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 eye-lids, 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.... I 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!... 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, used a girl
called Maria, nightly to call her brothers together. Her brothers wear
the blue linen uniform, the black caps, 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 sweet soul, 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—I
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....