Soren Kierkegaard

Out of these motle ystates of mind and travel weariness arose the idea for
a new work,Repetition, which he mentioned in a few half-manic lines in
his first letter to Boesen: “Yesterda yI arrived. Toda yI am at work. The
arteries in m yforehead are bulging....Atthis moment the bus ythoughts
are once again at work, and the pen is flourishing in m yhand....Ihave
recommenced m yold promenades up and down Unter den Linden. As
always when I travel, I am a silent letter which no one can pronounce and
which does not say anything to anyone.” As on earlier occasions, “Yours,
S. Kierkegaard” was followed b ya postscript: “B ythe wa y, you must not
burden anyone with news concerning me. I have no desire to satisfy the
least bit of curiosit yin an ywa y.” Nor did Boesen learn what the blossoming
pen in Kierkegaard’s hand had accomplished, for as the secretive author
wrote in his journal: “The real brooding over the idea ought to remain
hidden from ever ysort of profane knowledge and from the interference of
outsiders, just as a bird will not continue to sit on her eggs if someone has
touched them.”
Kierkegaard did not post the letter to Boesen, but four days later he wrote
a new one in which he reported: “In a certain sense, I have alread yattained
what I could have wished for, something which I had not known would
take an hour, a minute, or half a year—an idea, a hint.... As far as this is
concerned, I could just as well come right home again. I won’t do so, how-
ever, but on the other hand it is not likel ythat I will travel an yfurther
than Berlin.” It is not clear just exactl ywhat Kierkegaard had managed to
accomplish so completel ythat, merel ya week after his arrival in Berlin, he
could just as well have returned to Copenhagen, but ten days later, on May
25, when he wrote his third and last letter, it was clear that his idea had
become a reality: “In a little while you will see me again. I have finished a
work that is important to me. I am working full speed on a new work, and
I need m ylibrar yas well as a printshop. At first I was sick, but now I am
reasonably healthy—that is to say, my spirit swells within me and will pre-
sumabl ykill m ybod y. I have never worked as hard as now. I go out for a
brief walk in the morning. Then I come home, sit uninterrupted at m ydesk
until close to three o’clock. M ye yes can hardl ysee. Then I take m ywalking
stick and steal over to the restaurant, but I am so weak that if anyone shouted
m yname out loud I would keel over and die. Then I go home and begin
again. In m yindolence, I have pumped up a might yshower during the past
several months. Now I have pulled the chain, and ideas are pouring over
me—healthy, happy, thriving, cheerful, blessed children, easily born, yet all
bearing the birthmark of m ypersonalit y. Otherwise, as mentioned, I am
weak, m ylegs shake, m yknees creak, et cetera.” At the bottom of the page
Boesen could read: “If I don’t die on the way, I think you will find me