XXII
Joh Fredersen stood in the dome-room of the New Tower of Babel, waiting for Slim. He was to bring him news of his son.
A ghostly darkness lay upon the New Tower of Babel. The light had gone completely out, gone out as though it had been killedвБ†вАФat the moment when the gigantic wheel of the Heart-machine of Metropolis came free from its structure with a roar as from the throats of a thousand wounded beasts, and, still whirling around, was hurled straight up at the ceiling, to strike it with a shattering crash, to bound back, booming the while like a gong as large as the heavens and to crash down upon the splintered ruins of the erstwhile masterpiece of steel, to remain lying there.
Joh Fredersen stood long on the same spot, not daring to move.
It seemed to him that an eternity had passed since he sent Slim out for news of his son. And Slim wouldnвАЩt and wouldnвАЩt come back.
Joh Fredersen felt that his whole body was frozen to an icy coldness. His hands, hanging helplessly downwards, were clasped around the pocket-torch.
He waitedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ waitedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
Joh Fredersen threw a glance at the clock. But the hands of the giantess stood at an impossible time. The New Tower of Babel had indeed lost itself. Whereas, every day, the throbbing of the streets which tunnelled their course below it, the roar of the traffic of fifty million, the magic madness of speed, had raged its way up to him, there now crouched a calm of penetrating terror.
Stumbling steps were hastening towards the door of the outer room.
Joh Fredersen turned the beam of his pocket-torch, upon this door. It flew wide open. Slim stood upon the threshold. He staggered. He closed his eyes dazzled. In the excessively glaring light of the powerful torch his face, right down to his neck, shone a greenish white.
Joh Fredersen wanted to ask a question. But not the least sound passed his lips. A terrible dryness burnt his throat. The lamp in his hand began to tremble and to dance. Up to the ceiling, down to the floor, along the walls, reeled the beam of lightвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
Slim ran up to Joh Fredersen. SlimвАЩs wide, staring eyes bore an inextinguishable horror.
вАЬYour son,вАЭ he stammered, almost babbling, вАЬyour son, Mr.¬†FredersenвБ†вАФвАЭ
Joh Fredersen remained silent. He made no movement, but that he stooped a littleвБ†вАФjust a very little, forward.
вАЬI have not found your sonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ said Slim. He did not wait for Joh Fredersen to answer him. His tall body, with the impression it gave of asceticism and cruelty, the movements of which had, in Joh FredersenвАЩs service, gradually gained the disinterested accuracy of a machine, seemed quite out of joint, shaken out of control. His voice inquired shrilly, in the grip of a deep innermost frenzy: вАЬDo you know, Mr.¬†Fredersen, what is going on around you, in MetropolisвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
вАЬWhat I will,вАЭ answered Joh Fredersen. The words sounded mechanical, and as though they had been read before they were spoken: вАЬWhat does that mean: You have not found my sonвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
вАЬIt means what it means,вАЭ answered Slim in his shrill voice. His eyes bore an awful hatred. He stood, leaning far forward, as if ready to pounce upon Joh Fredersen, and his hands became claws. вАЬIt means that Freder, your son is not to be foundвБ†вАФit means that he, perhaps, wanted to look on with his own eyes at what becomes of Metropolis by his fatherвАЩs will and the hands of a few lunaticsвБ†вАФit means, as the now half-witted servants told me, that your son left the safety of his home, setting out in company with a man who was wearing the uniform of a workman of Metropolis, and that it might well be difficult to seek your son in this city, in which, by your will, madness has broken outвБ†вАФthe madness to destroy, Mr.¬†Fredersen, the madness to ruin!вБ†вАФand which has not even light to lighten its madnessвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
Slim wanted to continue, but he did not do so.
Joh FredersenвАЩs right hand made a senseless, fumbling gesture through the air. The torch fell from his hand, continuing to burn on the floor. The mightiest man of Metropolis swung half around, as though he had been shot, and collapsed empty-eyed, back into the chair by the writing-table.
Slim stooped forward, to look Joh Fredersen in the face. Before these eyes he was struck silent.
TenвБ†вАФtwentyвБ†вАФthirty seconds long he did not dare to draw a breath. His horrified gaze followed the aimless movements of Joh FredersenвАЩs fingers, which were fumbling about as though seeking for some lever of rescue, which they could not find. Then, suddenly, the hand rose a little from the tabletop. The forefinger straightened as though admonishing to attention. Joh Fredersen murmured something. Then he laughed. It was a tired, sad little laugh, at the sound of which Slim thought he felt the hair of his head begin to bristle.
Joh Fredersen was talking to himself. What was he saying? Slim bent over him. He saw the forefinger of Joh FredersenвАЩs right hand gliding slowly across the shiny tabletop, as though he were following and spelling out the lines of a book.
Joh FredersenвАЩs soft voice said:
вАЬWhatsoever a man soweth, that shall he reapвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
Then Joh FredersenвАЩs forehead fell on to the smooth wood, and, unceasingly, in a tone which, except for a dead woman, no one had ever heard from Joh Fredersen, his soft voice cried the name of his sonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
But the cries remained unansweredвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
Up the steps of the New Tower of Babel there crept a man. It seldom happened in the great Metropolis, Joh FredersenвАЩs time-saving city, that anyone used the stairs. They were reserved in case of all the lifts and the Paternoster being overcrowded, of the cessation of all means of transit, of the outbreak of fire and similar accidentsвБ†вАФImprobable occurrences in this perfect settlement of human beings. But the improbable had happened. Piled up, one above the other, the lifts, which came hurtling down, blocked up their shafts, and the cells of the Paternoster seemed to have been bent and charred by a hellish heat, smouldering up from the depths.
Up the stairs of the New Tower of Babel did Josaphat drag himself. He had learnt to swear in that quarter of an hour, even as Grot used to swear, and he made full use of his newly acquired art. He roared at the pain which racked his limbs. He spat out an excess of hatred and contempt at the agony in his knees. Wild and ingenious were the execrations which he hurled at every landing, every new bend in the staircase. But he conquered them allвБ†вАФone hundred and six flights of stairs, each consisting of thirty steps. He reached the semicircle where the lifts had their opening. In the corners before the door to Joh FredersenвАЩs rooms there crouched knots of human beings, pressed together by the common pressure of a terrible fear.
They turned their heads to stare at the man who was crawling up the stairs, dragging himself up by aid of the walls.
His wild eyes swept over them.
вАЬWhat is it?вАЭ he asked breathlessly. вАЬWhat are you all doing here?вАЭ
Agitated voices whispered. Nobody knew who was speaking. Words tumbled over each other.
вАЬHe drove us out into the town, where death is running as though amokвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ He sent us out to look for his son, Freder. We couldnвАЩt find himвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ None of usвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ We darenвАЩt go in to Joh FredersenвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Nobody dares take him the news that we havenвАЩt been able to find his sonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
A voice swung out, high and sharp from out the knot:
вАЬWho can find one single damned soul in this hellвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
вАЬHushвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ hushвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАК!вАЭ
вАЬListenвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
вАЬHe is talking to Slim.вАЭ
And in the tension of listening, which smothered every sound, the heads bent towards the door.
Behind the door a voice spoke, as were the wood rattling:
вАЬWhere is my sonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАК?вАЭ
Josaphat made for the door, staggering. The panting cry of many men tried to stop him. Hands were stretched out towards him.
вАЬDonвАЩtвБ†вАФdonвАЩtвБ†вАФ!!вАЭ
But he had already pushed open the door. He looked about him. Through the enormous windows the first glow of the youthful day was flowing, lying on the shining floor like pools of blood. By the wall, near the door, stood Slim. And just before him stood Joh Fredersen. His fists were pressed against the wall, right and left of the man, holding him fast, as though they had been drilled through him, crucifying him.
вАЬWhere is my sonвБ†вАФ?вАЭ said Joh Fredersen. He askedвБ†вАФand his voice cracked as if in suffocation:
вАЬWhere is my child?вАЭ
SlimвАЩs head flung back against the wall. From his ashen lips came the toneless words:
вАЬTomorrow there will be many in Metropolis who will ask:
вАЬвАКвАШJoh Fredersen, where is my child?вАЩвАКвАЭ
Joh FredersenвАЩs fists relaxed. His whole body twisted around. Then the man who had been the Master over Metropolis saw that another man was standing in the room. He stared at him. The sweat trickled down his face in cold, slow, burdensome drops. The face twitched in a terrible impotence.
вАЬWhere is my sonвБ†вАФ?вАЭ asked Joh Fredersen, babblingly. He stretched out his hand. The hand shot through the air, groping aimlessly. вАЬDo you know, where my son isвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
Josaphat did not answer. Yes, the answer shouted in his throat. But he could not form the words. There was a fist at his throat, strangling himвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ GodвБ†вАФAlmighty God in highest heaven, was it Joh Fredersen who was standing before him?
Joh Fredersen made an uncertain step towards him. He bent his head low to look at him the more closely. He nodded again.
вАЬI know you,вАЭ he said tonelessly. вАЬYou are Josaphat and you were my first secretary. I sent you away. I treated you cruelly. I did you wrong and I ruined youвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I beg your forgivenessвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ I am sorry that I was ever cruel to you or to anyone elseвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Forgive meвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Forgive me, Josaphat, for ten hours I have not known where my son isвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ For ten hours, Josaphat, I have been sending all the men I could get hold of, down into that damned city to look for my son, and I know it is senseless, and I know it is quite pointless, the day is breaking, and I am talking and talking and I know that I am a fool but perhaps, perhaps you know where my son isвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАК?вАЭ
вАЬCaptured,вАЭ said Josaphat, and it was as though he ripped the word from his gullet, and feared to bleed to death therefrom. вАЬCapturedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
A stupid smile hovered over Joh FredersenвАЩs face.
вАЬWhat does that meanвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ capturedвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАК?вАЭ
вАЬThe mob has captured him, Joh Fredersen!вАЭ
вАЬCapturedвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
вАЬYes.вАЭ
вАЬMy sonвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
вАЬYes!вБ†вАФFreder, your sonвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
A senseless, pitiable, animal sound broke from Joh FredersenвАЩs mouth. His mouth stood open, distortedвБ†вАФhis hands rose as in childish defence, to ward off a blow which had already fallen. His voice said, quite high and piteously:
вАЬMy sonвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАК?вАЭ
вАЬThey took him prisoner,вАЭвБ†вАФJosaphat tore the words outвБ†вАФвАЬbecause they sought a victim for their despair, and for the fury of their immeasurable, inconceivable agony. When they saw the black water running towards them from the shafts of the underground railway, and when they realised that, as the result of the stopping of the pumps, the whole workmenвАЩs town had been flooded out, then they went mad with despair. They say that some mothers, blind and deaf to all remonstrance, tried, as if possessed, to dive down through the flooded shafts, and just the terrible absoluteness of the futility of any attempt at rescue has turned them into beasts and they lust for revengeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬRevengeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ on whom?вАЭ
вАЬOn the girl who seduced themвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬOn the girlвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬYesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬGo onвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
вАЬThey have taken captive the girl, on whom they put the blame of all this horrorвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ Freder wanted to save her, for he loves the girlвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ They have taken him captive and are forcing him to look on and see how his beloved diesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ They have built the bonfire before the cathedralвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ They are dancing round the bonfireвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ They are yelling: вАШWe have captured the son of Joh Fredersen and his belovedвАЩвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ and I knowвБ†вАФI know: HeвАЩll never get away from them aliveвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАК!вАЭ
For the space of some seconds there was so deep and perfect a silence that the golden glow of the morning, breaking forth, strong and radiant had the effect of a powerful roar. Then Joh Fredersen turned around, breaking into a run. He flung himself at the door. So forceful and irresistible was this movement that it seemed as if the closed door itself were not able to withstand it.
Past the knots of human being ran Joh FredersenвБ†вАФacross to the staircase and down the steps. His course was as a pauseless series of leaps. He did not notice the height. With hands stretched forward he ran, in bounds, his hair rearing up like a flame above his brow. His mouth was wide open and between his parted lips there hoveredвБ†вАФa soundless screamвБ†вАФthe unscreamed name: вАЬFreder!вАЭ
An infinity of stairsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ cleftsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ rents in wallsвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ smashed Stone blocksвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ twisted ironвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ destructionвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ ruinвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
The street.
The day was streaming down, red, upon the streetвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
Howls in the air. And the gleam of flame. And smokeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
VoicesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ shoutsвБ†вАФand no exultant shoutingвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ shouts of fear, of horror, of terribly strained tensionвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
At last the cathedral squareвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
The bonfire. The mobвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ men, woman, immeasurable massesвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ but they were not gazing at the bonfire, on the smoking fireiness of which smouldered a creature of metal and glass, with the head and body of a woman.
All eyes were turned upwards, towards the heights of the cathedral, the roof of which sparkled in the morning sunshine.
Joh Fredersen stopped, as though a blow had been struck at his knees.
вАЬWhatвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ he stammered. He raised his eyes, he raised his hands quite slowly to the level of his headвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ his hands rested upon his hair.
Soundlessly, as though mown down, he fell upon his knees.
Upon the heights of the cathedral roof, entwined about each other, clawed to each other, wrestled Freder and Rotwang, gleaming in the sunlight.
They fought, breast pressed to breast, knee to knee. One did not need very sharp eyes to see that Rotwang was by far the stronger. The slender form of the boy, in white silken tatters, bent under the throttling grip of the great inventor, farther and farther backwards. In a fearfully wonderful arch the slender, white form was extended, head back, knees bent forward. And the blackness which was Rotwang stood out, massy, mountain-like, above the silken whiteness, forcing it downwards. In the narrow gallery of the spire Freder crumpled up like a sack and lay in the corner, stirring no more. Above him, straightened up, yet bent forwardвБ†вАФRotwang, staring at him, then turningвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
Along the narrow roof ridge, towards himвБ†вАФno, towards the dullish bundle of white silk, staggered Maria. In the light of the morning, risen glorious and imperious, her voice fluttered out like the mourning of a poor bird:
вАЬFrederвБ†вАФFrederвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
Whispers broke out in the cathedral square. Heads turned and hands pointed.
вАЬLookвБ†вАФJoh Fredersen! Look over thereвБ†вАФJoh Fredersen!вАЭ
A womanвАЩs voice yelled out:
вАЬNow you see for yourself, donвАЩt you, Joh Fredersen, what itвАЩs like when someoneвАЩs only child is murderedвБ†вАФ?вАЭ
Josaphat leaped before the man who was on his knees, hearing nothing of what was going on around him.
вАЬWhatвАЩs the matterвБ†вАФ?вАЭ he shouted. вАЬWhatвАЩs the matter with you allвБ†вАФ? Your children have been saved! In the вАШHouse of the Sons!вАЩ Maria and Joh FredersenвАЩs sonвБ†вАФthey saved your childrenвБ†вАФ!вАЭ
Joh Fredersen heard nothing. He did not hear the scream, which, like a bellowed prayer to God, suddenly leaped from the one mouth of the multitude.
He did not hear the shuffling with which the multitude near him, far around him, threw itself on its knees. He did not hear the weeping of the women, the panting of the men, nor prayer, nor thanks, nor groans, nor praises.
Only his eyes remained alive. His eyes which seemed to be lidless, clung to the roof of the cathedral.
Maria had reached the white bundle, which lay, crumpled up in the corner, between the spire and the roof. She slid along to it on her knees, stretching her hands out towards it, blinded with misery:
вАЬFrederвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ FrederвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
With a savage snarl, like the snarl of a beast of pray, Rotwang clutched at her. She struggled amid screams. He held her lips closed. With an expression of despairing incomprehension he stared into the girlвАЩs tear-wet face.
вАЬHelвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ my HelвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ why do you struggle against me?вАЭ He held her in his ironlike arms, as prey which, now, nothing and no one could tear away from him. Close to the spire a ladder led upwards to the cathedral coping. With the bestial snarl of one unjustly pursued he climbed up the ladder, dragging the girl with him, in his arms.
This was the sight which met FrederвАЩs eyes when he opened them and tore himself free from the half-unconscious state he was in. He pushed himself up and flung himself across to the ladder. He climbed up the ladder almost at a run, with the blindly certain speed born of fear for his beloved. He reached Rotwang, who let Maria fall. She fell. She fell, but in falling she saved herself, pulling herself up and reaching the golden sickle of the moon on which rested the star-crowned Virgin. She stretched out her hand to clutch at Freder. But at the same moment Rotwang threw himself down upon the man who was standing below him, and clasped tightly together, they rolled along, down the roof of the cathedral, rebounding violently against the narrow railing of the gallery.
The yell of fear from the multitude came shrieking up from the depths. Neither Rotwang nor Freder heard it. With a terrible oath Rotwang gathered himself up. He saw above him, sharp against the blue of the sky, the gargoyle of a waterspout. It grinned in his face. The long tongue leered mockingly at him. He drew himself up and struck, with clenched fist, at the grinning gargoyleвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
The gargoyle brokeвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
In the weight of the blow he lost his balanceвБ†вАФand fellвБ†вАФand saved himself, hanging with one hand to the Gothic ornamentation of the cathedral.
And, looking upwards, into the infinite blue of the morning sky, he saw HelвАЩs countenance, which he had loved, and it was like the countenance of the beautiful angel of Death, smiling at him, its lips inclining towards his brow.
Great black wings spread themselves out, strong enough to carry a lost world up to heaven.
вАЬHelвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ said the man. вАЬMy HelвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶ at lastвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶вАЭ
And his fingers lost their hold, voluntarilyвБ†вАКвБ†вА¶
Joh Fredersen did not see the fall, neither did he hear the cry of the multitude as it stared back. He saw but one thing: the white-gleaming figure of the man, who, upright and uninjured, was walking along the roof of the cathedral with the even step of one fearing nothing, carrying the girl in his arms.
Then Joh Fredersen bent down, so low that his forehead touched the stones of the cathedral square. And those near enough to him heard the weeping which welled up from his heart, as water from a rock.
As his hands loosened from his head, all who stood around him saw that Joh FredersenвАЩs hair had turned snow-white.