“You will scarcely find any other way of disarming criticism with complete
certainty than that of refraining from letting your writings appear in print—
thereby achieving what you seem to value so highly, having only ‘one
reader.’ ” The reply is signed, “Your most respectful, P. L. Møller.”
This respect certainly did not amount to much, and Goldschmidt was
surely correct when he wrote that Møller’s hopes of a professorial appoint-
ment had been destroyed by his run-in with Kierkegaard: “Kierkegaard
pounced on him with such vehemence, used such peculiar words, had, or
seemed to have, such an effect on the public that the professorship, instead
of having been brought closer byGæa, was placed at an immeasurable dis-
tance.” Kierkegaard himself noted with a bit of malicious glee that it was
amusing and extremely instructive from a psychological point of view to
see how quickly Møller had taken note of his request and had obeyed or-
ders: “He came forward, bowed respectfully, and then departed to the place
where he belongs.”
The Corsair’sSalvo
Shortly after the publication ofGæa,Goldschmidt and Kierkegaard again
encountered each other on the street. Kierkegaard was more reserved than
usual, and Goldschmidt remembered: “He held strictly to anonymity. Just
as I, of course, could neither know nor say that he was Frater Taciturnus,
he was equally unwilling to admit any knowledge that I was connected with
the editorship ofThe Corsair. We could talk about Frater Taciturnus, P. L.
Møller, andThe Corsairas though these were things that had absolutely
nothing to do with us, and the fact that he sided with Frater Taciturnus and
I took the other side had absolutely nothing to do with personal preferences.
This tone was immediately established by the manner in which he initiated
our conversations. I understood this and followed along; it was as if we
were playing a light little comedy. But the consequence of this impersonal
situation was that I could not go to him and say: ‘I told you thus and such.
Why, despite this, have you made this accusation against Møller?’ On the
other hand, I could and did say, with respect to Frater Taciturnus, that,
however right he might be with respect to other matters, on this point he
[Frater Taciturnus] had committed an injustice and an injury. Kierkegaard
replied to this that Frater Taciturnus’s right must be judged from a higher
point of view. I said that I could not see this higher point of view, and then
we spoke for a moment about other things.” The situation was bizarre and
is an excellent illustration of Golden Age Copenhagen, when the greater
and lesser intellectual lights of the day continually chanced upon one an-