XIX
They had taken the children into the house and FrederвАЩs eyes sought Maria, who was kneeling in the street, among the last remaining children, consoling them, and bestowing her loving smile upon weeping and bewildered eyes.
Freder ran across to them and carried Maria into the house.
вАЬDonвАЩt forget,вАЭ he said, letting her down upon a couch before the blazing fire in the entrance hall, and holding captive in his longing arms her half-lying, half-sitting, gently resisting form, вАЬthat Death and madness and something very like destruction of the world have passed very close by usвБ†вАФand that, after all that has happened, I do not even know the colour of your eyesвБ†вАФand that you have not yet kissed me once by your own free willвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬDearest,вАЭ said Maria, leaning towards him, so that her pure eyes, bathed in painless tears, were quite near to him, while, at the same time, a great, concentrated gravity kept her lips away from his, вАЬare you sure that Death and madness have already passed by?вАЭ
вАЬBy us, belovedвБ†вАФyes!вАЭ
вАЬAnd all the othersвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
вАЬAre you sending me away, Maria?вАЭ he asked, lovingly. She did not answer, at least not in words. But, with a gesture which was at once frank and touching, she put her arms about his neck and kissed him on the mouth.
вАЬGo along,вАЭ she said, stroking his bewildered face with her virginal, motherly hands. вАЬGo to your father. That is the most hallowed wayвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I shall go to the children as soon as my clothes are a little dryer. For IвАЩm afraid,вАЭ she added with a smile which made Freder blush to his eyes, вАЬnumerous as the women are who live in the вАШHouse of the Sons,вАЩ and willing and eager as they may be, not one of them has a dress she could lend meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАК!вАЭ
Freder stood bending over her with lowered eyes. The flames of the huge fire glowed upon his handsome, open face, which wore an expression of shame and sadness. But when he raised his glance to meet MariaвАЩs eyes, which were silently fixed upon him, without saying a word he took her hands and pressed them against his eyelids, remaining thus for a long time.
And all this while they both forgot that, on the other side of the wall which was protecting them, a city was throbbing in grisly conflict, and that among the ruins thousands of beings, themselves but ruins, hurled hither and thither, were losing their reason, and perishing, tortured by deadly fear.
The voice of the Archangel Michael, coming from the cathedral, recalled them to consciousness of the hour, and they parted hurriedly, as if caught neglecting their duty.
Maria listened to the manвАЩs retreating stepвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
Then she turned and looked about her.
What a strange sound the Michael bell hadвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ The bell was calling so furiouslyвБ†вАФso agitatedly, as though to tumble over at every pealвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
MariaвАЩs heart became an echo of the bell. It fluttered in its piteous fear, which had no source other than the general vibration of terror above the town. Even the warming flames of the fire frightened her, as if they had some knowledge of secrets of Horror.
She sat up and put her feet to the ground. She felt the hem of her dress. It was still rather wet but she would go now. She took a few steps through the dimly-lighted room. How brown the air was outside the windowsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ She hesitatingly opened the nearest door and listenedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
She was standing in the room in which she had stood on the day when she saw Freder for the first time, when she had led the train of little, grey child-spectres to those who were carefree and joyousвБ†вАФwhen she had called to FrederвАЩs heart with her gentle:
вАЬLook, these are your brothers!вАЭ
But of all the dearly beloved sons of boundlessly wealthy fathers, to whom this house belonged, not one was to be seen. They must have left the tottering town long ago.
Sparsely distributed candles were burning, giving the room an inward cosiness and a warm air of comfort. The room was filled with the tender twittering of sleepy child-voices, chattering like swallows before they fly to their nests.
Answering them in tones which were but little darker, came the voices of the beautiful, brocaded, painted women, who had once been the playthings of the sons. Equally frightened at the thought of flight as of remaining where they were, they eventually stayed in the вАЬHouse of the Sons,вАЭ being still undecided; and Maria had brought the children to them, because they could have found no better refuge; for, by the beautiful and dreadful chance of all that had taken place, the troup of loving little harlots became a troup of loving little mothers, burning with a new fire in the execution of their new duties.
Not far from Maria the little drink-mixer was kneeling, washing the skinny slender-limbed body of GrotвАЩs daughter, who was standing in front of her. But the child had taken the sponge from her hand, and, without saying a word, proceeding with intense gravity, was thoughtfully and untiringly washing the beautiful, painted face of the drink-mixer.
The girl knelt quite still, her eyes closed, neither did she move when the childвАЩs hands began to dry her face with the rough towel. But GrotвАЩs daughter was not quite successful in this undertaking; for, whenever she dried the girlвАЩs cheeks, again and again did the swift, bright drops run over them. Until GrotвАЩs daughter dropped the towel to look at the girl who was kneeling before her inquiringly, and not without reproach. Upon which the girl caught the child in her arms, pressing her forehead to the heart of the silent creature, uttering to this heart words of love which she had never found before.
Maria passed by with soundless step.
But when the door to the hall, into which no noise from the noisy Metropolis could penetrate, closed behind her, the ore-voice of the angel of the cathedral struck at her breast like a fist of steel, that she stood still, stunned, raising her hands to her head.
Why was Saint Michael crying out so angrily and wildly? Why was the roar of Azrael, the angel of Death joining in so alarmingly?
She stepped into the street. Darkness, like a thick layer of soot, lay over the town, and only the cathedral shimmered, ghost-like, a wonder of light, but not of grace.
The air was filled with a spectral battle of discordant voices. Howling, laughing, whistling, were to be heard. It was as though a gang of murderers and robbers were passing byвБ†вАФin the unrecognisable depths of the street. Mingled with them, shrieks of women, wild with excitementвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
MariaвАЩs eyes sought the New Tower of Babel. She had only one way in her mind: to Joh Fredersen. She would go there. But she never went.
For suddenly the air was a bloodred stream, which poured itself forth, flickering, formed by a thousand torches. And the torches were dancing in the hands of beings who were crowding out of Yoshiwara. The faces of the beings shone with insanity, every mouth parted in a gasp, yet the eyes which blazed above them were the bursting eyes of men choking. Each was dancing the dance of Death with his own torch, whirling madly about, and the whirl of the dancers formed a train, revolving in itself.
вАЬMaoheeвБ†вАФ!вАЭ flew the shrill cries above it. вАЬDanceвБ†вАФdanceвБ†вАФdanceвБ†вАФMaoheeвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
But the flaming procession was led by a girl. The girl was Maria. And the girl was screaming with MariaвАЩs voice:
вАЬDanceвБ†вАФdanceвБ†вАФdanceвБ†вАФMaohee!вАЭ
She crossed the torches like swords above her head. She swung them right and left, brandishing them so that showers of sparks fell about the Way. Sometimes it seemed as if she were riding on the torches. She raised her knees to her breast, with laughter which brought a moan from the dancers of the procession.
But one of the dancers ran along at the girlвАЩs feet, like a dog, crying incessantly:
вАЬI am Jan! I am Jan! I am the faithful Jan! Hear me, at last, Maria!вАЭ
But the girl struck him in the face with her sparkling torch.
His clothes caught fire. He ran for some time, a living torch, along by the girl. His voice sounded as if from the blaze:
вАЬMariaвБ†вАФ! MariaвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
Then he swung himself up on to the parapet of the street and hurled, a streak of fire, into the blackness of the depths.
вАЬMaoheeвБ†вАФ! MaoheeвБ†вАФ!вАЭ called the girl, shaking her torch.
The procession was endless. The procession was endless. The street was already covered, as far as the eye could see, with circling torches. The shrieks of the dancers mixed themselves sharply and shrilly with the angry voices of the archangels of the cathedral. And behind the train, as though tugged along by invisible, unbreakable cords, there reeled a girl, the damp hem of the hose dress lashed about her ankles, whose hair was falling loose under the clawing fingers which she pressed to her head, whose lips babbled a name in ineffectual entreaty: вАЬFrederвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ FrederвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
The smoke-swathes from the torches hovered like the grey wings of phantom birds above the dancing train.
Then the door of the cathedral was opened wide. From the depths of the cathedral came the rushing of the organ. There mixed itself in the fourfold tone of the archangel bells, in the rushing of the organ, in the shrieks of the dancers, an iron-tramping, mighty choir.
The hour of the monk Desertus had come.
The monk Desertus was leading on his own.
Two by two walked those who were his disciples. They walked on bare feet, in black cowls. They had thrown their cowls back from their shoulders. They carried the heavy scourges in both hands. They swung the heavy scourges in both hands, right and left, right and left, upon the bare shoulders. Blood trickled down from the scourged backs. The Gothics sang. They sang to the time of their feet. To the time of their scourge strokes did they sing.
The monk Desertus was leading the Gothics on.
The Gothics bore a black cross before them. It was so heavy that twelve men had to carry it, pantingly. It swayed, held up by dark cords.
And on the cross hung the monk Desertus.
The black flames of the eyes in the flame-white face were fixed upon the procession of dancers. The head was raised. The pale mouth was opened.
вАЬSee!вАЭ shouted the monk Desertus in a voice which all-powerfully outrang the fourfold tone of the archangel bells, the rushing of the organ, the choir of scourge-swingers and the shrieks of the dancers: вАЬSeeвБ†вАФ! Babylon, the greatвБ†вАФ! The Mother of AbominationsвБ†вАФ! Doomsday is breakingвБ†вАФ! The destruction of the worldвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
вАЬDoomsday is breakingвБ†вАФ! The destruction of the worldвБ†вАФ!вАЭ chanted the choir of his followers after him.
вАЬDanceвБ†вАФdanceвБ†вАФdanceвБ†вАФMaoheeвБ†вАФ!вАЭ shrieked the voice of the girl leading the dancers. And she swung her torches over her shoulders, and hurled them far from her. She tore her gown from shoulders and breasts, standing, a white torch, stretching up her arms and laughing, shaking her hair; вАЬDance with me, DesertusвБ†вАФdance with meвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
Then the girl, dragging herself along at the end of the train, felt that the cord, the invisible cord upon which she was hanging, snapped. She turned around and began, not knowing, whither, to runвБ†вАФonly to get awayвБ†вАФonly to get awayвБ†вАФno matter where toвБ†вАФonly to get awayвБ†вАФ!
The streets flashed by in a whirl. She ran and ran, down, and down, and at last she saw, running along the bottom of the street and towards her, a wild mob of people, saw, too, that the men wore the blue linen uniform and sobbed in relief:
вАЬBrothersвБ†вАФbrothersвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
And stretched out her hands.
But a furious roar answered her. Like a collapsing wall, the mass hurled itself forward, shook itself loose and began to tear along, roaring loudly.
вАЬThere she isвБ†вАФ! There she isвБ†вАФ! The bitch, who is to blame for it allвБ†вАФ! Take herвБ†вАФ! Take herвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
The womenвАЩs voices shrieked:
вАЬThe witchвБ†вАФ! Kill the witchвБ†вАФ! Burn her before we all drown!вАЭ
And the trampling of running feet filled the dead street, through which the girl fled, with the din of hell broken loose.
The houses flashed by in a whirl. She did not know the way in the dark. She sped on, running aimlessly, in a blind horror, which was the deeper for her not knowing its origin.
Stones, cudgels, fragments of steel, flew at her from behind. The mob roared in a voice which was no longer human:
вАЬAfter herвБ†вАФ! After herвБ†вАФ! SheвАЩll escape usвБ†вАФ! QuickerвБ†вАФ!! QuickerвБ†вАФ!!вАЭ
Maria could no longer feel her feet. She did not know if she was running on stones or water. Her panting breath came through lips which stood apart as those of one drowning. Up streets, down streetsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ A twirling dance of lights was staggering across the way, far ahead of herвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Far away, at the end of the enormous square, in which RotwangвАЩs house also lay, the mass of the cathedral rested upon the earth, weighty and dark, yet showing a tender, reassuring shimmer, which fell through cheerful stained-glass windows and through open portal, out into the darkness.
Suddenly breaking out into sobs, Maria threw herself forward with her last, entirely despairing strength. She stumbled up the cathedral steps, stumbled through the portal, perceived the odour of incense, saw little, pious candles of intercession before the image of a gentle saint who was suffering smilingly, and collapsed on to the flags.
She no longer saw how, at the double opening of the street which led to the cathedral, the stream of dancers from Yoshiwara coincided with the roaring stream of workmen and women, did not hear the bestial shriek of the women at the sight of the girl who was riding along on the shoulders of a dancerвБ†вАФwho was torn down, overtaken, captured, and stamped to earthвБ†вАФdid not see the short, ghastly hopeless conflict of the men in evening dress with the men in blue linenвБ†вАФnor the ridiculous fight of the half naked women before the claws and fists of the workmenвАЩs wives.
She lay in deep oblivion, in the great, mild solemnity of death, and from the depths of her unconsciousness she was not awakened even by the roaring voice of the mob which was erecting a bonfire for the witch, before the cathedral.