Metropolis | Page 3

legs held proudly together, she stood, like ivory, in purple, peaked
shoes. Her gleaming body rose, delicately, from her hips and-she was not aware of
it-quivered in the same rhythm as did the man's chest in exhaling his sweet-rising breath.
Carefully did the little painted face under the eye-mask watch the work of her careful
hands.
Her mouth was not rouged, but yet was pomegranate red. And she smiled so
unselfconsciously down at the beverage that it caused the other girls to laugh aloud.
Infected, Freder also began to laugh. But the glee of the maidens swelled to a storm as

she who was mixing the drink, not knowing why they were laughing, became suffused
with a blush of confusion, from her pomegranate-hued mouth to her lustrous hips. The
laughter induced the friends, for no reason, only because they were young and care-free,
to join in the cheerful sound. Like a joyously ringing rainbow, peal upon peal of laughter
arched itself gaily above the young people.
Then suddenly-suddenly-Freder turned his head. His hands, which were resting on the
hips of the drink-mixer, lost hold of her, dropping down by his sides as if dead. The
laughter ceased, not one of the friends moved. Not one of the little, brocaded,
bare-limbed women moved hand or foot. They stood and looked.
The door of the Eternal Gardens had opened and through the door came a procession of
children. They were all holding hands. They had dwarves' faces, grey and ancient. They
were little ghost-like skeletons, covered with faded rags and smocks. They had colourless
hair and colourless eyes. They walked on emaciated bare feet. Noiselessly they followed
their leader.
Their leader was a girl. The austere countenance of the Virgin. The sweet countenance of
the mother. She held a skinny child by each hand. Now she stood still, regarding the
young men and women one after another, with the deadly severity of purity. She was
quite maid and mistress, inviolability-and was, too, graciousness itself, her beautiful brow
in the diadem of goodness; her voice, pity; every word a song.
She released the children and stretched forward her hand, motioning towards the friends
and saying to the children:
"Look, these are your brothers!"
And, motioning towards the children, she said to the friends:
"Look, these are your brothers!"
She waited. She stood still and her gaze rested upon Freder.
Then the servants came, the door-keepers came. Between these walls of marble and glass,
under the opal dome of the Eternal Gardens, there reigned, for a short time, an
unprecedented confusion of noise, indignation and embarrassment. The girl appeared still
to be waiting. Nobody dared to touch her, though she stood so defenceless, among the
grey infant-phantoms, Her eyes rested perpetually on Freder.
Then she took her eyes from his and, stooping a little, took the children's hands again,
turned and led the procession out. The door swung to behind her; the servants
disappeared with many apologies for not having been able to prevent the occurrence. All
was emptiness and silence. Had not each of those before whom the girl had appeared,
with her grey procession of children, so large a number of witnesses to the event they
would have been inclined to put it down to hallucination.
Near Freder, upon the illuminated mosaic floor, cowered the little drink-mixer, sobbing

uncontrolledly.
With a leisurely movement, Freder bent towards her and suddenly twitched the mask, the
narrow black mask, from her eyes.
The drink-mixer shrieked out as though overtaken in stark nudity. Her hands flew up,
clutching, and remained hanging stiffly in the air.
A little painted face stared, horror-stricken at the man. The eyes, thus exposed, were
senseless, quite empty. The little face from which the charm of the mask had been taken
away, was quite weird.
Freder dropped the black piece of stuff. The drink-mixer pounced quickly upon it, hiding
her face. Freder looked around him.
The Eternal Gardens scintillated. The beautiful beings in it, even if, temporarily, thrown
out of balance, shone in their well-cared-for-ness, their cleanly abundance. The odour of
freshness, which pervaded everywhere, was like the breath of a dewy garden.
Freder looked down at himself. He wore, as all the youths in the "House of the Sons," the
white silk, which they wore but once-the soft, supple shoes, with the noiseless soles.
He looked at his friends. He saw these beings who never wearied, unless from sport-who
never sweated, unless from sport-who were never out of breath, unless from sport. Beings
requiring their joyous games in order that their food and drink might agree with them, in
order to be able, to sleep well and digest easily.
The tables, at which they had all eaten, were laid, as before-hand, with untouched dishes.
Wine, golden and purple, embedded in ice or warmth,