Soren Kierkegaard

briskly, and we—or I—bear the blame for his beginning to cry, which,
from a child’s point of view, he was quite justified in doing. This is why I
am writing this and am sending the parcel that accompanies this.” The letter
goes on to include a lively retelling of one of the Grimms’ fairy tales, while
the “little parcel” that accompanied the letter was intended as a sort of
compensation: “So convey my greetings to the little fellow, and give him
the accompanying box of toys from the strange man who walked so briskly
with him today.” Signed: “Your entirely devoted / Cousin S.K.”
It was scarcely an exaggeration for Kierkegaard to say that he walked his
way to his “best ideas,” for what he wrote he wrotecurrente calamo, that is,
as quickly as the pen could move, which was only possible, he explained,
because he “put everything into final form while walking.” His walks were
therefore carefully calibrated to match his volume of ideas, and to F. L.
Liebenberg’s audible amazement Kierkegaard could suddenly interrupt
their conversation, almost in midsentence, with the words: “Now I must
go home and write....Iwork during certain definite hours every day.”
Dumbfounded, Liebenberg asked, “But can you always be ready at a partic-
ular hour?” whereupon Kierkegaard replied, “If I am not when I sit down, it
comes quite soon.” After which Kierkegaard tipped his hat, wished Lieben-
berg good day, and went home where, according to A. F. Schiødte, it was
not unusual for him to have scarcely come in the door before going directly
to his writing desk, “where he would stand for a long time with his hat and
his cane or umbrella and write.”
When he was at home Kierkegaard was just as inaccessible as he was
forthcoming when he went out. Tycho Spang relates that Kierkegaard
“lived in a large, elegant apartment with a series of furnished rooms which
in winter were heated and illuminated, and in which he did a good deal of
pacing back and forth. As best I can remember, in each room there was ink,
pen, and paper, which he used during his wanderings to fix an idea with a
few quick words or a symbol.” Spang continues: “He had a difficult time
putting up with visitors, and his servant had to deny that he was home to
everyone except a very few individuals.” The Norwegian author and femi-
nist Camilla Collett wished to call upon the literary muckety-mucks of
Copenhagen, but had been turned away by both Christian Winther and
Hans Christian Andersen. When she tried to visit Kierkegaard at his place
one day, his servant was compelled to disappoint her by informing her that
the magister was not at home. When she came down to the street she
glanced up at the apartment in disappointment and saw Kierkegaard stand-
ing at the window; their eyes met, and in their mutual surprise they nodded
briefly and utterly spontaneously to one another. Otto Zinck had a different
but no less bizarre experience when he went past Kierkegaard’s lavishly