… Then the great Metropolis began to roar. Then she raised her voice—her Behemoth-voice. But she was not screaming for food—no, she was roaring:
Danger … !
Above the gigantic city, above the slumbering city, the monster-voice roared: Danger—! Danger—!
A barely perceptible trembling ran through the New Tower of Babel, as if the earth which bore it were shuddering, frightened by a dream, betwixt sleeping and waking …
XV
Maria did not dare to stir. She did not even dare to breathe. She did not close her eyes for quaking fear that, between the lowering and raising of her eyelids, a fresh horror could come upon her and seize her.
She did not know how much time had elapsed since the hands of Joh Fredersen had closed around the throat of Rotwang, the great inventor. The two men had been standing in the shadow; and yet it seemed to the girl as if the outline of both of their forms had remained behind in the darkness, in fiery lines: The bulk of Joh Fredersen, standing there, his hands thrown forward, like two claws;—Rotwang’s body, which hung in these claws, and which was dragged away—pulled forth—through the frame of the door, which closed behind them both.
What was happening behind this door? …
She heard nothing. She listened with all her senses—but she heard nothing, not the least sound …
Minutes passed—endless minutes … There was nothing to be heard, neither step nor cry …
Was she breathing, wall to wall, with murder?
Ah—that clutch at Rotwang’s neck … That form, being dragged away, pulled from darkness into deeper darkness …
Was he dead? … Was he lying behind that door, in a corner, face twisted around to his back, with broken neck and glazed eyes? Was the murderer still standing behind that door?
The room in which she was seemed suddenly to become filled with the sound of a dull thumping. It grew louder and louder, more and more violent. It deafened the ears and yet remained dull … Gradually she realised: It was her own heartbeat … If somebody had come into the room, she would not have heard him, her heart was beating so.
Stammered words of a childish prayer passed through her brain, confusedly and senselessly … “Dear God, I pray Thee, bide with me, take care of me, Amen.” … She thought of Freder … No—don’t cry, don’t cry—!
“Dear God, I pray Thee …”
This silence was no longer bearable! She must see—must be certain.
But she did not dare to take a step. She had got up and could not find courage to return to her old seat. She was as though sewn into a black sack. She held her arms pressed close to her body. Horrors stood at her neck and blew at her.
Now she heard—yes, she heard something. Yet the sound did not come from inside the house; it came from far away. This sound even penetrated the walls of Rotwang’s house, which were otherwise penetrated by no sound, wherever it came from.
It was the voice of Metropolis. But she was screaming what she had never screamed before.
She was not screaming for food. She was screaming: Danger—! Danger—! The screaming did not stop. It howled on, incessantly. Who had dared to unchain the voice of the great Metropolis, which otherwise obeyed no one but Joh Fredersen? Was Joh Fredersen no longer in this house? Or was this voice to call him?—this wild roar of: Danger—! Danger—! What danger was threatening Metropolis? Fire could not be alarming the city, to make her roar so, as though she had gone mad. No high tide was threatening Metropolis. The elements were subdued and quiet.
Danger—of man? … Revolt—?
Was that it—?
Rotwang’s words fluttered through her brain … In the City of the Dead—what was going on in the City of the Dead? Did the uproar come from the City of the Dead? Was destruction welling up from the depths?
Danger—! Danger—! screamed the voice of the great city.
As though by power of a thrust within, Maria ran, all at once, to the door and tore it open. The room which lay before her, just as that which she had left, received its solitary light—and sparely enough—through the window. At the first glance round, the room seemed to be empty. A strong current of air, coming from an invisible source, streamed, hot and even, through the room, bringing in the roaring of the town with renewed force.
Maria stooped forward. She recognised the room. She had run along these walls in her despairing search for a door. There was a door, which had neither bolt nor lock. Copper-red, in the gloomy wood of the door, glowed the seal of Solomon, the pentagram. There, in the middle, was a square, the trapdoor, through which, some time ago, a period which she could not measure, she had entered the house of the great inventor. The bright square of the window fell upon the square of the door.
A trap, thought the girl. She turned her head around …
Would the great Metropolis never stop roaring—?
Danger—! Danger—! Danger—! roared the town.
Maria took a step, then stopped again.
There was something lying over there. There was something lying there on the floor. Between her and the trapdoor, something was lying on the floor. It was an unrecognisable heap. It was something dark and motionless. It might be human, and was, perhaps, only a sack. But it lay there and must be passed around if one wanted to reach the trapdoor.
With a greater display of courage than had ever before in her life been necessary, Maria silently set one foot before the other. The heap on the floor did not move … She stood, bending far forward, making her eyes reconnoitre, deafened by her own heartbeat and the roar of the uproar-proclaiming city.
Now she saw clearly; What was lying there was a man. The man lay on his face, legs drawn tightly to his body, as though he had gathered them to him to push himself up and had then not found any more strength to do it. One
