•
And when Eva accompanies him out to Mitzi’s grave at the end of the week, she straight away has occasion to mark him and how much better he’s feeling. No crying, just a handful of tulips he lays out, strokes the cross, and then he takes Eva by the arm and walks off with her.
He sits opposite her in the café, eating Bienenstich[13] in memory of Mitzi, because she could never get enough of it, and it tastes all right, though it’s not really his thing. So we’ve been to see little Mitzi, and one shouldn’t go to too many graveyards, you’ll only catch cold, maybe next year, on her birthday. You see, Eva, I’ve no need to keep running to Mitzi, you can believe me and all, for me she’s there even without the grave, and same with Reinhold, I’ll not forget Reinhold, not even if my arm should grow back, I’ll not forget him. There’s some things where you’re no more than the clothes you stand up in and not a human being at all if you forget them. So Biberkopf talks to Eva, and eats his Bienenstich.
Eva fancied being his girlfriend before, but she’s gone a little cold on the idea now. The whole business with Mitzi and then the madhouse, that was all too much for her, no matter how fond she still is of the man. And the baby she’s expecting from him, turns out that never happened either, she miscarried, it would have been lovely, but it weren’t meant to be, so that’s for the best as well, especially as Herbert’s not around, and her patron prefers her without too, because it finally dawned on the man that it wouldn’t necessarily be his anyway, and you can’t really blame him.
So they sit quietly side by side, thinking backward and forward, eating Bienenstich and a Mohrenkopf with whipped cream.
And by the right quick march left right left right
We next see the man at the trial of Reinhold and the plumber Matter, aka Oskar Fischer, for conspiracy to murder and murder of Emilie Parsunke of Bernau on 1 September 1928 in Freienwalde outside Berlin. Biberkopf is not in the dock. The one-armed man is the subject of general interest, big excitement, the murder of his sweetheart, love life in the underworld, he went a little mad after her death, was suspected of complicity, tragic situation.
The one-armed man is called as a witness, who, as the expert reports say, is now restored to health and able to stand: the dead woman, whom he refers to as Mitzi, had no relationship with Rein-hold, he and Reinhold were close, but Reinhold had a terrible unnatural sexual appetite, and that was how it all came about. He doesn’t know whether Reinhold had sadistic inclinations from the start. He assumes Mitzi will have put up resistance to Reinhold in Freienwalde, and that he will have done it in a temper, or, as they call it, affect. Do you know anything about his youth? No, I didn’t know him then. Did he not talk to you about it? What about drinking? Yes, that was this way: he used not to drink, but lately he started, how much he is unable to say, he used not to be able to take a sip of beer, just lemonade and coffee.
And that’s all they can get out of Biberkopf on the subject of Reinhold. Nothing about his arm, nothing about their falling out, their fight, I shouldn’t have done it, I should never have tangled with him. Eva sits in the public gallery, along with several of Pums’s people. Reinhold and Biberkopf lock glances. The one-armed man has no sympathy at all for the accused between the two guards, who is looking at a long sentence, just a curious tenderness. I had a comrade once, I’ll never have a better. I need to look at him and keep looking at him, nothing is as important as looking at you. The world is made of sugar and shit, I can look at you without batting an eyelid, I know who you are, I meet you here, my boy, in the dock, outside I’ll meet you another thousand times, but that won’t turn my heart to stone.
Reinhold is intending, if something should cross him in the hearing, to send the whole Pums group sky-high, he would shop the lot of them if they taunt him, he’s kept that up his sleeve, especially in the event that Biberkopf should smarm up to the judge, the fuckwit, the whole thing is his fault anyway. But there they are in the public gallery, Pums’s people, there’s Eva, there’s a few detectives, we know which ones they are. And then he calms down, hesitates, bethinks himself. He’s relying on his friends, eventually a man does get out, and you need them on the inside too, and it’s all better than doing the cops a good turn anyway. And then Biberkopf has been unexpectedly decent. They said something about him having been in Buch. Strange, how the sillybilly has changed, funny expression on his face, as if he can’t move his eyes, maybe they rusted fast when he was in Buch, and the ponderous way he speaks. There’s still something odd about him. Biberkopf knows, when Reinhold declines to give evidence, that he has nothing to be thankful to him for.
Ten years’ labour for Reinhold, manslaughter in a state of aggravated passion, exacerbated by alcohol, compulsive character, and a difficult upbringing. Reinhold accepts the penalty.
In the public gallery someone screams when the sentence is announced, and then starts sobbing loudly. It is Eva, the thought of Mitzi has overpowered her. Biberkopf turns round on the bench when he hears her. Then he collapses into himself, and props his head in his hand. There is a reaper, Death yclept, I am yours, she came to you in love, she protected you, and you, scream shame, scream shame.
Straight after the trial Biberkopf is offered a job as assistant porter in a medium-sized factory. He accepts. Beyond that there is nothing to report on his life.
•
We have reached the end of this story. It is long, but that is because it had to stretch and keep stretching till it reached its climax, that point of peripeteia where light strikes the whole thing.
We have been down a dark alley, first of all no lamp was burning, all we knew was that this is the way, gradually it grew brighter and then a little brighter still, and finally there is the lamp and below it we can read the name of the street. It’s been a revelatory process of a particular sort. Franz Biberkopf did not walk down the same street with us. He ran pell-mell in the dark, he ran into trees, and the more he ran the more trees there were for him. It was dark already, and when he struck a tree, he pressed his eyes shut in horror. And the more trees he ran into the more he clamped his eyes shut in horror. His head full of holes, almost insensate, he finally reached the end. In falling, he opened his eyes. There was a lamp burning over his head, and he could read the street sign.
We leave him as an assistant porter in a medium-sized factory. He is no longer standing all alone on Alexanderplatz. There are some to the right and left of him, and in front of him are some, and others are behind him.
Much misfortune comes of walking alone. If there are several of you, that is already better. You have to get used to listening to other people, because what others say concerns me. Then I see who I am and what I can take on. My battle is being fought on all sides of me, I have to pay attention, before I notice anything it’s my own turn.
He is an assistant porter in a factory. What is destiny? One thing is stronger than me. If there are two of us, it’s difficult to be stronger than me. If we are ten, still harder. And if we are a thousand and a million, then it’s very difficult.
Also, it’s nicer and better to be with others. Then I feel and know everything better. A ship isn’t secure without a sheet-anchor, and a man may not be without many other men. I know better now what is right and what is wrong. I have been taken in by words before now, and have had to pay bitterly for it, that won’t happen to Biberkopf again. The words come rolling towards you, you need to watch yourself, see that they don’t run you over, if you don’t watch the school bus it’ll make a mess of you. I won’t swear on anything again in a hurry. Dear Fatherland, rest easy, I’m awake, I know what’s at stake.
They often march past his window with flags and music and singing, Biberkopf coolly sticks his head out the door and remains calm. Shut your mouth and walk in step, march along with the rest of us gits. If I join their parade, I’ll only have to pay for it later with my life. That’s why I first calculate everything, and when the time comes and it’s in my interests, then I’ll go. Men have been given reason, oxen hav
e herd instinct.
Biberkopf does his job as assistant porter, takes the numbers, checks the wagons, watches over the comings and goings.
Be alert, be a lert, things are happening in the world. The world’s not made of sugar, you know. When they throw gas bombs I’ll choke, you don’t know why they threw them, but that’s not the point, you had time to think about it.
When there’s a war on, and they enlist me, and I don’t know why, and the war is there even without me, then it’s my fault, and it serves me right. Be alert, be a lert, the country needs lerts. The sky may rain and hail, you can’t do anything about that, but there are plenty of other things that you can do something about. Then I won’t shout like I used to: destiny, destiny. You don’t need to respect something as destiny, you should look at it, turn it over in your hand and destroy it.
Be a lert, eyes wide, watch out, a thousand belong together, whoever doesn’t wake is either a laughingstock or doomed.
The drums whirl behind him. Marching, marching. We’re going into battle with firm stride, with us are 100 companions, dawn red, dusk red, light us the way to early death.
Biberkopf is a little worker. We know what we know, we had to pay dearly enough for it.
•
The road is into freedom, into freedom, the old world is doomed, wake up, dawn air.
And link arms and right and left and right and left, and marching, marching, we’re marching into war, with us are 100 comrades, they drum and play, widdeboom widdeboom, one’s all right, the other’s all wrong, one stops still, the other falls down, one runs on, the other lies still, widdeboom, widdeboom.
THE END
Appendix
Alexanderplatz [14]
Omnibus halt number two. Alexanderplatz – Königstrasse – Schlossplatz – Unter den Linden – Brandenburger Tor – Friedrich-Ebert-Strasse – Lennéstrasse – Viktoriastrasse. Frequency every four (off-peak six) minutes, lines marked with a * offer service at night. Alexanderplatz, Alex, my poor smart Alec, worrave they done to yer? It hurts to see you this way. They stole yer sweetheart Berolina, and you used to be so nice and green, now you’re nothing but hoardings and holes in the ground. Tietz has hoisted four white flags, what signifies Christmas sales, up on top the globe is lit, the police headquarters is a dirty red; I put my hand in my pocket, I must leave you, we can be friends no longer. All fares please, 20 pfennigs. Torn, crumpled or illegible tickets are invalid. All tickets are non-transferable. Valid on day of purchase only. Extract from see transport by-laws over.
We stagger off, beetle off, shuffle off. The thing has a Maybach engine, is the size of a house, and runs like an eel. How would you like to wind up under something like that? You couldn’t pay me to. ‘No standing room! No pedestrians!’ But we’re driving, according to the by-laws, valid only on day of purchase. They’re already sitting at Aschinger’s, I’d rather be sitting at Aschinger’s myself than here, ‘No standing room, no pedestrians’, we know, here’s the first stop, Alexanderplatz station. Look out, and you’re amazed to see the human tide crossing the road. Where can they all be coming from? Well, the ones on the left, they’ve had business in the court or with the police, and on the right they’re coming from the market, and then there are some that are heading for the train station, oh, do stay, it’s quite nice in Berlin, I’m driving quietly down Königstrasse, enjoy life, it’s not as though Werneuchen has that much more to offer. – Then the monster winds up again, they’ve been building this bridge for a hundred years, a blind man can see that, they’re putting in new supports, and once they’re in they take them out again and try different ones, that’s progress for you in Berlin. Wertheim, grüss Gott, inexpensive Christmas goodies, New Year’s gifts, cards, joke items. And now hold your breath, this you won’t believe: they’ve tore off the top of Salamander shoes, but Salamander himself isn’t going anywhere, nothing up top and a shop on the ground floor, the earth may be quaking, but he’s still selling his boots. After all, you need boots, even in a hearthquake. And over the way there’s Leiser’s, who sells boots, oh God, and then there’s Dorndorf, with his boots, and Stiller: what’s going on here? It’s amazing, all the barefoot people of the east are hotfooting it here, I think I’d better get of, but then the thing has moved of again. Gumpert’s and Dobrin’s are behind me, largest selection of domestic and international papers, and the best drinks and sweets, American iced drinks, ice cream sodas, milk shakes (heated up, for an extra 20 pfennigs). Rathaus stop. – This is the Berlin city hall, it stands here and watches over everything in the city, and behind it stands the town hall, which also watches over everything in the city, and then there are municipal offices, which also watch over everything in the city. They never sleep, except at night. Six passengers get off, three get on, this is the Berlin bus, en passant. The Rathaus is on the left, on the right people are crowding into the shops. The boots they didn’t manage to sell earlier, you’ll find them here at Mercedes; Spaeth sells lottery tickets at the top and the Reverend Fahsel’s sexual problems further down, Brockhaus encyclopaedia in monthly instalments of 6.50, he claims: animals are watching you,[15] but I’ve yet to see that myself, leastwise not on the bus. Later on, I’m going to Spaeth’s to buy myself the winning ticket in monthly instalments. On, across Spandauer, the corners are tenanted by Grumach and N. Israel. Oh, the mighty tribe of Israel! Its premises stretch all the way from Poststrasse to Simons Pharmacy! Across the street is the post office, the one with the rootin-tootin horn. A No. 12 passes us, it spreads its blue sheen through Berleen: Hildebrandt Drinking Chocolate, that would be. The post, the post, to make a payment you need to go around the corner, telephone exchange east, section Berolina and Königsgraben. Report breakdowns to Room 274, send me a letter, write me a card. We’re moving again, the Maybach motor is turning, extract from see transport by-laws over, Kurfürstenbrücke, Marstall, Schlossplatz. I will get off and someone else will get on in my place (because man is noble, well-intentioned and good).[16]
(trans. M. H.)
Notes
1. These words, ‘The cry resounds like thunder’s peal, / Like crashing waves and clang of steel: / The Rhine, the Rhine, our German Rhine, / Who will defend our stream divine?’ are from the nineteenth-century patriotic song ‘Die Wacht am Rhein’. For obvious reasons, it was highly popular during the First World War. See also pp. 9, 50, 81–3, 121, 213, 429, 439.
2. The ‘Heckerlied’ of 1848, here in its original revolutionary form, not in the obnoxious anti-Semitic adaptation sung by the Nazis. See also pp. 76, 85.
3. ‘Onward, brothers, to light and freedom’, a socialist rallying song.
4. Setting of Ludwig Uhland’s nineteenth-century poem ‘Der gute Kamerad’, sung throughout the twentieth century at German military funerals. In the Weimar period and the Third Reich, it was instrumentalized by the Right as a celebration of sacrifice and heroic death in battle. ‘I once had a comrade, / You will find no better. / The drum called to battle, / He walked at my side, / In the same pace and step. // A bullet came a-flying, / Is it my turn now or yours? / He was swept away, / He lies at my feet, / Like it were a part of me . . .’ See also pp. 138, 278, 279, 437.
5. Berlin Alexanderplatz: The Story of Franz Biberkopf, trans. Eugene Jolas (London: Penguin Modern Classics, 1978), p. 96.
6. ‘Hast du geliebt am schönen Rhein’, a popular Weimar song, lyrics by Hans Willi Mertens (1865–1921).
7. Derisory spoonerist version of the opening of Schiller’s ‘Die Glocke’, substituting Mehl (flour) for Lehm (clay).
8. Manoli was a German make of cigarette. In 1910, the earliest illuminated advertisement in Berlin showed the letters of the word ‘Manoli’ dispersing in a cloud of coloured lights; this led to ‘Manoli’ becoming a term for loopy or dippy.
9. Berlin Alexanderplatz, trans. Eugene Jolas, pp. 292–3.
10. Berlin Alexanderplatz, trans. Eugene Jolas, p. 419.
11. Berlin Alexanderplatz, trans. Eugene Jolas, p. 421.
12. Berlin Alexander
platz, trans. Eugene Jolas, p. 425.
13. ‘Bee-sting’ and ‘Moor’s head’ are the macabre names of two types of German confectionery, both very sweet.
14. Döblin’s contribution to ‘Writers’ Relay on the Omnibus’, in Berliner Tageblatt, 1 January 1929.
15. Tieresehen dich an, by the popular author Paul Eipper, published in 1928, and filmed in 1930. Georg Salter, who designed the cover, also designed the charming original cover for Berlin Alexanderplatz.
16. ‘edel sei der Mensch, hilfreich und gut’: Goethe.
Afterword
The literary name and fame of the city of Berlin, if not the idea of modern city literature altogether, are founded on the novel in your hands, first published in October 1929, two weeks before Black Friday and the Wall Street Crash. Others had written about their cities – New York and Boston and Paris and London and Rome – for tens or even hundreds of years. Berlin – itself a new and brash and rather unappealing place, so new, in fact, that the joke was that no one was actually born there, its inhabitants all coming from elsewhere, like Döblin himself, who arrived there as a boy, from the Baltic city of Stettin, now Szczecin in Poland – is at once invented and immortalized and brilliantly and commensurately styled in Berlin Alexanderplatz. Even then, it was thought, there’s something wrong with this picture (as though Germans, the ‘belated nation’ in Helmuth Plessner’s influential phrase, could not invent anything by themselves, or at least not anything new), and the author of the novel was and apparently still is, quite wrongly and needlessly, described as the German Dos Passos, or the German Joyce, whom Döblin had indeed read and admired, in Georg Goyert’s translation of 1928, but to whom he thought he owed no debt, as he sought to prove by writing the name as ‘Yoice’, the spelling ironically following the soft German pronunciation (the Berlin dialect even softens hard ‘g’s).