It was an immeasurably glorious and transporting sound, as deep and rumbling as, and more powerful than any sound on earth. The voice of the ocean when it is angry, the voice of falling torrents, the voice of very close thunder-storms, would be miserably drowned in this Behemoth din. Without being shrill, it penetrated all walls, and, as long as it lasted, all things seemed to swing in it. It was omnipresent, coming from the heights and from the depths, being beautiful and horrible, being an irresistible command.
It was high above the town. It was the voice of the town.
Metropolis raised her voice. The machines of Metropolis roared: They wanted to be fed.
The eyes of Josaphat and Freder met.
“Now,” said Josaphat, “many are going down into a city of the dead, and are waiting for one who is called Maria, and whom they have found as true as gold....”
“Yes!” said Freder, “you are a friend, and you are quite right.... I shall go with them....”
And, for the first time this night, there was something like hope in the ring of his voice.
CHAPTER XII
It was one hour after midnight.
Joh Fredersen came to his mother’s house.