Berlin Stories (16 page)

Perhaps these people I'm remembering thought almost too highly of me in their kindness and amiability—by which, admittedly, I appear to be putting myself down all too vigorously, which would be neither natural nor fitting. Above all else, though, I would like to demonstrate how greatly I aspire to be able to recognize that there is no more desirable pleasure in life than reaping acknowledgment and saying yes to the various benevolent phenomena one has been permitted to see and experience. To comment in any way other than with the greatest meticulousness and reverence on the capitals and squares where the most various meanings and the best achievements of a nation come together from all surrounding regions as if for a grand national assembly must, no doubt, necessarily appear impossible to any cautious thinker.

The thought that I was permitted to swim in such refreshing waters, to actively and convivially—should I be allowed to express myself thus—join in running upon such a racetrack, to live in such appealing and inspiring surrounds, under such powerfully invigorating, often even exhilarating circumstances, to pass a substantial part of my existence so gaily and for the most part so joyfully—this is a thought that should, in my opinion, always put me in a cheerful and also, for propriety's sake, contented state of mind, for there is such a thing as propriety vis-à-vis Heaven and not just mankind, and this is something no person capable of forthright feeling and thought would ever leave entirely out of account.

Having attracted all sorts of notice and acquired the justification to circulate casually among persons worthy of respect by no means assured me, however, of a proper, innocuous income. While laboring with as much vigor as I could muster, I committed errors. Wrestling with ignorance and inability, I came to know my limits and was forced to realize that many things could not be as swiftly accomplished as I would have liked to imagine. Enervation and exhaustion set in. My strength failed me on more than one important occasion. Instead of contenting myself with the lucrative, I ran after unattainable goals, which wasted a great deal of time as well as good courage. Exertions carried out in vain rendered me effectively ill. I destroyed much that I had created with great effort. The more earnestly I longed and strived to put myself on a firm footing, the more clearly I saw myself teetering on the brink. I believe I have never deceived myself particularly in matters of this sort, and since I felt a compulsion to attain a certain tidiness of affairs with regard to my own person, above all to be at one with myself again, I resolved to carefully detach myself from an existence in which I could not place my trust and to return. It seemed to me advisable to bite into insight, which is well known to have a bitter taste. To be sure, I felt and saw the eyes of a beautiful woman looking questioningly at me. This tie, and other ones as well, now had to be shaken off. Slowly I made my way home. Later, I thought, I would be freshly serviceable once more.

On my way home, which struck me as splendid, it was snowing in thick, warm, large flakes. It seemed to me as if I heard homeland-like sounds ringing out from afar. My steps were brisk despite the deep snow through which I was assiduously wading. With every step I took, my shaken trust grew firmer again, which filled me with joy the way a child rejoices. All former things bloomed fragrantly and youthfully in my direction, like roses. It almost appeared to me as if the earth were singing a sweet Christmas melody that was at the same time a melody of spring.

In the darkness a gray, tall figure was suddenly standing there on the road before me. It was a man. How gigantic he seemed to me. “What are you doing standing here?” I asked him. “I am rooted here. What business is it of yours?” he replied.

Leaving behind me this man whom I did not know, who after all surely knew what it was his duty to do, I went on. At times it seemed to me I had wings, though I was working my way forward laboriously enough. Courage and optimism enlivened me on my difficult path, for I was able to tell myself I was heading in the right direction. Almost never did I look forward to the future, even though I was making a humble retreat. Yet at the same time I by no means considered myself crushed, rather I had a notion to call myself a conqueror, which then made me laugh. I was not wearing a coat. I considered the snow itself a splendidly warm coat.

Soon I would hear the language of my parents, brothers, and sisters being spoken once more, and I would set foot again upon the dear soil of my native land.

1917

This is a New York Review Book

Published by The New York Review of Books

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Copyright © 2006 by Suhrkamp Verlag, Frankfurt am Main

Translation and introduction copyright © 2012 by Susan Bernofsky

All rights reserved.

Originally published by Suhrkamp Verlag in German as
Robert Walser: Berlin gibt immer den Ton an

The following stories have previously appeared in the present translation in slightly different form: “Frau Scheer” in
M Review/Habit
; “Kutsch,” “Cowshed,” and “Do You Know Meier?” in
Agni
; “Full” in
Asymptote
; “In the Electric Tram” and“Fabulous” in
Green Mountains Review
; “Good Morning, Giantess!,” “Market,” “Aschinger,” and “Mountain Halls” in
Masquerade and Other Stories
, pp. 23–25, 30–36, © 1990 by The Johns Hopkins University Press, reprinted with permission of The Johns Hopkins University Press; “The Park” in
The Review of Contemporary Fiction:
Robert Walser
(Spring, 1992); ”Flower Days,” “Frau Wilke,” and “The Little Berliner” from
Selected Stories
by Robert Walser, translated by Christopher Middleton and others, with an introduction by Susan Sontag, translation and compilation © 1982 by Farrar, Straus and Giroux, Inc., reprinted by permission of Farrar, Straus and Giroux, LLC. and Carcanet Press Ltd.

Cover image: Ernst Ludwig Kirchner, Nollendorfplatz, Berlin, 1912; courtesy Stadtmuseum, Berlin

Cover design: Katy Homans

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Walser, Robert, 1878–1956.

Berlin stories / by Robert Walser ; translated and with an introduction by Susan Bernofsky ; edited by Jochen Greven.

p. cm. — (New York review books classics)

ISBN 978-1-59017-454-8 (alk. paper)

1. Berlin (Germany)—Fiction. I. Bernofsky, Susan. II. Greven, Jochen. III. Title.

PT2647.A64A2 2011

833'.912—dc22

2011013388

eISBN 978-1-59017-473-9
v1.0

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