Berlin Alexanderplatz

367 Pages·2018·2.48 MB·English

by  Alfred Döblin

Alfred Döblin

BERLIN ALEXANDERPLATZ
Translated with an Afterword by Michael Hofmann
Contents
Chapter One
The 41 tram into the city – Still not there – The example of Zannovich – The story is concluded in an
unexpected way; helping the freed man to acquire new strength – Markets opening directionless,
gradually drifting lower, Hamburg out of bed the wrong side, London continuing weak – Victory all
along the line! Franz Biberkopf buys a veal escalope – In which Franz swears to all the world and
himself, to remain decent in Berlin, money or not
Chapter Two
Franz Biberkopf enters Berlin – Franz Biberkopf is on the job market, you need to earn money, a man
can’t live without money. And all about the Frankfurt Topfmarkt – Lina takes it to the queers – The
Neue Welt, in Hasenheide, if it’s not one thing it’s another, no need to make life any harder than what
it is already – Franz is a man of some scale, and he knows what’s what – The scale of this Franz
Biberkopf. A match for the heroes of old
Chapter Three
Yesterday on the backs of steeds … – Today, shot through the chest he bleeds – Tomorrow in the chill
tomb, no, we’ll keep our composure
Chapter Four
A handful of people round the Alex – Biberkopf anaesthetized, Franz curls up, Franz doesn’t want to
see anything – Franz, on the retreat, plays a farewell march for the Jews – For as with animals, so it is
with man; the one must die, the other likewise – Conversation with Job, it’s up to you, Job, you don’t
want to – And they all have one breath, and man has no more than the beasts – Franz’s window is
open, sometimes amusing things happen in the world – Hopp, hopp, hopp, horsey does gallop
Chapter Five
Reunion on the Alex, bitching cold. Though next year, 1929, will be even colder – Nothing for a while,
pause for rest and recuperation – Booming trade in girls – Franz reflects on the trade in women, and
suddenly he’s had enough, and wants something else – Local news – Franz takes a calamitous
decision. He fails to realize he is sitting in a nettle patch – Sunday, 8 April 1928
Chapter Six
Crime pays – The night of Sunday–Monday, 9 April – Franz won’t go down, and they can’t make him
go down – Get up, you feeble spirit, and stand on your own two feet – Third conquest of Berlin –
Clothes make people, and a new person gets a new set of eyes – A new person gets a new head as well
– A new man needs a new job or he needs none at all – A girl shows up, and now Franz is back to
strength – Defensive war against bourgeois values – Conspiracy of females, our dear ladies take the
floor, the heart of Europe is unchanged – Enough politics, idleness is much more dangerous – The fly
clambers up, shaking the sand from its wings; before long it will buzz some more – Forward, in step,
drum roll and battalions – The fist on the table
Chapter Seven
Pussi Uhl, the flood of American visitors, and do you write Wilma with a V or a W? – The duel begins!
It continues rainy – Franz breaking and entering, Franz not under the wheels, he’s in the box seat
now, he’s made it – Love’s weal and woe – Dazzling harvest in prospect, but miscalculations have
been known to happen – Wednesday, 29 August – Saturday, 1 September
Chapter Eight
Franz notices nothing, and the world goes on its way – A few bonds are loosened, the criminals fall
out among themselves – Keep your eyes on Karl the plumber: something’s going on with him – Things
come to a head, plumber Karl gets caught and spills some beans – So I returned, and considered all
the oppressions that are done under the sun – And behold the tears of such as were oppressed, and
they had no comforter – Then I praised the dead which are already dead – The fortress is completely
surrounded, the last sallies are undertaken, but they are nothing but diversionary tactics – Battle is
joined. We ride into hell with a great fanfare – The Police HQ is on Alexanderplatz
Chapter Nine
Reinhold’s Black Wednesday – but this section can be skipped – Buch insane asylum, closed ward –
Dextrose and camphor injections, but in the end a different consultant is involved – Death sings his
slow, slow song – And now Franz hears the slow song of Death – In which is described what pain is –
Departure of the evil harlot, triumph of the great sacrificer, drummer and axe-swinger – Beginnings
are difficult – Dear Fatherland, don’t worry, I shan’t slip again in a hurry – And by the right quick
march left right left right
Appendix: Döblin’s ‘Alexanderplatz’ from ‘Writer’s Relay on the Omnibus’
Afterword
Notes
Follow Penguin
The subject of this book is the life of the former cement worker and haulier
Franz Biberkopf in Berlin. As our story begins, he has just been released from
prison, where he did time for some stupid stuff; now he is back in Berlin,
determined to go straight.
To begin with, he succeeds. But then, though doing all right for himself
financially, he gets involved in a set-to with an unpredictable external agency
that looks an awful lot like fate.
Three times the force attacks him and disrupts his scheme. The first time it
comes at him with dishonesty and deception. Our man is able to get to his feet,
he is still good to stand.
Then it strikes him a low blow. He has trouble getting up from that, he is
almost counted out.
And finally it hits him with monstrous and extreme violence.
With that, our man who had been doing so well is finished. He throws in the
towel, he has no idea what day of the week it is, it seems all up with him.
Before he can make an end, however, his blindness is taken from him in a way
I do not describe here. His fault is revealed to him in the clearest terms. It is
indeed his, the fault of his plan, which may once have looked sensible enough to
him, but now looks quite different, not unexceptionable and straightforward, but
full of arrogance and ignorance, and further vitiated with impertinence,
cowardice and weakness.
The terrible thing that was his life acquires a purpose. A radical cure has
been performed on Franz Biberkopf. And in the end we see our man back on
Alexanderplatz, greatly changed, considerably the worse for wear, but
straightened out.
To see and hear this will be worthwhile for many readers who, like Franz
Biberkopf, fill out a human skin, but, again like Franz Biberkopf, happen to want
more from life than a piece of bread.

Chapter One
As our story begins, Franz Biberkopf leaves Tegel Penitentiary, where a
previous foolish life has taken him. He has difficulty initially readjusting to
Berlin, but finally, to his relief, he succeeds, and vows to stick to the straight and
narrow from now on.
The 41 tram into the city
He stood outside the gates of Tegel Penitentiary, a free man. Only yesterday, he
had been on the allotments with the others, hoeing potatoes in his convict stripes,
and now he was wearing his yellow summer duster, they were hoeing and he
was free. He leant against the red wall and allowed one tram after another to
pass, and he didn’t take any of them. The guard on the gate strolled past him a
few times, pointed to the tram, he didn’t take it. The awful moment was at hand
(awful, why so awful, Franz?), his four years were up. The black iron gates he’d
been eyeing with increasing revulsion (revulsion, why revulsion) for the past
year swung shut behind him. He was being put out. The others were inside,
carpentering, varnishing, sorting, gluing, with two years ahead of them, with five
years. He was standing at the tram stop.
His real punishment was just beginning.
He shook himself, gulped. He stood with one foot on the other. Suddenly he
took a run up and he was sitting in the tram, with passengers all around him. At
first it felt like being at the dentist’s, when the dentist has the offending tooth
gripped in his pliers and is pulling, and it feels like your head will explode with
the pain. He craned his neck to look back at the red wall, but the tram rushed
him away down the tracks, and he was left merely facing the general direction.
The tram turned a corner, trees and buildings interposed themselves. The streets
were full of bustle, Seestrasse, people got on and off. Something in him
screamed: Watch out, watch out. The tip of his nose felt cold, something brushed
his cheek. Zwölf Uhr Mittagszeitung, B.Z, Die neuste Illustrierte, Die
Funkstunde. ‘Any more fares?’ The police have blue uniforms now. He made his
way off the tram unnoticed, mingled with the crowd. What was wrong? Nothing.
Hey, watch where you’re going or I’ll whop you. The crowds, the crowds. My
skull needs grease, it must have dried out. All that stuff. Shoe shops, hat shops,
electric lights, bars. People will need shoes to run around in, we had a shoe shop
too, once, let’s not forget that. Hundreds of shiny windows, let them flash away
at you, they’re nothing to be afraid of, it’s just that they’ve been cleaned, you
can always smash them if you want. They were taking up the road at Rosenthaler
Platz, he was walking on duckboards along with everyone else. Just mingle with
the crowd, man, that’ll make everything better, then you won’t suffer. There
were mannequins in the windows in suits and coats, in skirts, with shoes and
stockings on their feet. It was all seething and swarming, but it had nothing
going on! It wasn’t alive. It had complacent facial expressions, it was grinning, it
was standing in groups of two or three on the traffic island in front of
Aschinger’s waiting to cross, smoking cigarettes, browsing in newspapers. Stood
there like lamp-posts, and getting stiffer all the time. It was just like the
buildings, all painted, all wood.
He got a shock when he turned down Rosenthaler Strasse, and saw a man and
a woman sitting together in the window, pouring beer down their necks from big
steins, so, they were just having a drink, they had forks in their hands and they
were jabbing at pieces of meat, and lifting them to their mouths, and pulling the
forks out, and not bleeding. Oh, his body cramped, I can’t get over it, what am I
going to do with myself? The answer came: punishment.
He couldn’t go back, he had come so far on the tram, he had been released,
and he had to go on.
I know, he groaned, I know I need to dig deeper and that I’ve been released.
They had to let me go, my punishment was up, that’s the way it works, the
administration is doing what it has to do. And I will go on digging, but I don’t
want to, oh God, I can’t.
He drifted down Rosenthaler Strasse, past the Wertheim department store,
then swung right into narrow Sophienstrasse. He thought: less light, and the
darker the better. Prisoners may be held in isolation, solitary confinement or
general confinement. In isolation, a man is kept apart from his fellows day and
night. In solitary, the prisoner is kept in a cell, but is permitted to exercise, take
classes and attend worship with others. Traffic hooted and honked. The façades
were never-ending. There were roofs on the buildings, floating on the buildings,
his eyes bounced around. Heaven forbid the roofs should slip off, but no, the
buildings were steadfast. Where am I poor devil going to go, he trudged along
the wall, wall without end. I am a fool, surely I’ll be able to make my way, five
minutes, ten minutes, then sit down somewhere and have a drink. At the sound
of the bell, work is to begin. It may only be suspended for purposes of meals,
exercise and lessons. During exercise, inmates are enjoined to keep their arms
straight, and to swing them back and forth.
There was one particular building, and here he lifted his eyes from the
pavement, shouldered open a door, and a sorry ‘oh’ broke from his chest. He
slapped his shoulders, best way to keep the cold off, mate. The door opened onto
a courtyard, someone shuffled past him, stopped behind him. He groaned, it did
him good to groan. In his first days in solitary he had groaned continually and
taken pleasure in the sound of his voice, it gave him something, meant it wasn’t
all up with him. Plenty of people did that in the cells, some from the very start,