Barbara (19 page)

Thank God, one of his sons had married a girl from a good farm in Skálavík, another, with the help of the bailiff, had managed to lease a good farm on Suduroy, and three daughters were also well married. But there were nine children left. Life was not easy. No indeed it was
not
easy.

Pastor Christian had no children and was not married. He would far rather talk about the Moravian Brethren. He said he
understood
the Moravian Brethren, and he had to say that he sympathised with men like Zinzendorf and Spangenberg.

“Well,” said Pastor Marcus, his daughter Elsebeth was nineteen now. He had brought her with him to Havn, as she was getting nowhere just sitting out there in Todnes Parsonage, so if Pastor Christian would talk to her a little about spiritual matters…

“Yes, Spangenberg,” said Pastor Christian, stroking his chin with long sensitive finger movements. He pronounced the name in a quiet, solemn voice as though he were whispering some sacred word. His face was pale and passionate, but otherwise he was a tall, handsome man with a mass of curly hair that was powdered and flattened at the back to form a modest pigtail that projected across his ruff.

Pastor Wenzel had left his guests for a moment. He went into the parlour and was aware of the sound of many voices and the scent of chocolate.

Madam Anna Sophie showed up in the doorway, flushed and pale, with her mouth full of cake.

“Well, I must say,” said Pastor Wenzel, looking very aggrieved. “There is plenty for everyone, I see.”

“Yes, why not,” said his wife. “It is only once a year that all the clergy’s wives are here, so… I actually wondered whether I ought to have invited Barbara as well, but they are not married yet, of course.”

“Oh, that too. That too.” Pastor Wenzel had developed a little red patch on each cheek and went away hurt. His wife stood for a moment, chewing her cake and watching him. Then she went back to all the parsons’ wives.

In the hall, Pastor Anders had embarked on a discussion with Pastor Poul. He had caught him by the folds in his cassock and dragged him across to one of the windows. He spoke to him with a very authoritative look on his face, and his eyes were blue and sharp beneath his bushy eyebrows.

“Aye, I have been in your situation as well,” said Pastor Anders. “As you probably know, I was once betrothed to Barbara… Barbara, Pastor Niels’ widow, so I know what I am talking about.”

“Yes, I know,” said Pastor Poul tersely and courteously.

“I expect you will not take it wrongly if I speak to you as an older and more experienced man,” the dean cleared his throat, “and as your superior.”

Pastor Poul bowed his head.

“So I am turning to you
fraterne
, but also
serio
, and I must most earnestly beg you to consider what it is you are about to take upon yourself.”

Pastor Poul looked up.

“I have given it my most serious consideration throughout the summer,” he said. His voice was trembling and on the point of breaking.

“Yes, I, too, once had to consider all that,” said the dean. “And I have never regretted the decision at which
I
arrived.”

Pastor Poul felt uncomfortable in the extremely firm stare from the dean’s blue eyes. He thought briefly of the dean’s wife, of whom he had caught a glimpse that morning – she was fat and had a pointed nose and a piercing voice. He was surprised that he could feel so mischievous at such a serious moment that he was on the point of smiling. He was suddenly reminded of his school days and his headmaster and was still as unpleasantly affected by the blue eyes. But he had nevertheless to think of some answer. And so he said:

“I neither can nor will break a promise I have made.”

“Oh,” said the dean and looked away.

Pastor Poul was simply amazed at the effect of his reply. He almost felt as if he had uttered an untruth and was just a little ashamed though he did not know why.

“Oh, I see,” said the dean again. He was rather lost as to what to say, but it was clear that he was not beaten. After a moment or two, he asked: “Are you convinced that the woman you are going to marry takes her vows as seriously as you take yours?”

It struck Pastor Poul that he ought to be furious at this question, but he refrained. He did not even manage to affect anger, he said merely:

“I know that Barbara means it very, very seriously. But of course, she is a weak person, and I know that as well.”

The dean made no reply. He merely turned his disturbingly blue eyes straight on Pastor Poul.

“But perhaps one might also have faith in God,” Pastor Poul suddenly added.

The dean looked away, and Pastor Poul again felt a little ashamed. But the dean stood up straight and said in an authoritative voice: “No, you just listen to me. You must not imagine that God can be bothered to lend you a hand in the confounded risk you are taking with yourself and your sacred calling in a marriage that… that… are you crazy, man?”

“I know it is a risk,” said Pastor Poul, “and I know as well as anyone that Barbara is… a sinner… of course…”

He caught himself about to draw on the window pane, but it was shiny and completely free of condensation. “Well,” he went on in a calmer voice, “we mustn’t forget that Our Lord himself did not feel He was too good to consort with sinful women and …”

“No, by Gad, but He didn’t marry them,” said the dean.

“No, of course, He didn’t marry anyone – that is to say he was the bridegroom of all sinners, and that being so, we human beings ought to beware of considering ourselves too good to… I simply mean that one ought to beware of any kind of self-righteousness.”

“Hmm,” said the dean, nodding a couple of times. “Perhaps it is for her sake that you are going to marry her?”

“It is my hope to God that it will be a blessing.”

“Oh, like that. Even so, it is presumably not a platonic – I mean a purely spiritual marriage you are thinking of.”

There was palpable scorn in the dean’s voice. Pastor Poul countered quickly:

“No, indeed, miserable sinners as we both are. But everything is in God’s hand.”

“No, by God, it isn’t,” the dean said brusquely. “I mean…” he corrected himself in a loud voice, “thou shall not tempt the Lord thy God.”

“Oh, is this the young man?”

It was Pastor Severin who had joined them. He slapped Pastor Poul heartily on the shoulder, inhaled long and asthmatically and burst out in a loud laugh: “No, really, is he tempting the Lord? Tempting the Lord? Is it not he himself who has been a little tempted, eh? eh? Eve and the serpent, eh? Be careful of the snake. Marry her? A foolish idea, my dear friend, a foolish idea, I say. No, you just take a lesson from the dean; he was too clever for her, so he was… too clever, I believe…”

Pastor Severin turned round now and started to slap the dean’s shoulder: “He chose a better woman, indeed he did. The dean’s wife.”

Pastor Severin was quite out of breath and suffered a long bout of coughing: “What was I going to say: There’s a lovely smell here of… of chocolate, I do believe.”

He looked around delightedly.

“Yes, my wife…” said Pastor Wenzel solemnly and reservedly.

“Well, this is what I call a clerical assembly,” shouted Pastor Severin, rubbing his hands.

“Well, yes,” said the dean, giving Pastor Severin a severe look. “We have not arrived at the chocolate yet. There are a few things…”

He went across and started a discussion with Pastor Wenzel, and it was obvious that the Tórshavn minister felt comforted by this. He had until this juncture been completely alone in this gathering.

“
The Rare Jewel of Faith
,” Pastor Christian was heard to say. He was tenderly caressing a book that he had just taken out of his pocket. “Do you know it?”

Pastor Marcus gave the back of the book a near-sighted glance. Hans Adolf Brorson, he spelt out laboriously. “No,” he said with no sign of interest, “I don’t know it. No, you see,” he went on, “those two bits of land up in Depil are just inside your benefice, and it would be a good idea for you if…”

“What?” shouted Pastor Severin. “Good heavens. Has my dear colleague been acquiring land right up in the Northern Islands?”

“It’s only about two roods,” said Pastor Marcus. “It isn’t all that much. But it’s better than nothing, better than nothing,” he added with a glance at Pastor Christian.

“But of course, as a bit of a dowry,” said Pastor Severin shrewdly.

“These are the fruits of the burdensome and difficult task of preaching two funeral sermons,” said Pastor Gregers with a hint of bitterness in his hollow voice.

“Well I got them for
one
,” said Pastor Marcus glancing first at the dean and then up at the ceiling.

“For
one!
” Pastor Severin burst out in a loud laugh. “For
one!
” He started slapping Pastor Marcus’s shoulder. “You mean two birds with one stone? Eh? Eh? Well done. Aye, the rest of us ought to learn from that. To take land as payment for our funeral sermons, eh? From earth you are and to earth you shall return and with earth your funeral must be paid! Ha ha ha! Not only
one
, but
two
roods for a funeral sermon
.
”

“Well,” said Pastor Marcus, looking at the dean and Master Wenzel. “It is only in certain cases, you know. Unfortunately, there are many who do not pay anything at all for a funeral sermon.”

“No, it isn’t easy for those who don’t own any land,” said Pastor Gregers in a hollow, dry voice. “Where there is nothing, even Caesar has lost his right.”

“I have nine children that are not provided for,” said Pastor Marcus gloomily.

“Tell me, what do you charge for a requiem mass?” asked Pastor Severin.

“I’m not a papist,” said Pastor Marcus angrily, “and what I own I have acquired by honest means and had it duly registered. Things are not so easy for me. My parishioners are not as generous as yours. I am told that no one gives less than a
sletdaler
in your parish.

Pastor Severin burst out in a terrible laugh. He put up his hands and coughed and protested and almost choked. “That is a lie,” he shouted. “A lie as black as they come. God knows I was paid three
marks
for the last wedding I conducted. Plus an eight
skilling
piece.”

“Oh, did you get it at last?” said Pastor Gregers in an unpleasantly dry voice: “That was the last eight
skilling
coin on Suduroy. You will never get any more of those.”

“No, damn it,” said Pastor Severin, suddenly serious, “no, then there are perhaps no more of them. But
mark
coins still turn up,” he added regretfully. “There seems to be no end to them yet, although I have exchanged quite a few.”

“Such things,” said Pastor Marcus in a matter-of-fact voice “could never have happened on Sandoy. It is because Suduroy is so far out of the way that it can go on. The people of Sandoy wanted to man boats to Havn to exchange their copper straight away. But then Suduroy is so far away.

He stroked his chin: “Fancy, only getting silver in the collection. But today the people of Suduroy have probably filled their whole boat with copper. Of course they have. And then you’ll see. It will all be evened out. Now you will not see anything but
skillings
in the collection for ages…”

“Well, let’s see,” said Pastor Severin, rattling his pockets. “For the time being I am all right… oh.” He caught sight of the dean and suddenly became rather more subdued. “But,” he added with a wink, “this is something in which we could help each other.”

He burst out laughing and turned to Master Wenzel. He was the only man in the gathering whose shoulders he could manage to pat without stretching.

“I consider myself too good for that sort of thing,” said Pastor Wenzel in his wounded voice.

He drew back a little from Pastor Severin and remained close to the dean.

“Well, what about
you
,” said Pastor Severin, turning to Pastor Poul: “Listen to my advice, young man. Keep hold of the copper coins and don’t let go of them. Take care of the
skillings
, and the
dalers
will take care of themselves. You’ll see, you will have need of them.”

“Hmm,” said the dean, “I suppose we shan’t be able to get a proper convention out of this gathering?”

He looked around with his authoritative eye, but at that moment caught sight of Pastor Marcus, who came along together with his daughter.

“Now, Elisabeth,” he said, “curtsey to the gentlemen as your mother has taught you, and say good day politely to everyone in the room.”

“Oh, indeed,” Severin came rushing up. “I must say indeed that
this
is quite a young lady, eh? Eh?”

He set about slapping Pastor Christian’s back, and Pastor Christian’s head rocked in time with the blows so that his little pigtail went to and fro like a pendulum. “Now that’s what I call a real young lady.”

Elsebeth blushed deeply. Her clear eyes were a little slanting, and she had the innocent look of a young kid. Pastor Severin chucked her cheek several times, and, scared stiff, she stared at the floor. Pastor Christian also blushed a little. He was still standing there holding
The Rare Jewel of Faith
in his hand and his face had adopted a polite and apprehensive expression.

“Well, talk to her, do talk to her, for heaven’s sake,” shouted Pastor Severin. “Is that any way to go about things? Good heavens. When I was your age…”

“Now, don’t spoil it all; it had begun so well,” said Pastor Marcus in a concerned voice.

“Aye, Severin, be off with you now. What are you doing around the young people?”

It was Pastor Severin’s wife who had entered the hall. She was small and plump and resembled her husband in every way.

The dean sat down in despair and stretched out his legs. Master Wenzel walked quickly up and down the floor.

“Shameful,” he whispered. “Shameful.”

He had again developed a red patch on each cheek. A powerful scent of chocolate filled the hall. The parsons’ wives were already in the parlour, approaching like a wave of noise, sweat and coloured shawls. Madam Wenzel Heyde plump, tired and replete; Madam Anders Morsing portly, pinched and shrill-voiced, Madam Gregers Birkeroed merry and mannish and Madam Marcus Faroe small and worn.