Chapter 17

10 min

Maria felt something licking at her feet, like the tongue of a great, gentle dog. She bent down to fumble for the animal’s head, and felt that it was water into which she was groping.

Maria felt something licking her feet, like the tongue of a big, gentle dog. She bent down and reached for the animal’s head. But she found that she was reaching into water.

From where did the water come? It came silently. It did not splash. Neither did it throw up waves. It just rose—unhurriedly, yet persistently. It was not colder than the air round about. It lapped about Maria’s ankles.

Where did the water come from? It came silently. It did not splash or make waves. It just rose, slowly but steadily. It was no colder than the air around it. It lapped around Maria’s ankles.

She snatched her feet back. She sat, crouched down, trembling, listening for the water which could not be heard.

She pulled her feet back quickly. She sat crouched down, trembling, listening for the water she could not hear.

From where did it come?

Where did it come from?

It was said that a river wound its way deep under the city. Joh Fredersen had walled up its course when he built the subterranean city, the wonder of the world, for the workmen of Metropolis. It was also said that the stream fed a mighty water-basin and that there were pump-works there, which were powerful enough, inside of less than ten hours either completely to empty or to fill the water-basin—in which there was room for a medium-sized city. One thing was certain—that, in the subterranean, workmen’s city, the throbbing of these pumps was constantly to be heard, as a soft, incessant pulse-beat, if one laid one’s head against a wall—and that, if this pulse-beat should ever become silent, no other interpretation would be conceivable than that the pumps had stopped, and that then the river was rising.

It was said that a river wound deep beneath the city. Joh Fredersen had walled up its course when he built the underground city for the workers of Metropolis. That city was the wonder of the world. It was also said that the river fed a vast reservoir. The reservoir had enough room for a medium-sized city. Its pumps were powerful enough to empty or fill it completely in less than ten hours. One thing was certain. In the underground workers’ city, anyone who pressed their head against a wall could hear the pumps throb. They sounded like a soft, steady pulse. If that pulse ever fell silent, it could only mean that the pumps had stopped and the river was rising.

But they had never—never stopped.

But they had never, never stopped.

And now—? From where was the silent water coming?—Was it still rising—?

And now? Where was the silent water coming from? Was it still rising?

She bent forward. She did not have to stretch her hand down very low to touch the cool brow of the water.

She leaned forward. She did not have to reach down far to touch the cool surface of the water.

Now she felt, too, that it was flowing. It was making its way with great certainty of aim in one direction. It was making its way towards the subterranean city—

Now she felt it flowing too. It was moving steadily and purposefully in one direction. It was heading toward the underground city.

Old books tell of saintly women, whose smile at the moment of preparing themselves to gain the martyr’s crown, was of such sweetness that the torturers fell at their feet and hardened heathens praised the name of God.

Old books tell of saintly women who smiled as they prepared to receive the martyr’s crown. Their smiles were so sweet that their torturers fell at their feet, and hardened heathens praised the name of God.

But Maria’s smile was, perhaps, of a still sweeter kind. For, when setting about her race with the silent water, she thought, not of the crown of eternal bliss, but only of death and of the man she loved—

But Maria’s smile was perhaps even sweeter. As she began her race with the silent water, she thought only of death and the man she loved, not of the crown of eternal bliss.

Yes, now the water seemed horribly cool, as her slender feet dipped down into it, and it murmured as she ran along through it. It soaked itself into the hem of her dress, clinging tight and making progress more and more difficult. But that was not the worst. The worst was that the water also began to have a voice.

Yes, the water now felt horribly cool as her slender feet dipped into it. It murmured as she ran through it. It soaked into the hem of her dress and clung tightly, making it harder and harder to move. But that was not the worst of it. The worst was that the water also began to have a voice.

The water quoth: “Do you know, beautiful Maria, that I am fleeter than the fleetest foot? I am stroking your sweet ankles. I shall soon clutch at your knees. No one has ever embraced your tender hips. But I shall do so, and before your steps number a thousand more. And I do not know, beautiful Maria, if you will reach your destination, before you can refuse me your breast....

The water said: “Do you know, beautiful Maria, that I am faster than the fastest runner? I am stroking your sweet ankles. Soon I will clutch your knees. No one has ever embraced your tender hips. But I will, before you have taken another thousand steps. And I do not know, beautiful Maria, if you will reach your destination before you can deny me your breast....

“Beautiful Maria, Doomsday has come! It is bringing the thousand-year-old dead to life. Know, that I have flooded them out of their niches and that the dead are floating along behind you! Do not look round, Maria, do not look round! For two skeletons are quarrelling about the skull which floats between them—swirling around and grinning. And a third, to whom the skull really belongs, is rearing up within me and falling upon them both....

“Beautiful Maria, Doomsday has come! It is bringing the thousand-year-old dead back to life. I have flooded them out of their niches, and they are floating along behind you! Don’t look back, Maria, don’t look back! Two skeletons are fighting over the skull floating between them. It is swirling around and grinning. A third skeleton, the one the skull really belongs to, is rising up inside me and attacking them both....

“Beautiful Maria, how sweet are your hips.... Is the man whom you love never to find that out? Beautiful Maria, listen to what I say to you: only a little to one side of this way, a flight of stairs leads steeply upward, leading to freedom.... Your knees are trembling ... how sweet that is! Do you think to overcome your weakness by clasping your hands? You call upon God, but believe me: God does not hear you! Since I came upon the earth as the great flood, to destroy all in existence but Noah’s ark, God has been deaf to the scream of His creatures. Or did you think I had forgotten how the mothers screamed then? Have you more responsibility on your conscience than God on His? Turn back, beautiful Maria, turn back!

“Beautiful Maria, how sweet your hips are.... Will the man you love never find that out? Beautiful Maria, listen to me: just a little way off this path, a staircase climbs steeply to freedom.... Your knees are trembling ... how sweet that is! Do you think you can overcome your weakness by clasping your hands? You call on God, but believe me: God does not hear you! I came to earth as the great flood, to destroy everything but Noah’s ark. Ever since then, God has been deaf to the screams of his creatures. Or did you think I had forgotten how the mothers screamed then? Do you have more on your conscience than God has on his? Turn back, beautiful Maria, turn back!

“Now you are making me angry, Maria—now I shall kill you! Why are you letting those hot, salty drops fall down into me? I am clasping you around your breast, but it no longer stirs me. I want your throat and your gasping mouth! I want your hair and your weeping eyes!

“Now you’re making me angry, Maria. Now I’ll kill you! Why are you letting those hot, salty drops fall into me? I’m holding you around your breast, but it no longer excites me. I want your throat and your gasping mouth! I want your hair and your weeping eyes!

“Do you believe you have escaped me? No, beautiful Maria! No—now I shall fetch you with a thousand others—with all the thousand which you wanted to save....”

“Do you think you’ve escaped me? No, beautiful Maria! No. Now I’ll come for you and a thousand others. All the thousand you wanted to save....”

She dragged her dripping body up from the water. She crawled upwards, over stone slabs; she found the door. She pushed it open and slammed it behind her, peering to see if the water were already lapping over the threshold.

She dragged her dripping body out of the water. She crawled up over the stone slabs and found the door. She pushed it open and slammed it behind her. Then she looked to see if the water was already spilling over the threshold.

Not yet ... not yet. But how much longer?

She could not see a soul as far as her eye could reach. The streets, the squares, lay as if dead—bathed in the whiteness of the moonlight. But she was mistaken—or was the light growing weaker and yellower from second to second?

She could not see anyone as far as she could see. The streets and squares looked dead, bathed in white moonlight. But was she mistaken, or was the light growing dimmer and yellower with each passing second?

An impact, which threw her against the nearest wall, ran through the earth. The iron door through which she had come flew from its bolts and gaped open. Black and silent, the water slipped over the threshold.

An impact shook the ground and threw her against the nearest wall. The iron door she had come through flew off its bolts and swung open. Black and silent, the water slipped over the threshold.

Maria collected herself. She screamed with her whole lungs:

Maria pulled herself together. She screamed at the top of her lungs:

“The water’s coming in—!”

“The water’s coming in!”

She ran across the square. She called for the guard, which, being on constant duty, had to give the alarm signal in danger of any kind.

She ran across the square and called for the guard. The guard was always on duty and had to sound the alarm whenever there was danger.

The guard was not there.

A wild upheaval of the earth dragged the girl’s feet from under her body and hurled her to the ground. She raised herself to her knees and stretched up her hands in order, herself, to set the siren howling. But the sound which broke from the metal throat was only a whimper, like the whimpering of a dog, and the light grew more and more pale and yellow.

The earth heaved violently, sweeping the girl off her feet and throwing her to the ground. She rose to her knees and reached up to set the siren howling herself. But the sound from its metal throat was only a whimper, like a dog’s. The light grew paler and more yellow.

Like a dark, crawling beast, in no hurry, the water wound its way across the smooth street.

Like a dark, crawling beast, the water slowly wound its way across the smooth street.

But the water did not stand alone in the street. Suddenly, in the midst of a puzzling and very frightening solitude, a little half-naked child was standing there: her eyes, which were still being protected, by some dream, from the all too real, were staring at the beast, at the dark, crawling beast, which was licking at its bare little feet.

But the water was not alone in the street. Suddenly, a little half-naked girl stood there in the strange, frightening solitude. Some dream still protected her eyes from reality. She stared at the beast, the dark, crawling beast licking at her bare little feet.

With a scream, in which distress and deliverance were equally mingled, Maria flew to the child and picked it up in her arms.

Maria screamed with equal parts distress and relief. She rushed to the child and picked it up in her arms.

“Is there nobody here but you, child?” she asked, with a sudden sob. “Where is your father?”

“Is anyone here with you, child?” she asked, suddenly sobbing. “Where is your father?”

“Gone....”

“Where is your mother?”

“Gone....”

Maria could understand nothing. Since her flight from Rotwang’s house, she had been hurled from horror to horror, without grasping a single thing. She still took the grating of the earth, the jerking impacts, the roar of the awful, tearing thunder the water which gushed up from the shattered depths, to be the effects of the unchained elements. Yet she could not believe that there existed mothers who would not throw themselves as a barrier before their children when the earth opened her womb to bring forth horror into the world.

Maria could understand nothing. Since escaping from Rotwang’s house, she had been thrown from one horror to another without understanding any of it. She still believed the raging elements were responsible for the grinding earth, the jolts, and the terrible, ripping thunder. She thought they had also caused the water to gush up from the shattered depths. Yet she could not believe that any mother would fail to shield her children with her own body when the earth opened her womb to bring horror into the world.

Only—the water which crawled up nearer and nearer, the impacts which racked the earth, the light which became paler and paler, gave her no time to think. With the child in her arms, she ran from house to house, calling to the others, which had hidden themselves.

But the water crept closer and closer, impacts shook the earth, and the light grew fainter and fainter. She had no time to think. With the child in her arms, she ran from house to house, calling to the others who had hidden themselves.

Then they came, stumbling and crying, coming in troops, ghastly spectres, like children of stone, passionlessly begotten and grudgingly born. They were like little corpses in mean little shrouds, aroused to wakefulness on Doomsday by the voice of the angel, rising from out rent-open graves. They clustered themselves around Maria, screaming because the water, the cool water, was licking at their feet.

Then they came in crowds, stumbling and crying. They were ghastly ghosts, like children of stone, conceived without passion and born reluctantly. They were like little corpses in shabby little burial shrouds. It was as if an angel’s voice had woken them on Judgment Day, and they had risen from split-open graves. They gathered around Maria, screaming because the cool water was licking at their feet.

Maria shouted—hardly able to shout any more. There was in her voice the sharp cry of the mother-bird which sees winged Death above its brood. She waded about among the child-bodies, ten at her hands, at her dress, the others following closely, pushed along, torn along, with the stream. Soon the street was a wave of children’s heads above which the pale, raised-up hands flitted like seagulls. And Maria’s cry was drowned by the wailing of the children and by the laughter of the pursuing water.

Maria shouted, though she could hardly shout anymore. Her voice had the sharp cry of a mother bird seeing winged Death above her young. She waded among the children, ten clinging to her hands and dress. The others followed close behind, pushed and pulled along by the current. Soon the street was a wave of children’s heads. Above them, pale, raised hands fluttered like seagulls. The children’s cries and the laughter of the pursuing water drowned out Maria’s cry.

The light in the Neon-lamps became reddish, flickering rhythmically and throwing ghostly shadows. The street sloped. There was the mustering-ground. But the huge elevators hung dead on their cables. Ropes, twisted from ropes—metal ropes, thick as a man’s thigh, hung in the air, torn asunder. Blackish oil was welling in a leisurely channel from an exploded pipe. And over everything lay a dry vapour as if from heated iron and glowing stones.

The neon lamps glowed reddish, flickering rhythmically and casting ghostly shadows. The street sloped down to the gathering ground. But the huge elevators hung motionless on their cables. Torn metal cables, twisted from smaller ropes and as thick as a man’s thigh, hung in the air. Blackish oil flowed slowly from a burst pipe in a narrow stream. A dry vapor hung over everything, as if from heated iron and glowing stones.

Deep in the darkness of distant alleys the gloom took on a brownish hue. A fire was smouldering there....

Deep in the darkness of distant alleys, the gloom turned brownish. A fire was smoldering there....

“Go up—!” whispered Maria’s dry lips. But she was not able to say the words. Winding stairs led upwards. The staircase was narrow—nobody used the staircase which ran by the certain, infallible elevators. Maria crowded the children up the steps. But, up there, there reigned a darkness of impenetrable gloom and density. None of the children ventured to ascend alone.

“Go up!” Maria’s dry lips whispered. But she could not say the words. A winding staircase led upward. It was narrow, and nobody used it because of the reliable elevators beside it. Maria urged the children up the steps. But above them, the darkness was thick and impenetrable. None of the children dared climb alone.

Maria scrambled up. She counted the steps. Like the rushing of a thousand wings came the sound of the children’s feet behind her, in the narrow spiral. She did not know how long she had been climbing up. Innumerable hands were clutching her damp dress. She dragged her burdens upward, praying, moaning the while—praying only for strength for another hour.

Maria scrambled up and counted the steps. Behind her, the children’s feet sounded like a thousand rushing wings in the narrow spiral. She did not know how long she had been climbing. Countless hands clutched her damp dress. She dragged her burdens upward, praying and moaning as she went. She prayed only for the strength to go on for another hour.

“Don’t cry, little brothers!” she stammered. “My little sisters, please don’t cry.”

Children were screaming, down in the depths—and the hundred windings of the stairway gave echo’s trumpet to each cry:

Children were screaming in the depths below, and the stairway’s hundred twists echoed each cry like a trumpet:

“Mother—! Mother—!”

“Mother! Mother!”

And once more:

And again:

“The water’s coming—!”

“The water’s coming!”

Stop and lie down, halfway up the stairs—? No!

Stop and lie down halfway up the stairs? No!

“Little sisters! Little brothers—do come along!”

“Little sisters! Little brothers, come along!”

Higher—winding ever and always higher upward; then, at last, a wide landing. Greyish light from above. A walled-in room; not yet the upper world, but its fore-court. A short, straight flight of stairs upon which lay a shaft of light. The opening, a trap-door, which seemed to be pressed inwards. Between the door and the square of the wall, a cleft, as narrow as a cat’s body.

Higher, winding on and on, always upward. Then, at last, a wide landing. Gray light came from above. It was a walled-in room, not yet the upper world, but the space just before it. A shaft of light fell across a short, straight flight of stairs. The opening was a trapdoor that seemed to have been pushed inward. Between the door and the square opening in the wall was a gap as narrow as a cat’s body.

Maria saw that. She did not know what it meant. She had the uncertain feeling of something not being as it ought to be. But she did not want to think about it. With an almost violent movement she tore her hands, her gown, free from the children’s tugging fingers, and dashed, hurled forward far more by her desperate will than by her benumbed feet, through the empty room and up the steep stairway.

Maria saw that. She did not know what it meant. She had a vague feeling that something was wrong. But she did not want to think about it. She tore her hands and gown from the children’s grasp with an almost violent movement. Then she rushed through the empty room and up the steep stairs, driven more by her desperate will than by her numb feet.

She stretched out her hands and tried to raise the pressed-in door. It did not budge. Once more. No result. Head, arms, shoulders pushing, hips and knees pressing, as if to burst their sinews. No result. The door did not yield by a hair’s breadth. If a child had tried to push the cathedral from its place it could not have acted more foolishly nor ineffectually.

She reached out and tried to lift the door that had been pushed in. It did not budge. She tried again. Nothing. She pushed with her head, arms, and shoulders, pressing with her hips and knees as if her muscles might tear. Nothing. The door did not move even a fraction of an inch. If a child had tried to push the cathedral out of place, the effort could not have been more foolish or useless.

For, upon the door, which alone led the way out of the depths, there towered, as high as houses, the corpses of the dead engines, which, when madness first broke out over Metropolis, had been the terrible playthings of the mob. Train upon train, with carriages thundering along, all lights burning and on full power, had rushed along the rails, lashed by the bawling of the mob, had fallen upon each other, had become mixed and piled up together, had burnt down and were now lying, half-melted, still smouldering, a mass of ruins. And one, single lamp, remaining undamaged, threw the shaft of its sharp, corrosive light over the chaos, from the steel breast of the hindmost engine.

For the wrecks of the dead engines towered as high as houses over the door, the only way out of the depths. When madness first broke out in Metropolis, the engines had been the mob’s terrible playthings. Train after train had thundered along the rails, their lights blazing and engines at full power, driven on by the mob’s shouting. They had crashed into one another, tangled and piled up, and burned. Now they lay in a mass of ruins, half melted and still smouldering. A single lamp had survived undamaged on the steel front of the rearmost engine. It cast a sharp, corrosive beam of light over the chaos.

But Maria knew nothing of all this. She did not need to know. Sufficient for her that the door, which was the only means of deliverance for her and the children she wanted to save, remained inexorable, immovable, and finally, with bleeding hands and shoulders, with battered head, and feet crippled with numbness, she was obliged to resign herself to the incomprehensible, to the murderous.

But Maria knew nothing of all this. She did not need to know. All that mattered to her was that the door would not move. It was the only way out for her and the children she wanted to save. Finally, her hands and shoulders bleeding, her head battered, and her feet numb and crippled, she had to accept the incomprehensible, murderous reality.

She raised her face to the ray of light which fell upon her. The words of a little, childish prayer, now no longer intelligible, ran through her head. She dropped her head and sat down on the stairs.

She lifted her face to the beam of light falling on her. The words of a little childhood prayer ran through her mind, though she could no longer understand them. She lowered her head and sat down on the stairs.

The children stood in silence, crowded closely together, under the curse of something which, though they could not understand it, was very close above them.

The children stood silent, huddled close together. A curse hung close above them, though they could not understand it.

“Little brothers, little sisters,” said Maria’s voice, very affectionately, “can you all understand what I am saying?”

“Little brothers, little sisters,” Maria said very affectionately, “can you all understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes,” floated up from the children.

“Yes,” the children called out.

“The door is closed.... We must wait a little.... Someone is sure to come and open it for us. Will you be patient and not be frightened?”

“The door is closed. We have to wait a little while. Someone will surely come and open it for us. Can you be patient and not be afraid?”

“Yes,” came an answer, as a sigh.

“Yes,” came the answer, like a sigh.

“Sit down as well as you can....”

“Sit down as best you can....”

The children obeyed.

“I am going to tell you a story,” said Maria.

“I'm going to tell you a story,” said Maria.