When the bishop came forth in the afternoon to take his seat in the
shade of the wood, those who were there assembled were singing "For
Norge." Instead of permitting them to stop, on account of his arrival,
he joined in the song, and solely because his heart was in it. Seldom
had he witnessed such a scene as this; and as he looked around him, and
saw deep shades and sunny uplands, blue glaciers above, green pastures
and glittering waters below, and all around herds on every hill-side, he
felt his love of old Norway, and his thankfulness for being one of her
sons, as warm as that of any one of the singers in the wood. Out of the
fulness of his heart, the good bishop addressed his companions on the
goodness of God in creating such a land, and placing them in it, with
their happiness so far in their own hands as that little worthy of being
called evil could befall them, except through faults of their own. M.
Kollsen, who had before uttered his complaints of the superstition of
his flock, hoped that his bishop was now about to attack the mischief
vigorously.
The bishop, however, only took his seat,--the mossy seat prepared for
him,--and declared himself to be now at the service of any who wished to
consult or converse with him. Instead of thrusting his own opinions and
reproofs upon them, as it was M. Kollsen's wont to do, he waited for
the people to open their minds to him in their own way, and by this
means, whatever he found occasion to say had double influence from
coming naturally. The words dropped by him that day to the anxious
mother awaiting the confirmation of her child,--to the young person
preparing for that important event,--to the bereaved,--to the
penitent,--to the thoughtless,--and to those who wondered why God had
given them so many rich blessings--what the good bishop said to all
these was so fit and so welcome, that not a word was forgotten through
long years after, and he was quoted half a century after he had been in
his grave, as old Ulla had quoted the good bishop of Tronyem of her day.
In a few hours many of the people were gone for the present,--some being
wanted at home, and others for the expected affair on the fiord. The
bishop and M. Kollsen had thought themselves alone in their shady
retreat when they saw Erica lingering near among the trees. With a kind
smile, the bishop beckoned to her, and bade her sit down, and tell him
whether he had not been right in promising, a while ago, that God would
soothe her sorrows with time, as is the plan of his kind providence. He
remembered well the story of the death of her mother. Erica replied
that not only had her grief been soothed, but that she was now so
blessed that her heart was burdened with its gratitude. She wished,--
she needed to pour out all that she felt; but M. Kollsen was there, and
she could not speak quite freely before him. He, for his part, observed
that, if she was now so happy, she must have given up some of her
superstitions, for certainly he had never known any one less likely to
enjoy peace than Erica, on all occasions on which he had seen her,--so
great was her dread of evil spirits on every hand.
"I wish," said Erica, with a sigh,--"I do wish I knew what to think
about Nipen."
"Ay! here it comes," observed M. Kollsen, folding his arms, as if for
an argument.
Encouraged by the bishop, Erica told the whole story of the last few
months, from the night of Oddo's prank to that which found her at the
feet of her friend, for she had cast herself down at the bishop's feet,
sitting as she had done in her childhood, looking up in his face.
"You want to know what I think of all this?" said the bishop, when she
had done. "I think that you could hardly help believing as you have
believed, amidst these strange circumstances, and with your mind full of
the common accounts of Nipen. Yet I do not believe there is any such
spirit as Nipen, or any demon in the forest, or on the mountain. Did
you ever hear what spirits everybody in this country believed in before
the blessed gospel was brought to old Norway?"
"I have heard of Thor, that yonder islet was named after; and that, when
there was a tempest, with rolling thunder, such as we never hear in this
region, the people used to say it was Thor driving his chariot over the
mountain-ridge."
"That was what people said of the thunder. What they said of fire and
frost was that they were giants called Loke and Thrym, who dwelt in a
dreadful tempestuous place, at the end of the earth, and came abroad to
do awful things among men. The giant Frost drove home his horses at
night,--the hail-clouds that sped through the air; and there sat the
giant on the frost winds, combing the manes of his horses as they went.
Fire was a cunning demon that stole in where it was not wanted: and when
once in, it devoured all that it chose, till it rose into the sky at
last in smoke.--Then there was the giant Aegir, who brought in squalls
from the sea, and made whirlpools in the fiords."
"Why, that is like Nipen."
"Very like Nipen;--perhaps the same. Then there was the good god Balder
(the white god), who made everything bright and beautiful, and ripened
the fruits of the earth. This god Balder was the sun. Then there were
the three magical women, the Fates, who made men's lives happy or
miserable. Did you ever hear how these giants and Fates were worshipped
before Jehovah and Christ were known in this land?"
"I have heard Ulla sing many old songs about these and more; and how
Thor and two companions as mighty as himself were travelling, and
entered a curious house for the night; and wandered about in the great
house, being frightened at a strange loud noise outside: and how they
found in the morning that this house was the mitten of a giant,
infinitely greater than themselves; and that what they had taken for a
separate chamber in the great house was the thumb of his mitten; and
that the strange noise was the snoring of this giant Skrymir, who was
asleep close by, after having pulled off his mittens."
"That is one of the many tales belonging to the old religion of this
country. And how did this old religion arise?--Why, the people saw
grand spectacles every day, and heard wonders whichever way they turned;
and they supposed that the whole universe was alive. The sun as it
travelled they thought was alive, and kind and good to men. The tempest
they thought was alive, and angry with men. The fire and frost they
thought were alive, pleased to make sport with men."
"As people who ought to know better," observed M. Kollsen, "now think
the wind is alive, and call it Nipen, or the mist of the lake and river,
which they call the sprite Uldra."
"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."
"Perhaps so, sir; but--but, M. Kollsen, you always seemed angry; and
you said you despised us for believing anything that you did not: and it
is the most difficult thing in the world to ask questions which one
knows will be despised."
M. Kollsen glanced in the bishop's face, to see how he took this, and
how he meant to support the pastor's authority. The bishop looked sad,
and said nothing.
"And then," continued Erica, "there were others who laughed--even Rolf
himself laughed; and what one fears becomes only the more terrible when
it is laughed at."
"Very true," said the bishop. "When Jesus sat on the well in Samaria,
and taught how the true worship was come, He neither frowned on the
woman who inquired, nor despised her, nor made light of her superstition
about a sacred mountain."
There was a long silence, which was broken at last by Erica asking the
bishop whether he could not console poor Hund, who wanted comfort more
than she had ever done. The bishop replied that the demons who most
tormented poor Hund were not abroad on the earth or in the air, but
within his breast--his remorse, his envy, his covetousness, his fear.
He meant, however, not to lose sight of poor Hund, either in the prison
to which he was to travel to-morrow, or after he should come out of it.
Here Frolich appeared running to ask whether those who were in the grove
would not like to look forth from the ridge, and see what good the
budstick had done, and how many parties were on their way from all
quarters to the farm.
M. Kollsen was glad to rise and escape from what he thought a
schooling, and the bishop himself was as interested in what was going on
as if the farm had been his home. He was actually the first at the
ridge.