Benjamin Sigismund

Even if Benjamin Sigismund wasn’t exactly the hero of the hour, he was at least the person who was most on people’s lips up here in the mountains. Not only were his remarkable inaugural sermon and even more remarkable bridal address discussed, but also his own person. In the miners’ huts when the tar lamps had been blown out in the evenings and the clay for the mine holes had been rolled, the miners talked about the pastor. And at the mountain farms, when the scythe and the rake had been set up against the walls of the shack, and dry juniper crackled on the fire, talk also turned to the pastor. The Lapps up on the moors and in the remote valleys also talked in their lilting tongue about the new pastor; they believed for certain that he possessed the Black Book1 and had studied in Wittenberg itself,p. 101 far away in the land of the heathen. Then perhaps he could exorcise the ghost of Bjørk‐Nils, who haunted and terrorized the Lapps, and get him back into his grave again?

At the birthday parties of the gentry in Bergstaden, there were heated discussions about the pastor, his lyrical sermon, and his frivolous bridal address. Was he a rationalist? His inaugural sermon said no! His bridal address said yes!

Mine secretary Dopp said curtly: “He’s an adventurer!” In this he was flatly contradicted by the high‐born matrons of the town; the young ladies, on the other hand, agreed with Dopp—oh yes, it seemed to them there was such an exhilarating aura about that word. And Miss Sara Mathisen said, loudly, and with her head thrown back, so that everybody could hear it: “I think the pastor is a great and wonderful person.” A bold assertion, in respect of which the young lady was thoroughly teased by her cousin, Works’ doctor Mathisen.

“Are you in love, Sara?” he asked aloud.

“And if I am, it’s in no wise with you, Jens,” Miss Sara said, hot and angry. “And you’d better look out! He’s a learned man, both about healing herbs and about anatomy.”

These words cut cousin Jens to the quick. If there was anything he prided himself on, it was his skill as barber‐surgeon. On this he would tolerate no insults! Not the slightest hint! Otherwise he was a jolly man who liked a good joke, but there was a time and place for everything. For the common people the pastor was already and unreservedly a great preacher. The last part of his bridal address had left an irradicable impression on their simple, sincere minds; but the real question was, was he a man for the people? In these times when there was great poverty amongst the common people, it would soon be seen.

. . . In the pastor’s quarters up in Leich’s house little satisfaction prevailed.

Kathryn’s chest trouble didn’t seem to want to get noticeably better in the fresh air. It was not, perhaps, that it was completely without healing effect, but dissatisfaction and longing for other places and other people tore down what it had builtp. 102 up. She felt continually tired and depressed. The many calls she had hoped for didn’t materialize. The only person who still came up to see them was the sacristan, Ole Korneliusen. The other day Benjamin Sigismund had invited him to dinner. And to her great horror he addressed the man as if he were one of them. Sigismund had also got him to sing some hymns with him. Unfortunately, she was not able to rise to the same degree of exaltation at his singing that Benjamin could. Well, she could let that pass, but when Sigismund got him to play some old folk tunes the torture really reached its climax; oh, horror! She got cold shivers down her back at this caterwauling. How people could be entertained by earsplitting wailing of that sort was beyond her comprehension. Her husband on the other hand was enchanted. He was now in the mood to accept anything. However, it was only a matter of time before his mood changed. Then he would mercilessly throw the man and his ghastly instrument out through the door. Oh, Madam Kathryn longed more than ever for cultivated companions. But they didn’t come.

Benjamin Sigismund was now in a deeply religious phase again. That a cleric was completely absorbed in his ministry and in his faith, no one could reproach him for that—but there was nothing moderate about Benjamin. He always became completely absorbed in just that one thing, with all his thoughts and all his mind. Everything else became as nothing. During such periods he could wear his cassock on week days as well as Sundays. He could get down on his knees many times a day with his hands folded over his Bible. He also had his Bible lying on the table beside his bed. And he, a Protestant pastor, got out his crucifix and kissed it tearfully. If he heard anyone swear or use an indecent word, he thundered out in violent anger. It had happened that he had caused the townspeople to be called together for evensong in the middle of the week. Then he was Peter; Peter, his great ideal in everything. Not the old, venerable Peter as bishop of Rome, but the young, enthusiastic Peter who girt his fisher’s coat about himp. 103 and cast himself into the sea and swam to the shore so that he could be the first to embrace the feet of Jesus.

And then Benjamin Sigismund could change. Abruptly, like a change in the weather. Then, too, he was Peter; the doubter, the denier. Faith had to give way to reason. He put on his robes only when he officiated in church. He dressed himself as a soldier, a knight; he got out his rusty rifles and pistols and polished them bright so they flashed like lightning. He bought some dogs and sallied forth as a hunter on long trips out into the wilderness. Then the world was everything to him; the hereafter lay away out in the blue. Politics and patriotism, the wars in Europe, the great and famous statesmen whose renown flew over the world; he discussed them all with everybody who came within range. Things divine must in no way violate the boundaries of probability. To be sure, he prepared his sermons with great care, then, too . . . And Kathryn sighed. The praises of the joys and delights of this world could then be sung in their house until the small hours. And less than modest poems were recited in French and in every other imaginable foreign tongue. His ambition and pride took on almost childish forms. He aimed at the highest offices. He labored from morning to night with scholarly and philosophical articles.

But, God be praised, these periods were relatively short. Afterwards his remorse was deep and sincere. He called together his fellow clerics and, tearful and tormented, did penance, and sought comfort and solace for his sins by constant recourse to the holy sacraments.

Kathryn prayed on her knees in her private chamber, with her children beside her, that God in his great mercy might summon home her husband at such a moment in his life, though it cause her all the woe, anguish, and earthly sorrow it might.

So that Benjamin Sigismund, too, might be saved.

1. Svarte bok: a book of spells and incantations, widespread in Scandinavia in the 18th and 19th centuries.

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