Thea Harbou - Metropolis

"I am not ill," said Freder, looking straight ahead. He loosened his fingers from Josaphat's arm and bent forward, laying the palms of both hands flat on his head. He spoke into space… "But do you believe, Josaphat, that I am mad?"

"No."

"But I must be," said Freder, and he shrank together, so narrow that it seemed as if a little boy, filled with a mighty fear, were sitting in his place. His voice sounded suddenly quite high and thin and something in it brought the water to Josaphat's eyes.

Josaphat stretched out his hand, fumbled, and found Freder's shoulder. His hand closed around his neck and drew him gently towards him, holding him still and fast.

"Just tell me about it, Mr. Freder!" he said. "I do not think there are many things which seem insuperable to me since I sprang, as though from heaven to earth, from the aeroplane which was steered by a dead man. Also," he continued in a soft voice, "I learnt in one single night that one can bear very much when one has some one near one who keeps watch, asks nothing and is simply there."

"I am mad, Josaphat," said Freder. "But-I don't know if it is any consolation—! am not the only one… "

Josaphat was silent. His patient hand lay motionless on Freder's shoulder.

And suddenly, as though his soul were an over-filled vessel, which had lost its balance, toppled over and poured out in streams, Freder began to speak. He told his friend the story of Maria, from the moment of their first meeting in the "Club of Sons," to when they saw each other again right down under the earth in the City of the Dead — his waiting for her in the cathedral, his experiences in Rotwang's house, his vain search, the curt "no" at Maria's home, up to the moment when, for her sake, he wanted to be the murderer of his own father — no, not for her sake: for that of a being who was not there, whom he only believed himself to see…

"Was that not madness—?"

"Hallucination, Mr. Freder… "

"Hallucination—? I will tell you some more about hallucination, Josaphat, and you mustn't believe that I am speaking in delirium or that I am not fully master of my thoughts. I wanted to kill my father… It was not my fault that the attempt at parricide was unsuccessful… But ever since that moment I have not been human… I am a creature that has no feet, no hands and hardly a head. And this head is only there eternally to think that I wanted to kill my own father. Do you believe that I shall ever get free from this hell—? Never, Josaphat. Never — never in all eternity. I lay during the night hearing my father walking up and down in the next room. I lay in the depths of a black pit; but my thoughts ran along behind my father's steps, as though chained to his soles. What horror has come upon the world that this could happen? Is there a comet in the heavens which drives mankind to madness? Is a fresh plague coming, or Anti-Christ? Or the end of the world? A woman, who does not exist, forces herself between father and son and incites the son to murder against the father… It may be that my thoughts were running themselves a little hot at the time… Then my father came in to me… "

He stopped and his wasted hands twisted themselves together upon his damp hair.

"You know my father. There are many in the great Metropolis who do not believe Joh. Fredersen to be human, because he seems not to need to eat and drink and he sleeps when he wishes to; and usually he does not wish to… They call him The Brain of Metropolis, and if it is true that fear is the source of all religion then the brain of Metropolis is not very far off from becoming a deity… This man, who is my father came up to my bed… He walked on tiptoe, Josaphat. He bent over me and held his breath… My eyes were shut. I lay quite still and it seemed to me as though my father must hear my soul crying within me. Then I loved him more than anything on earth. But if my life had been dependent on it, I should still not have been able to open my eyes. I felt my father's hand smoothing my pillow. Then he went again as he had come, on tip-toe, closing the door quiet soundlessly behind him. Do you know what he had done?"

"No…."

"No… I don't see how you could. I only realised it myself some hours later… For the first time since the great Metropolis had stood, Joh Fredersen had omitted to press on the little blue metal plate and to let the Behemoth-voice of Metropolis roar out, because he did not wish to disturb his son's sleep… "

Josaphat lowered his head; he said nothing. Freder let his intertwined hands sink.

"Then I realised," he continued, "that my father had quite forgiven me… And when I realised that, I really fell asleep… "

He stood up and remained standing, seeming to be listening to the rushing of the rain. The lightning was still flashing out over Metropolis, the angry thunder bounding after. But the rushing of the rain drowned it.

"I slept… " Freder went on — so softly that the other could scarcely follow his words—"then I began to dream… I saw this city — this great Metropolis — In the light of a ghostly unreality. A weird moon stood in the sky; as though along a broad street this ghostly, unreal light flowed down upon the city, which was deserted to the last soul. All the houses were distorted and had faces. They squinted evilly and spitefully down at me, for I was walking deep down between them, along the glimmering street.

"Quite narrow was this street, as though crushed between the houses; it was as though made of a greenish glass — like a solidified, glazen river. I glided along it and looked down; through it into the cold bubbling of a subterranean fire.

"I did not know my destination, but I knew I had one, and went very fast in order to reach it the sooner. I quietened my step as well as I could, but its sound was excessively loud and awakened a rustling whisper over the crooked house-walls as though the houses were murmuring against me. I quickened my pace and ran, and, at last, raced along, and the more swiftly I raced the more hoarsely did the echo of the steps sound after me, as though there were an army at my heels. I was dripping with sweat…

"The town was alive. The houses were alive. Their open mouths snarled after me. The window-caverns, open eyes, winked blindly, horribly, maliciously.

"Graspingly, I reached the square before the cathedral….

"The cathedral was lighted up. The doors stood open-no, they did not stand open. They reeled to and fro like swing doors through which an invisible stream of guests was passing. The organ rolled, but not with music. Croaking, bawling, screeching and whimpering sounded from the organ and intermingled were wanton dance tunes, wailing whore-songs."

"The swing-doors, the light, the organ's witches sabbath, everything appeared to be mysteriously excited, hurried, as though there were no time to be lost, and full of a deep evil satisfaction."

"I walked over to the cathedral and up the steps. A door laid hold of me, like an arm, and wafted me gustily in the cathedral.

"But that was as little the cathedral as the town was Metropolis. A pack of lunatics seemed to have taken possession of it, and not even human beings, at that. Dwarf — Like creatures, resembling half monkey, half devil. In place of the saints, goat — Like figures, petrified in the most ridiculous of leaps, reigned in the pillar niches. And around every pillar danced a ring, raving to the bawling of the music.

"Empty, ungodded, splintered, hung the crucifix above the high altar, from which the holy vessels had vanished."

"A fellow, dressed in black, the caricature of a monk, stood in the pulpit, howling out in a pulpit-voice:"

"Repent! The kingdom of heaven is at hand!'

"A loud neigh answered him."

"The organ-player—! saw him, he was like a demon-stood with his hands and feet on the keys and his head beat time to the ring-dance of the spirits."