And yet it happened that they spoke about him. In their happiest moments, Pastor Poul could feel it like a stitch in his heart, and then he would ask: “Do you think you can always be with me as you are now?”
What Barbara answered to this varied. When she was at her giddiest, she made no reply at all. But otherwise it could happen that she looked uncertain and in a deeply emotional voice said: “I hope so.”
When this upset her husband, she tried to console him. She said that he should stop asking such foolish questions, that it was nasty of him especially now that they were so very happy together. And when she could not think of anything else to say, she would finish with these words: “Good heavens, Poul, one doesn’t have to think of such things. There are just the two of us at the moment, aren’t there, Poul. Can’t you be content with that?”
Pastor Poul saw the wisdom in this. They were both helpless, defenceless human beings.
He knew Barbara, good God he did! Her intentions were no less good than his, and her heart was many times better than his. But she was not in control of her heart; it always went its own way. They both trembled before this heart, which was so untameable and so blind, and the only thing they could turn to in their human weakness was the Grace of God.
In this way, Pastor Poul learned to accept every new day as a gift from God. In the dark mornings, he read morning prayers for the servants in the light of a tallow candle, but afterwards he usually went down to the sands to say his own prayers. And while the day burst forth from the south east like a blood red rose, he wandered back and forth on the dark shore and remembered the words of the morning hymn:
Each morn He fills my cup
With mercies beyond count
There were frequent golden mornings in December and this was the source of great joy to Pastor Poul. But for most people, the days were only like more or less confined pools of light in the harsh confines of the dark months. Everyone was now looking forward to the joys of Christmas and the sense of liberation they would bring, and they were preparing for it by slaughtering sheep and baking. A couple of boats had been in Tórshavn to fetch Christmas drinks, and one of them brought a letter for Barbara from her friend Suzanne.
It was quite a cheerful letter, a happy letter. “If you had been here,” wrote Suzanne, “you would hardly have recognised Havn again. Things are quite different here now. We have had a ball, and we are soon to perform a comedy in the Assembly House. It is called Herman von Bremenfeld, and all we young people are going to take part in it. As you might imagine, it is Andreas Heyde who is the driving force in all this.”
Barbara was at first very enlivened by this letter, but then she lapsed into thought. Pastor Poul did not get much out of talking to her that day, and she answered him as though from a different world. That evening, he asked her if she was sorry she had not been to the play in Tórshavn. But she embraced him and said that she would far rather celebrate Christmas with him in Jansegard. He dared not tell her that it would only be a very brief Christmas that they could celebrate together. On Christmas Day itself, immediately after service, he had to go to Sorvág to celebrate Evensong, and if the weather was good, he would have to go to Mikines on the second day of Christmas. He hoped very much that the weather would not be good.
Among those travelling by boat to Tórshavn was the law speaker. He was the last to return. Only on Christmas Eve, after dark, did he return to Sandavág. By then, the holiday, was with them, and there were not many who noticed that he had a guest with him. No one had been expected in the law speaker’s home, but as soon as the sons in the house saw the stranger, they guessed it must be Andreas coming to celebrate Christmas. We thought as much, they said as they shook his hand. Andreas could surely not come back to the Faroes without also visiting Stegard! And Andreas laughed and was immediately just as he had been as a boy when he had regularly visited his relative Samuel Mikkelsen and been guilty of countless mischievous tricks together with Samuel Mikkelsen’s four boisterous sons. He remembered everything and everybody and went through the room greeting each individual farm servant.
Old Armgard was spending that Christmas at Stegard. Andreas was a little nervous when he was about to enter the formal room to greet her. He grimaced to his half-cousins as he took hold of the door handle.
“She is in a good mood this evening,” they said. “She’ll be nice with you, you can be sure of that.”
Armgard was indeed in a good mood. Her face melted in tenderness and pride when she recognised her nephew. She held his hand for a long time between her bony hands.
“Oh, Andreas, is it you? So you are home again, God bless you. I can’t tell you how pleased I am. But now, Andreas, sit down and tell your aunt what you have been doing. Let me hear all about it.”
Andreas sat down and told his story, breezily as usual, but in a polite tone. He had occasionally to repeat himself, but that did not happen often. Armgard was not deaf: she just wanted to be sure she had heard everything.
“I am glad,” she said, “that you think about this poor country. Let’s see how your potatoes, or whatever you call them, will grow. You are like your great grandfather, Poul Caspar, the law speaker. He was the first one to introduce real gardens here, as you know. He brought all those berry-bearing shrubs outside here. But dear Andreas, you won’t take it the wrong way if your aunt gives you some good advice? You must also think a bit about yourself. Don’t miss the chance of getting a good job in time.”
Andreas was quite touched to see his aunt’s face. It was so old and so affectionate. When she smiled, he could see the stumps of her teeth in her mouth.
“So,” his cousins asked him, “she didn’t read the riot act to you today?”
Andreas felt a little embarrassed. The law speaker’s wife, Birita, hushed her sons: “Be quiet with you. You make a dreadful row. Samuel, you ought to have a word with them.”
Samuel Mikkelsen smiled: “Andreas doesn’t take them seriously,” he said. “He knows them of old.”
“I’m afraid he knows them only too well,” said Birita.
The law speaker had four sons, but the oldest of them, Peder, was now married and was working for his father by running the old family farm on Eysteroy. The other three, Mikkel, Jacob and Samson, were all unmarried and lived at home with their parents, spending a lot of their time fishing and helping in the running of the farm and were otherwise among the keenest participants in all the weddings on Vágar. There was also a daughter, Armgard Maria, a beautiful, dark-haired girl. But she rarely said anything. It was always the brothers who talked and played games in the common room.
“Tell me what we are to do with them, Andreas,” said the law speaker’s wife. “Their father and I would have liked them to have had an academic or administrative training, but they can’t be bothered. And, God help them, they can’t all become farmers. Not unless they could marry into a farm. But what do you think? Do you think there is any honest farmer’s daughter who could be bothered with these shameless lazybones?”
Mikkel laughed: “What do you know about that, mother? I’ve not so far noticed that the girls avoid me. I had actually been thinking of finding a girlfriend this Christmas.”
“Yes, I’m sure,” said Birita. “Ladykiller that you are. Your Christmas girlfriends are rarely your girlfriends by Easter. When are you thinking of getting yourself betrothed to a decent girl?”
“I don’t care a damn about your Christmas girlfriends and Easter girlfriends,” said Samson, the youngest of the sons. “I’m going to go to sea now. I want to take part in a war, let me tell you. I’m sure you’ll be able to take me along with you and get me on a warship, won’t you, Andreas.”
The law speaker stopped in the midst of his work. “You shouldn’t talk like that, Samson.”
Samson had risen and was standing there, enormous and enormously lively in the middle of the room. He was swinging his arms about.
“Aye, you are one on your own,” said Birita. “I don’t think Andreas will wan
t to have you with him in Copenhagen to make a laughing stock of yourself.”
Samson made no reply. He closed his eyes, started to rock his shoulders and in a loud voice broke into the ballad “Now sail the nobles of Norway”.
“Aunt Armgard will be after you, Samson,” shouted Mikkel to him.
But Samson took no notice. Like one going berserk he lumbered around the entire room, waving his huge arms in the air and singing all the time.
“You should have a serious word with him, Samuel,” urged Birita.
The law speaker smiled benevolently in his great beard. His beautiful, clear eyes followed his son’s great gestures with secret delight. But finally he cleared his throat and in a deep, half plaintive, half admonishing voice exclaimed, “Good lord, Samson, this really isn’t fitting behaviour for the hours just before we celebrate Christmas. Do quieten down, Samson, please.”
Supper was ready soon after this. Silence descended slowly on the room, and all ate the abundance of good food with solemn faces as they sensed the approach of the great festival. The law speaker read the evening prayers, as was his custom. His deep voice was rather hoarse and, although he read very slowly, he stumbled over the words a couple of times. But he was tired, having just arrived from a visit to Tórshavn, and he was longing to get to bed. The members of the large household started to prepare themselves for the night. Everyone had to be up early the following morning, for it was Christmas Day.
The law speaker’s sons and Andreas went out onto the croft for a moment. There was a light frost. The jagged silhouettes of the mountains cut out huge, sharp sections from the starry sky.
“Shall we have a drink now?” asked Samson quietly. He had opened the door to a barn. A heavy, sweet scent of hay met them from the dark.
“No, better wait,” said Jacob. “It’s not Christmas yet.”
“You and I, Andreas, we ought to stay up until midnight,” suggested Samson. “Then we could have a drink together.”
“Don’t bother Andreas,” said Jacob. “He’s tired after travelling.”
“Well, what the hell,” said Samson. “Then we can presumably sleep in the hay. And then we can get up all the earlier. Shame on those who lie snoozing on Christmas morning. I don’t know whether you will be satisfied with that, Andreas? You are probably used to a different sort of cushion in Copenhagen.”
Down in Regensen, Andreas has often dreamt of being at home and sleeping in a scented hay barn. He accepted readily; his blood was restless and he, too, was impatiently longing for the night to be past. But he had not only come to Stegard in order to celebrate Christmas; he also had another little objective in coming to Vágar.
They could sense the warm scent of the cowshed. The cows were standing in the darkness and chewing the cud, occasionally lowing and breathing deeply. Andreas found something familiar in this sound; he felt at home in Stegard again and he was filled with gratitude for this place, where he had spent so much time in his childhood. He saw before him the imperturbable, heavy and steady shape of the law speaker. He had the same gentle and slow voice as the cows; he was a farmer through and through. But he was a farmer of the great type, generous and hospitable, and the slightly diffident smile that was always to be seen on his dignified face was affectionate, humble, ironical and tolerant. It was part of everything that went on; it was like a flame that flickered with every word that was said, indeed almost every thought that was thought. Such was the wisdom, the sensitivity and the fun that dwelt in this giant. Andreas felt a little ashamed. What face would Samuel Mikkelsen have adopted if he had known the real objective of this visit? There was no knowing. He lay down to sleep in the law speaker’s sweet hay. Through a hole in the stone wall he could see a star twinkling.
He woke, shivering with cold. Outside, the stars were still twinkling.
“Happy Christmas,” said Samson in a hoarse voice. “Have you slept well in the hay? I know you need something to put a bit of heat in your body now.” He handed him a small barrel from which a gurgling sound was to be heard: “Cheers.”
“Cheers,” said Andreas. “And happy Christmas.” He put his lips to the hole in the flask and drank a couple of mouthfuls. They made his stomach burn.
They both got up and shook themselves. It was still night, and there was not a single candle to be seen in Sandavág.
“We must have something to eat,” said Samson. He opened the door to a slatted shed. The door creaked on its hinges. Inside hung dried sheep’s carcasses one after the other, and there was a raw, sour smell of meat. Samson took out his knife and with an assured movement he cut a leg off.
“Meat’s a good thing,” he said. “It’s good when you’re hungry, when you’re cold, when you’re tired and when you’re in a bad temper.”
“And when you’re in love?” laughed Andreas.
Samson pulled a manful face. They ate and carved and ate. Andreas felt a fiery pleasure in this meal; the hard dried mutton broke between his teeth; its acrid juice exhilarated him; his stomach cried out with delight and hunger. “Eat,” said Samson. “We’ll make do with the rest of this leg for the time being… you can be sure that father will be pleased for us to have it.”
They each sat on a bucket. On the floor between them a tallow candle provided some light. Suddenly, they heard footsteps up on the road. Samson listened. “That’s Ole the Gate,” he said. “I know his walk. He’s usually one of the first to come and wish us a happy Christmas.”
They went outside and listened to the steps as they came closer and closer. There were just a few lights to be seen in the village now and there were also signs of movement in the law speaker’s house.
“Well, all the Christmas visitors will soon be here,” said Samson.
The dignified farmers who came very early in the morning to wish the law speaker a happy Christmas were all shown into the best room, where Samuel Mikkelsen himself poured a drink for them. The younger visitors came no further than the parlour, where the sons acted as hosts, and a few unfortunates could hardly be persuaded to go further than the hearth room.
They were all nevertheless entertained generously and finally seated at table around splendid haunches of dried meat. The candles burned in the candlesticks and the men’s shadows flickered like trolls on the whitewashed walls. But there were no loud voices to be heard; all were sedate and decorous in their Christmas celebration.
However, the young were not content to sit there and soon embarked on other Christmas visits. On the other hand, the older people were soon engrossed in all kinds of memories and spent a good deal of time around the law speaker’s silver tankard. He frequently poured for them and finally invited Farmer Halvdan and Farmer Justinus to stay and hear the reading of the Christmas Gospel. By this time they both had rather stiff eyes and were full of profound, Christian thoughts. They did not refuse to stay and hear the Word of the Lord.
The guests and the people of the household slowly gathered in the parlour, where they devoutly seated themselves along the walls.
“You are a learned man these days, Andreas,” said the law speaker. “I think I will ask you to read the Gospel for us today. I am sure you will do us that favour.”
Andreas was confused. This was not exactly what he had intended. He wanted at first to say that he was going to Midvág to attend the Christmas service, but he quickly realised that the law speaker was doing him an honour. He felt like a renegade as he settled down at the table with the candles and Jesper Brochmand’s great Book of Homilies. Armgard sat over by the stove, her cold eyes half closed, her pale, bony face with the hooked nose immovable as a mask. The last of the servants came in and sat silently near the door.
“Since it is such a solemn feast today, perhaps we should sing a hymn,” said Samuel Mikkelsen as he started to flick through his hymn book. They started to sing quietly:
For us the blessed day now dawns
Then let us all this day rejoice
Our Christ is born this happy morn
Now let
us sing as with one voice…
The law speaker led the singing. His voice was not particularly melodious, but there was a resonance in it that moved Andreas and made him think of a bassoon, a horn or some other innocent shepherd’s instrument. He was overcome by a moment’s devotion, but woke up to cold reality when the hymn came to an end. The book lay open before him. Brochmand’s sermons were renowned for their length.
“And it came to pass in those days that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus…”
He read in the light, lively way he had acquired and immediately heard that the tone was wrong. This was not the heartfelt, halting and naive Danish he had heard Samuel Mikkelsen sing; it was a profane language, a dreadful language. He paused on finishing the Gospel. All his listeners sat motionless, most with their faces hidden in their hands. Farmer Halvdan sat there with glassy, running eyes, pulling at his white beard.
“I think I will go into my room,” murmured the law speaker to himself. “I can hear just as well from in there…”
At that moment Andreas chanced to look at Samson, who was sitting entrenched with the stove between himself and Armgard. He thought he saw the flash of a smile cross his face. He felt humiliated and made to look ridiculous in this dignified seat in which he had been placed contrary to his wishes.
“Come O Children of God,” he began, “and weep at the world’s neglect in failing to receive Jesus Christ, Saviour of the World and King of Kings. Behold, now that thing is being fulfilled that Elijah so clearly prophesied: ‘The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib: but Israel doth not know, my people doth not consider.’”
No, the law speaker ought to have read this. Andreas was unable to strike the right tone; he blushed at the priestly dignity conferred on him and merely wished that it should have an end. He could already have been half way to Midvág by now. He read without thinking, he no longer understood the words, he thought only of how he could shorten this torment. But all around him his listeners sat intent with their faces buried in their hands.
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