Chapter 23

“Beloved—!” said Freder, Joh Fredersen’s son.

“Beloved!” said Freder, Joh Fredersen’s son.

It was the softest, the most cautious call of which a human voice is capable. But Maria answered it just as little as she had answered the shouts of despair with which the man who loved her had wished to re-awaken her to consciousness of herself.

It was the softest, most cautious call a human voice could make. But Maria did not respond to it, just as she had not responded to the desperate shouts of the man who loved her. He had tried to bring her back to awareness of herself.

She lay couched upon the steps of the high altar, stretched out in her slenderness, her head in Freder’s arm, her hands in Freder’s hand, and the gentle fire of the lofty church-windows burnt upon her quite white face and upon her quite white hands. Her heart beat, slowly, barely, perceptibly. She did not breathe. She lay sunken in the depths of an exhaustion from which no shout, no entreaty, no cry of despair could have dragged her. She was as though dead.

She lay stretched out on the steps of the high altar, her slender body resting there. Her head lay in Freder’s arm, and her hands were in his hand. The gentle light from the church’s tall windows glowed on her very white face and hands. Her heart beat slowly and faintly, barely perceptible. She did not breathe. She was sunk in an exhaustion so deep that no shout, plea, or cry of despair could have drawn her out. She was as if dead.

A hand was laid upon Freder’s shoulder.

A hand rested on Freder’s shoulder.

He turned his head. He looked into the face of his father.

He turned his head. He looked into his father's face.

Was that his father? Was that Joh Fredersen, the master over the great Metropolis? Had his father such white hair? And so tormented a brow? And such tortured eyes?

Was that his father? Was that Joh Fredersen, the master of the great Metropolis? Was his father’s hair so white? Was his brow so troubled? Were his eyes so full of pain?

Was there, in this world, after this night of madness, nothing but horror and death and destruction and agony—without end—?

After this night of madness, was there nothing left in the world but endless horror, death, destruction, and agony?

“What do you want here?” asked Freder, Joh Fredersen’s son. “Do you want to take her away from me? Have you made plans to part her and me? Is there some mighty undertaking in danger, to which she and I are to be sacrificed?”

“What do you want here?” asked Freder, Joh Fredersen’s son. “Do you want to take her away from me? Have you made plans to separate us? Is some great undertaking in danger? Are she and I to be sacrificed for it?”

“To whom are you speaking, Freder?” his father asked, very gently.

“Who are you speaking to, Freder?” his father asked very gently.

Freder did not answer. His eyes opened inquiringly, for he had heard a voice never heard before. He was silent.

Freder did not answer. His eyes opened with curiosity because he had heard a voice he had never heard before. He remained silent.

“If you are speaking of Joh Fredersen,” continued the very gentle voice, “then be informed that, this night, Joh Fredersen died a sevenfold death....”

“If you mean Joh Fredersen,” the very gentle voice continued, “then know that tonight, Joh Fredersen died seven times....”

Freder’s eyes, burnt with suffering, were raised to the eyes which were above him. A piteously sobbing sound came from out his lips.

Freder looked up at the eyes above him, his own eyes burning with suffering. A pitiful sob escaped his lips.

“Oh my God—Father—! Father ... you—!”

“Oh my God, Father! Father... you!”

Joh Fredersen stooped down above him and above the girl who lay in Freder’s lap.

Joh Fredersen bent over him and the girl lying in Freder’s lap.

“She is dying, father.... Can’t you see she is dying—?”

“She is dying, father... Can’t you see she is dying?”

Joh Fredersen shook his head.

Joh Fredersen shook his head.

“No, no!” said his gentle voice. “No, Freder. There was an hour in my life in which I knelt, as you, holding in my arms the woman I loved. But she died, indeed. I have studied the face of the dying to the full. I know it perfectly and shall never again forget it.... The girl is but sleeping. Do not awaken her by force.”

“No, no!” he said gently. “No, Freder. Once in my life, I knelt as you do, holding the woman I loved in my arms. But she really did die. I have studied the face of a dying person closely. I know it perfectly and will never forget it.... The girl is only sleeping. Do not force her awake.”

And, with a gesture of inexpressible tenderness, his hand slipped from Freder’s shoulder to the hair of the sleeping girl.

With a tenderness beyond words, his hand slipped from Freder’s shoulder to the sleeping girl’s hair.

“Dearest child!” he said. “Dearest child....”

“My dear child!” he said. “My dear child....”

And from out of the depth of her dream the sweetness of a smile responded to him, before which Joh Fredersen bowed himself, as before a revelation, not of this world.

And from deep within her dream, she answered him with a sweet smile. Joh Fredersen bowed before it, as if it were a revelation from another world.

Then he left his son and the girl and passed through the cathedral, made glorious and pleasant by the gay-coloured ribbons of sunshine.

Then he left his son and the girl and walked through the cathedral. Brightly colored ribbons of sunlight made it beautiful and inviting.

Freder watched him go until his gaze grew misty. And all at once, with a sudden, violent, groaning fervour, he raised the girl’s mouth to his mouth and kissed her, as though he wished to die of it. For, from out the marvel of light, spun into ribbons, the knowledge had come upon him that it was day, that the invulnerable transformation of darkness into light was becoming consummate, in its greatness, in its kindliness, over the world.

Freder watched him go until his vision blurred. Then, all at once, he pulled the girl’s mouth to his and kissed her with sudden, fierce passion, groaning as though he wanted to die from the kiss. For the marvel of light, spun into ribbons, had made him realize that it was day. Across the world, darkness was giving way to light in a transformation that nothing could stop, magnificent and gentle.

“Come to yourself, Maria, beloved!” he said, entreating her with his caresses, with his love. “Come to me, beloved! Come to me!”

“Come to your senses, Maria, my love!” he said, pleading with her through his caresses and his love. “Come to me, my love! Come to me!”

The soft response of her heart-beat, of her breathing, caused a laugh to well up from his throat and the fervour of his whispered words died on her lips.

The soft response of her heartbeat and breathing made him laugh. His passionate whispered words faded on her lips.

Joh Fredersen caught the sound of his son’s laugh. He was already near the door of the cathedral. He stopped and looked at the stack of pillars, in the delicate, canopied niches of which stood the saintly men and women, smiling gently.

Joh Fredersen heard his son laugh. He was already near the cathedral door. He stopped and looked at the clustered pillars. Statues of saints stood in their delicate, canopied niches, smiling gently.

“You have suffered,” thought his dream-filled brain. “You have been redeemed by suffering. You have attained to bliss.... Is it worth while to suffer?—Yes.”

“You have suffered,” his dreaming mind thought. “You have been redeemed by suffering. You have found bliss.... Is suffering worth it? Yes.”

And he walked out of the cathedral on feet which were still as though dead, tentatively, he stepped through the mighty doorway, stood dazzled in the light and swayed as though drunken.

He walked out of the cathedral, his feet still feeling dead. He stepped hesitantly through the huge doorway. Dazzled by the light, he stood swaying as if drunk.

For the wine of suffering which he had drunk, was very heavy, and intoxicating, and white-hot.

For the wine of suffering he had drunk was heavy, intoxicating, and white-hot.

His soul spoke within him as he reeled along:

His soul spoke within him as he staggered along:

“I will go home and look for my mother.”

“I'll go home and look for my mother.”