METROPOLIS time, without moving. He had closed his eyes. With incomparable impotence he breathed in the odour of hyacinths, which teemed to fill the motionless air of this room. Without opening his eyes, swaying a little, but aim-sure, he walked up to the heavy, black curtains and' drew them apart. Then he opened his eyes and stood quite still .... On a pedestal, the breadth of the wall, rested the head of a woman in stone . . . . . It was not the work of an artist. it was the work of a man, who, in agonies for which the human tongue lacks words, had wrestled with the white stone throughout immeasurable days and nights until at last it seemed to realise and form the woman's head by itself. It was as if no' tool had been at work here-no, it was as if a man, lying before this stone, had called on the name of the woman, unceasingly, with all the strength, with all the longing, with all the despair, of bis brain, blood and heart. until the shapeless stone took pity on him letting itself turn into the image of the woman, who had meant to two men all heaven and all hell. Joh Fredersen's eyes sank to the words which were hewn into the pedestal, roughly. as though chiselled with curses. HEL born to be my happiness, a blessing to all men. lost to Joh Fredersen dying in giving life to his son, Freder Yes, she died then. But Joh Fredersen knew only too weB that she did not die from giving birth to her child. She died then because she had done what she had to do. She really died on the day upon which she went from Rotwang to Joh Fredersen. wondering that her feet left no bloody traces behind on tlle way. She had died because she was unable to withstand the great Jove of Joh Fredersen and because she had been forced by him to tear asunder the life of another.
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