group of loving little mothers. A new fire burned in them as they carried out their new duties.

Not far from Maria the little drink-mixer was kneeling, washing the skinny slender-limbed body of Grot’s daughter, who was standing in front of her. But the child had taken the sponge from her hand, and, without saying a word, proceeding with intense gravity, was thoughtfully and untiringly washing the beautiful, painted face of the drink-mixer.

Not far from Maria, the little drink-mixer was kneeling and washing Grot’s daughter. The child stood before her, thin and slender-limbed. But she had taken the sponge from the drink-mixer’s hand. Without a word, she was washing the drink-mixer’s beautiful, painted face, thoughtfully and tirelessly, with great seriousness.

The girl knelt quite still, her eyes closed, neither did she move when the child’s hands began to dry her face with the rough towel. But Grot’s daughter was not quite successful in this undertaking; for, whenever she dried the girl’s cheeks, again and again did the swift, bright drops run over them. Until Grot’s daughter dropped the towel to look at the girl who was kneeling before her inquiringly, and not without reproach. Upon which the girl caught the child in her arms, pressing her forehead to the heart of the silent creature, uttering to this heart words of love which she had never found before.

The girl knelt perfectly still with her eyes closed. She did not move even when the child began drying her face with the rough towel. But Grot’s daughter could not quite manage it. Whenever she dried the girl’s cheeks, bright tears quickly ran down them again. At last, Grot’s daughter dropped the towel and looked at the girl kneeling before her. Her look was questioning, and not without reproach. Then the girl caught the child in her arms and pressed her forehead to the silent creature’s heart. She spoke words of love to that heart, words she had never found before.

Maria passed by with soundless step.

Maria walked past silently.

But when the door to the hall, into which no noise from the noisy Metropolis could penetrate, closed behind her, the ore-voice of the angel of the cathedral struck at her breast like a fist of steel, that she stood still, stunned, raising her hands to her head.

But when the door closed behind her, the hall was sealed off from all the noise of Metropolis. The cathedral angel's metallic voice struck her chest like a steel fist. Stunned, she stood still and raised her hands to her head.

Why was Saint Michael crying out so angrily and wildly? Why was the roar of Azrael, the angel of Death joining in so alarmingly?

Why was Saint Michael crying out so angrily and wildly? Why was Azrael, the angel of Death, joining in with such an alarming roar?

She stepped into the street. Darkness, like a thick layer of soot, lay over the town, and only the cathedral shimmered, ghost-like, a wonder of light, but not of grace.

She stepped into the street. Darkness covered the town like a thick layer of soot. Only the cathedral shimmered like a ghost, a wonder of light but not of grace.

The air was filled with a spectral battle of discordant voices. Howling, laughing, whistling, were to be heard. It was as though a gang of murderers and robbers were passing by—in the unrecognisable depths of the street. Mingled with them, shrieks of women, wild with excitement....

The air was filled with a ghostly battle of clashing voices. People were howling, laughing, and whistling. It sounded as if a gang of murderers and robbers were passing through the dark depths of the street. Mixed with their voices were the shrieks of women, wild with excitement....

Maria’s eyes sought the New Tower of Babel. She had only one way in her mind: to Joh Fredersen. She would go there. But she never went.

Maria looked toward the New Tower of Babel. She had only one destination in mind: Joh Fredersen. She would go to him. But she never did.

For suddenly the air was a blood-red stream, which poured itself forth, flickering, formed by a thousand torches. And the torches were dancing in the hands of beings who were crowding out of Yoshiwara. The faces of the beings shone with insanity, every mouth parted in a gasp, yet the eyes which blazed above them were the bursting eyes of men choking. Each was dancing the dance of Death with his own torch, whirling madly about, and the whirl of the dancers formed a train, revolving in itself.

Suddenly, the air was a flickering stream of blood-red light from a thousand torches. The torches danced in the hands of beings crowding out of Yoshiwara. Their faces shone with madness, and every mouth hung open in a gasp. Yet above them, their blazing eyes bulged like the eyes of choking men. Each danced the dance of Death with his own torch, whirling madly. Together, the whirling dancers formed a procession that revolved in on itself.

“Maohee—!” flew the shrill cries above it. “Dance—dance—dance—Maohee—!”

“Maohee!” Shrill cries rose above it. “Dance, dance, dance, Maohee!”

But the flaming procession was led by a girl. The girl was Maria. And the girl was screaming with Maria’s voice:

But a girl led the flaming procession. The girl was Maria. And she was screaming in Maria’s voice:

“Dance—dance—dance—Maohee!”

“Dance, dance, dance, Maohee!”

She crossed the torches like swords above her head. She swung them right and left, brandishing them so that showers of sparks fell about the way. Sometimes it seemed as if she were riding on the torches. She raised her knees to her breast, with laughter which brought a moan from the dancers of the procession.

She crossed the torches above her head like swords. She waved them from side to side, scattering showers of sparks along the way. Sometimes it seemed as if she were riding on the torches. She raised her knees to her chest, laughing in a way that made the dancers in the procession moan.

But one of the dancers ran along at the girl’s feet, like a dog, crying incessantly:

But one of the dancers ran at the girl’s feet like a dog, crying out nonstop:

“I am Jan! I am Jan! I am the faithful Jan! Hear me, at last, Maria!”

“I am Jan! I am Jan! I am faithful Jan! Listen to me at last, Maria!”

But the girl struck him in the face with her sparkling torch.

But the girl hit him in the face with her sparkling torch.

His clothes caught fire. He ran for some time, a living torch, along by the girl. His voice sounded as if from the blaze:

His clothes caught fire. For a while, he ran beside the girl, a living torch. His voice sounded as if it came from the flames:

“Maria—! Maria—!”

“Maria! Maria!”

Then he swung himself up on to the parapet of the street and hurled, a streak of fire, into the blackness of the depths.

Then he climbed onto the street's parapet and hurled himself into the black depths, a streak of fire.

“Maohee—! Maohee—!” called the girl, shaking her torch.

“Maohee! Maohee!” the girl called, shaking her torch.

The procession was endless. The procession was endless. The street was already covered, as far as the eye could see, with circling torches. The shrieks of the dancers mixed themselves sharply and shrilly with the angry voices of the archangels of the cathedral. And behind the train, as though tugged along by invisible, unbreakable cords, there reeled a girl, the damp hem of the hose dress lashed about her ankles, whose hair was falling loose under the clawing fingers which she pressed to her head, whose lips babbled a name in ineffectual entreaty: “Freder.... Freder.....”

The procession was endless. The procession was endless. As far as the eye could see, circling torches filled the street. The dancers’ shrieks mingled sharply and shrilly with the angry voices of the cathedral’s archangels. Behind the procession, a girl staggered along, as though pulled by invisible, unbreakable cords. The damp hem of her hose dress whipped around her ankles. Her hair was coming loose as she pressed her clawing fingers to her head. Her lips babbled a name in a futile plea: “Freder.... Freder.....”

The smoke-swathes from the torches hovered like the grey wings of phantom birds above the dancing train.

Streams of smoke from the torches hovered above the dancing procession like the gray wings of ghostly birds.

Then the door of the cathedral was opened wide. From the depths of the cathedral came the rushing of the organ. There mixed itself in the fourfold tone of the archangel bells, in the rushing of the organ, in the shrieks of the dancers, an iron-tramping, mighty choir.

Then the cathedral door opened wide. The organ roared from deep within the cathedral. A mighty choir, like the tramp of iron feet, joined the fourfold sound of the archangel bells, the organ's roar, and the dancers' shrieks.

The hour of the monk Desertus had come.

The monk Desertus's time had come.

The monk Desertus was leading on his own.

The monk Desertus was leading on his own.

Two by two walked those who were his disciples. They walked on bare feet, in black cowls. They had thrown their cowls back from their shoulders. They carried the heavy scourges in both hands. They swung the heavy scourges in both hands, right and left, right and left, upon the bare shoulders. Blood trickled down from the scourged backs. The Gothics sang. They sang to the time of their feet. To the time of their scourge strokes did they sing.

His disciples walked two by two. They were barefoot and wore black cowls, which they had thrown back from their shoulders. They carried heavy whips in both hands. They swung the whips right and left, right and left, striking their bare shoulders. Blood trickled down their whipped backs. The Gothics sang. They sang in time with their footsteps. They sang in time with the strokes of their whips.

The monk Desertus was leading the Gothics on.

The monk Desertus was leading the Gothics onward.

The Gothics bore a black cross before them. It was so heavy that twelve men had to carry it, pantingly. It swayed, held up by dark cords.

The Gothics carried a black cross in front of them. It was so heavy that twelve men had to carry it, panting. The cross swayed, held up by dark cords.

And on the cross hung the monk Desertus.

And the monk Desertus hung on the cross.

The black flames of the eyes in the flame-white face were fixed upon the procession of dancers. The head was raised. The pale mouth was opened.

The black flames of the eyes in the flame-white face stared at the procession of dancers. The head was raised. The pale mouth was open.

“See!” shouted the monk Desertus in a voice which all-powerfully out-rang, the fourfold tone of the archangel bells, the rushing of the organ, the choir of scourge-swingers and the shrieks of the dancers: “See—! Babylon, the great—! The Mother of Abominations—! Doomsday is breaking—! The destruction of the world—!”

“Look!” shouted the monk Desertus. His voice rang out above the fourfold sound of the archangel bells and the roaring organ. It drowned out the choir of people swinging whips and the dancers’ shrieks. “Look! Babylon the Great! The Mother of Abominations! Doomsday is coming! The destruction of the world!”

“Doomsday is breaking—! The destruction of the world—!” chanted the choir of his followers after him.

“Doomsday is coming! The world is ending!” his followers chanted in chorus after him.

“Dance—dance—dance—Maohee—!” shrieked the voice of the girl leading the dancers. And she swung her torches over her shoulders, and hurled them far from her. She tore her gown from shoulders and breasts, standing, a white torch, stretching up her arms and laughing, shaking her hair; “Dance with me, Desertus—dance with me—!”

“Dance, dance, dance, Maohee!” shrieked the girl leading the dancers. She swung her torches over her shoulders and threw them far away. She tore her gown from her shoulders and breasts. Standing like a white torch, she stretched up her arms, laughing and shaking her hair. “Dance with me, Desertus, dance with me!”

Then the girl, dragging herself along at the end of the train, felt that the cord, the invisible cord upon which she was hanging, snapped. She turned around and began, not knowing, whither, to run—only to get away—only to get away—no matter where to—only to get away—!

Then the girl, dragging herself along at the end of the train, felt the invisible cord holding her snap. She turned around and ran, not knowing where. She just wanted to get away, just to get away, no matter where, just to get away!

The streets flashed by in a whirl. She ran and ran, down, and down, and at last she saw, running along the bottom of the street and towards her, a wild mob of people, saw, too, that the men wore the blue linen uniform and sobbed in relief:

The streets flashed past in a blur. She ran on and on, downhill. At last she saw a wild crowd running toward her along the bottom of the street. The men wore blue linen uniforms. She sobbed with relief:

“Brothers—brothers—!”

“Brothers, brothers!”

And stretched out her hands.

And stretched out her hands.

But a furious roar answered her. Like a collapsing wall, the mass hurled itself forward, shook itself loose and began to tear along, roaring loudly.

But a furious roar answered her. Like a collapsing wall, the mass of people surged forward, broke loose, and rushed on, roaring loudly.

“There she is—! There she is—! The bitch, who is to blame for it all—! Take her—! Take her—!”

“There she is! There she is! The bitch is to blame for it all! Get her! Get her!”

The women’s voices shrieked:

The women shrieked:

“The witch—! Kill the witch—! Burn her before we all drown!”

“The witch! Kill the witch! Burn her before we all drown!”

And the trampling of running feet filled the dead street, through which the girl fled, with the din of hell broken loose.

As the girl fled down the deserted street, the pounding of running feet filled it with the roar of hell unleashed.

The houses flashed by in a whirl. She did not know the way in the dark. She sped on, running aimlessly, in a blind horror, which was the deeper for her not knowing its origin.

The houses flashed by in a blur. She did not know the way in the dark. She ran on without direction, in blind terror. Her terror was all the greater because she did not know what had caused it.

Stones, cudgels, fragments of steel, flew at her from behind. The mob roared in a voice which was no longer human:

Stones, clubs, and pieces of steel flew at her from behind. The mob roared in a voice that was no longer human:

“After her—! After her—! She’ll escape us—! Quicker—!! Quicker—!!”

“After her! After her! She’ll get away! Faster! Faster!”

Maria could no longer feel her feet. She did not know if she was running on stones or water. Her panting breath came through lips which stood apart as those of one drowning. Up streets, down streets.... A twirling dance of lights was staggering across the way, far ahead of her.... Far away, at the end of the enormous square, in which Rotwang’s house also lay, the mass of the cathedral rested upon the earth, weighty and dark, yet showing a tender, reassuring shimmer, which fell through cheerful stained-glass windows and through open portal, out into the darkness.

Maria could no longer feel her feet. She did not know whether she was running on stones or water. She gasped through parted lips like someone drowning. Up streets, down streets.... Far ahead of her, lights danced and staggered across the street.... Far away, at the end of the enormous square where Rotwang’s house stood, the cathedral rested on the earth. It was massive and dark, yet a gentle, reassuring glow shone into the darkness. It came through the cheerful stained-glass windows and the open doorway.

Suddenly breaking out into sobs, Maria threw herself forward with her last, entirely despairing strength. She stumbled up the cathedral steps, stumbled through the portal, perceived the odour of incense, saw little, pious candles of intercession before the image of a gentle saint who was suffering smilingly, and collapsed on to the flags.

Suddenly, Maria burst into sobs and threw herself forward with the last of her strength, utterly despairing. She stumbled up the cathedral steps and through the entrance. She smelled incense and saw small prayer candles before an image of a gentle saint, smiling despite suffering. Then she collapsed onto the stone floor.

She no longer saw how, at the double opening of the street which led to the cathedral, the stream of dancers from Yoshiwara coincided with the roaring stream of workmen and women, did not hear the bestial shriek of the women at the sight of the girl who was riding along on the shoulders of a dancer—who was torn down, overtaken, captured and stamped to earth—did not see the short, ghastly hopeless conflict of the men in evening dress with the men in blue linen—nor the ridiculous fight of the half-naked women before the claws and fists of the workmen’s wives.

She no longer saw the stream of dancers from Yoshiwara meet the roaring stream of working men and women. They met at the double entrance to the street leading to the cathedral. She did not hear the women shriek like animals when they saw the girl riding on a dancer’s shoulders. The girl was pulled down, overtaken, seized, and trampled to the ground. She did not see the brief, horrifying, hopeless fight between the men in evening dress and the men in blue linen. Nor did she see the ridiculous struggle of the half-naked women against the claws and fists of the workmen’s wives.

She lay in deep oblivion, in the great, mild solemnity of death, and from the depths of her unconsciousness she was not awakened even by the roaring voice of the mob which was erecting a bonfire for the witch, before the cathedral.

She lay in deep oblivion, in the great, gentle solemnity of death. Even the roar of the mob building a bonfire for the witch outside the cathedral did not wake her.