Barbara

by Jorgen-Frantz Jacobsen

  Andreas made no reply. He sat there and hung his head.

  “Barbara,” Johan Hendrik went on, “is ruled entirely by her heart.”

  He stared darkly into the air. “And it will be a sad story… a sad story the day her heart fades and she has to allow herself to be guided by her reason.”

  He shook his head. “Aye, I fundamentally feel sorry for her.”

  “I feel so dreadfully sorry for her,” Andreas suddenly exclaimed. “She sacrifices everything for me and doesn’t give a thought to herself.”

  He had tears in his eyes. “Reputation, repute, is all a matter of indifference to her; she doesn’t consider her own advantage at all.”

  Johan Henrik hesitated a moment. Then, in a strangely sarcastic and dry voice: “You mustn’t weep, Andreas. For she takes other people’s advantage even less into consideration. She does what she wants to do. And you are surely intelligent enough to see what damage she does both to others and to herself. Do you never think of the parson from Vágar? He risks being unfrocked for misconduct and desperate behaviour. They say he has not been sober in the pulpit since New Year. And you haven’t done an honest day’s work since New Year. What are you thinking of?”

  Andreas made a helpless, impatient gesture with his body.

  “If only I had written that report, I wouldn’t have hesitated…”

  The judge went over to his bureau, whistling softly as he rummaged in a drawer. “You see, Andreas,” he said, “it is not because you have deserved it. Nor is it because I consider that it would benefit your promotion in industry and useful virtues that I am doing your job for you. But something had to be done. In addition, it gave me great pleasure. Although I would wish it had been you who had this pleasure. But here you are. Here is the report.”

  Andreas stared at the elegantly written manuscript that was placed on the table before him.

  “So you will leave on the Fortuna, won’t you?” asked the judge. His eyes were warily trained on his nephew.

  “Uncle, you don’t think much of me, and there is no reason why you should. But I still have a certain sense of honour.”

  Andreas flared up with these last words, and his big eyes flashed. But Johan Hendrik did not bat an eyelid; he simply quickly wiped the tip of his nose and said in a dry voice: “Explain yourself a little. Honour is such a vague concept.”

  “Do you think I should adorn myself with borrowed plumes?” asked Andreas, standing up straight.

  “Ha, you’ll put a few of your own plumes among them. At least the flight feathers. The entire work will have to be rewritten, as I am sure you understand. To begin with, because it has to be written in your own hand. Secondly because the whole thing needs countless improvements, not only with a view to language and expression, in which you will doubtless find me too old-fashioned, but in the actual reasoning, too. For in economic questions and a scientific approach I consider myself to be inferior to you. So, in short, this is only the material I have gathered for you, and you must yourself work out how to interpret it. However, I believe you can do that far better down in Copenhagen than here as things now stand.”

  Andreas’s pale face was now more helpless than ever. A sheen again began to appear in his eyes.

  “Uncle, I appreciate your not thinking too ill of me and doing this for my benefit.”

  “That you have a bright head on those shoulders, I still do not doubt,” said Johan Hendrik. “And that is why I… otherwise everything would go haywire.”

  “But… Barbara?” asked Andreas mournfully.

  “What good do you think you will be able to do if you spend all your time with her?”

  “I’ve told her that I will take her with me when I finally leave…”

  Johan Hendrik’s red, lined and as it were slightly dusty face suddenly contracted into a stony mask. “Barbara in Copenhagen! Ha, you will be able to get rid of her there at least. I will guarantee she will be in the harlots’ prison within a month. Did you really mean that?”

  “No.”

  “It was foolish, simply stupid of you to say that to her. Does she believe you?”

  “I don’t know. Yes, probably. But she thinks it is a long way off.”

  The judge stamped one foot on the floor and then started to pace up and down. “Weakling, weakling, weakling,” he mumbled, “you confounded weakling. You will get away from her. Understand?”

  “Yes,” whispered Andreas. “But it will not be easy. This is breaking my heart.”

  Johan Henrik again made one of his grimaces and stood for a moment deep in thought. But then he brightened up and said in a cheerful voice, “All right. We won’t mistake our feelings and persuade ourselves that our weakness is nobility.”

  “No,” said Andreas. “But this is going to hurt her very deeply.”

  Johan Hendrik slowly opened his snuff box. “Listen, Andreas, let us talk this through reasonably.”

  He took a pinch of snuff and held it out between the tip of his first finger and his thumb.

  “Nul ne mérite d’être loué de sa bonté s’il n’a pas la force d’être méchant.”

  He took the snuff, pulled a face and sneezed. “Well, that means that no one deserves praise for being good if he has not the strength to be unkind.”

  The Fortuna was loading in the East Bay. Niels the Punt and the Beach Flea were paddling the big lighter back and forth between the Hoist and the ship. It was mostly jerseys, socks and woollen goods that were being taken aboard, the fruits of a winter’s labours and diligence in all the Faroese hearth rooms, heavy hard-knitted things intended to be sold in Copenhagen, Hamburg and Amsterdam for the use of seamen all over the world.

  “If I ever leave this country, I am afraid I shan’t have the right clothes,” said Barbara dreamily. “What do you think, Andreas? Do you think I shall look good enough?”

  She laughed quietly and roguishly and her cheeks took on a red flush. They were sitting alone at the extreme end of Tinganes, close to the spot where a compass has been carved in the cliff floor.

  “Clothes? You have more clothes than anyone else here,” said Andreas. “And whatever you don’t have you can easily find in Copenhagen. See. The sun is almost directly in the west.” He pointed to the compass.

  “Aye, so it’s time to break off and all the men will be going home now,” said Barbara idly.

  He did not want to contradict her. He knew that the men would not be going home before the Fortuna was fully loaded. The weather was good and the wind was coming from the north, and it was the intention that the ship should be under sail late that night. But Barbara still had no idea.

  Andreas’ carefree heart bled that day from tenderness and shame. She was so happy as she sat with him playing with her glorious new idea, the dazzling lie about her journey to Copenhagen. He simply could not take that from her; he wanted to let her delight in the idea as long as he could; he lacked the courage to see her lonely and betrayed on this shore. Alas, every time he looked at her bright face he wanted to kiss her and weep in her arms – this woman whose happiness he was about to murder.

  “Do you think I dance well enough?” she asked.

  “You are by nature a better dancer than any other woman I know.”

  “I once danced with an admiral. It was down here, in the cellar…”

  “Yes, you danced with an admiral, and then you went and married a parson!”

  “Oh, you always have to…! That was much, much later. But do you think the way I dance is fashionable?”

  “I’ll teach you to dance according to fashion. Shall we go in to Uncle Johan Hendrik? Perhaps we could organise a little dance there.”

  They rose and walked up between the various Royal Store buildings. The idea of having a dance was a relief to Andreas as well. He would dance his way out of this; it was the only way; otherwise his waxen heart would melt on this beautiful, sad evening. And his uncle, the judge, was to play for it. It was not asking a bit too much of the old boy to expect him to play the musi
c for his own comedy. Andreas had always been afraid of his rectitude and had usually had to look down when confronted with his searching and knowing look. Now he was confused about what to think of his uncle. But in his insecurity he held more closely to him. For his moral respect for him knew no bounds.

  Johan Hendrik agreed. It must be possible to arrange a ball. Sieur Arentzen would surely come and play his cello. And there were several young people in Tórshavn who would not say no to a dance.

  But when later that evening, dressed in their finest clothes, they all turned up at the judge’s home, the joy was contained and the guests mostly spoke together quite quietly. It was as though something or other oppressed them.

  “You aren’t as you usually are,” said Barbara to Andreas.

  Her eyes were shining in her powdered face. She was nervous. “I don’t know,” she said, “this is only like the shadow of a ball.”

  Outside the windows with their small panes, the night was calm and quite light. A rosy touch of day could still be seen atop Nolsoy, and all the turf roofs were illuminated by this reflected light on their north side. The East Bay lay deep down below like a black mirror. The ducks were asleep on the sand with their heads tucked under their wings.

  “Oh,” said Johan Hendrik. “Whoever arranges a ball in daylight? I ought to have thought about that.”

  He went out and returned with a lighted candelabrum and started lighting candles round about, on the bureau and on the bookshelves. They fluttered palely and had little effect, but the judge went outside and started closing the shutters.

  “What the devil,” shouted Gabriel from the steps. He was one of the few who had been initiated into the secret plan. “Is this an evening for dark deeds?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Johan Hendrik. “Daylight doesn’t seem to be suitable for this party. This Andreas is made of soft stuff. Hmm. But I can’t sing my own praises… I haven’t been able to bring myself to tell her either. But perhaps that is best. But we are going to have the devil of a day tomorrow.”

  “Hi, hi, hi,” chortled Gabriel. “This is going to be one hell of a comedy.”

  “Aye, give the devil an inch! There’s nothing grows like lies.”

  “Oh, because you’re giving Barbara a taste of her own medicine. How has she herself behaved?”

  “That is true,” said the judge, breathing out. “That is true. But still…”

  He stroked his chin and looked thoughtfully out across the fjord. “No, no… if we say anything now I am afraid we shall not get Andreas off.”

  They both went indoors, and the gaiety was by now quite palpable. Sieur Arentzen was tuning his cello and trying the tone with broad strokes of his bow. Everyone was talking noisily and the candles were shining in their eyes.

  “Well, there we are, there we are,” said Johan Hendrik, rubbing his hands. “Now everything is as it should be.”

  He grasped his flute and produced a long trill.

  “Yes, now it is…!” shouted Barbara. And her voice betrayed enthusiasm like warm sunshine. She betrayed a childish delight, and the whole of her body was moving.

  “Aye, Barbara, we are fooling you, fooling you…” thought Johan Hendrik.

  But Barbara clapped her hands and said: “I suggest for fun that we pretend this is a school of dancing. And Andreas shall be the dancing master and tell us when we are not dancing according to the fashion. Isn’t that a good idea?”

  Andreas stood there, pale and wearing his most gallant suit. But when the flute and cello started to blend their voices, his heart was fired and all his carefree spirit came upon him. But he completely forgot to be the dancing master.

  In fact there was nothing for a dancing master to do – at least not as far as Barbara was concerned. She danced with such erect elegance and yet such relaxed delight, such measured steps and yet so much grace that there was nothing to correct in her but a couple of tiny adjustments. It was in her very nature to do everything correctly. Yet there was in her face a kind of serious watchfulness; only when she looked at Andreas did her eyes glow warm, and once when she reached out her hand to him in the dance, she asked him tenderly and seriously: “Is it good?”

  The judge sat watching her; his face was twisted by a flute and no one could see in his lined and ambiguous features whether he was laughing or crying. But Johan Hendrik was not laughing that evening.

  “Alas Barbara. We are fooling you,” he thought, and his heart turned. Never had he seen beauty and naturalness so deceived. Here, she was dancing for Andreas. Oh dear, oh dear, that windbag, that fool. She was sending him amorous looks, and in a few hours he would be sailing away from her like a scoundrel.

  Johan Hendrik blew and blew; the cello sounded deep alongside him; the tunes came time after time and the dancers filling his living room made the same steps and figures time after time, while the candles dripped and gradually became shorter. This was a large apparatus he had set going and dared not stop – a fairy tale with a dreadful ending. Once, during a pause, he fetched wine, all the bottles he possessed, and the merriment increased. Andreas, too, was enjoying himself and seemed only to be living in the present; it was a radiant, joyous occasion in this dark house in which all the shutters were closed. But, with sorrow in his heart, the judge only looked at his victim and saw how solemnly radiant she was in the midst of her ebullience, how strong she was in her joy, how devout in dance. She was nature personified, but at the same time she was blind, easy to deceive, and they were deceiving her, they were foully deceiving nature in the midst of its blind, trusting splendour.

  And then this Andreas, his nephew, dancing and laughing and thinking of nothing! That lad probably resembled Barbara in his bad qualities, but not in the good. What nature was there in him? No, he was surely not worth the sacrifice she was making to him of her divinity, no, God forgive them all. Ugh!

  And the ball came to an end. The judge’s house was once more opened to the summer night. Its pale light fell soberly on bottles, glasses and smoking candles. It was like some fairytale soap bubble that had suddenly burst. Nolsoy lay there as clear as day and expressionless; everything was expressionless and silent, and everyone involuntarily lowered their voices as they went down the steps. The harbour was without a sign of life, and the gulls were asleep on the roof ridges.

  “Then you will come back here when you have taken Barbara home,” said Johan Hendrik to Andreas. “I would like to have those nets taken up before going to bed.”

  “Very well,” replied Andreas. He was at first a little confused, but quickly understood the idea.

  “Why did you say yes?” asked Barbara, deeply disappointed, as they went along the street together.

  “Yes, but, dearest,” said Andreas, “I could hardly refuse him. Besides, if we don’t take the nets up now, it will be midday before we get the job done…”

  The judge remained standing in his doorway. He would not be sure until Andreas was safely back. Alas, alas. But… nul ne mérite d’être loué de sa bonté…

  Barbara went to bed, disappointed and rather angry with Andreas. She had also been filled with a quite indefinable sense of fear. He had recently not always been his usual self. But she was not inclined to worry. Besides, she was dizzy from the wine and the dancing, and she soon fell asleep.

  She half woke to the sound of singing. For a long time she heard it through her dreams and felt deeply worried by it. But suddenly she understood what it was. It was the anchor song on board the Fortuna. They were weighing anchor. And almost at the same time she was overcome by a dreadful fear. Like a bird, she was out of her bed and over by the window.

  There was a quite new sheen over Tórshavn now, and the sun was adding a touch of red to the north-eastern tip of Nolsoy. This glorious vista touched Barbara’s sense of beauty, but her thoughts had no time for delight. Aboard the Fortuna she caught a glimpse of the men going round the capstan.

  “Heave-ho, heave-ho.”

  Then they fell silent. The sails were already set
and the Fortuna slipped silently out of the bay. And then it was that she suddenly caught sight of Andreas on the deck. She caught only a glimpse of him, standing there as he was on his arrival. But it was Andreas; that was absolutely certain.

  She made a brief sound, a wail of despair, and within a second she had grabbed a skirt and was out of the door. She rushed down to the Sand … there was no one to be seen. The Fortuna was slowly making its way out. She ran like mad on bare feet over naked rocks along the East Bay. After the Fortuna.

  In one place she had to wade to her knees in the water to get past. In another place, outside the store manager’s house, she scraped her leg and made it bleed by clambering up a high stone terrace. She got past the entrance to the Royal Store and ran on, out to the furthermost point of Tinganes. Then she could get no further. The Fortuna slid away. She again uttered the same plaintive wail, and then she ran back along the empty shore.

  But as she reached the Hoist, she met Niels the Punt.

  “Oh Jesus, Niels,” she shouted to him. “Has Andreas left? And I was supposed to be going with him.”

  Niels stared at her in amazement. He was uncomfortable with this meeting. He had often seen Barbara, but never as she was now, wringing her hands and with coarse marks of tears down her cheeks.

  “Yes,” he mumbled, “Andreas was on the Fortuna.”

  “And I was…!” sobbed Barbara. She was completely beside herself. But suddenly she changed. A sign of eagerness and cunning persuasion started to shine hopefully through her tears. She grasped Niels’ arm.

  “But you can still catch it, can’t you? If you hurry, you could row me out to it in a four man boat. You and Ole Atten and …?”

  She looked up at the entrance to the Royal Store, where three men from the town were grouped together, looking on in amazement and embarrassment.

  “You could easily do it, couldn’t you?”

  Barbara’s voice was regaining something of its customary sound, breaking into a falsetto in her eagerness, and she stood dancing on the hard rock.

  Niels was immediately aware that this was a doubtful undertaking. “Bless you,” he said hesitantly. “You can’t just go off to Copenhagen without shoes or clothes, you know.”