Soren Kierkegaard

variousschoolsoffishes.”Kierkegaardwasnotindoubtastothegenre:“It
shouldbeginwithalyrictomybelovedcapitalcityandplaceofresidence,
Copenhagen.”
When the German guidebook writer Hermann Achenbach visited Co-
penhagenin1836,hewasespeciallyoffendedbythe“revoltingscreeching”
of the women who hawked fruits and vegetables in the street, who were
guilty of “such a disgusting violation of every sort of harmony that only a
Dane could get used to it.” Fortunately Kierkegaard was one such Dane,
so that henot only got used tothe noise but actuallyenjoyed it, and with
hiswell-attunedearhenotedthemannerinwhichthewomenfromValby
gatheredaroundthefountainonGammeltorvandofferedtheirpoultryand
fresh eggs for sale; how the shrimp mongers of Gammel Strand shouted
themselves hoarse with their seafood; and how the women from Amager
stood on Højbro Plads loudly offering their watercress. One day, as he sat
absorbed in hisown thoughts, he was suddenly summonedback to reality
bythecriesofawomanhawkingcherriesforsixshillings;itwasn’tsomuch
thecriesasthefamiliarityofthevoice,whichputhiminmindofanearlier
time, a “memory of my earliest childhood; except that in recent years she
has changed a bit—her mouth has become somewhat crooked, which has
some effect on her pronunciation of the word ‘shilling.’” At other times
therewasafestive,Sundaymood,whichcouldsuddenlycomesomarvel-
ously into focus that it had to be written down: “The sun is shining into
my room so beautifully and in such a lively fashion. The window in the
nextroomisopen.Inthestreeteverythingisquiet.ItisSundayafternoon.
Idistinctlyhearalarkwarblingoutsideawindowinoneoftheneighboring
courtyards,outsidethewindowwheretheprettygirllives.Faraway,ona
distantstreet,Ihearamanhawkinghisshrimp.Theairissowarm,andyet
theentirecityseemsdead.”
Kierkegaard made the language of the city his own, bequeathing it as
well to posterity: “When one hears a maidservant in conversation with
another maidservant, one suddenly gains an insight into something con-
cerning which one has vainly sought enlightenment in books. A turn of
phrase that one has vainly attempted to torture out of one’s own brain or
soughtafterindictionaries(eveninthedictionaryoftheScientificSociety)
is heard in passing, uttered by a common soldier who has no idea how
wealthyheis.”OneJanuarydayin1846heheardacabmansaywithrefer-
ence to one of his colleagues, who had thundered past, quite drunk and
muchtoofast,thatthefellow“hadhadthesortofthingthatleadsaperson
to the gutter.” Kierkegaard’s journals from various periods are filled with
these phenomenological discoveries—the sounds, the light, the life out
there in the streets—but it was most exquisite when chance and a sort of