Soren Kierkegaard

evening in the company of Carl Weis, a connoisseur of fine food and later
a department head in the Danish Ministry of Church and Cultural Affairs:
Kierkegaard politely greeted a group of gentlemen clad elegantly in black
suits and white ties, and a couple of moments later these same gentlemen
came hurrying over and offered their services—as waiters! Despite an hour
of language instruction every day, Kierkegaard had difficulties managing
German.Atfirst,however,itwasquiterefreshing: “Nexttotakingoffevery
stitchofclothing,owningnothingintheworld,nottheleastlittlething,and
thenhurling myselfinto thewater, nothingpleases memore thanspeaking a
foreign language, preferably a living one, in order to become quite foreign
tomyself.”Butitdidnottakemorethanacoupleofweeksbeforebecoming
foreign had become a curse: “I can really see how important language was
to me for concealing my melancholia. Here in Berlin this is impossible for
me—I cannot deceive with language.” Even something as elementary as
gettingthehotelkeepertoprovideacandlestickrequiredanalmostsuperhu-
man effort. And the fact that this hotelkeeper was a shameless price gouger
did nothing to make the situation more tolerable—even if, as a sort of re-
compense for increases in his room rates, he promoted Kierkegaard from
magister, to doctor, and then to professor! At the beginning of the new
year, when Kierkegaard could afford no further promotions, he moved to
the Hotel Saxen at the corner of Ja ̈gerstrasse and Charlottenstrasse, once
againeine Treppe hoch.
Kierkegaard’s hotelier was not the only deceiver—the weather was also
very capricious. Either the east wind brought biting cold, or the west wind
caused everything to thaw and disappear into a dense fog: “Berlin lies in a
swamp.Youneedonlystickyourfingerinthegroundandyouhavewater.”
Kierkegaard sensibly remained indoors and by so doing he also avoided
unnecessarycontactwithhiscountrymen,“whosenumbersareasincredible
as that of the locusts of Egypt.” He dined at the hotel, where the food was
excellent and the prices were reasonable. On New Year’s Eve he made an
exception, however, and participated in the festivities at the gathering place
called the Belvedere, where things were apparently quite merry: “We espe-
cially sought to cheer ourselves up and bring back memories of home by
eating apple popovers.” Kierkegaard decided on a little New Year’s gift to
himself. For quite some time he had had his eye on a slender walking stick
that was displayed in a craftsman’s window, and for a long while he had
made do with simply walking past the object of his desires. “Finally, one
day my desire reached such heights that I strode into the shop. When I
wantedtoclosethedoor,whatshouldhappenbutthewindowpaneshatters,
after which I decided to pay for the pane and not to purchase the stick.”