Metropolis

by Thea von Harbou

  "You cannot make that comparison, mother. Freder is almost a boy, still. When I took Hel to me I was a man, and knew what I was doing. Hel was more needful to me than the air to breathe I could not do without Hel, Mother. I would have stolen her from the arms of God himself."

  "From God, Joh, you can steal nothing, but something can be stolen from man. You have done that. You have sinned, Joh. You have sinned towards your friend. For Hel loved Rotwang and it was you who compelled her."

  "When she was dying, mother, she loved me… ."

  "Yes. When she saw that you, too, were a man, when your head was beating against the floor and you were crying out. But do you believe, Joh, that this one smile in her dying hour outweighs all that which brought about her death?"

  "Leave me my belief, Mother… "

  "Delusion… "

  Joh Fredersen looked at his mother.

  "I should very much like to know," he said with darkened voice, "on what you feed your cruelty towards, me, mother."

  "On my fears for you, Joh—on my fears!"

  "You need have no fears for me, mother… "

  "Oh yes, Joh—oh yes! Your sin walks behind you like a good dog on the trail. It does not lose your scent, Joh—it remains always and always at your back. A friend is unarmed against his friend. He has no shield before his breast, nor armour before his heart. A friend who believes in his friend is a defenceless man. A defenceless man was it whom you betrayed, Joh."

  "I have paid for my sin, mother… Hel is dead. Now I have only Freder left. That is her legacy. I will not give up Hel's legacy. I have come to you to beg of you, mother: help me to win Freder back."

  The old lady's eyes were fixed on him, sparkingly.

  "What did you answer me, Joh, when I wanted to stop you on your way to Hel?"

  "I don't remember."

  "But I do, Joh! I still remember every syllable. You said: 'I don't hear a word you say—! only hear Hel! If I were to be blinded—! should still see Hel! If I were to be paralysed—with paralysed feet, I should still find my way to Hel!—' Freder is your son. What do you think, Joh, he would answer me were I to say to him: give up the girl you love… ?"

  Joh Fredersen was silent.

  "Take care, Joh," said the old mother. "I know what it means when your eyes grow cold, as now, and when you grow as pale as one of the stones of the wall. You have forgotten that lovers are sacred. Even if they are mistaken, Joh, their mistake itself is sacred. Even if they are fools, Joh, their folly itself is sacred. For where lovers are, there is God's garden, and no one has the right to drive them out Not even God. Only their own sin."

  "I must have my son back," said Joh Fredersen. "I had hoped you would help me, and you would certainly have been the gentlest means I could have chosen. But you will not, and now I must seek another means… "

  "Freder is ill, you say… "

  "He will get well again… "

  "So you will continue in your way?"

  "Yes."

  "I believe, Joh, that Hel would weep were she to hear you!"

  "Perhaps. But Hel is dead."

  "Well, come here to me, Joh! I will give you a word to take with you on your way, which you cannot forget. It is easy to retain."

  Joh Fredersen hesitated. Then he walked up to his mother. She laid her hand on the bible which lay before her. Joh Fredersen read:… Whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he reap…

  Joh Fredersen turned around. He walked through the room. His mother's eyes followed him. As he turned toward her, suddenly, violently, with a violent word on his lips he found the gaze of her eyes set upon him. They could hide themselves no longer, and neither did they wish to—such an almighty love—such an almighty love, in their tear-washed depths that Joh Fredersen believed himself to see his mother to-day for the first time.

  They looked at each other for a long time, in silence.

  Then the man stepped up to his mother.

  "I am going, now, mother," he said, "and I don't believe I shall ever come to you again… ."

  She did not answer.

  It seemed as though he wanted to stretch out his hand to her, but, half-way he let it drop again.

  "For whom are you crying, mother," he asked, "for Freder or for me?"

  "For you both," said the mother, "for you both, Joh… " He stood in silence and the struggle of his heart was in his face. Then, without giving his mother another look, he turned around and went out of the house, over which the walnut tree rustled.

  Chapter 13

  IT WAS MIDNIGHT AND NO LIGHT was burning. Only through the window there fell the radiance of the city, lying like a pale gleam upon the face of the girl who sat, leaning back against the wall, without moving, with closed eyelids, her hands in her lap.

  "Will you never answer me?" asked the great inventor.

  Stillness. Silence. Immobility.

  "You are colder than stone, harder than any stone. The tip of your finger must cut through the diamond as though it were water… I do not implore your love. What does a girl know of love? Her unstormed fortresses—her unopened Paradises—her sealed-up books, whom no one knows but the god who wrote them—what do you know of love? Women know nothing of love either. What does light know of light? Flame of burning? What do the stars know of the laws, by which they wander? You must ask chaos—coldness, darkness, the eternal unredeemed which wrestles for the redemption of itself. You must ask the man what love is. The hymn of Heaven is only composed in Hell… ! do not implore your love, Maria. But your pity, you motherly one, with the virgin face… "

  Stillness. Silence. Immobility.

  "I hold you captive… Is that my fault? I do not hold you captive for myself, Maria. Above you and me there is a Will which forces me into being evil. Have pity on him who must be evil, Maria! All the springs of good within me are choked up. I thought them to be dead; but they are only buried alive. My being is a rock of darkness. But deep within the sad stone I hear the springs rushing… If I defy the Will which is above you and me… If I destroy the work I created after your image… It would only be what Joh Fredersen deserves and it would be better for me!… He has ruined me, Maria—he has ruined me! He stole the woman from me, who was mine, and whom I loved. I do not know if her soul was ever with me. But her pity was with me and made me good. Joh Fredersen took the woman from me. He made me evil. He, who grudged the stone the imprint of her shoe, made me evil to take her pity from me. Hel is dead. But she loved him. What a fearful law it is by which the beings of Light turn themselves to those of Darkness, but pass by those in the shade. Be more merciful than Hel was, Maria! I will defy the Will which is above you and me. I will open the doors for you. You will be able to go where you list and nobody shall stop you. But would you remain with me of your own free will, Maria? I long to be good… will you help me?"

  Stillness. Silence. Immobility.

  "Neither do I implore your pity, Maria. There is nothing on earth more incompassionate than a woman who only loves one single being… You cool murderesses in the name of Love… You goddesses of Death, with your smile!… The hands of your Beloved are cold. You ask: 'Shall I warm your hands for you, Beloved?' You do not wait for his 'Yes.' You set fire to a city. You burn down a kingdom, so that you can warm the hands of your Beloved at its blaze… You rise up and pluck from the heaven of the world its most radiant stars, without caring that you destroy the Universe and put the dance of the Eternal out of balance. 'Do you want the stars-Beloved?' And if he says 'No' then you let the stars fall… Oh! you blessed harmdoers! You may step, fearfully inviolable, before the throne of God and say: 'Get up, Creator of the World! I need the throne of the World for my beloved!… ' You do not see who dies by your side if only the one is living. A drop of blood on the finger of your Beloved frightens you more than the destruction of a continent… All this I know, and have never possessed it. I… I—No, I do not call upon your pity, Maria. But I call upon your fidelity… "

  Still. Silence. Immobility.

  "Do you know
the subterranean City of the Dead? There, I used a girl called Maria, nightly to call her brothers together. I Her brothers wear the blue linen uniform, the black caps, I the hard shoes. Maria spoke to her brothers of a mediator, who would come to deliver them. 'The Mediator between Brain and Hands must be the Heart… ' Wasn't it so?—The brothers of the girl believed in the girl. They waited. They waited long. But the mediator did not come. And the girl did not come. She sent no message. She was not to be found. But the brothers believed in the girl, for they had found her as true as gold. 'She will come!' they said. 'She will come again! She is faithful. She will not leave us alone! She said: 'The mediator will come!'… Now he must come… Let us be patient and let us wait'… ! But the mediator did not come. And—the girl did not come. The misery of the brothers has grown from day to day. Where once a thousand murmured—now murmur ten thousand. They will no more be fed with hope. They languish for fight, for destruction, for ruin, for downfall. And even the believers, even the patient ones ask: 'Where is Maria? Can it be that gold is faithless?' Will you leave them without an answer, Maria?"

  Stillness. Silence. Immobility.

  "You are silent… You are very obstinate… But now I shall tell you something which will surely break your obstinacy… Do you think I am holding you captive here for fun? Do you think Joh Fredersen knew no other way of getting you out of his son's sight than shutting you up behind the Solomon's seal on my doors? On no, Maria—oh no, my beautiful Maria! We have not been idle all these days. We have stolen your beautiful soul from you—your sweetsoul, that tender smile of God. I have listened to you as the air has listened to you. I have seen you angry and in the depths of despair. I have seen you burning and dull as the earth. I have listened to you praying to God, and have cursed God because he did not hear you. I have intoxicated myself with your helplessness. Your pitiful weeping has made me drunken. When you sobbed the name of your Beloved, I thought I must die, and reeled… And thus, as one intoxicated, as one drunken, as one reeling, I became a thief of you, Maria, I created you anew—! became your second God! I have stolen you absolutely! In the name of Joh Fredersen, the Master over the great Metropolis, have I stolen your ego from you, Maria. And this stolen ego-your other self—sent a message to your brothers, calling them by night into the City of the Dead—and they all came. When you spoke to them before,' you spoke for Peace… but Joh Fredersen does not want Peace any more—do you see?—He wants the decision! The hour has come! Your stolen ego; may not speak for Peace any more. The mouth of Joh Fredersen speaks from out it… And among your brothers there will be one who loves you and who will not realize—who will not doubt you, Maria… Only just give me your hands, Maria—only your hands, no more… I do not ask for more… your hands must be wondrous. Pardon is the name of the right, Redemption of the left… If you give me your hands I will go with you into the City of the Dead, so that you can warn your brothers, so that you can unmask your stolen ego—so that the one who loves you finds you again and does not have to doubt you… Did you say anything, Maria?"

  He heard the soft, soft weeping of the girl. He fell, where he stood, upon his knees. He wanted to drag himself along on his knees to the girl. And suddenly stopped still. He listened. He stared. He said in a voice which was almost like a shriek, in its wide-awake attention:

  "Maria… ? Maria—don't you hear… ? There's a strange man in the room… "

  "Yes," said the quiet voice of Joh Fredersen.

  And then the hands of Joh Fredersen seized the throat of Rotwang, the great inventor…

  Chapter 14

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

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

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

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

  The voice said: "My brothers… "

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

  Groaning heavily, Freder opened his eyes.

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

  "Which is more pleasant: water or wine?"

  "… Wine is more pleasant!"

  "Who drinks the water?"

  "… We!"

  "Who drinks the wine?"

  "… The masters! The masters of the machines!"

  "Which is more pleasant: meat or dry bread?"

  "… Meat is more pleasant!"

  "Who eats the dry bread?"

  "… We!"

  "Who eats the meat?"

  "… The masters! The masters of the machines!"

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

  "… White silk is more pleasant to wear!"

  "Who wears the blue linen?"

  "… We!"

  "Who wears the white silk?"

  "… The masters! The sons of the masters!"

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

  "… It is more pleasant to live upon the earth!"

  "Who lives under the earth?"

  "… We!"

  "Who lives upon the earth?"

  "… The masters! The masters of the machines!"

  "Where are your wives?"

  "… In misery!"

  "Where are your children?"

  "… In misery!"

  "What do your wives do?"

  "… They starve!"

  "What do your children do?"

  "… They cry!"

  "What do the wives of the masters of the machines do?"

  "… They feast!"

  "What do the children of-the masters of the machines do?"

  "… They play!"

  "Who are the providers?"

  "… We!"

  "Who are the squanderers?"

  "… The masters! The masters of the machines!"

  "What are you?"

  "… Slaves!"

  "No!—what are you?"

  "… Dogs!"

  "No!—what are you?"

  "… Tell us!—tell us!"

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

  A voice shouted from among the multitude:

  "Lead us on, Maria—!"

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

  She said: "Come… I Come… ! I will lead you… ! I will dance the dance of Death before you… ! I will dance the dance of the Murderers before you… !"

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

  A voice shouted out, sobbing with rage and pain:

  "You are not Maria—!"

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

  "You are not Maria!! No—!! You are not Maria—!!"

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

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

  The eyes of the multitude began to glare dangerously.