Barbara (6 page)

When, after his conversation with the bishop, Poul Aggersøe had emerged into the street again, the late afternoon sunshine had just caught the tall, gilded spire of the Cathedral Church of Our Lady. It rose from one level to another, square and closed at the bottom, octagonal further up, still blossoming and striving upwards, one element growing out of the other, untiringly and vertiginously reaching for the heavens until, finally, like the top note in an aria, it ended in a long point and a bar holding three resplendent crowns 350 feet up in the air. It was a magnificent sight, a majesty in which he delighted every day, and he suddenly realised how difficult it would be for him to leave Copenhagen. For although really a country dweller, he had increasingly fallen in love with this city, where he found all the things that gladdened his heart.

He had a liking for festivities and splendour as well as for honour. He would listen with delight to the playing of the organ and the singing in church, but he was also fond of drama and opera. And he had participated in masquerades, too, although he had had his doubts as to whether this was a suitable pursuit for a man who was preparing to serve the Lord. For he did intend to serve the Lord, although he honestly often felt that his fiery, passionate nature, alas, was far too much a thing of this world.

But he was young and had so far found it easy to agree with God. Indeed, God helped him; He had given him rich gifts, graciously strengthened him in zeal and ability and led him far in learning. And this call to the distant Faroe Islands could only be seen as a further distinction, for it was no ordinary call, but rather to be seen as a steep step on the ladder of grace which – although at the moment rather a burden to him – would later help him further on his way.

The very fact that it was a burden could only encourage him all the more. Was he perhaps a soft, weak, indolent person? Not at all. He had strengths that he would like to test. Admittedly, he had not hitherto seen the preaching of the Word to be something for which he was suited. He was much better fitted for learning. But it was ultimately not so much in order to preach as to reinstate peace and calm and good customs that he was being sent, and in truth he did not intend to spare himself. What he achieved was to be heard as far away as the bishop’s palace in Copenhagen.

And at the same time he was not going to forget that any honour coming to him was due solely to God. In this way he fired his spirit, and when, the following day, he attended divine service in the cathedral and the entire splendid congregation sang Kingo’s great hymn “Farewell, oh world, farewell” his heart swelled as never before, and with a mind filled with fervour, he took leave of the splendour and glory of the city to travel to the distant Faroe Islands as a soldier of the Lord. Indeed, his breast was afire when he left the church to the jubilant play of the organ pipes. The rays of the sun were refracted to bristle unevenly between the huge columns in the tripartite chancel. Gloriously elevated he emerged into the crowd at the foot of the tower. At that moment, his will was as upright as the spire high above his head reaching out and stretching to heaven.

But he had not heeded a tiny thought that insidiously entered his heart at that moment. The thought that it was not
everything
in the city that was holding him back with the same force and that there was also something that turned him away a little. This was Lucie Gemynther, the highly regarded daughter of an affluent merchant.

He had for a time found her particularly pleasing, and he had thought that this might perhaps go far. But then, Lucie herself had become far too engrossed with the same thought – indeed she had shown herself to be so deeply in love that Poul Aggersøe had started to turn away from her. For she bothered him with her constancy and with her feelings, which quickly developed for him into a melody he knew only too well. He reproached himself for it, but it was all too clear to him that he did not love her. For she was like an ivy seeking to twist its way up him as though round a tree trunk and to cover him completely with her devotion. But he did not want that. He only wanted to be himself, Poul Aggersøe, and felt the affection of others to be a burden and a limitation.

Lucie wept the day he left, and he was happy and relieved when the ship had passed the toll booth and he could no longer see her. The voyage went well and they only encountered stormy weather at the end when they were approaching their destination. Pastor Poul still had the splendour of the Copenhagen spires and towers in his eyes on the day they sighted land. But that ghastly morning when he glimpsed Tórshavn for the first time – oh, it was no longer ago than yesterday although it seemed like an age to him – it was then as though both courage and joy were drawn from his heart.

Here, he found himself in the rain among decayed and badly tarred wooden houses. He could not bear the idea of remaining in the parsonage for ever. His host and colleague, Wenzel Heyde, was a master of theology and a learned man, but when Pastor Poul started discussing theological matters and revealing that he, too, was at home in learned subjects, it had been as though Pastor Wenzel had been put off. He was not unfriendly, but he did not say much and there were always shadows to be seen in his water-blue eyes, as though he was constantly being offended and wronged by concerns visible and invisible.

Pastor Poul wanted to meet his superior, Dean Anders Morsing, but he was over at Nes in Esteroy. Pastor Poul talked of going over to see him, but everyone assured him that that would be a waste of time, as the dean would probably be in Tórshavn within a few days.

What on earth was Pastor Poul to do, then? He had already paid his respects to the judge and the law speaker; the bailiff was a self-important former customs clerk, the judge an old fogey, an oddity and an atheist with whom he disagreed in every way, the law speaker, on a visit to Tórshavn, was a gentle but thirsty, bull-like man who quietly went his own way; the storekeeper a young pup, old Armgard and old Ellen Katrine with her crutch – oh, heaven preserve us! And what else? Oh God, oh God – in Tórshavn. Or Havn, as everyone called it.

And yet, every time Pastor Poul put on his soaking black hat and went out in the everlasting rain, this was done with a quiet hope that he might in time be granted something bright and smiling, a joy in the darkness. For he knew that here, too, somewhere or other in this labyrinth of narrow passageways, yards and middens, there must be a corner where beauty and something to delight the eye resided. There was no denying that he would like to see her again – the widow living in his own benefice. Not that he had any special intentions. God preserve him. He could already see what a dangerous constellation fate had brought about between him and her. But at the same time as it worried him, it was also a tiny source of joy to him in the midst of all this wretchedness. His thoughts played around Barbara. Perhaps she was not all that glorious. But, when the sun has set, the stars shine.

It was Anna Sophie, Pastor Wenzel’s wife, who unexpectedly came to his help. When he was preparing to go out later in the day, she asked him whether he had paid a visit to Mrs. Salling, his predecessor’s widow. For she thought after all…

This was one of the many things that Pastor Wenzel came up against in the course of a day. His cheeks grew red and his eyes shone helplessly and as though aggrieved.

“Pastor Poul,” he said, “must decide for himself what he thinks suitable. As for Barbara… Mrs Salling, nothing has been hidden.”

“For Magdalene’s sake,” said Anna Sophie quite unconcerned. She added, “Well, Magdalene – Mrs Stenderup – is her mother. I think you should go for her sake at least. She would feel hurt if you ignored them. Good Lord,
she
can’t help…”

Pastor Wenzel capitulated and looked even more offended: “Oh, I suppose not. Mrs Stenderup is in truth… is in truth someone for whom one can only feel pity.”

Pastor Poul let Madame Anna Sophie explain which way he should go. It was quite straightforward: through Gongin to Nýggjastova, as it was called, just opposite the bailiff’s office and then you were
there
.

She smiled just slightly as she said this. There was something intimate and as it were artful in her entire behaviour. It was as though she knew his thoughts better than he did himself. But Pastor Wenzel continued to look hurt. Perhaps
he
was more aware of his wife’s frivolous quality than she herself was. Perhaps he simply knew her far too well.

In Nýggjastova, Pastor Poul was received by Madame Magdalene Stenderup, but he did not receive the impression that his visit had been anticipated with any special sense of anticipation on her part. She received him rather with a kind of half bitter resignation to fate. He could not later recall what words were spoken, but they were uttered with a weary customariness as though she wanted to say that seeing a new priest in her home was rather like encountering a verse of a hymn that had been sung far too many times.

But he immediately forgot this in the unconcealed delight shining in Barbara’s face when he entered the sitting room. Indeed, she made not the least effort to hide it. There was a child-like triumph in the warm, glittering falsetto of her voice, as though at last, at long last, she had won a protracted and exciting game that others might have doubted that she could win – for instance Gabriel, Mr Gabriel Hansen, who was also in the room. But perhaps most of all Pastor Poul himself.

And he felt it. Was it not actually as though she said to him, “Oh, you simply
couldn’t
keep away any longer now.” But he did not feel in the least put out by this. For at the same time it was as though she was saying, “It was good you came. Can’t you understand that?” She was so natural and so seemly that he immediately felt comfortable and at ease and as it were infected by her good nature. Everything was so amusing and straightforward.

But Gabriel, whose watchful eyes had been observing this meeting, was not amused and was the last to find Barbara natural and seemly in the way in which she was throwing herself at this stranger. Not that it was the least bit surprising. Yesterday morning, he had already taken the measure of the new Vágar minister and seen that he was quite a distinctive man, rather dark and thickset, very unlike the late Pastor Niels. So it was quite easy to foresee how Barbara would behave… and in any case what the men looked like seemed to be a matter of indifference to her, provided they were… good lord, it was difficult to see what she had seen in several of them. It was enough for her that they were males!

They seated themselves around a white-scoured table, all except Magdalene, who with a disapproving look made an excuse to leave the room. Barbara was sewing. But her lively eyes were not so much directed at her sewing: their quickly shifting, greenish sheen was everywhere and for the time being mostly on Gabriel. Perhaps she did not know what he was thinking, but she knew what he was feeling. She was so perceptive. When she sat between two men in this way, she could hear the beating of both their hearts. She could play each of them like an instrument – in different keys. And now Gabriel must be consoled and redressed a little. She talked to him, asked him about something and listened very carefully to his answer. During all this she only thrice directed her eyes at Pastor Poul and on each occasion she quickly lowered them again.

Pastor Poul, who throughout the day had felt as though he were already lodged in ultimate darkness, suddenly felt himself bathed in a powerful light. This was not only on account of the white table top, Barbara’s sewing and her very white and warm hands. It was especially these eyes, which shone so powerfully that she had to lower them each time they had lighted on him. It was as though they had been far too intimate and were then ashamed of themselves.

Pastor Poul at first took pleasure in these looks until he noted that they were directed far more at Gabriel than at himself. He also saw how she several times smiled with pleasure: the corners of her mouth were long and red and when she smiled they brought dimples to her cheeks. Pastor Poul did not quite understand what they were talking about – there must be veiled insinuations in what Gabriel was saying, taunts that Barbara was quite happy to hear. But he himself gradually began to feel in the way.

But his time soon came when Barbara seriously and very attentively began to ask him about his journey, about his studies, his first sermon and all sorts of other things regarding his pastoral duties. It emerged that she knew the names of several of the professors. Aye, there was no limit to her impudence, thought Gabriel. For what could Barbara possibly know about such things? Nevertheless, she went on talking as though the only thoughts she had ever had in her head were those of a parson’s wife, and finally she asked Pastor Poul whether he had ever met her late husband, Pastor Niels.

“Bloody shameless, that’s what she is,” thought Gabriel. It irritated him that there was no one else present to witness her hypocrisy.

But for Pastor Poul, it was as though for the first time in this country he had met anyone who bothered to show any interest in him, and he expressed himself freely and honestly and in his heart of hearts he felt flattered. For although he was well aware that this sort of subject could scarcely in itself be a subject of interest to a woman like Barbara, he could nevertheless see from her face and eyes how engrossed she was and how she reacted to his slightest change of expression, and at that moment he had the thought that seemed right to him, that in a conversation with a woman the subject was only an excuse, while the real matter was the delight of standing face to face, to be able to let their eyes meet, their voices mingle and their souls touch. And Barbara’s soul, which spoke through her greenish golden eyes, touched him and was occasionally ashamed and withdrew, but immediately returned and played for him and sunned itself in his powerful, eager gaze. The corners of her mouth happily turned up again now; she listened as though to a rare musical performance, and what he told her now was only apparently about parsons and parishes, but was in reality a long solo aria arising from the depths of his male soul. And the aria was heard.