Soren Kierkegaard

made visible, a sort of Job story in whichTibirke Churchin particular plays
the principal role.” Thus in itself the landscape was without much signifi-
cance; it received its importance from the spectator who recalled something
that the landscape might call to mind, in this case, the story of Job. Without
such “a legend made visible,” the scene at Kierkegaard’s feet would have
been merely banal and he merely a disappointed tourist.
Things were no better when he arrived in Tisvilde, which did not exude
rural peace as expected but echoed with the hubbub of German women
hawking their wares from their little shops. Kierkegaard retreated to the
field where Helene’s tomb lay on a little rise, encircled by large monoliths.
But just opposite the tomb some travelers had set up camp and were loudly
mocking the devout pilgrims who approached the tomb, thereby dispelling
every “impression of solemnity.” And if the great, romantic experience of
nature had not been totally ruined already, suddenly an “inspector” ap-
peared out of nowhere and commenced to act as a guide, quickly betraying
his own skepticism about the entire business of the miracle. Kierkegaard
made his way to the tomb, however, and soon found himself amid all sorts
of primitive votive gifts—locks of hair, rags, and crutches. For an instant he
sensed the “cries of the sufferers, their prayers to heaven,” but with the
exception of the tumult and shouting from the encampment across the way
there was in fact nothing to be heard.
Nature was vanquished, so to speak, by the expectations with which
Kierkegaard encountered it. This was again demonstrated when with his
faithful Thiele’s guide to folk legends in hand, he visited Gurre Castle, said
to have been built by Valdemar Atterdag, whose ruins had been under
excavation since 1817. Kierkegaard looked out over the long and narrow
Gurre Lake, with beech forests on both sides, but he saw little more than
this and noted in his journal: “A rather special feature of this view is the
rushes that wave along the shore. While the sighing of the trees permits us
to hear King Valdemar’s hunt, the echo of the horns, and the baying of the
hounds, the rushes seem to exhale applause—the blonde maidens who ad-
mire the knight’s swift riding and noble bearing....Andthen there is the
sea, which like a mighty spirit is always in motion, which even in its greatest
stillness betrays violent spiritual sufferings. A quiet sadness broods over the
district around Gurre Lake....Theformer (the sea) is like a Mozart recita-
tive; the latter is like a Weber melody.” When Kierkegaard left Gurre Lake,
continuing on toward Hellebæk through a beautiful and trackless forest, he
emphasized that “wheel tracks” were now his only “connection with the
world of men.”
He did, however, remain connected with the world of men, which left
its tracks and traces everywhere, not only quite concretely, as in the above-