“It is true,” said the bishop, “that we now have better knowledge, and see that the earth, and all that is in it, is made and moved by One Good Spirit, who, instead of sporting with men, or being angry with them, rules all things for their good. But I am not surprised that some of the old stories remain, and are believed in still,—and by good and dutiful Christians too. The mother sings the old songs over the cradle; and the child hears tell of sprites and demons before it hears of the good God who ‘sends forth the snow and rain, the hail and vapour, and the stormy winds fulfilling his word.’ And when the child is grown to be a man or woman, the northern lights shooting over the sky, and the sighing of the winds in the pine-forest, bring back those old songs, and old thoughts about demons and sprites; and the stoutest man trembles. I do not wonder; nor do I blame any man or woman for this; though I wish they were as happy as the weakest infant, or the most worn-out old man, who has learned from the gentle Jesus to fear nothing at any time, because his Father is with him.”
“But what is to be done?” asked M. Kollsen.
“The time will come,” said the bishop, “when the mother will sing to her babe of the gentle Jesus; and tell her growing child of how he loved to be alone with his Father in the waste and howling wilderness; and bade his disciples not be afraid when there was a tempest on the wide lake. Then, when the child grows up to be a man, if he finds himself alone on the mountain or in the forest, he will think of Jesus, and fear no demon: and if a west wind and fog should overtake a woman in her boat on the fiord,” he continued, looking with a smile at Erica, “she will never think of Nipen, but rather that she hears her Saviour saying, ‘Why are ye afraid, O! ye of little faith?’”
Erica hid her face, ashamed under the good man’s smile.
“In our towns,” continued he, “much of this blessed change is already wrought. No one in my city of Tronyem now fears the angry and cunning fire-giant Loke; but every citizen closes his eyes in peace when he hears the midnight cry of the watch, ‘Except the Lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.’ (The watchman’s call in the towns of Norway.) In the wilds of the country every man’s faith will hereafter be his watchman, crying out upon all that happens, ‘It is the Lord’s hand: let Him do what seemeth to Him good!’ This might have been said, Erica, as it appears to me, at every turn of your story, where you and your friends were not in fault.”
He went on to remark on the story she had told him; and she was really surprised to find that there was not the slightest reason to suppose that any spirit had been employed to vex and alarm her. The fog and the pirates had overtaken and frightened many in the fiord with whom Nipen had no quarrel. Rolfs imprisonment, and all the sorrows that belonged to it, had been owing to his own imprudence. The appearance of a double sun the night before was nothing uncommon, and was known to take place when the atmosphere was in a particular state. She herself had seen that no Wood-Demon had touched the axes in this very grove last night; and that it was no mountain-sprite, but a Laplander, who had taken up the first Gammel cheese. She had also witnessed how absurdly mistaken Hund had been about the boat having been spirited away, and Vogel island being enchanted, and Rolf’s ghost being allowed to haunt him. Here was a case before her very eyes of the way in which people with superstitious minds may misunderstand what happens to themselves.
“Oh!” exclaimed Erica, dropping her hands from before her glowing face, “if I dared but think there were no bad spirits—if I dared only hope that everything that happens is done by God’s own hand, I could bear everything! I would never be afraid again!”
“It is what I believe,” said the bishop. Laying his hand on her head, he continued, “We know that the very hairs of your head are all numbered. I see that you are weary of your fears—that you have long been heavy-laden with anxiety. It is you, then, that He invites to trust Him when He says by the lips of Jesus, ‘Come, ye that are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.’”
“Rest—rest is what I have wanted,” said Erica, while her tears flowed gently; “but Peder and Ulla did not believe as you do, and could not explain things; and—”
“You should have asked me,” said M. Kollsen; “I could have explained everything.”