Barbara (20 page)

Pastor Gregers turned his red-rimmed eyes and his bent hands towards the ceiling. “Oh, Lord, have mercy on us.”

A new group of people had filled the hall, taking it over like a flock of cockatoos taking possession of a tree. It was as though all the clergymen paled and disappeared. Only the dean remained behind like a hawk with watchful, cruel eyes.

Pastor Christian tried to smile. It almost looked as though he was about to faint. He was surrounded by a cloud of feminine beings and feminine chatter. But he gradually grew increasingly sure of himself. All the questions that were put to him were so heartfelt and ordinary, so easy to answer that he felt quite relaxed. It was as though he were being encapsulated in a warm cloak of care and maternal tenderness. And everything proceeded so naturally. The dean’s wife had put her arm around Elsebeth and was gently rocking her to and fro as though she were a child in need of being comforted and calmed. Elsebeth herself had begun to smile. She raised her shiny doe-like eyes from the floor and looked into Pastor Christian’s handsome, dreaming face.

“Well, you see,” whispered Pastor Severin to Pastor Poul. “As for womenfolk, it is, when all is said and done, a matter to be treated with thought and consideration. You would not have been cheated if you had been in Pastor Christian’s place. And what a beautiful lamb!”

“
De gustibus et coloribus non disputandum
,” said Pastor Poul.

“I beg your pardon? What? Oh-h no,” said Pastor Severin, starting to laugh. But his laughter was less loud than before. “What was I going to say was that of course it is never nice to have a widow in the benefice. You are right in that.”

The dean had risen. He noisily cleared his throat: “As for the betrothal, that can perhaps wait until later…” He looked Pastor Marcus sharply in the eye and added: “For, let me remind you, this is a clerical convention.”

The ladies were a little hurt and stalked out of the hall; they really did not wish to disturb. Pastor Christian was left there on his own, red and pale and still holding his Rare Gem in his hand. Master Wenzel, Pastor Gregers and Pastor Severin again adopted their customary sizes. The dean sat down at the table and snapped open the minutes of the clerical meetings.

“We must presumably see about arranging a Christian conclusion to this meeting,” he said.

“Yes, of course,” said Pastor Gregers, suddenly folding his hands, “we must also allow for the things of the spirit.”

The dean gave a severe smile. All the clergymen took their seats around the table and started to cough and sneeze and unfold huge, red handkerchiefs. They also took out some large sheets of paper. These were the church and clerical records from their parishes for the past year.

“Has anyone anything more to add in this gathering?” asked the dean.

No one had anything.

“Dear brethren,” said the dean, “then I will close this meeting by reminding you of some words that I called to your attention last year, and, if I remember rightly, the previous year and the year before that.”

He smiled again surveyed the gathering with a sarcastic look: “It is really only the admonition directed to the clergy by the Royal Synod in Rendsburg, in which it is said, “Then it is surely our bounden duty seriously to consider that God established the task of preaching and gave that task to us, not for the sake of things temporal,” and the dean raised his voice, “but so that through us He might be glorified to mankind.”

There was a pause. Dean Anders rested his blue eyes for a moment on each individual clergyman, dwelling especially long on Pastor Poul.

“Those words are truly not superfluous,” said Master Wenzel solemnly with a meaningful look in the direction of Pastor Severin.

“Alas no, no indeed,” said Pastor Severin, shaking his head. “We are all weak and unworthy beings… indeed we are. God knows we are.”

“Yes, indeed,” agreed Pastor Marcus. He held his hand to his mouth and glanced up at the ceiling.

Pastor Gregers said nothing at all. He merely nodded. But Pastor Poul and Pastor Christian appeared to be lost in thought.

“Incidentally,” said Dean Anders suddenly, starting to leaf through his book. “There is another point in the same exhortation that perhaps also deserves to be remembered.”

He smiled again, almost cruelly: “It is about observing the dignity of one’s station,” he said, allowing his eyes to stray in the direction of Pastor Poul. But then he suddenly looked at Master Wenzel and read: “This is truly not achieved by the acquisition of numerous honorary titles and marks of distinction, not by insistent, ingratiating, flattering and worldly intercourse with the distinguished and wealthy in the congregation, with obvious children of this world, thereby to gain advantages, temporal honours and benefits, not by showing ourselves to be commensurate with the world in free, unrestrained language, costly dishes and clothing.”

Master Wenzel had turned as white as a sheet; he sat gasping for breath. His blue, rather watery eyes had taken on an unpleasant sheen, while the red patches in his cheeks had adopted an unhealthy glow. He said nothing, but merely looked as wronged as an innocent dog that has received a beating.

Nor was there any doubt that the dean had been aiming at Master Wenzel in his last exhortation, and it obviously seemed unjust and exaggerated to everyone. Heavens above, Master Wenzel was decency personified, the most Christian of all of them.

“Alas,” Pastor Severin said without further ado, “if my sins were not greater than Master Wenzel’s.” He was on the point of bursting out in his customary laughter, but he refrained.

“Alas,” said Pastor Marcus in harmony with him, again looking up at the ceiling.

Master Wenzel sat fiddling with the clasps on a book. His hands were trembling violently. But suddenly, in a strangely broken voice, he said, “He who cannot see into a person’s heart knows not his sins. Many are openly guilty of minor sins, others sin mightily in secret.”

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.

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.