Barbara

by Jorgen-Frantz Jacobsen

  Andreas Heyde came closer and closer to the entrance, still chatting and laughing. He had perhaps not noticed Barbara so far. Pastor Poul observed him at closer quarters, noticed the authoritative manner in which he was ambling along, examined his friendly and at the same time indifferent features. He was attracted by the vivacity of his character. And at the same time he was aware that this meant his own ruin.

  The inevitable was approaching. Andreas Heyde looked up suddenly and adopted a vigilant expression. Barbara had the side of her face turned towards him and saw nothing. But Anna Sophie started to jest and ask Andreas if he no longer recognized the old aunt who had come down to receive him. Throughout this welcoming scene, Barbara stood there with a preoccupied but polite expression and held her head in a quite dignified manner. Then Andreas quickly turned to her with an open and slightly arrogant smile. His stance was careless, but the moment he saw her face he became serious and quickly prepared to pay her a compliment.

  “Well, I suppose you know…?” said Anna Sophie.

  “Oh yes,” said Andreas with a bow. “I remember you well from my time at school… Mrs Salling.”

  “Mrs Aggersøe,” Anna Sophie corrected him with a smile.

  “Mrs… Mrs Aggersøe?” Andreas asked in surprise and bowed again. His fair face was quite stiff with confusion.

  Barbara suddenly blushed.

  “I remember you well,” she hurried to say, finishing her sentence with a little laugh.

  Pastor Poul heard it. This familiar sigh ending in a falsetto, oh, he knew her. The game was on now.

  Both Andreas and Barbara were a little embarrassed, but it was she who was the first to find a few matter-of-fact words to say. She also came to his assistance, listening attentively to what he told them, and applauding his words with brief bursts of laughter. It was not long before he was as relaxed and cheerful as before. Yet he did not quite become himself again. In everything he said, there was now a somewhat gentle tone of gravity and courtesy.

  “I suppose you will be content to stay with us, Andreas?” asked Anna Sophie. They moved off. Pastor Wenzel, the judge, Andreas Heyde, Anna Sophie and Barbara. Everyone was on their way home. A broad flow of people moved slowly between the Royal Store buildings up along the path between the churchyard and the Corps de Garde. Pastor Poul went with them and managed to walk alongside his wife. She looked at him, as though a little surprised, but she said nothing.

  “We are not likely to be leaving today,” said Pastor Poul.

  “No,” was her indifferent reply.

  “Perhaps it is not all that important to you either?”

  “What? Oh, leaving. No, of course we can’t leave now the ship’s arrived. Tomorrow, my dear. Or another day.”

  She spoke to him as to a pestering child, kindly but with her mind on other things.

  “You will come in, won’t you?” asked Anna Sophie. “You must come and meet our nephew, Pastor Poul.”

  Pastor Poul would have liked to find an excuse, but Barbara said, “Oh, do come, Poul.”

  Pastor Poul went along as the last of the guests, unhappy and plagued with misgivings. He felt completely out of it. It all reminded him too much of the evening when the French ships came to town.

  Andreas Heyde was not a man to sit still on a chair in the parson’s living room. He was all over the place, talking to everyone at the same time, about economics one moment, opera the next and occasionally the slaughter of pilot whales. He had with him a new book, he said, that would interest the judge – he had it here in his chest and would dig it out straight away. Unceremoniously, he took off his morning coat, hung it over a chair and started unpacking. Meanwhile he sang in his clear voice: “La la la la la la la la!”

  Then he rose and looked at Barbara with sudden courtesy.

  “Oh, Mrs Aggersøe, forgive me for being so sans façon. I forget to put away my bad student habits. I will try to remember…”

  The judge thought that Andreas looked less like a student than a petit maître with his exaggerated shirt sleeves and his lace. These were perhaps bagatelles that could be attributed to his youth. He was reluctant to make a hasty judgement. But he had expected his nephew to be rather different from this.

  So had Pastor Wenzel, very much so. He was by now deeply upset; the red patches glowed like geraniums in his cheeks. He did not know who he was most angry with, Andreas or his wife, Anna Sophie, who was bouncing about and making a fool of herself for this empty-headed fop they had got in the house. But Johan Hendrik was here reaping the rewards for his great plan of making the lad study such a vain and worldly subject.

  “La la la la la la la la,” Andreas was already singing again.

  “Aye, la la la la,” thought Johan Hendrik. There was no denying that he was annoyed. “La la la – bah.”

  Pastor Poul watched his wife. She was sitting straight up on a chair and saying nothing, but there was a slight smile on her lips. Andreas did not address her or even look at her. He looked at anything but her. And yet she was the pivot around which all his excitement revolved. Pastor Poul saw this with devilish clarity, and he saw that Barbara saw it. She was enjoying it all, both the economics and the opera and the dolphins and the chest and the shirt sleeves and the singing, as though it were all a comedy being performed in honour of her. What was it the judge had once said: that no dog could admire her from its corner without her noticing it and taking pleasure in it! But this was a young Apollo making himself into her monkey.

  Andreas Heyde soon started digging out all kinds of things from his trunk. He was impatient and swift and spread it all around, stockings and waistcoats, books and music, buckles, pistols, small caskets with miniatures on the lid and many other manly and masculine possessions. A sweet, fiery perfume rose from the chest. Finally, he took out an instrument; it was a lute.

  “Good heavens,” Pastor Wenzel exclaimed in a bitter voice. “I must say you have gathered some worldly goods.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Andreas. “But I still haven’t got one of those,” he made a circular movement, “one of those millstones, you know, uncle, that priests wear… I mean a ruff, one of those you would have liked to see me turn up in.”

  He pulled a comical, innocent face and threw a hidden glance at Barbara. Pastor Poul saw that she quickly bit her lip and stifled a laugh. She suddenly flushed and looked serious. Pastor Wenzel turned around and quickly went up and down the room. Shortly afterwards, he went out.

  The judge smiled to himself. He stood watching the battle.

  “I actually thought you played the violin,” he said.

  “So I do,” replied Andreas. “But I keep my violin separately, in a box constructed specially for the purpose. I only take this lute when I am going to sing.”

  “Do you sing as well?”

  “Well, just a few short ditties.”

  “Hmm,” said Johan Hendrik, putting his hand up to his chin.

  “Well, sing a song for us,” shouted Anna Sophie and Barbara almost as one voice.

  They had suddenly become restless; they could not sit still; their eyes were shining with excitement. Andreas started thrumming and screwing on his instrument. A thoughtful wrinkle had developed between his eyes, and he sat down on the edge of his chest, one leg dangling in the air and the other supported on the ground. He stared ahead for a few more moments, and then he suddenly looked up in his eager manner, thrummed a powerful chord and sang:

  Oh Columbine, oh Columbine,

  Oh Columbine, sweet love of mine,

  Your lovely face I long to see,

  Oh, do you never long for me?

  He laughed and looked at Barbara with comic despair in his great eyes. Then he continued sobbing over his lute:

  In days gone by, you loved me dear

  But love has left you now I fear

  So dear to me you aye have been

  No longer I to you, I wean.

  Pastor Poul wished he were far away. He felt as though his heart was an open book, which ev
eryone was reading and laughing at. In despair he tried to put on a merry face, but he knew he looked miserable and wretched. But suddenly, the judge slapped Andreas on the back: “All right, Harlequin, I think that’s enough. Think of your uncle; I don’t think he appreciates this sort of thing. And I thought you said you had a book for me?”

  Andreas put the instrument down. It was as though he had suddenly forgotten song and music. He quickly bent down over his chest, rummaged around a little in it and extracted a book: “Here it is, uncle. I hope you will accept it as a little present. It’s quite a new book, and one that has been much discussed.”

  “François Quesnay,” read Johan Hendrik.

  “Yes, he is one of the new economists known as the physiocrats. They want everything in the world to go according to a quite new melody, one that is quite new and more natural. They say that agriculture and the exploitation of the earth are the true source of all wealth, and of course ought also to play first fiddle in the economy of any well run land.

  The judge stood with the open book in his hand. He looked with shining eyes at his nephew, who became increasingly eager as he explained how everything in the world would work of its own accord if only the peasantry, from the sweat of whose brow everyone lived, could be enlightened, skilled and industrious.

  “Pauvre paysan,” he said, “pauvre royaume. Pauvre royaume, pauvre roi! Aye, we see that here, too. If our farmers were skilled enough themselves to grow all the corn they use for their bread, the king would have no need to sell the corn here in the Royal Store at a great loss to himself, and our country would save a great deal thereby.”

  The judge made several times to stroke his chin, but he forgot, and his hand stopped half way there and sank down again – this was far too interesting. Barbara was the only one not to be interested in the discussion. It was as though a shadow had descended on the area of the room in which she was sitting.

  “Well, we must be going,” she said.

  Andreas suddenly came to a standstill. He didn’t really know which way to turn, and it looked as though he wanted to address everyone at the same time.

  “Going?” said Anna Sophie. “Surely you will stay and have something to eat? The food is almost ready. Andreas, come along and I will show you your room.”

  “My room,” said Andreas. “I had thought of asking for a room that is not up in the attic. I might need to get up, you see.”

  He went out together with Anna Sophie. The judge stood there deep in thought and then he joined his brother in the study.

  Pastor Wenzel was walking up and down in some agitation.

  “I don’t know what you say to that young show-off,” he muttered. “Now you can see what’s come of those pointless studies. He’s eaten up the whole of his inheritance, indeed he has. And my money and your money. And otherwise all he’s done is learn to sing some dubious ditties.”

  “Well,” said Johan Hendrik, “he has his faults. But what the devil has that got to do with his studies? The lad knows his economics.”

  “Yes, you can see that by his showy clothes,” came the bitter reply.

  The judge suddenly turned towards him: “Never mind, I’m damned glad we haven’t got him home as a pedant or a bookworm.” He bleated angrily: “Or as a sanctimonious hypocrite. Now he’s come for the good of the country. We have to help the farms to prosper. I don’t think you understand that. But let me tell you something you will understand: That will produce more tithes for you as well. Goodbye.”

  Pastor Poul and Barbara had been left alone in the living room. She avoided looking at her husband, and she jumped when he suddenly was standing before her.

  “Oh, my dear,” she exclaimed. “What is wrong with you, Poul?”

  She got up and stroked him, and her voice was one of great tenderness: “What is wrong, my love?”

  Pastor Poul made no reply and did not move. His face showed no emotion, but his eyes turned black with anger. He was not far from striking her. But suddenly he crumpled and simply said, “Barbara.”

  She hurried to embrace him and she looked at him. There was some terrible fear in her eyes.

  “Will you leave with me today?” he asked dully.

  “Yes” she replied, still frightened. But suddenly her face brightened: “Yes, let’s go.” She kissed him several times: “Of course. We will simply leave.”

  “But what about the law speaker?” said Pastor Poul suddenly. “It is hardly likely he will want to leave today.”

  “Never mind,” said Barbara. “We’ll go without him. We’ll get someone to row us there on our own.”

  Andreas was radiant when he entered the room a few minutes later.

  “Did you get a comfortable bedroom?” asked Barbara.

  “Couldn’t be better. In a parsonage one ought always to stay on the ground floor… strange when it is my Uncle Wenzel who is the minister.”

  “Yes, then you can come home in the middle of the night when you feel like it,” said Barbara.

  “Exactly,” shouted Andreas. “You understand me, Madam.”

  “Yes,” Barbara went on. Her eyes were full of life: “And then you can…”

  She broke off.

  “Exactly,” said Andreas. “That as well.”

  They both laughed. Barbara was a little flushed. But she suddenly reached out her hand to him and said, “Well, goodbye, monsieur, and enjoy yourself. We are leaving now.”

  Andreas Heyde’s face was suddenly like a candle that has burnt out.

  “Are you leaving?” he stammered. “I thought…”

  A tiny delighted smile spread around the corners of Barbara’s mouth: “Yes,” she said in a tone that was both teasing and apologetic. “We really do have to leave now.”

  “You can’t leave today,” said Anna Sophie, who had entered the room. “All the men are unloading. You won’t find a team to row you.”

  “No, you won’t get anyone,” repeated Andreas eagerly.

  Barbara looked a little dubious. “What are we going to do, then?” she asked. “It looks as though we shall have to stay.” She gave her husband a look that was at once one of laughing and weeping: “That’s a pity, Poul.”

  Pastor Poul was desperate. He felt it was a matter of life and death.

  “We’ll walk to Velbestad,” he said, “and get a boat there. And that will be a lot quicker as well.”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” said Barbara. “It’s both quicker and a lot more fun. How foolish of me not to have thought of that straight away.”

  “But what about all your luggage?” objected Anna Sophie. “You can’t take it with you that way.”

  “No, that’s quite impossible,” said Andreas in an effort to persuade them.

  “No, so we are no further,” said Barbara.

  “The law speaker can bring the luggage when he comes,” said Pastor Poul.

  “Yes, of course,” said Barbara. “The law speaker can bring the luggage. Then we had better be off.”

  She gave Andreas a look that was both smiling and apologetic at the same time.

  “Well, then, goodbye monsieur.”

  Within quite a short time all the arrangements had been made. The luggage prepared and Barbara dressed for the journey. As they passed the westernmost houses in the town, she suddenly took her husband’s arm and gave him a warm smile. “Oh, it’s so exciting. It’s almost as though you are carrying me away.”

  She pressed herself close to him before letting go of his arm. Before them lay the broad landscape in the light of the midday sun. They walked across stretches of green and over brown heaths and were more and more alone amidst nature. The rivers rushed and the golden plover sang in the heather. It was a beautiful afternoon, warm and fresh. When they had reached the ridge above Velbestad, they had a view west over the open sea. The islands of Hestoy and Koltur stood out, surrounded by foam and with the afternoon shadows on their east-facing slopes. The mountains of Vágar rose bluish in the north west. Pastor Poul and Barbara looked at e
ach other and laughed as though they had escaped some great danger.

  Christmas Festivities

  The first months Pastor Poul spent as a married man in the Jansegard Parsonage were the happiest in his marriage. During this time, the days became shorter and shorter and the weather increasingly rough and stormy. In the few hours around noon when it was light, they could see men carrying baskets on their backs as they went across towards the lake to fetch fuel from the little group of peat stacks that looked like Capernaum. But it was a desolate and wet Capernaum, and when the men returned with their burdens in the dusk and in the cold light produced by the showers, they looked grey like cats against the dark earth.

  The winter was a burden to many minds. But for Pastor Poul, the darkness was only like a warm nest into which he burrowed deeper and deeper. His days were good and sweet. Wherever he was, wherever he went, whether in the servants’ hall, in the pulpit or in the huts tending the sick, he knew in his own mind that he was a man who had just left a good harbour and was about to return to it immediately. Barbara was always waiting for him, always looking forward to his coming home. She made clothes for him and tried them on him, and she was in a bad mood only when he had to go away for any length of time. Then, she could hardly bring herself to pack his chest and give him food for the journey. But occasionally, he had to go to the distant parishes such as Sørvang and Bøur and to spend a few nights there, and a couple of times a year he even had to go as far away as the island of Mikines.

  He could perhaps simply have felt that he was too happy, as had happened a couple of times before, but he knew now how fragile happiness was, and the uncertainty following from this made him spry and alert.

  He now realised something that he had been unaware of as a younger man – that love is like a flame that cannot burn clear and bright without fear, like a draft of air, keeping it burning. But this fear, which had once been erratic and unpredictable, had now become a gentle, steady draught. He knew there was only one danger threatening him. He always remembered Andreas Heyde, but he never mentioned him. Nor did Barbara mention him.