They all started and gazed at Master Wenzel. He sat looking down at the table. It was impossible to determine whether a thin and apprehensive halo fluttered momentarily over his thin hair.
“We have all sinned,” he added, “and we are without honour in the eyes of God.”
The dean looked angry.
“Well, perhaps we should close with a short prayer,” he said.
Master Wenzel suddenly started eagerly leafing through the book that lay before him. Pastor Christian, too, came to life. “I would like to suggest a hymn from The Rare Jewel of Faith,” he said.
“No,” said the dean in a sharp voice, murmuring some scornful words about jewels.
“Here, in Hymns and Spiritual Songs,” said Master Wenzel, continuing to leaf through the book, “there must be some suitable brief verse.”
“Well,” said Pastor Gregers Birkeroed in his careladen voice, “some verse or other. For instance: Ne’er am I without a care, but yet am never without grace; I am ever full of sorrow…”
Dean Anders Morsing looked as though he was about to say, “Shut up.” He took The Spiritual Choir from Master Wenzel and started to look through it himself: “We’re not going to have any sighing of that kind here. Far better to have a penitential hymn.”
He pronounced the word in a voice full of retribution and scorn.
“For instance, there is one here: the second hymn is one of confession and remission. He flicked through a few more pages: it is quite unending, but never mind, we need a desperate remedy…”
He looked up, his eyes shining with a kind of grim merriment beneath his bushy eyebrows.
The clergymen coughed, sneezed and unfolded huge handkerchiefs. Master Wenzel distributed The Spiritual Choir.
Pastor Severin was the first to start singing. He had a mighty voice:
Come soul, now let us weep
And flesh, thou shalt weep, too.
Now Pastor Gregers’ hollow, plaintive voice could be heard:
Let us now for sorrow weep
With eyes and mind and spirit.
And now all joined in the singing:
Cleanse your unclean heart
Of evil, shame and fault
Replenish it with sigh and pain
Throw off the cloak of sin
The clergymen sang loud and slow, lingering tremulously on certain notes.
It was like a boat full of penitents, rowing hesitantly and uncertainly over treacherous waters. Only the dean sat there as a kind of steersman, with sharp, commanding eyes. Occasionally, he beat the rhythm on the table.
By the time they had reached the twelfth verse, tears were pouring down Pastor Marcus’s cheeks. But Pastor Severin was singing with excited voice and transfigured face.
The twentieth verse was the last. It was sung with un-diminished power and a confident sense of liberation:
And I will make my prayer,
Confess before your face
And seek forgiveness fair
From you the Son of Grace.
Ah let me now be told
You sin-free are, go hence!
Then shall my lips tenfold
Your praises e’er dispense.
The clergymen rose and wiped their noses.
“Aye,” said Pastor Severin. “It seriously does one good to occasionally have resort to the saving arms of God’s grace.”
“Yes, grace,” said Pastor Marcus. “Where would one be without it?
The dean gave him a sardonic nod.
“Well, I don’t think you need to ask that question, Pastor Marcus. Incidentally, I don’t think you should think yourself too safe.”
“Nor should any of us,” he added in a louder voice.
“God will not be mocked.”
Pastor Severin was busy pushing snuff up into his broad nostrils. He directed a gently reproachful look at the dean and gave a huge sneeze.
“Well,” said Master Wenzel, opening the door to the parlour. “If you would be so good as to…”
The scent of chocolate and the sound of women’s voices again made their way into the hall.
“Aye, yes,” exclaimed Pastor Severin. “It’s so good… what shall I say… earthly things also demand attention.”
And he burst out in his usual laughter and slapped Pastor Christian on the back.
In a Garden
Barbara was that day wearing a green silk dress with a white gauze fichu. She was irritated that Pastor Poul was taken up all that morning; she said that the clergymen were wasting their time on a lot of rubbish. They were not discussing anything but tithes and wool and wool and tithes. For that was what parsons were always like when they got together. And that, of course, was something Barbara knew all about. She was in the bailiff’s house with Suzanne, listening to her sad story. She didn’t know what to say to her; she herself was so happy and had know idea what it was to be unhappy.
“You are all right,” said Suzanne with a sad smile. “You have always just fallen in love or just got betrothed. You don’t know what it is not to be at all in love and yet betrothed.”
“Yes, by God I do,” Barbara exclaimed suddenly and with conviction. “If there is one thing I know, it’s that.”
She sighed happily and in relief. “I have been married for years without being in love.”
“Yes, but not to Gabriel.”
Barbara’s face became pensive for a moment. It was true enough: she had not been married to Gabriel. Then in a knowing voice, she said, “Gabriel!… You’ll manage him all right.”
Suzanne shook her head gently: “You have no idea of how I loathe him.”
Barbara’s face still looked as though she was estimating Gabriel. She didn’t loathe him. He was always so full of mockery and so sure of himself, but it could surely not be difficult to throw him off balance. Curiously enough, she had never tried to do that. She had never had time.
“Gabriel,” she said, “…you can probably have everything your own way with him. All you need to do is tease him.”
“Yes, but I can’t stand him. I simply can’t abide him.”
“Oh-h,” said Barbara. “But then you simply don’t need to bother about him, do you?”
That was the remarkable thing about Barbara. Suzanne had always admired her and believed that she was equipped with all the experience in the world. But all she was doing now was talking like a child. She was sitting in the sunshine over by the window and looking out and was most interested in talking about things of no import. And when she suddenly saw Gabriel approaching, she became radiant and shouted out to him:
“Hello, Gabriel.”
As he entered the room, Suzanne felt that Gabriel was different from usual. There was a delighted, almost benevolent smile on his fat face. He rubbed his hands: “Well, Barbara, how goes it?”
That was all he said. His eyes said everything else. With friendly insolence he considered her slender figure. The well known titillating laughter could be heard in Barbara’s throat and an expression of great delight illuminated her face. Gabriel became hot under the collar as a result, but at the same time he felt a little stab in his heart.
“Aye, Barbara,” he said, “you are all right. You always get away with things.”
Barbara gave something between a sigh and a laugh. She tried to look serious. “What do you mean?”
But she was far too happy to be able to hide anything. She blushed and was very beautiful. Gabriel’s insolent face almost broke. His heart hurt him. Damn it. What did he want with this rose on which he always scratched himself?
But Barbara had suddenly had second thoughts and hurried across to Suzanne. She kissed her and embraced her time after time.
“Good bye, Gabriel,” she shouted and went.
Gabriel stood and thought for a while. He kicked a footstool and then went across to the window. “Good God,” he said, shaking his head. “Now she’s gone out to look for him – the parson. Ugh, that lecherous creature. I hope you won’t have too much to do with her
in the future, Suzanne; she’ll not do you any good.”
Suzanne had got up. She tossed her head; her eyes were small with scorn: “At least Barbara is in love with the man she’s going to marry, and that’s more than can be said of me.”
She went out and slammed the door.
“Now then,” shouted Gabriel, throwing himself down in a chair. He crossed his legs and was completely at home in the bailiff’s sitting room.
When Barbara emerged into Gongin, she met Johan Hendrik, the judge.
He greeted her with his usual sarcastic smile: “Well?”
Barbara laughed contentedly.
“Ah, when you look like that, we all know which way the wind is blowing,” said the judge. “Tell me. Is he very much in love?”
Barbara laughed back at him. She liked Johan Hendrik; she often actually felt an urge to confide in him.
The judge stroked his chin. “This man Gabriel,” he murmured. “Hmm, I don’t know. It’s a bad business.”
“Why on earth have you never thought of marrying her?” said Barbara with a laugh. But she immediately blushed slightly.
“I? Who do you think could be bothered with an old man like me?”
“Oh, stop it, Johan Henrik.” Barbara laughed aloud and was by now quite red in her face.
“What do you really think I would be like as a husband?” asked Johan Hendrik.
Barbara looked down. Then, kicking gently at a stone: “I don’t know. I once dreamt you were married.”
“To Suzanne?”
“No. To me.”
“Now, now,” said Johan Henrik, “are you sure I can stand hearing that sort of thing?”
Barbara’s face was quite pale. She tried to look straight at the judge, but finally had to close her eyes. There was something both comical and touching about this.
“No, what was I going to say,” she finally managed to mumble: “I think that Suzanne would be a thousand times happier with you than with Gabriel.”
The judge stroked his chin.
“The law speaker said the same to me this morning. Have you two been getting together?”
“No, not at all. Not at all.” Barbara laughed: “It was just something that struck me the moment I saw you. And so I thought I might just as well say it to you straight away. Fancy the law speaker having the same idea!”
She was flushed and happy and had quite recovered her composure.
“Aye, it’s a curious thing,” said Johan Henrik. “This is the only time in my life that I have had the impression that the law speaker really wanted something. He certainly didn’t say much, as you can well imagine, but…”
“Well, won’t you, then?” shouted Barbara. She stood there shuffling about, and her voice radiated both eagerness and expectation.
“Well, of course. As far as I am concerned… I have always thought very highly of Suzanne, and even if they should write a song about me… though I don’t think they will do. But, you understand, I don’t think there is much to be done about that now.”
“Oh, but you must try, Johan Hendrik. Won’t you?”
“We’ll see,” said the judge, adopting a meditative expression.
But then he brightened up and glanced at Barbara:
“But then it will never be us two.”
Barbara dropped her eyes like lightning. Her throat tightened.
“Goodbye, Johan Hendrik,” she exclaimed and hurried off in the direction of Reyn. Joy radiated like a sun in her voice.
The first thing to meet his eyes when Pastor Poul left Regnegaard after the clergymen’s dinner was Barbara in her radiant green silk dress. He felt a dull sense of satisfaction as so often when he had hoped but not expected to see her. She came towards him with a smile, took his arm and was full of gaiety and tremulous spirit. The falsetto in her voice tickled his ear like a rainbow of sounds. He went with her; she was vivacious and relaxed, while he himself was burdened with agonizing joy.
“Where shall we go?” he asked.
They wandered through Gongin right down to the river outside the town. Pastor Poul told her about the meeting, about Pastor Christian and Elsebeth, and Barbara laughed and said that it was a cruel way to treat Pastor Christian.
“Didn’t they say anything about me?” she asked suddenly. Her voice sounded rather humble and she looked down.
“No. That’s to say, Pastor Severin said something ridiculous, but you know what he’s like.”
“What did he say?”
“Oh, he simply laughed loud and said something to the effect that it was all madness and so on.”
Pastor Poul felt a little pressure on his arm. Barbara shot a quick look at him. There was something both worrying and grateful in her look. There was a pause. Then she quite casually asked:
“Did the dean say anything?”
“No,” replied Pastor Poul firmly. “But Pastor Severin,” he added quickly, “Pastor Severin thought that it would have been far better if I had married Elsebeth Marcusdatter from Sandoy. He said she was a sweet lamb.”
Barbara looked like a child that has been ill treated. But it was merely a shadow that passed over her face. She laughed straight away and said, “You know, I think Elsebeth’s a very sweet girl and she suits Pastor Christian perfectly.”
Barbara continued lost in thought. Then she added, “But Pastor Severin is and will always be a fool. He usually addresses speeches to me and calls me Chrysillis and Amaryllis.”
They had stood for a time down by the river, had turned back and again reached Reyn. They didn’t know where to go. Barbara suddenly had an idea: they should go into the headmaster’s garden and sit down. It was so quiet and secluded there.
The sun was shining straight down into the headmaster’s garden. It was behind the school on a steep slope on the best side of Reyn. There were no trees, but several decorative bushes and everywhere the angelicas stood as high as a man with clusters of white flowers. Nowhere in the Faroe Islands had Pastor Poul seen such a luxuriant plant growth; he was almost anaesthetised by the heat and the spicy scent from the plants.
Barbara sat down. She was at home here as she was everywhere else in Havn.
“Have you got a knife?” she asked.
He handed her a knife. Barbara cut one of the tall angelicas off, trimmed the leaves and flowers off it and handed him a piece of the thick stem. “There,” she said, “just taste that.”
Pastor Poul bit the stem. It was extremely green and juicy.
“Doesn’t it taste good?” laughed Barbara. She had started eating.
The angelica tasted strong, burning and fresh and darkly spiced all at the same time. Pastor Poul did not immediately know whether he liked it; he was quite surprised, and it burned his mouth.
“It tastes of summer,” said Barbara. She sat with the greenish white flowery sunshade in her hand, turning it with her fingers.
“It tastes as it looks,” said the parson, thinking of the plant’s fierce, luxuriant green. Everything around them was green. They were sitting as though at the bottom of a bottle.
“Can you imagine,” said Barbara, “I’ve proposed to someone today, proposed to a man.”
“Proposed? What do you mean?” asked Pastor Poul. “Who have you proposed to?”
“To Johan Hendrik, the judge.”
Pastor Poul’s heart had started to beat. What was this? He was always full of apprehension, never felt completely safe.
“Oh Poul. Don’t look like that,” exclaimed Barbara. She took his head in her hands and looked him straight in the eye: “Do you hear? You mustn’t look like that.”
“No, but…” he murmured and was quite confused.
“Did you really believe what I said?” Barbara went on, refusing to let go of his head. Her voice was both happy and indignant.
“Of course not,” said Pastor Poul, gently disengaging himself. “You just… gave me a fright.”
“You are so silly, you know,” said Barbara. “You mustn’t be like that. It’s not nice of you.
It’s really horrible. I didn’t propose on my own behalf, of course. I proposed on behalf of Suzanne. Can’t you understand that?”
And then Barbara told all about Suzanne and Gabriel, how horrible he was and what a pity it all was, meanwhile twisting the big, greenish flower parasol she was holding.
But Pastor Poul thought of that Sunday evening when the French ships were in port.
“And what did the judge say?” he asked idly.
“Well, of course, he said… that he would rather have married me.”
“Oh,” said Pastor Poul.
Barbara’s eyes wandered a little and then she tried to catch his, but he was looking down at the ground. So she took a blade of grass and tickled his neck with it.
“Silly, silly, silly,” she whispered in his ear.
It was a moment or two before Pastor Poul raised his head, but the moment she could see into his eyes, Barbara flung her arms passionately around his neck, kissed him long and fervently and finally sighed affectionately. At last she, looked him in the eye and asked: “Did you really think that?”
But at that moment she held him tight again, moaned and was almost as though she would never let him go. Pastor Poul sat there in the burning air, quite confused; he could still feel the sweetness from the angelica in his mouth, and his heart was burdened with agonizing joy.
Gabriel was in the bailiff’s sitting room as Pastor Poul and Barbara went past. The sight of them struck him like a blow between the eyes; he was perfectly well aware that they must be together at that moment. Nevertheless, the sight of them was more than he could stand; it hurt him, not only in his heart, but in his stomach as well, indeed right down into his legs. This was the very devil. He wandered restlessly up and down the floor. Then he went out. He didn’t want to go too quickly, for he was frightened of catching up with them and seeing them again. Why did he go out at all? He couldn’t prevent the lower part of his body from bearing him away through Gongin.
He stopped in the middle of Reyn. He couldn’t see them anywhere. The sun was burning down on his head, and he had forgotten his bonnet. He was completely confused and at a loss and had a dull sensation in his thighs. He wandered around among the houses, but kept returning to the highest point of Reyn, the part known as the school ground. His nostrils were palpating. Suddenly, he heard Barbara’s laugh. It struck him like a tiny sharp, shiny arrow somewhere in his body. No, this was more than he could stand. He went straight into the headmaster’s garden and made his way through the red currant bushes. He stopped and listened for a moment. The flies were buzzing and the sun burning. He could now hear Barbara’s voice quite close at hand. And there she sat in her green silk dress and great fichu.
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