Barbara (11 page)

There was a general discussion and conversation. People went down to the water’s edge again to take a look. Curiosity started to replace fear.

“My good men,” said the law speaker to a couple of the soldiers, “go over to the Redoubt. We must fire a salute. Let us not be a complete laughing stock in the eyes of the foreign visitors.”

They went. Order was returning. People were carrying their poor belongings back home. The air was full of joy, relief and expectancy. Only a small number of wives refused to believe and went on moaning about enemy ships. But the young people all wanted to go out to Tinganes to see the foreign sailors arrive.

When Barbara and Suzanne came down into the street, they encountered Gabriel. He appeared not to have the least idea of what was going on.

“Oh, how fat you are!” said Barbara.

“Yes, why are you so fat?”

They prodded him. And then they burst into laughter. Suzanne started pulling out red silk material from his waistcoat. But Gabriel struck out at her and went off, troubled and upset. He had eight yards of material tucked inside his trousers.

Half an hour after this, all the windows in Tórshavn shook as the cannon fired a salute. There was a dense crowd on Tinganes and at Skindersker. Anchor chains rattled; foreign voices gave orders and shouted, and out of the gunpowder smoke there appeared masts and sails, bowsprits and shrouds, carved galleries and long rows of gun ports. The sailors were swarming in the rigging, busy furling the heavy sails. The Redoubt also fired a fitting salute.

There was life and festivity. Never had Tórshavn seen anything like it. Three huge warships! When you stood on the Sand, you could see the topmasts on one of them high up above all the roofs on Reyn.

The three French warships, the
Néréide
, the
Amphitrite
and the
Fleurs de Lys,
were returning from the war in America. Gales and storms had driven them too far north. Now they were looking for a harbour in the Faroes in order to repair various bits of damage to the ships and to take on fresh water before continuing their journey home.

But Tórshavn was not a safe harbour. As long as the wind was in the south west, the ships were certainly shielded by the Kirkjubø Ridge, but if it turned more to the south or east, the waves would blow straight in on the open roads. The law speaker, the bailiff and the judge had been on board and explained this to the admiral. They had advised him to go to Kongshavn or Vestmannahavn, where he would be safe from all winds. However, the law speaker was of the opinion that he should wait until the following day, for darkness was falling now. It was not easy to navigate between the islands at night, and it would be a very strange misfortune if a south-easterly gale should blow up that very night.

Samuel Mikkelsen had never been of an irresponsible nature, but neither had he ever been one of those quickest to move, especially when the wine came on the table. He was now sitting in a golden cabin, the likes of which he had never seen before and although he was outwardly but a man dressed in homespun, he soon had such a sense of inner wellbeing that he felt completely at home.

Strange to think that these Frenchmen had come to take on water. That was not much of a drink with which to show hospitality. There was plenty of water in the Faroes, especially when the French were providing wine in exchange.

The judge translated his thoughts, and the officers on the ship were surprised that this clan chieftain or Finn or whatever was able to express himself so elegantly. They had all the time been polite to the three Faroese, and now they became exceedingly so.

They were not themselves inclined to set sail that evening. They had been at sea for two and a half months. Kongshavn and Vestmannahavn were as dead as ditchwater as far as they could understand, but here in Tórshavn there must at least be a few people – were there no girls, so they could have a dance? The judge was most inclined to say unfortunately not. But Samuel Mikkelsen was reluctant to miss the opportunity of repaying such splendid friendship on the part of their guests, so if the officers could derive just a little pleasure from a dance, that was the least they could do for them.

And so it was agreed that a dance and some sort of celebration should be arranged in the Royal Store warehouses, and boats were sent ashore carrying lanterns and flags and barrels of wine and other articles that could serve to give a festive air to the stone cellar beneath the outermost of the buildings on Tinganes.

As the hour approached, most of the citizens of Tórshavn gathered on Tinganes to see the foreign gentlemen come ashore. There were rumours of the splendour on board. The admiral, Count de Casteljaloux had admittedly neither actors nor actresses on board, as it had been heard was the case with a small number of French marshals when they went to war. But he had an orchestra and a library, a librarian, a butler and numerous valets. Never before had there been such a distinguished man on the Faroe Islands.

The ships turned their high, carved sterns to the shore. Candles had been lit on board, and through the glass windows it was possible to see into the cabins. The sea roared noisily around the point. People stood in the stiff evening wind and stared out there. They talked about big ships that had visited the islands before, the
Lion of Norway
that had been wrecked on New Year’s night off Lambareidi and the
Westerbeech
, the Dutch East-Indiaman which came to grief at the foot of the mountains of Suduroy. There were some who wanted to pass the time by singing the ballad of the
Lion of Norway
, but that was far too sad and far too ridiculous an idea for this great evening. And what would their foreign visitors think?

When the sloop with the French guests came rowing towards land, they were carrying flaming torches, and every house and every hovel in Havn suddenly shone red in the darkness. All minds were transformed, and no one knew either themselves or the world any more. Widow Oluva’s miserable shop down near the whipping post, something to which no one had ever paid any attention, was clearly illuminated and grinned out towards the bay. It was as though in a dream. It was as though the widow herself had thrown off her thirteen years of mourning, let herself go and drunk herself silly. Indeed even the old church tower stood out dark red against the heavens like a symbol. No one had ever seen the church tower like that before.

But no eyes dwelt long on the heavens that evening. The Frenchmen were already shouting as they rowed through the breakers. They swung the mooring ropes with great energy and poured ashore, agile and laughing to reveal their white teeth. The women of Havn no longer knew what to do with themselves. Their cold, everyday eyes greedily drank in the fierce sunshine in the strangers’ eyes and the summer in their tanned skins. It was as though they were filled with fire. Their ears were gorged with the tramping of boots and the rattle of sabres, and they were carried away by a living rhythm of men.

When the animal voice of the oboe began to shrill inside the stone cellar soon afterwards, madness took possession of every heart.

Except Gabriel’s. That heart could not rejoice. His eyes never left Barbara. She was dressed in the stuff he had sold her. Alas, she no longer remembered who had provided her with her splendour, and there was not the least trace of gratitude in her thoughts. Gabriel was unknown to her, unseen by her. Her eyes opened wider and were radiant beyond recognition; she had no sense of where she was, but she simply became ever more beautiful. She should be ashamed of herself, the hussy, a harlot if ever there was one!

One of the French officers went past. Oh, of course, that had to happen, just as inevitable as tinderbox and spark. Gabriel turned away. Ugh, he did not wish to watch.

It was Captain Montgaillard, who asked Barbara for a gavotte, and with this the ball was opened.

Before long, there was not a single girl, indeed not a single younger woman, who was not on the floor. But the men of Havn turned eagerly to what they had been dreaming of all afternoon. The barrels of wine were over in one corner, and there they congregated while the admiral’s men poured vast amounts of golden liquid for them. Samuel Mikkelsen, the law speaker, had seated himself by one barrel, and there he remained, quiet and Olympian, helping himself.

But Gabriel went around thinking. He calculated and calculated, but however he calculated, he came to the same damned result. There was no doubt about it. He saw the way in which Barbara’s eyes admired Montgaillard’s eyebrows. Faugh and faugh again! His heart burned in his breast.

There was also someone else who was not happy. That was Pastor Poul. All this had taken him completely by surprise. He had accustomed himself to the idea that he himself was a star in the black Faroese sky and in an interesting constellation with Venus; indeed a moment ago he had imagined himself dancing together with Barbara. Alas, vanity was punished as was its due. Now he saw Barbara’s golden head slowly turning among white wigs and plaited hair that were turning just as sedately while he himself stood leaning against the wall and watching like some student of theology.

“Hello, brother! What sort of a face is this you are pulling on such an evening?”

He received a hearty slap on the back. It was no other than Pastor Wenzel, who had turned up, flushed and in high spirits. “No, we’re going to have a good time now; and we need to, by Gad,” he went on, dragging Pastor Poul over into the corner where the drinks were.

All the elite were there toasting each other. The bailiff was as red as a lantern on a ship’s stern, but he was not really happy. He had imagined it different from this. Honestly! Here stood the cream of society, but the guests were not the slightest bit interested in them. Just look at that lieutenant – he didn’t think himself too good to pay court to and even caress Sara, the daughter of the chap who fished stones up from the sea.

The Royal Store manager made no comment as to how he had imagined things. He was pale grey, and the sweat sat in thousands of tiny pearls all over his face; his leaden eyes shone sombrely across the dancers. If anyone was following the direction in which he was looking, they would have seen his wife, Mathilde. She was strangely vivacious in the arms of one of the French officers.

The judge was leaning against a beam, bent and amused. But Pastor Wenzel was in quite high spirits and said to the law speaker, “Well, if the store manager is cuckolded this evening, I shan’t have to be bothered about being a cuckold’s cuckold, ha ha ha.”

The law speaker hardly commented on this. He sat there like some deity by his barrel and had enough in himself as the dance swirled around him.

Pastor Poul was not really in the mood for drinking. The music was making a meaningless din in his head, and the wine tasted of nothing. He heard a voice close to his ear: “Just look at Barbara. She’s dancing with another now. It will be interesting to see who finally gets her this evening.”

He turned round. The speaker was Gabriel, and his voice was full of contempt and indignation, but he suddenly switched to a gentle, solemn tone: “Aye, just you study her carefully this evening. You will learn a great deal from that.”

He went away, almost on the point of tears. He had drunk several cups, though that was not customary for him. He usually left that to those less able to keep account. But the world was all in disarray this evening and there could be no thought of doing any business.

Barbara danced with her head held high; she knew the steps and figures, then she made more steps and figures – a quite different kind of arithmetic. The madness of the dance suddenly caught Gabriel. His heart was bursting, but in a funny way. He heard the oboe, constantly telling the same little story, while the bassoon chuckled and made a frivolous contribution. He felt gloriously crazy; he felt dizzy and he had to chuckle.

Faces known and unknown were whirling and turning around him. The stone walls screeched and resounded with music. His maid Angelika was over there being kissed by a count – was that not ridiculous? Over there in the doorway stood Whoops and several others of her sort, the saucy nymphs from the Royal Store – oh, God have mercy! Their eyes stood on end; they were full of gestures, but they only had each other to flirt with for they were far too down at heel. And behind them, right out in the darkness, the men were standing like wolves, the light gleaming in their eyes as they stared hungrily at the Promised Land. Beach Flea’s sorrowful features could be seen in a hatch right up under the ceiling. His sullen eyes were as though nailed to the wine. And over there sat the law speaker, immovable at his barrel. But both the law speaker and the barrel by which he sat and the cask on which he was sitting and Beach Flea in the hatch and the women in the doorway and Angelika and the count were spinning round in a huge circle. And the bows on the musicians’ violins were going slowly up and down.

Gabriel had tears in his eyes. His heart was burning, but never mind, never mind! He suddenly understood everything, even the meaning of life itself. Beauty, too, he understood; he had never understood it before, but now there was a ringing in his brain and a sobbing in his breast.

Things were very different with Pastor Poul. He could not drink; he heard nothing and saw nothing; he was filled with ever increasing distress.

The hall suddenly fell silent. The music died away and the dancing stopped. Something was happening outside. One word was whispered from mouth to mouth.

“The Admiral.”

Within a few seconds a lane had formed; rapiers flew from their sheaths and Admiral Count de Casteljaloux entered. He greeted people and smiled all around, and all the foreign officers stood there ramrod straight.

The townspeople watched in great solemnity. They had never imagined that such a great man could be so ugly. The light fell on his huge pockmarked face. His nose was big and twisted, his eyes protruding, and his broad lips were constantly in motion as though all the time he were remembering some fine sauce he had tasted. But he strode with such merry dignity that it was a great pleasure to observe him, and afterwards everyone had to admit that they had never seen a finer gentleman.