Chapter 15

Maria did not dare to stir. She did not even dare to breathe. She did not close her eyes for quaking fear that, between the lowering and raising of her eye-lids, a fresh horror could come upon her and seize her.

Maria did not dare move. She did not even dare breathe. She kept her eyes open, trembling with fear that a new horror might seize her in the instant she closed them.

She did not know how much time had elapsed since the hands of Joh Fredersen had closed around the throat of Rotwang, the great inventor. The two men had been standing in the shadow; and yet it seemed to the girl as if the outline of both of their forms had remained behind in the darkness, in fiery lines: The bulk of Joh Fredersen, standing there, his hands thrown forward, like two claws;—Rotwang’s body, which hung in these claws, and which was dragged away—pulled forth—through the frame of the door, which closed behind them both.

She did not know how much time had passed since Joh Fredersen’s hands had closed around Rotwang’s throat. Rotwang was the great inventor. The two men had been standing in the shadows. Yet the girl felt as if their outlines remained there, drawn in fiery lines. She could still see Joh Fredersen’s massive figure, his hands thrust forward like two claws. Rotwang’s body hung in those claws as he was dragged away, pulled through the doorway. The door closed behind them both.

What was happening behind this door?...

What was happening behind this door?...

She heard nothing. She listened with all her senses—but she heard nothing, not the least sound....

She heard nothing. She listened with all her senses, but she heard nothing, not even the slightest sound....

Minutes passed—endless minutes.... There was nothing to be heard, neither step nor cry....

Minutes passed. Endless minutes.... Nothing could be heard, not a footstep or a cry....

Was she breathing, wall to wall, with murder?

Was she breathing murder from wall to wall?

Ah—that clutch at Rotwang’s neck.... That form, being dragged away, pulled from darkness into deeper darkness....

Ah, that grip on Rotwang’s neck.... That figure being dragged away, pulled from darkness into deeper darkness....

Was he dead?... Was he lying behind that door, in a corner, face twisted around to his back, with broken neck and glazed eyes? Was the murderer still standing behind that door?

Was he dead?... Was he lying in a corner behind that door, his face twisted toward his back, his neck broken and his eyes glazed? Was the murderer still standing behind that door?

The room, in which she was, seemed suddenly to become filled with the sound of a dull thumping. It grew louder and louder, more and more violent. It deafened the ears and yet remained dull.... Gradually she realised: It was her own heart-beat.... If somebody had come into the room, she would not have heard him, her heart was beating so.

The room she was in suddenly seemed to fill with a dull thumping. It grew louder and louder, more and more violent. It was deafening, yet still dull.... Gradually she realized it was her own heartbeat.... Her heart was beating so loudly that if someone had come into the room, she would not have heard him.

Stammered words of a childish prayer passed through her brain, confusedly and senselessly.... “Dear God, I pray Thee, bide with me, take care of me, Amen.”... She thought of Freder.... No—don’t cry, don’t cry—!

The stammered words of a child’s prayer ran through her mind, confused and senseless.... “Dear God, I pray you, stay with me, take care of me, Amen.”... She thought of Freder.... No, don’t cry, don’t cry!

“Dear God, I pray Thee....”

“Dear God, I pray to you....”

This silence was no longer bearable! She must see—must be certain.

She couldn't bear the silence any longer! She had to see. She had to be sure.

But she did not dare to take a step. She had got up and could not find courage to return to her old seat. She was as though sewn into a black sack. She held her arms pressed close to her body. Horrors stood at her neck and blew at her.

But she did not dare take a step. She had stood up, but could not find the courage to return to her seat. She felt as if she had been sewn into a black sack. She held her arms tight against her body. Horrors stood at her neck and blew on her.

Now she heard—yes, she heard something. Yet the sound did not come from inside the house; it came from far away. This sound even penetrated the walls of Rotwang’s house, which were otherwise penetrated by no sound, wherever it came from.

Now she heard something. Yes, she heard it. But the sound came from far away, not from inside the house. It even reached through the walls of Rotwang’s house. No other sound could reach through those walls, wherever it came from.

It was the voice of Metropolis. But she was screaming what she had never screamed before.

It was the voice of Metropolis. But she was screaming something she had never screamed before.

She was not screaming for food. She was screaming: Danger—! Danger—! The screaming did not stop. It howled on, incessantly. Who had dared to unchain the voice of the great Metropolis, which otherwise obeyed no one but Joh Fredersen? Was Joh Fredersen no longer in this house? Or was this voice to call him?—this wild roar of: Danger—! Danger—! What danger was threatening Metropolis? Fire could not be alarming the city, to make her roar so, as though she had gone mad. No high tide was threatening Metropolis. The elements were subdued and quiet.

She was not screaming for food. She was screaming: Danger! Danger! The screaming did not stop. It howled on without a pause. Who had dared to unleash the voice of the great Metropolis, which usually obeyed no one but Joh Fredersen? Was Joh Fredersen no longer in this house? Or was the voice calling him with its wild roar of: Danger! Danger! What danger was threatening Metropolis? Fire could not have alarmed the city enough to make her roar as if she had gone mad. No high tide was threatening Metropolis. The elements were subdued and quiet.

Danger—of man?... Revolt—?

Danger from man? ... Revolt?

Was that it—?

Was that it?

Rotwang’s words fluttered through her brain.... In the City of the Dead—what was going on in the City of the Dead? Did the uproar come from the City of the Dead? Was destruction welling up from the depths?

Rotwang’s words fluttered through her mind.... What was happening in the City of the Dead? Was the uproar coming from the City of the Dead? Was destruction rising from the depths?

Danger—! Danger—! screamed the voice of the great city.

Danger! Danger! screamed the voice of the great city.

As though by power of a thrust within, Maria ran, all at once, to the door and tore it open. The room which lay before her, just as that which she had left, received its solitary light—and sparely enough—through the window. At the first glance round, the room seemed to be empty. A strong current of air, coming from an invisible source, streamed, hot and even, through the room, bringing in the roaring of the town with renewed force.

As if driven by a force from within, Maria suddenly ran to the door and tore it open. The room beyond was dimly lit by a single window, just like the room she had left. At first glance, it seemed empty. A strong current of air flowed through the room from an unseen source. It was hot and steady, and it brought in the roar of the city with renewed force.

Maria stooped forward. She recognised the room. She had run along these walls in her despairing search for a door. There was a door, which had neither bolt nor lock. Copper-red, in the gloomy wood of the door, glowed the seal of Solomon, the pentagram. There, in the middle, was a square, the trap-door, through which, some time ago, a period which she could not measure, she had entered the house of the great inventor. The bright square of the window fell upon the square of the door.

Maria leaned forward. She recognized the room. In her desperate search for a door, she had run along these walls. There was a door with neither a bolt nor a lock. The seal of Solomon, the pentagram, glowed copper-red against the dark wood of the door. In the middle was a square trapdoor. She had entered the great inventor's house through it some time ago, though she could not tell how long ago. A bright square of light from the window fell on the square trapdoor.

A trap, thought the girl. She turned her head around....

A trap, the girl thought. She turned her head....

Would the great Metropolis never stop roaring—?

Would the great Metropolis never stop roaring?

Danger—! Danger—! Danger—! roared the town.

Danger! Danger! Danger! roared the town.

Maria took a step, then stopped again.

Maria took a step, then stopped again.

There was something lying over there. There was something lying there on the floor. Between her and the trap-door, something was lying on the floor. It was an unrecognisable heap. It was something dark and motionless. It might be human, and was, perhaps, only a sack. But it lay there and must be passed around if one wanted to reach the trap-door.

Something was lying over there. Something was lying on the floor. Between her and the trapdoor, something was lying on the floor. It was a heap she couldn't make out. It was dark and motionless. It might be a person, or perhaps just a sack. But it lay there, and she would have to go around it to reach the trapdoor.

With a greater display of courage than had ever before in her life been necessary, Maria silently set one foot before the other. The heap on the floor did not move. She stood, bending far forward, making her eyes reconnoitre, deafened by her own heart-beat and the roar of the uproar-proclaiming city.

With more courage than she had ever needed before, Maria silently put one foot in front of the other. The heap on the floor did not move. She leaned far forward, peering around. Her own heartbeat and the roar of the city announcing the uproar deafened her.

Now she saw clearly. What was lying there was a man. The man lay on his face, legs drawn tightly to his body, as though he had gathered them to him to push himself up and had then not found any more strength to do it. One hand lay thrown over his neck, and its crooked fingers spoke more eloquently than the most eloquent of mouths of a wild self-defence.

Now she could see clearly. A man lay there, face down, his legs pulled tightly against his body. It was as though he had drawn them up to push himself up, but then lacked the strength. One hand was thrown over his neck. Its crooked fingers spoke more eloquently than any mouth could of a wild struggle to defend himself.

But the other hand of the heap of humanity lay stretched far away from it, on the square of the trap-door, as though wishing, in itself, to be a bolt to the door. The hand was not of flesh and bone. The hand was of metal, the hand was the masterpiece of Rotwang, the great inventor.

But the other hand of the heap of humanity stretched far away, across the square trapdoor. It seemed to want to bolt the door shut itself. The hand was not made of flesh and bone. It was made of metal, the masterpiece of Rotwang, the great inventor.

Maria threw a glance at the door, on which the seal of Solomon glowed. She ran up to it, although she knew it to be pointless to implore this inexorable door for liberty. She felt, under her feet, distant, quite dull, strong and impelling, a shake, as of distant thunder.

Maria glanced at the door, where the seal of Solomon glowed. She ran to it, though she knew it was useless to beg the unyielding door to let her go. Under her feet, she felt a distant, muffled, powerful tremor, like faraway thunder.

The voice of the great Metropolis roared: Danger—!

The voice of the great Metropolis roared: Danger!

Maria clasped her hands and raised them to her mouth. She ran up to the trap-door. She knelt down. She looked at the heap of humanity which lay at the edge of the trap-door, the metal hand of which seemed obstinately to be defending the trap-door. The fingers of the other hand, thrown over the man’s neck, were turned towards her, poised high, like a beast before the spring.

Maria clasped her hands and raised them to her mouth. She ran to the trapdoor and knelt down. She looked at the crumpled figure lying at its edge. His metal hand seemed determined to defend the trapdoor. His other hand lay across the man's neck, its fingers raised toward her like a beast about to pounce.

And the trembling shake again—and now much mightier—

And the shaking returned, much stronger this time.

Maria seized the iron ring of the trap-door. She pushed it up. She wanted to pull up the door. But the hand—the hand which lay upon it—held the door clutched fast.

Maria grabbed the iron ring on the trapdoor and pushed it up. She tried to pull the door open. But the hand resting on the door held it firmly shut.

Maria heard the chattering of her teeth. She pushed herself across on her knees towards the motionless heap of humanity. With infinite care, she grasped the hand which lay, as a steel bolt, across the trap-door. She felt the coldness of death proceeding from this hand. She pressed her teeth into her white lips. As she pushed back the hand with all her strength, the heap of humanity rolled over on its side, and the grey face appeared, staring upwards....

Maria heard her teeth chattering. She crawled on her knees toward the motionless heap of humanity. With infinite care, she grasped the hand lying across the trapdoor like a steel bolt. She felt the coldness of death coming from it. She bit her white lips. As she pushed the hand back with all her strength, the heap of humanity rolled onto its side. A gray face appeared, staring upward....

Maria tore open the trap-door. She swung herself down, into the black square. She did not leave herself time to close the door. Perhaps it was that she had not the courage, once more to emerge from the depths she had gained, to see what lay up there, at the edge of the trap-door. She felt the steps under her feet, and felt, right and left, the damp walls. She ran through the darkness, thinking only half-consciously: If you lose your way in the City of the Dead....

Maria tore open the trapdoor. She swung herself down into the black square. She did not take time to close the door. Perhaps she could not bring herself to climb back up and see what lay at the edge of the trapdoor. She felt the steps under her feet and the damp walls on either side. She ran through the darkness, thinking only half-consciously: If you lose your way in the City of the Dead....

The red shoes of the magician occurred to her....

She remembered the magician's red shoes....

She forced herself to stand still, forced herself to listen....

She forced herself to stand still, forced herself to listen....

What was that strange sound which seemed to be coming from the passages round about?... It sounded like yawning—it sounded as though the stone were yawning. There was a trickling ... above her head a light grating sound grew audible, as though joint upon joint were loosening itself. Then all was still for a while. But not for long. Then the grating sound began again....

What was that strange sound coming from the passages around her? It sounded like yawning, as though the stone itself were yawning. There was a trickling sound. Above her head, a faint grating sound began, as though joint after joint were coming loose. Then everything was quiet for a while. But not for long. The grating sound began again.

The stone was living. Yes—the stone was living.... The stones of the City of the Dead were coming to life.

The stone was alive. Yes, the stone was alive.... The stones of the City of the Dead were coming to life.

The shock of extreme violence shook the earth on which Maria was standing. Rumbling of falling stones, trickling, silence.

A violent shock shook the ground beneath Maria's feet. Stones rumbled as they fell, then trickled down. Silence.

Maria was pitched against the stone wall. But the wall moved behind her. Maria shrieked. She threw up her arms and raced onwards. She stumbled over stones which lay across her way, but she did not fall. She did not know what was happening but the rustle of mystery which the storm drives along before it—the proclamation of a great evil, hung in the air above her, driving her forward.

Maria was thrown against the stone wall. But the wall moved behind her. Maria shrieked. She threw up her arms and ran on. She stumbled over stones in her path, but she did not fall. She did not know what was happening. But the mysterious rustling that a storm drives before it hung in the air above her. It announced a great evil and drove her forward.

There—a light in front of her! She ran towards it. An arched vault.... Great burning candles.... Yes, she knew the place. She had often stood here and spoken to those whom she called “brothers”.... Who, but she, had the right to light these candles? For whom had they burnt to-day? The flames blew sideways in a violent draught of air; the wax dropped.

There, a light ahead of her! She ran toward it. An arched vault.... Large candles burning.... Yes, she knew the place. She had often stood here and spoken to those she called “brothers”.... Who else had the right to light these candles? For whom had they burned today? A strong draft blew the flames sideways, and the wax dripped.

Maria seized a candle and ran on with it. She came to the background of the arched vault. A coat lay on the floor. None of her brothers wore such a coat over his blue linen uniform. She bent down. She saw, in the thousand-year-old dust of the arched vault, a trail of dark drops. She stretched out her hand and touched one of the drops. The tip of her finger was dyed red. She straightened herself up and closed her eyes. She staggered a little and a smile passed over her face as though she hoped she were dreaming.

Maria grabbed a candle and ran on. She reached the back of the arched vault. A coat lay on the floor. None of her brothers wore a coat like that over his blue linen uniform. She bent down. In the thousand-year-old dust of the vault, she saw a trail of dark drops. She reached out and touched one. The tip of her finger turned red. She stood up and closed her eyes. She staggered slightly, and a smile crossed her face, as if she hoped she was dreaming.

“Dear God, I pray Thee, bide with me, take care of me.... Amen....”

“Dear God, I pray to you, stay with me, take care of me.... Amen....”

She leant her head against the stone wall. The wall quaked. Maria looked right up. In the dark, black vaulting of the stone roof above her, there gaped a winding cleft.

She leaned her head against the stone wall. The wall shook. Maria looked up. A winding crack gaped in the dark, vaulted stone roof above her.

What did that mean...?

What did that mean...?

What was there—above her?

What was above her?

Up there were the mole-tunnels of the underground railway. What was happening up there—? It sounded as though three thousand giants were playing nine-pins with iron mountains, throwing them, one against the other, amid yells....

Up above were the mole tunnels of the underground railway. What was happening up there? It sounded as if three thousand giants were playing ninepins with iron mountains, hurling them against each other amid shouts....

The cleft gaped wider. The air was filled with dust. But it was not dust. It was ground stone.

The crack opened wider. The air was filled with dust. But it was not dust. It was ground stone.

The structure of the City of the Dead quaked right down to the centre of the earth. It was as if a mighty fist had suddenly opened a sluice—but, instead of water, a maelstrom of stones hurtled from the dammed-up bed—blocks, mortar, crumbles, stone-splinters, ruins poured down from the arch—a curtain of stones—a hail of stones. And above the falling and the smashing was the power of a thunder which was roaring, and roaring long and resonantly, through the destruction.

The City of the Dead shook all the way down to the center of the earth. It was as if a mighty fist had suddenly opened a floodgate. But instead of water, a whirlpool of stones rushed from the dammed-up bed. Blocks, mortar, crumbs, stone splinters, and rubble poured down from the arch. It was a curtain of stones, a hail of stones. Above the falling and smashing, thunder roared long and deep through the destruction.

A current of air, an irresistible whirl, swept the girl aside like a blade of straw. The skeletons rose up from the niches: bones rose up erect and skulls rolled! Doomsday seemed to be breaking over the thousand-year-old City of the Dead.

A gust of air, a powerful whirlwind, swept the girl aside like a blade of straw. The skeletons rose from their niches. Bones stood upright and skulls rolled! It seemed as if Doomsday had come to the thousand-year-old City of the Dead.

But above the great Metropolis the monster-voice was still howling and howling.

But above the great Metropolis, the monster-voice kept howling and howling.

Red lay the morning above the stone ocean of the city. The red morning saw, amidst the stone ocean of the city, rolling along, a broad, an endless stream.

The morning sky was red above the city's ocean of stone. Amid that ocean, a broad, endless stream rolled along.

The stream was twelve files deep. They walked in even step. Men, men, men, all in the same uniform; from throat to ankle in the dark blue linen, bare feet in the same hard shoes, hair tightly pressed down by the same black caps. And they all had the same faces. Wild faces, with eyes like fire-brands. And they all sang the same song—song without melody, but an oath—a storm vow:

The stream of men was twelve abreast. They walked in step. Men, men, men, all in the same uniform. They wore dark blue linen from throat to ankle, the same hard shoes on their bare feet, and the same black caps pressed tightly over their hair. And they all had the same faces. Wild faces, with eyes like flames. And they all sang the same song, a song without a melody, but an oath, a storm vow:

The girl danced along before the streaming, bawling multitude.

The girl danced ahead of the crowd as it streamed along, shouting.

She led the multitude on. She led the tramping multitude forward against the heart of the Machine-city of Metropolis.

She led the crowd on. She led the marching crowd forward against the heart of the Machine-city of Metropolis.

She said: “Come...! 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...! Come...! I’ll lead you...! I’ll dance the dance of Death before you.... I’ll dance the dance of the murderers before you...!”

“Destroy—destroy—destroy—!” yelled the crowd.

“Destroy, destroy, destroy!” yelled the crowd.

They acted without plan, and yet following a law. Destruction was the name of the law; they obeyed it.

They acted without a plan, yet they followed a law. That law was destruction, and they obeyed it.

The multitude divided. A broad stream poured itself, frothing, down into the tunnel of the underground railway.

The crowd split. A broad, frothing stream of people poured down into the subway tunnel.

The trains were standing ready on all the tracks. Searchlights wedged themselves into the darkness which crouched in the shafts, above the rails.

The trains stood ready on every track. Searchlights cut into the darkness crouching in the shafts above the rails.

The multitude yelled. Here was a plaything for giants! Were they not as strong as three thousand giants? They dragged the drivers from the drivers’ places. They released the trains and let them run—one after the other—forward—forwards!

The crowd yelled. Here was a plaything for giants! Weren't they as strong as three thousand giants? They pulled the drivers from their seats. They set the trains loose, one after another. Forward, forward!

The rails rumbled. The thundering carriage snakes, glitteringly lighted, hurled along by their emptiness, dashed into the brownish darkness. Two, three, four of the drivers fought like men possessed. But the mob sucked them up. “Will you shut your mouths, you dogs—? We are the masters! We want to play! We want to play like giants!”

The rails rumbled. The brightly lit trains thundered into the brownish darkness, rushing along because they were empty. Two, three, four drivers fought like men possessed. But the mob swallowed them up. “Will you shut your mouths, you dogs? We are the masters! We want to play! We want to play like giants!”

They howled the song—the song of their deadly hatred:

They howled the song, the song of their deadly hatred:

They counted the seconds:

They counted the seconds:

“Fifty-nine—sixty—sixty-one—sixty-two——now—!——”

“Fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one, sixty-two. Now!”

Somewhere in the depths of the tunnel, a crash, as if the globe were splitting....

Somewhere deep in the tunnel, a crash, as if the world were splitting apart....

“Once—and once again....”

“Once, and then again....”

The mob howled:

The mob howled:

Then—! What happened then?—Then!!—From one of the tunnels there broke forth a train, like a steed of fire, with sparkling lights, driverless, at a tearing speed—galloping death.

Then! What happened then? Then!! A train burst out of one of the tunnels, like a horse made of fire. Its lights sparkled. It had no driver and was racing at breakneck speed. It was galloping death.

From whence did this hell-horse come?—Where were the giants, who were thus giving answer to the giants’ game of the mob? The train vanished, amid shrieks—and, some seconds later, came the tearing crash from the depths of the pit. And the second train was crashing onwards, sent off by unknown hands.

Where had this hell-horse come from? Where were the giants answering the mob’s game of giants? The train vanished amid shrieks. A few seconds later, a ripping crash came from deep in the pit. And the second train was crashing onward, sent off by unknown hands.

The stones shook loose under the feet of the mob. Smoke gushed up from the pit. Suddenly the lights went out. Only the clocks, the whitish-shimmering clocks, hung, as patches of light, in a darkness which was filled with long, dim, drifting clouds.

Stones shook loose beneath the mob’s feet. Smoke poured up from the pit. Suddenly the lights went out. Only the clocks glowed with a pale, whitish light. They hung like patches of light in the darkness, amid long, dim, drifting clouds.

The mob pressed towards the stairs and up them. Behind them, unchained demons, pulling their reeling carriages along behind them, the engines, now released, hurled themselves on, to fall upon each other and break into flames....

The mob pushed toward the stairs and up them. Behind the mob, the engines were unleashed like demons, pulling their swaying carriages after them. They hurtled onward, crashing into one another and bursting into flames....

Metropolis had a brain.

Metropolis had a brain.

Metropolis had a heart.

Metropolis had a heart.

The heart of the machine-city of Metropolis dwelt in a white, cathedral-like building. The heart of the machine-city of Metropolis was guarded by one single man.

The heart of the machine-city of Metropolis was housed in a white, cathedral-like building. One man alone guarded the heart of the machine-city of Metropolis.

The man’s name was Grot, and he loved his machine.

The man’s name was Grot, and he loved his machine.

The machine was a universe to itself. Above the deep mysteries of its delicate joints, like the sun’s disc, like the halo of a divine being, stood the silver spinning wheel, the spokes of which appeared, in the whirl of revolution, as a single gleaming disc. This disc filled out the back wall of the building, with its entire breadth and height.

The machine was a universe of its own. Above the deep mysteries of its delicate joints stood a spinning silver wheel. It was like the disc of the sun, like the halo of a divine being. As the wheel spun, its spokes appeared to form a single gleaming disc. The disc filled the building’s back wall from side to side and floor to ceiling.

No machine in all Metropolis which did not receive its power from this heart.

Every machine in Metropolis received its power from this heart.

One single lever controlled this marvel of steel. All the treasures of the world heaped up before him would not, for Grot, have outweighed this, his machine.

A single lever controlled this marvel of steel. To Grot, all the treasures of the world piled before him were worth less than his machine.

When, at the grey hour of dawn, Grot heard the voice of the great Metropolis roaring, he glanced at the clock on the brow of the wall where was the door, and thought: “That’s against all nature and regularity....”

At gray dawn, Grot heard the great Metropolis roaring. He glanced at the clock above the door and thought: “That goes against all nature and regularity....”

When, at the red hour of sunrise, Grot saw the stream of the multitude rolling along, twelve files deep, led by a girl—dancing to the rhythm of the yelling mob, Grot set the lever of the machine to “Safety,” carefully closed the door of the building and waited.

At the red hour of sunrise, Grot saw a crowd streaming forward, twelve people across. A girl led them, dancing to the rhythm of the yelling mob. Grot set the machine's lever to “Safety,” carefully closed the building door, and waited.

The mob thundered against his door.

The mob pounded on his door.

“Oh—knock away!” thought Grot. “That door can stand a good bit....”

“Oh, keep knocking!” thought Grot. “That door can take quite a beating....”

He looked at the machine. The wheel was spinning slowly. The beautiful spokes were playing, plainly to be seen. Grot nodded to his beautiful machine.

He looked at the machine. The wheel was spinning slowly. Its beautiful spokes could be seen moving. Grot nodded to his beautiful machine.

“They will not trouble us long,” thought he. He waited for a signal from the New Tower of Babel. For a word from Joh Fredersen. The word did not come.

“They won’t trouble us for long,” he thought. He waited for a signal from the New Tower of Babel. For a word from Joh Fredersen. The word did not come.

“He knows,” thought Grot, “that he can rely on me....”

“He knows,” thought Grot, “that he can count on me....”

The door quaked like a giant drum. The mob hurled itself, a living battering ram, against it.

The door shook like a giant drum. The mob threw itself against the door like a living battering ram.

“There are rather a lot of them, it seems to me,” thought Grot. He looked at the door, it trembled, but it held. And it looked as though it would still hold for a long time.

“There seem to be quite a lot of them,” thought Grot. He looked at the door. It trembled, but it held. And it looked as though it would hold for a long time yet.

Grot nodded to himself in deep contentment. He would have loved to light his pipe, if only smoking had not been forbidden here. He heard the yelling of the mob, and rebound upon rebound against the singing door with a feeling of smug fierceness. He loved the door. It was his ally. He turned around and looked at his machine. He nodded at it affectionately: “We two—eh?... What do you say to that boozy lot of fatheads, machine?”

Grot nodded to himself, deeply satisfied. He would have loved to light his pipe, if only smoking had not been forbidden here. He heard the mob yelling and pounding again and again against the singing door. He felt a smug fierceness. He loved the door. It was his ally. He turned around and looked at his machine. He nodded at it affectionately: “The two of us, eh? What do you say to that drunken lot of idiots, machine?”

The storm before the door wound itself up into a typhoon. It was the hackling fury born of long resistance.

The storm outside the door grew into a typhoon. It was the grating fury born of long resistance.

“Open the door,—!!” hackled the fury. “Open the door, you damned scoundrel—!!”

“Open the door!!” the furious voice snarled. “Open the door, you damned scoundrel!!”

“Wouldn’t that just suit you!” thought Grot. How well the door was holding! His gallant door!

“Wouldn’t that be just what you want!” thought Grot. The door was holding so well! His brave door!

What were those drunken apes out there singing about?

What were those drunken apes out there singing about?

Ho ho ho—! He could sing too—could Grot! He could sing drunken songs, just fine! He kicked with both heels against the pedestal of the machine, upon which he was sitting. He pushed the black cap down lower in his neck. With his red fists resting upon his knees, opening wide his mouth, he sang with his whole throat, while his little, wild eyes were fixed on the door:

Ho ho ho! Grot could sing too! He could sing drunken songs just fine! He kicked both heels against the base of the machine he was sitting on. He pushed his black cap farther down the back of his neck. He rested his red fists on his knees and opened his mouth wide. He sang at the top of his lungs, his little, wild eyes fixed on the door:

The pedestal of the machine boomed under the drumming rhythm of his boot-heels....

The base of the machine boomed as his boot heels drummed against it....

But suddenly they both stopped: drumming and singing. An exceedingly powerful, exceedingly white light flared up three times, under the dome of the building. A sound-signal, as gentle and as penetrating as the gong-beat of a temple bell, became audible, overpowering every sound.

But suddenly, both the drumming and the singing stopped. An intensely bright, white light flashed three times under the building’s dome. A signal sounded, as gentle and penetrating as the strike of a temple bell. It drowned out every other sound.

“Yes!” said Grot, the guard of the Heart-machine.

“Yes!” said Grot, the guard of the Heart-machine.

He sprang to his feet. He raised his broad face, which shone with the joyful eagerness of obedience. “Yes, here I am!”

He jumped to his feet and lifted his broad face. It shone with a joyful eagerness to obey. “Yes, here I am!”

A voice said, slowly and clearly:

A voice said slowly and clearly:

“Open the door, and give up the machine!”

“Open the door and give up the machine!”

Grot stood motionless. Fists like hammers hung down from his arms. He gulped. But he said nothing.

Grot stood still. His fists hung at his sides like hammers. He swallowed. But he said nothing.

“Repeat instructions,” said the quiet voice.

“Repeat the instructions,” said the quiet voice.

The guard of the heart-machine swung his head violently this way and that, like a weighty bundle.

The guard of the heart-machine swung his head violently from side to side, like a heavy bundle.

“I ... I didn’t understand,” he said, gaspingly.

“I ... I didn’t understand,” he said, gasping.

The quiet voice spoke in a more forceful tone:

The quiet voice spoke more forcefully:

“Open the door and give up the machine!”

“Open the door and give up the machine!”

The man still said nothing, gazing stupidly upward.

The man still said nothing, staring stupidly upward.

“Repeat instructions,” said the quiet voice.

“Repeat the instructions,” said the quiet voice.

The guard of the Heart-machine drew in a great draught of air.

The guard of the Heart-machine took a deep breath.

“Who is speaking there—?” he asked. “What lousy swine is speaking there—?”

“Who’s speaking there?” he asked. “What lousy swine is speaking there?”

“Open the door, Grot....”

“Open the door, Grot....”

“The devil I will—!”

“Like hell I will!”

“... and give up the machine!”

“... and give up the machine!”

“The machine—?” said Grot, “the—my machine?”

“The machine?” said Grot. “The, my machine?”

“Yes,” said the quiet voice.

“Yes,” said the quiet voice.

The guard of the Heart-machine began to shake. His was a quite blue face, in which the eyes stood like whitish balls. The mob, which was throwing itself, as a buffer, against the ringing door yelled, hoarse with yelling:

The guard of the Heart-machine began to shake. His face was blue, and his eyes stood out like whitish balls. The mob threw itself like a battering ram against the ringing door and yelled, hoarse from shouting:

“Who is speaking there?” asked the man, so loudly that his words were a scream.

“Who is speaking there?” the man asked, his voice rising to a scream.

“Joh Fredersen is speaking.”

“Joh Fredersen speaking.”

“I want the pass-word.”

“I want the password.”

“The pass-word is one thousand and three. The machine is running on half power. You have set the lever to ‘Safety....’”

“The password is one thousand and three. The machine is running at half power. You have set the lever to ‘Safety....’”

The guard of the Heart-machine stood like a log. Then the log turned itself clumsily around, staggered to the door, and tore at the bolts.

The guard of the Heart-machine stood like a log. Then the log turned clumsily around, staggered to the door, and yanked at the bolts.

The mob heard it. It yelled triumph. The door flew open. The mob swept aside the man who was standing on its threshold. The mob hurled itself towards the machine. The mob made to lay hands upon the machine. A dancing girl was leading the mob on.

The mob heard it and shouted in triumph. The door flew open. The mob swept aside the man standing in the doorway. It rushed toward the machine and reached out to grab it. A dancing girl was leading the mob on.

“Look—!” she shouted. “Look—! The beating heart of Metropolis! What shall be done to the heart of Metropolis—?

“Look!” she shouted. “Look! The beating heart of Metropolis! What should be done to the heart of Metropolis?”

But the mob did not catch up the girl’s song. The mob stared over, at the machine—at the beating heart of the great machine-city, which was called Metropolis, and which they had fed. They pressed up slowly, as a single body, before the machine, which gleamed like silver. In the face of the mob stood hatred. In the face of the mob stood superstitious fear. Desire for the last destruction stood in the face of the mob.

But the mob did not join in the girl’s song. They stared at the machine, the beating heart of the great machine-city called Metropolis, which they had fed. They slowly pressed forward as one body, stopping before the machine that gleamed like silver. Hatred showed on their faces. So did superstitious fear. And so did the desire for total destruction.

But before it could take expression Grot, the guard, threw himself before his machine. There was no filthy word which he did not raise to chuck into the face of the mob. The dirtiest term of revilement was not dirty enough for him to apply to the mob. The mob turned red eyes upon him. The mob glared at him. The mob saw: The man there, in front of them, was abusing them in the name of the machine. For them, the man and the machine melted into one. Man and machine deserved the same hatred. They pushed forward against man and machine. They seized the man and meant the machine. They roared him down. They stamped him underfoot. They dragged him hither and thither and out of the door. They forgot the machine, for they had the man—had the guard of the heart-beat of all the machines—thinking that, in tearing the man away from the Heart-machine, they were tearing the heart from the breast of the great machine-city.

But before it could be expressed, Grot, the guard, threw himself in front of his machine. He hurled every filthy word he knew at the mob. No insult was too dirty for him to use against them. The mob turned red eyes on him. They glared at him. They saw that the man in front of them was abusing them in the name of the machine. To them, the man and the machine became one. Man and machine deserved the same hatred. They pushed forward against both. They seized the man, but their target was the machine. They drowned him out with their roars. They trampled him underfoot. They dragged him back and forth and out the door. They forgot the machine because they had the man, the guard of the heartbeat of all the machines. They thought that by tearing him away from the Heart-machine, they were tearing the heart from the great machine-city.

What should be done to the heart of Metropolis?

What should be done to the heart of Metropolis?

It should be trodden underfoot by the mob.

The mob should trample it underfoot.

“Death!” yelled the victorious mob. “Death to the machines!” yelled the victorious mob.

“Death!” yelled the triumphant mob. “Death to the machines!” yelled the triumphant mob.

They did not see that they no longer had a leader. They did not see that the girl was missing from the procession.

They did not see that they no longer had a leader. They did not see that the girl was missing from the procession.

The girl was standing before the Heart-machine of the city. Her smile was cool and silver. She stretched out her hand, which was more delicate than glass, she seized the weighty lever, which was set to “Safety.” She pressed the lever round, still smiling, then walked out, with light, mad, step.

The girl stood before the city’s Heart-machine. Her smile was cool and silver. She reached out with a hand more delicate than glass and seized the heavy lever. It was set to “Safety.” Still smiling, she turned the lever. Then she walked out with a light, mad step.

Behind her the machine began to race. Above the deep mysteries of its delicate joints, like the sun’s disc—like the halo of a divine being—stood the silver racing wheel, the spokes of which appeared, in the whirl of revolution, as a single circling disc.

Behind her, the machine began to race. Above the deep mysteries of its delicate joints stood the silver racing wheel. It looked like the sun’s disc, like the halo of a divine being. As the wheel spun, its spokes blurred into a single circling disc.

The heart of Metropolis, Joh Fredersen’s city, began to run up a temperature, seized by a deadly illness....

The heart of Metropolis, Joh Fredersen’s city, began to burn with fever, struck by a deadly illness....