“A reformed witness in an ever changing world”
BY JOHN BUNYAN
[Transcribed
from an uncopyrighted 1942 edition.]
The Authors Apology for his Book
IN THE
SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM
WHEN AT
THE FIRST I TOOK MY PEN IN HAND
Thus for
to write, I did not understand That I at
all should make a little book In such a
mode; nay, I had undertook To make
another; which, when almost done, Before I
was aware, I this begun.
Thereby
to please my neighbor: no, not I; I did it
my own self to gratify. Neither did
I but vacant seasons spend
Well,
when I had thus put mine ends together, I showed
them others, that I might see whether They
would condemn them, or them justify: And some
said, Let them live; some, Let them die; Some
said, JOHN, print it; others said, Not so; Some
said, It might do good; others said, No. Now was I
in a strait, and did not see Which was
the best thing to be done by me: At last I
thought, Since you are thus divided, I print
it will, and so the case decided. For,
thought I, some, I see, would have it done, Though
others in that channel do not run: To prove,
then, who advised for the best, Thus I
thought fit to put it to the test.
I further
thought, if now I did deny Those
that would have it, thus to gratify. I did not
know but hinder them I might Of that
which would to them be great delight. For those
which were not for its coming forth, I said to
them, Offend you I am loath, Yet,
since your brethren pleased with it be, Forbear
to judge till you do further see. If that
thou wilt not read, let it alone; Some love
the meat, some love to pick the bone. Yea, that
I might them better palliate, I did too
with them thus expostulate: -- May I not
write in such a style as this? In such a
method, too, and yet not miss My end --
thy good? Why may it not be done? Dark
clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none. Yea, dark
or bright, if they their silver drops Cause to
descend, the earth, by yielding crops, Gives
praise to both, and careth not at either, But
treasures up the fruit they yield together; Yea, so
commixes both, that in her fruit None can
distinguish this from that: they suit Her well
when hungry; but, if she be full, She spews
out both, and makes their blessings null.
You see
the ways the fisherman doth take To catch
the fish; what engines doth he make? Behold
how he engageth all his wits; Also his
snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets; Yet fish
there be, that neither hook, nor line, Nor
snare, nor net, nor engine can make thine: They must
be groped for, and be tickled too, Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you
do.
How does
the fowler seek to catch his game By divers
means! all which one cannot name: His guns,
his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell: He
creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell Of all
his postures? Yet there's none of these Will make
him master of what fowls he please. Yea, he must
pipe and whistle to catch this, Yet, if
he does so, that bird he will miss. If that a
pearl may in a toad's head dwell, And may
be found too in an oyster-shell; If things
that promise nothing do contain What
better is than gold; who will disdain, That have
an inkling of it, there to look, That they
may find it? Now, my little book, (Though
void of all these paintings that may make It with
this or the other man to take,) Is not
without those things that do excel What do
in brave but empty notions dwell.
'Well,
yet I am not fully satisfied, That this
your book will stand, when soundly tried. 'Why,
what's the matter? 'It is dark.' What though? 'But it
is feigned.' What of that? I trow Some men,
by feigned words, as dark as mine, Make truth
to spangle and its rays to shine. 'But they
want solidness.' Speak, man, thy mind. 'They
drown the weak; metaphors make us blind.'
Solidity,
indeed, becomes the pen Of him
that writeth things divine to men; But must
I needs want solidness, because By
metaphors I speak? Were not God's laws, His
gospel laws, in olden times held forth By types,
shadows, and metaphors? Yet loath Will any
sober man be to find fault With them, lest he be found for to assault The
highest wisdom. No, he rather stoops, And seeks
to find out what by pins and loops, By calves
and sheep, by heifers and by rams, By birds
and herbs, and by the blood of lambs,
God
speaketh to him; and happy is he That
finds the light and grace that in them be. Be not
too forward, therefore, to conclude That I
want solidness -- that I am rude; All
things solid in show not solid be; All
things in parables despise not we; Lest
things most hurtful lightly we receive, And
things that good are, of our souls bereave. My dark and
cloudy words, they do but hold The
truth, as cabinets enclose the gold. The
prophets used much by metaphors To set
forth truth; yea, who so considers Christ,
his apostles too, shall plainly see, That
truths to this day in such mantles be. Am I
afraid to say, that holy writ, Which for
its style and phrase puts down all wit, Is
everywhere so full of all these things -- Dark
figures, allegories? Yet there springs From that
same book that lustre, and those rays Of light,
that turn our darkest nights to days.
Come, let
my carper to his life now look, And find
there darker lines than in my book He
findeth any; yea, and let him know, That in his best things there are worse
lines too May we
but stand before impartial men, To his poor
one I dare adventure ten, That they
will take my meaning in these lines Far
better than his lies in silver shrines. Come,
truth, although in swaddling clouts, I find, Informs
the judgment, rectifies the mind; Pleases
the understanding, makes the will Submit;
the memory too it doth fill With what
doth our imaginations please; Likewise
it tends our troubles to appease. Sound
words, I know, Timothy is to use, And old
wives' fables he is to refuse; But yet
grave Paul him nowhere did forbid The use
of parables; in which lay hid That
gold, those pearls, and precious stones that were Worth
digging for, and that with greatest care.
Let me
add one word more. O man of God, Art thou
offended? Dost thou wish I had Put forth
my matter in another dress? Or, that
I had in things been more express? Three
things let me propound; then I submit To those
that are my betters, as is fit.
1. I find
not that I am denied the use Of this
my method, so I no abuse Put on
the words, things, readers; or be rude In
handling figure or similitude, In
application; but, all that I may, Seek the
advance of truth this or that way Denied,
did I say? Nay, I have leave (Example
too, and that from them that have God
better pleased, by their words or ways, Than any
man that breatheth now-a-days) Thus to
express my mind, thus to declare Things
unto thee that excellentest are.
2. I find
that men (as high as trees) will write Dialogue-wise;
yet no man doth them slight For
writing so: indeed, if they abuse Truth,
cursed be they, and the craft they use To that
intent; but yet let truth be free To make
her sallies upon thee and me, Which way
it pleases God; for who knows how, Better
than he that taught us first to plough, To guide
our mind and pens for his design? And he makes
base things usher in divine.
3. I find
that holy writ in many places Hath
semblance with this method, where the cases Do call
for one thing, to set forth another; Use it I
may, then, and yet nothing smother Truth's
golden beams: nay, by this method may Make it
cast forth its rays as light as day. And now
before I do put up my pen, I'll shew
the profit of my book, and then Commit
both thee and it unto that Hand That
pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.
This book
it chalketh out before thine eyes The man
that seeks the everlasting prize; It shews
you whence he comes, whither he goes; What he
leaves undone, also what he does; It also shews you how he runs and runs, Till he
unto the gate of glory comes. It shews,
too, who set out for life amain, As if the
lasting crown they would obtain; Here also
you may see the reason why They lose
their labour, and like fools do die. This book
will make a traveller of thee, If by its
counsel thou wilt ruled be; It will
direct thee to the Holy Land, If thou
wilt its directions understand: Yea, it
will make the slothful active be; The blind
also delightful things to see. Art thou
for something rare and profitable? Wouldest
thou see a truth within a fable? Art thou
forgetful? Wouldest thou remember From
New-Year's day to the last of December? Then read
my fancies; they will stick like burs, And may
be, to the helpless, comforters.
JOHN BUNYAN.
IN THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM
AS I WALKED THROUGH THE WILDERNESS OF THIS world, I lighted on a certain place where was a Den, and I laid me down in that place to sleep:
and, as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man clothed with rags, standing in a certain place,
with his face from his own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I looked, and saw him open the book,
and read therein; and, as he read, he wept, and trembled; and, not being able longer to contain, he brake out with a lamentable cry,
saying,
What shall I do?
In this
plight, therefore, he went home and refrained himself as long as
he could, that his wife and children should not perceive
his
distress; but he could not be silent long, because that his trouble
increased. Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his
wife and children; and thus he began to talk to them: O my dear wife, said he, and you the children of my bowels, I,
your dear friend, am in myself
undone by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon
me; moreover, I am for certain informed that this our
city will
be burned with fire from heaven; in which fearful overthrow,
both myself, with thee my wife, and you my sweet
babes,
shall miserably come to
ruin,
except (the which yet I see not) some way of escape can be found,
whereby we may be delivered. At this his relations were
sore
amazed; not for that they believed that what he had said to them was
true, but because they thought that some frenzy
distemper
had got into his head; therefore, it drawing towards night,
and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains, with
all haste
they got him to bed. But the night was as troublesome to him as
the day; wherefore, instead of sleeping, he spent it
in sighs
and tears. So, when the morning was come, they would know how
he did. He told them, Worse and worse: he also set to
talking
to them again; but they began to be hardened. They also thought
to drive away his distemper by harsh and surly carriages
to him;
sometimes they would deride, sometimes they would chide, and
sometimes they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he began
to retire
himself to his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and also to
condole his own misery; he would also walk solitarily in
the
fields, sometimes reading, and sometimes praying: and thus
Now, I
saw, upon a time, when he was walking in the fields, that he was,
as he was wont, reading in his book, and greatly
distressed
in his mind; and, as he read, he burst out, as he had done
before, crying, What shall I do to be saved?
I saw
also that he looked this way and that way, as if he would run; yet
he stood still, because, as I perceived, he could not
tell
which way to go. I looked then, and saw a man named Evangelist
coming to him, who asked, Wherefore dost thou cry?
He
answered, Sir, I perceive by the book in my hand, that I am
condemned to die, and after that to come to judgment;
and I
find that I am not willing to do the first, nor able to do the
second.
Christian no sooner leaves the World
but meets Evangelist, who lovingly him greets
With tidings of another: and doth shew Him how to mount to that from this
below.
Then said
Evangelist, Why not willing to die, since this life is attended
with so many evils? The man answered, Because I fear
that this
burden that is upon my back will sink me lower than the
grave, and I shall fall into Tophet. And, Sir, if I be not
fit to go
to prison, I am not fit, I am sure, to go to judgment, and from
thence to execution; and the thoughts of these things
make me
cry.
Then said
Evangelist, If this be thy condition, why standest thou
still? He answered, Because I know not whither to go. Then
he gave
him a parchment roll, and there was written within, Flee from the
wrath to come.
The man,
therefore, read it, and looking upon Evangelist very carefully,
said, Whither must I fly? Then said Evangelist,
pointing
with his finger over a very wide field, Do you see yonder
wicket-gate? The man said, No. Then said the other, Do
you see
yonder shining light? He said, I think I do. Then said Evangelist,
Keep that light in your eye, and go up directly
thereto:
so shalt thou see the gate; at which, when thou knockest,
it shall be told thee what thou shalt do. So I saw in
my dream
that the man began to run. Now, he had not run far from his own
door, but his wife and children, perceiving it, began to
cry after
him to return; but the man put his fingers in his ears, and
ran on, crying, Life! life! eternal life! So he looked
not
behind him, but fled towards the middle of the plain.
The
neighbors also came out to see him run; and, as he ran, some
mocked, others threatened, and some cried after him to
return;
and, among those that did so, there were two that resolved
to fetch him back by force. The name of the one was
Obstinate
and the name of the other Pliable. Now, by this time, the man was got a good
distance from them; but, however, they
were
resolved to pursue him, which they did, and in a little time they
overtook him. Then said the man, Neighbors, wherefore
are ye come?
They said, To persuade you to go back with us. But he said,
That can by no means be; you dwell, said he, in the
City of
Destruction, the place also where I was born: I see it to be so;
and, dying there, sooner or later, you will sink lower
than the grave, into a place that burns with fire and brimstone: be content, good neighbors, and go along with me.
Obst. What! said Obstinate, and leave our friends and our comforts behind us?
Chr. Yes,
said Christian, for that was his name, because that ALL which
you shall forsake is not worthy to be compared with a
little of
that which I am seeking to enjoy; and, if you will go along
with me, and hold it, you shall fare as I myself; for
there, where I go, is enough and to spare. Come away, and prove my words.
Obst. What are the things you seek, since you leave all the world to find them?
Chr. I
seek an inheritance incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth
not away, and it is laid up in heaven,
and safe there, to be bestowed, at the time appointed, on them that diligently seek it. Read it so, if you will, in my book.
Obst. Tush! said Obstinate, away with your book; will you go back with us or no?
Chr. No, not I, said the other, because I have laid my hand to the plough.
Obst.
Come, then, neighbor Pliable, let us turn again, and go home
without him; there is a company of these crazy-headed
coxcombs, that, when they take a fancy by the end, are wiser in their own eyes than seven men that can render a reason.
Pli. Then
said Pliable, Don't revile; if what the good Christian says is
true, the things he looks after are better than ours: my
heart inclines to go with my neighbor.
Obst.
What! more fools still! Be ruled by me, and go back; who knows
whither such a brain-sick fellow will lead you? Go back,
go back, and be wise.
Chr. Nay,
but do thou come with thy neighbor, Pliable; there are such
things to be had which I spoke of, and many more
glorious
besides. If you believe not me, read here in this book; and for the
truth of what is expressed therein, behold, all is
confirmed by the blood of Him that made it.
Pli.
Well, neighbor Obstinate, said Pliable, I begin to come to a point;
I intend to go along with this good man, and to cast in
my lot with him: but, my good companion, do you know the way to this desired place?
Chr. I am
directed by a man, whose name is Evangelist, to speed me to a
little gate that is before us, where we shall receive
instructions about the way.
Pli. Come, then, good neighbor, let us be going. Then they went both together.
Obst. And
I will go back to my place, said Obstinate; I will be no
companion of such misled, fantastical fellows.
Now, I
saw in my dream, that when Obstinate was gone back, Christian
and Pliable went talking over the plain; and thus they
began their discourse.
Chr.
Come, neighbor Pliable, how do you do? I am glad you are persuaded
to go along with me. Had even Obstinate himself but
felt what I have felt of the powers and terrors of what is yet unseen, he would not thus lightly have given us the back.
Pli.
Come, neighbor Christian, since there are none but us two here,
tell me now further what the things are, and how to be
enjoyed, whither we are going.
Chr. I
can better conceive of them with my mind, than speak of them with
my tongue: but yet, since you are desirous to know, I
will read of them in my book.
Pli. And do you think that the words of your book are certainly true?
Chr. Yes, verily; for it was made by Him that cannot lie.
Pli. Well said; what things are they?
Chr.
There is an endless kingdom to be inhabited, and everlasting
life to be given us, that we may inhabit that
kingdom for ever.
Pli. Well said; and what else?
Chr. There are crowns and glory to be given us, and garments that will make us shine like the sun in the firmament of heaven.
Pli. This is very pleasant; and what else?
Chr. There shall be no more crying, nor Sorrow: for He that is owner of the place will wipe all tears from our eyes.
Pli. And what company shall we have there?
Chr.
There we shall be with seraphims and cherubims, creatures that will
dazzle your eyes to look on them. There also you shall
meet with
thousands and ten thousands that have gone before us to that
place; none of them are hurtful, but loving and holy;
every one walking in the sight of God, and standing in his presence with acceptance for ever. In a word, there we shall see
the
elders with their golden crowns, there we shall see the holy virgins
with their golden harps, there we shall see men that by
the world
were cut in pieces, burnt in flames, eaten of beasts, drowned
in the seas, for the love that they bear to the Lord of
the place, all well, and clothed with immortality as with a garment.
Pli. The hearing
of this is enough to ravish one's heart. But are these
things to be enjoyed? How shall we get to be sharers
thereof?
Chr. The
Lord, the Governor of the country, hath recorded that in this
book; the substance of which is, If we be truly willing
to have it, he will bestow it upon us freely.
Pli. Well, my good companion, glad am I to hear of these things: come on, let us mend our pace.
Chr. I
cannot go so fast as I would, by reason of this burden that is
on my back.
Now I saw
in my dream, that just as they had ended this talk they drew
near to a very miry slough, that was in the midst of
the plain; and they, being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond. Here, therefore,
they
wallowed for a being grievously
bedaubed with the dirt; and Christian, because of the
burden that was on his back, began to sink in the mire.
Pli. Then said Pliable; Ah! neighbor Christian, where are you now?
Chr. Truly, said Christian, I do not know.
Pli. At
this Pliable began to be offended, and angrily said to his
fellow, Is this the happiness you have told me all this
while of?
If we have such ill speed at our first setting out, what may
we expect betwixt this and our journey's end? May I get
out again
with my life, you shall possess the brave country alone for
me. And, with that, he gave a desperate struggle or
two, and
got out of the mire on that side of the slough which was next
to his own house: so away he went, and Christian saw
him no
more.
Wherefore
Christian was left to tumble in the Slough of Despond alone:
but still he endeavoured to struggle to that side of the
slough
that was still further from his own house, and next to the
wicket-gate; the which he did, but could not get out,
because
of the burden that was upon his back: but I beheld in my dream,
that a man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked
him, What
he did there?
Chr. Sir,
said Christian, I was bid go this way by a man called Evangelist,
who directed me also to yonder gate, that I might
escape the wrath to come; and as I was going thither I fell in here.
Help. But why did not you look for the steps?
Chr. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next way, and fell in.
Help.
Then said he, Give me thy hand: so he gave him his hand,
and he drew
him out, and set him upon sound ground, and bid him go on his
way. Then I
stepped to him that plucked him out, and said, Sir,
wherefore,
since over this place is the way from the City of Destruction
to yonder gate, is it that this plat is not mended,
that poor
travellers might go thither with more security? And he said unto
me, This miry slough is such a place as cannot be
mended;
it is the descent whither the scum and filth that attends
conviction for sin doth continually run, and therefore
it is called
the Slough of Despond; for still, as the sinner is awakened
about his lost condition, there ariseth in his soul
many
fears, and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, which all of
them get together, and settle in this place. And this is
the
reason of the badness of this ground. It is not
the pleasure of the King that this place should remain
so bad.
His labourers also have, by the direction of His Majesty's
surveyors, been for above these sixteen hundred years
employed
about this patch of ground, if perhaps it might have been
mended: yea, and to my knowledge, said he, here have been
swallowed
up at least twenty thousand cart-loads, yea, millions of
wholesome instructions, that have at all seasons been brought
from all
places of the King's dominions, and they that can tell, say they
are the best materials to make good ground of the
place; if
so be, it might have been mended, but it is the Slough of
Despond still, and so will be when they have done what they
can. True,
there are, by the direction of the Law-giver, certain good and
substantial steps, placed even through the very midst of
this
slough; but at such time as this place
doth much spew out its filth, as it doth against change of
weather,
these steps are hardly seen; or, if they be, men, through
the dizziness of their heads, step beside, and then they
are
bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the steps be there; but the
ground is good when they are once got in at the gate.
Now, I
saw in my dream, that by this time Pliable was got home to his
house again, so that his neighbors came to visit him;
and some
of them called him wise man for coming back, and some called
him fool for hazarding himself with Christian: others
again did
mock at his cowardliness; saying, Surely, since you began to
venture, I would not have been so base to have given
out for a
few difficulties. So Pliable sat sneaking among them. But at
last he got more confidence, and then they all turned
their
tales, and began to deride poor Christian behind his back. And thus
much concerning Pliable.
Now, as
Christian was walking solitarily by himself, he espied one afar
off, come crossing over the field to meet him; and
their hap
was to meet just as they were crossing the way of each other.
The gentleman's name that met him was Mr. Worldly
Wiseman,
he dwelt in the town of Carnal Policy, a very great town, and
also hard by from whence Christian came. This man,
then, meeting with Christian, and having some inkling of him,
-- for
Christian's setting forth from the City of Destruction was
much
noised abroad, not only in the town where he dwelt, but also it
began to be the town talk in some other places, -- Mr.
Worldly
Wiseman, therefore, having some guess of him, by beholding
his laborious going, by observing his sighs and
groans, and
the like, began thus to enter into some talk with Christian.
World. How now, good fellow, whither away after this burdened manner?
Chr. A
burdened manner, indeed, as ever, I think, poor creature had! And
whereas you ask me, Whither away? I tell you, Sir, I am
going to
yonder wicket-gate before me; for there, as I am informed,
I shall be put into a way to be rid of my heavy
burden.
World. Hast thou a wife and children?
Chr. Yes;
but I am so laden with this burden that I cannot take that
pleasure in them as formerly; methinks I am as if I had
none.
World. Wilt thou hearken unto me if I give thee counsel?
Chr. If it be good, I will; for I stand in need of good counsel.
World. I
would advise thee, then, that thou with all speed get thyself rid
of thy burden; for thou wilt never be settled in thy
mind till then; nor canst thou enjoy the benefits of the blessing which God hath bestowed upon thee till then.
Chr. That
is that which I seek for, even to be rid of this heavy burden;
but get it off myself, I cannot; nor is there any man in
our country that can take it off my shoulders; therefore am I going this way, as I told you, that I may be rid of my burden.
World.
Who bid thee go this way to be rid of thy burden?
Chr. A
man that appeared to me to be a very great and honourable person;
his name, as I remember, is Evangelist.
World. I beshrew him for his counsel! there is not a more dangerous and troublesome way in the world than
is that
unto which he hath directed thee; and that thou shalt find, if
thou wilt be ruled by his counsel. Thou hast met with
something,
as I perceive, already; for I see the dirt of the Slough of
Despond is upon thee; but that slough is the beginning
of the
sorrows that do attend those that go on in that way. Hear me, I am
older than thou; thou art like to meet with, in the way
which
thou goest, wearisomeness, painfulness, hunger, perils, nakedness,
sword, lions, dragons, darkness, and, in a word,
death,
and what not! These things are certainly true, having been confirmed
by many testimonies. And why should a man so
carelessly
cast away himself, by giving heed to a stranger?
Chr. Why,
Sir, this burden upon my back is more terrible to me than all
these things which you have mentioned; nay, methinks I
care not
what I meet with in the way, if so be I can also meet with
deliverance from my burden.
World.
How camest thou by the burden at first?
Chr. By
reading this book in my hand.
World. I
thought so; and it is happened unto thee as to other weak men,
who, meddling with things too high for them, do
suddenly
fall into thy distractions; which distractions do not only
unman men, as thine, I perceive, have done thee, but they
run them
upon desperate ventures to obtain they know not what.
Chr. I
know what I would obtain; it is ease for my heavy burden.
World.
But why wilt thou seek for ease this way, seeing so many dangers
attend it? especially since, hadst thou but patience to
hear me, I could direct thee to the obtaining of what thou desirest, without the dangers that thou in this way wilt run thyself into:
yea, and the remedy is at hand. Besides, I will add, that instead of those dangers, thou shalt meet with much safety, friendship,
and
content.
Chr.
Pray, Sir, open this secret to me.
World.
Why, in yonder village -- the village is named Morality-- there
dwells a gentleman whose name is Legality, a very
judicious
man, and a man of very good name, that has skill to help men
off with such burdens as thine are from their
shoulders:
yea, to my knowledge, he hath done a great deal of good this
way; ay, and besides, he hath skill to cure those that
are
somewhat crazed in their wits with their burdens. To him, as I said,
thou mayest go, and be helped presently. His house is
not quite
a mile from this place, and if he should not be at home
himself, he hath a pretty young man to his son, whose name
is
Civility, that can do it (to speak on) as well as the old gentleman
himself; there, I say, thou mayest be eased of thy
burden; and
if thou art not minded to go back to thy former habitation,
as, indeed, I would not wish thee, thou mayest send
for thy
wife and children to thee to this village, where there are
houses now stand empty, one of which thou mayest have at
reasonable
rates; provision is there also cheap and good; and that
which will make thy life the more happy is, to be sure,
there
thou shalt live by honest neighbours, in credit and good fashion.
Now was
Christian somewhat at a stand; but presently he concluded,
if this be true, which this gentleman hath said, my
wisest
course is to take his advice; and with that he thus further
spoke.
Chr. Sir,
which is my way to this honest man's house?
World. Do
you see yonder hill?
Chr. Yes,
very well.
World. By
that hill you must go, and the first house you come at is his.
So
Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. Legality's house for help;
but, behold, when he was got now hard by the hill, it
seemed so
high, and also that side of it that was next the wayside did
hang so much over, that Christian was afraid to
venture
further, lest the hill should fall on his head; wherefore
there he stood still and wotted not what to do. Also
his
burden now seemed heavier to him than while he was in his way.
There came also flashes of fire out of the hill, that made
Christian
afraid that he should be burned. Here, therefore, he sweat and
did quake for fear.
When Christians unto carnal men give
ear, Out of their way they go, and pay for't
dear;
For Master Worldly Wiseman can but shew A saint the way to bondage and to woe.
And now
he began to be sorry that he had taken Mr. Worldly Wiseman's
counsel. And with that he saw Evangelist coming to
meet him;
at the sight also of whom he began to blush for shame. So
Evangelist drew nearer and nearer; and coming up to him, he
looked
upon him with a severe and dreadful countenance, and thus began to
reason with Christian.
Evan.
What dost thou here, Christian? said he: at which words Christian
knew not what to answer; wherefore at present he stood
speechless
before him. Then said Evangelist further, Art not thou the
man that I found crying without the walls of the City
of
Destruction?
Chr. Yes,
dear Sir, I am the man.
Evan. Did
not I direct thee the way to the little wicket-gate?
Chr. Yes,
dear Sir, said Christian.
Evan. How
is it, then, that thou art so quickly turned aside? for thou
art now out of the way.
Chr. I
met with a gentleman so soon as I had got over the Slough of
Despond, who persuaded me that I might, in the village before
me, find
a man that would take off my burden.
Evan.
What was he?
Chr. He
looked like a gentleman, and talked much to me, and got me at
last to yield; so I came hither; but when I beheld this
hill, and
how it hangs over the way, I suddenly made a stand lest it
should fall on my head.
Evan.
What said that gentleman to you?
Chr. Why,
he asked me whither I was going, and I told him.
Evan. And
what said he then?
Chr. He
asked me if I had a family? And I told him. But, said I, I am so
loaden with the burden that is on my back, that I cannot
take
pleasure in them as formerly.
Evan. And
what said he then?
Chr. He
bid me with speed get rid of my burden; and I told him that it
was ease that I sought. And said I, I am therefore going
to yonder
gate, to receive further direction how I may get to the place
of deliverance. So he said that he would shew me a
better
way, and short, not so attended with difficulties as the way, Sir,
that you set me in; which way, said he, will direct
you to a
gentleman's house that hath skill to take off these burdens,
so I believed him, and turned out of that way into this,
if haply
I might be soon eased of my burden. But when I came to this place,
and beheld things as they are, I stopped for fear
(as I
said) of danger: but I now know not what to do.
Evan.
Then, said Evangelist, stand still a little, that I may shew thee
the words of God. So he stood trembling. Then said
Evangelist,
See that ye refuse not him that speaketh. For if they
escaped not who refused him that spake on earth, much more
shall not
we escape, if we turn away from him that speaketh from heaven.
He said, moreover, Now the just shall live by faith: but
if any
man draw back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him. He also did
thus apply them: Thou art the man that art running into
this
misery; thou hast begun to reject the counsel of the Most High, and
to draw back thy foot from the way of peace, even
almost to
the hazarding of thy perdition.
Then
Christian fell down at his feet as dead, crying, Woe is me, for I am
undone! At the sight of which Evangelist caught him by
the right
hand, saying, All manner of sin and blasphemies shall be
forgiven unto men. Be not faithless, but believing. Then did
Christian
again a little revive, and stood up trembling, as at first,
before Evangelist.
Then
Evangelist proceeded, saying, Give more earnest heed to the things
that I shall tell thee of. I will now shew thee who it
was that deluded
thee, and who it was also to whom he sent thee.-- The
man that met thee is one Worldly Wiseman, and rightly is
he so
called; partly, because he savoureth only the doctrine of this
world (therefore he always goes to the town of Morality to
church): and partly because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth him best from the cross.
And because he is of this carnal temper,'
therefore he seeketh to pervert my ways though
right.
Now there are three things in this man's counsel, that thou must
utterly abhor.
1. His turning thee out of the way.
2. His labouring to render the cross odious to thee. And,
3. His
setting thy feet in that way that
leadeth unto the administration of death.
First,
Thou must abhor his turning thee out of the way; and thine own
consenting thereunto: because this is to reject the
counsel
of God for the sake of the counsel of a Worldly Wiseman. The Lord
says, Strive to enter in at the strait gate, the gate
to which
I sent thee; for strait is the gate that leadeth unto life, and
few there be that find it. From this little
wicket-gate,
and from the way thereto, hath this wicked man turned
thee, to the bringing of thee almost to destruction;
hate,
therefore, his turning thee out of the way, and abhor thyself
for hearkening to him.
Secondly,
Thou must abhor his labouring to render the cross odious
unto thee; for thou art to prefer it before the treasures
of Egypt.
Besides the King of glory hath told thee, that he that will save
his life shall lose it; and he that cometh after me,
and
hateth not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and
brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot
be my
disciple. I say, therefore, for man to labour to persuade thee,
that that shall be thy death, without which, THE TRUTH
hath said,
thou canst not have eternal life; this doctrine thou must
abhor.
Thirdly,
Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in the way that leadeth
to the ministration of death. And for this thou must
consider
to whom he sent thee, and also how
unable that person was to deliver thee from thy burden.
He to
whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name Legality, is the son
of the bond-woman which now is, and is in bondage with
her
children; and is, in a mystery, this Mount Sinai, which thou hast feared
will fall on thy head. Now, if she, with her
children,
are in bondage, how canst thou expect by them to be made
free? This Legality, therefore, is not able to set thee
free from
thy burden. No man was as yet ever rid of his burden by him;
no, nor ever is like to be: ye cannot be justified by
the works
of the law; for by the deeds of the law no man living can be
rid of his burden: therefore, Mr. Worldly Wiseman is an
alien,
and Mr. Legality is a cheat; and for his son Civility, notwithstanding
his simpering looks, he is but a hypocrite and
cannot
help thee. Believe me, there is nothing in all this noise,
that thou hast heard of sottish men, but a design to
beguile
thee of thy salvation, by turning thee from the way in which I
had set thee. After this, Evangelist called aloud to the
heavens
for confirmation of what he had said: and with that there
came words and fire out of the mountain under which poor
Christian
stood, that made the hair of his flesh stand up. The words
were thus pronounced: As many as are of the works of the
law are
under the curse; for it is written, Cursed is every one that
continueth not in all things which are written in the book
of the
law to do them.
Now
Christian looked for nothing but death, and began to cry out lamentably;
even cursing the time in which he met with Mr.
Worldly
Wiseman; still calling himself a thousand fools for hearkening
to his counsel; he also was greatly ashamed to think
that this
gentle- man's
arguments, flowing only from the flesh, should have the prevalency
with him as to cause him to forsake the right way.
This
done, he applied himself again to Evangelist in words and sense as
follow:
Chr. Sir,
what think you? Is there hope? May I now go back and go up to
the wicket-gate? Shall I not be abandoned for this, and
sent back
from thence ashamed? I am sorry I have hearkened to this
man's counsel. But may my sin be forgiven?
Evan.
Then said Evangelist to him, Thy sin is very great, for by it thou
hast committed two evils: thou hast forsaken the way
that is
good, to tread in forbidden paths; yet will the man at the gate receive thee,
for he has goodwill for men; only, said
he, take
heed that thou turn not aside again, lest thou perish from the
way, when his wrath is kindled but a little. Then did
Christian
address himself to go back; and Evangelist, after he had
kissed him, gave him one smile, and bid him God-speed. So he
went on
with haste, neither spake he to any man by the way; nor, if any
asked him, would he vouchsafe them an answer. He went
like one that
was all the while treading on forbidden ground, and could
by no means think himself safe, till again he was got
into the
way which he left, to follow Mr. Worldly Wiseman's counsel.
So, in process of time, Christian got up to the gate.
Now, over
the gate there was written, Knock, and it shall be opened
unto you.
He that will enter in must first
without Stand knocking at the Gate, nor need he
doubt
That is A KNOCKER, but to enter in; For God can love him, and forgive his
sin.
He
knocked, therefore, more than once or twice, saying --
May I now enter here? Will he within Open to sorry me, though I have been
An undeserving rebel? Then shall I Not fail to sing his lasting praise on
high.
At last
there came a grave person to the gate, named Good-will, who asked
who was there? and whence he came? and what he would
have?
Chr. Here
is a poor burdened sinner. I come from the City of Destruction,
but am going to Mount Zion, that I may be delivered
from the wrath
to come. I would therefore, Sir, since I am informed
that by this gate is the way thither, know if you are
willing
to let me in?
Good-Will.
I am willing with all my heart, said he; and with that he
opened the gate.
So when
Christian was stepping in, the other gave him a pull. Then said
Christian, What means that? The other told him. A
little
distance from this gate, there is erected a strong castle,
of which Beelzebub is the captain; from thence, both he
and them
that are with him shoot arrows at those that come up to this
gate, if haply they may die before they can enter in.
Then said
Christian, I rejoice and tremble. So when he was got in, the
man of the gate asked him who directed him thither?
Chr.
Evangelist bid me come hither, and knock, (as I did;) and he said
that you, Sir, would tell me what I must do.
Good-Will.
An open door is set before thee, and no man can shut it.
Chr. Now
I begin to reap the benefits of my hazards.
Good-Will.
But how is it that you came alone?
Chr. Because
none of my neighbours saw their danger, as I saw mine.
Good-Will.
Did any of them know of your coming?
Chr. Yes;
my wife and children saw me at the first, and called after me
to turn again; also, some of my neighbours stood crying
and
calling after me to return; but I put my fingers in my ears, and so
came on my way.
Good-Will.
But did none of them follow you, to persuade you to go back?
Chr. Yes,
both Obstinate and Pliable; but when they saw that they
could not prevail, Obstinate went railing back, but Pliable
came with
me a little way.
Good-Will.
But why did he not come through?
Chr. We,
indeed, came both together, until we came at the Slough of
Despond, into the which we also suddenly fell. And then was
my neighbour,
Pliable, discouraged, and would not venture further.
Wherefore, getting out again on that side next to his
own
house, he told me I should possess the brave country alone for him;
so he went his way, and I came mine -- he after
Obstinate,
and I to this gate.
Good-Will.
Then said Good-Will, Alas, poor man! is the celestial glory of
so small esteem with him, that he counteth it not worth
running
the hazards of a few difficulties to obtain it?
Chr.
Truly, said Christian, I have said the truth of Pliable, and if I
should also say all the truth of myself, it will appear
there is
no betterment betwixt him and myself. It is true, he went back
to his own house, but I
also turned aside to go in the way of death, being persuaded thereto by the carnal arguments of one Mr. Worldly Wiseman.
Good-Will.
Oh, did he light upon you? What! he would have had you a
sought for ease at the hands of Mr. Legality. They are,
both of
them, a very cheat. But did you take his counsel?
Chr. Yes,
as far as I durst; I went to find out Mr. Legality, until I
thought that the mountain that stands by his house would
have
fallen upon my head; wherefore there I was forced to stop.
Good-Will.
That mountain has been the death of many, and will be the death
of many more; it is well you escaped being by it
dashed in
pieces.
Chr. Why,
truly, I do not know what had become of me there, had not
Evangelist happily met me again, as I was musing in the
midst of
my dumps; but it was God's mercy that he came to me again,
for else I had never come hither. But now I am come, such
a one as
I am, more fit, indeed, for death, by that mountain, than thus to stand
talking with my lord; but, oh, what a favour
is this
to me, that yet I am admitted entrance here!
Good-Will.
We make no objections against any, notwithstanding all that
they have done before they came hither. They are in no
wise cast
out; and therefore, good Christian, come a little way with me,
and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. Look
before
thee; dost thou see this narrow. way? THAT is the way thou must
go; it was cast up by the patriarchs, prophets,
Christ,
and his apostles; and it is as straight as a rule can make it.
This is the way thou must go.
Chr. But,
said Christian, are there no turnings or windings by which a
stranger may lose his way?
Good-Will.
Yes, there are many ways butt down upon this, and they are
crooked and wide. But thus thou mayest distinguish the
right
from the wrong, the right only being straight and narrow.
Then I
saw in my dream that Christian asked him further if he could not
help him off with his burden that was upon his back;
for as
yet he had not got rid thereof, nor could he by any means get it
off without help.
He told
him, As to thy burden, be content to bear it, until thou comest to
the place of deliverance; for there it will fall from
thy back
of itself.
Then
Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address himself
to his journey. So the other told him, That by that he
was gone
some distance from the gate, he would come at the house of the
Interpreter, at whose door he should knock, and he would
shew him
excellent things. Then Christian took his leave of his friend,
and he again bid him God-speed.
Then he went
on till he came to the house of the Interpreter,where he
knocked over and over; at last one came to the door,
and asked
who was there.
Chr. Sir,
here is a traveller, who was bid by an acquaintance of the
good-man of this house to call here for my profit; I would
therefore
speak with the master of the house. So he called for the
master of the house, who, after a little time, came to
Christian,
and asked him what he would have.
Chr. Sir,
said Christian, I am a man that am come from the City of
Destruction, and am going to the Mount
Zion; and
I was told by the man that stands at the gate, at, the head of
this way, that if I called here, you would shew me
excellent
things, such as would be a help to me in my journey.
Inter.
Then said the Interpreter, Come in; I will shew that which
will be profitable to thee. So he commanded his man to
light the
candle, and bid Christian follow him: so he had him into a
private room, and bid his man open a door; the which when
he had done,
Christian saw the picture of a very grave person hung up
against the wall; and this was the fashion of it. It had
eyes
lifted up to heaven, the best of books in his hand, the law of truth
was written upon his lips, the world was behind his
back. It
stood as if it pleaded with men, and a crown of gold did hang
over his head.
Chr. Then
said Christian, What meaneth this?
Inter.
The man whose picture this is, is one of a thousand; he can beget
children, travail in birth with children, and nurse
them himself
when they are born. And whereas thou seest him with his eyes lift up to
heaven, the best of books in his hand, and
the law
of truth writ on his lips, it is to shew thee that his work is
to know and unfold dark things to sinners; even as also
thou seest
him stand as if he pleaded with men: and whereas thou seest the
world as cast behind him, and that a crown hangs over
his head,
that is to shew thee that slighting and despising the things
that are present, for the love that he hath to his
Master's
service, he is sure in the world that comes next to have
glory for his reward. Now, said the Interpreter, I have
shewed
thee this picture first, because the man whose picture this is,
is the only man whom the Lord of the place whither thou
art going, hath authorized to be thy guide in all difficult places thou mayest meet with in the way; wherefore,
take good heed to what I have shewed thee, and
bear well in thy mind what thou hast seen, lest in thy
journey thou
meet with some that pretend to lead thee right, but their way
goes down to death.
Then he
took him by the hand, and led him into a very large parlour
that was full of dust, because never swept; the which
after he
had reviewed a little while, the Interpreter called for a man to
sweep. Now, when he began to sweep, the dust began so
abundantly
to fly about, that Christian had almost therewith been
choked. Then said the Interpreter to a damsel that stood
by, Bring
hither the water, and sprinkle the room; the which, when she
had done, it was swept and cleansed with pleasure.
Chr. Then
said Christian, What means this?
Inter.
The Interpreter answered, This parlour is the heart of a man that
was never sanctified by the sweet grace of the gospel;
the dust
is his original sin and inward corruptions, that have defiled
the whole man. He that began to sweep at first, is the
Law; but
she that brought water, and did sprinkle it, is the Gospel.
Now, whereas thou sawest, that so soon as the first
began to sweep,
the dust did so fly about that the room by him could not
be cleansed, but that thou wast almost choked
therewith;
this is to shew thee, that the law, instead of cleansing
the heart (by its working) from sin, doth revive, put
strength
into, and increase it in the soul, even as it doth discover
and forbid it, for it doth not give power to subdue.
Again, as
thou sawest the damsel sprinkle the room with water, upon
which it was cleansed with pleasure;
this is
to shew thee, that when the gospel comes in the sweet and
precious influences thereof to the heart, then, I say, even
as thou
sawest the damsel lay the dust by sprinkling the floor with
water, so is sin vanquished and subdued, and the soul made
clean
through the faith of it, and consequently fit for the King of glory
to inhabit.
I saw,
moreover, in my dream, that the Interpreter took him by the hand,
and had him into a little room, where sat two little
children,
each one in his chair. The name of the eldest was Passion,
and the name of the other Patience. Passion seemed to
be much discontented; but Patience was very quiet.
Then Christian asked, What is the reason of the discontent of Passion?
The
Interpreter answered, The Governor of them would have him stay
for his best things till the beginning of the next
year; but
he will have all now: but Patience is willing to wait.
Then I
saw that one came to Passion, and brought him a bag of treasure,
and poured it down at his feet, the which he took up
and rejoiced
therein, and withal laughed Patience to scorn. But I beheld
but a while, and he had lavished all away, and had
nothing
left him but rags.
Chr. Then
said Christian to the Interpreter, Expound this matter more
fully to me.
Inter. So
he said, These two lads are figures: Passion, of the men of
this world; and Patience, of the men of that which is to
come; for
as here thou seest, Passion will have all now this year,
that is to say, in this world; so are the men of this
world, they must have all their good things now, they cannot stay till next year, that is until the next world,
for their
portion of good. That proverb,
'A bird
in the hand is worth two in the bush,' is of more authority
with them than are all the Divine testimonies of the
good of the
world to come. But as thou sawest that he had quickly
lavished all away, and had presently left him nothing
but rags;
so will it be with all such men at the end of this world.
Chr. Then
said Christian, Now I see that Patience has the best wisdom,
and that upon many accounts. First, because he stays for
the best
things. Second, and also because he will have the glory of his,
when the other has nothing but rags.
Inter.
Nay, you may add another, to wit, the glory of the next world
will never wear out; but these are suddenly gone.
Therefore
Passion had not so much reason to laugh at Patience, because he had his good
things first, as Patience will have to
laugh at
Passion, because he had his best things last; for first must give
place to last, because last must have his time to
come; but
last gives place to nothing; for there is not another to
succeed. He, therefore, that hath his portion first, must
needs
have a time to spend it; but he that hath his portion last,
must have it lastingly; therefore it is said of Dives,
Thou in
thy life-time receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus
evil things; but now he is comforted, and thou art
tormented.
Chr. Then
I perceive it is not best to covet things that are now, but
to wait for things to come.
Inter. You
say the truth: For the things which are seen are temporal;
but the things which are not seen are eternal. But
though
this be so, yet since things present and our fleshly appetite
are such near neighbours one to another; and again,
because
things to come, and carnal sense,
are such strangers one to another; therefore it is, that
the first
of these so suddenly fall into amity, and that distance
is so continued between the second.
Then I
saw in my dream that the Interpreter took Christian by the hand,
and led him into a place where was a fire burning
against a
wall, and one standing by it, always casting much water
upon it, to quench it; yet did the fire burn higher and
hotter.
Then said
Christian, What means this?
The
Interpreter answered, This fire is the work of grace that is wrought
in the heart; he that casts water upon it, to extinguish
and put
it out, is the Devil; but in that thou seest the fire notwithstanding
burn higher and hotter, thou shalt also see the
reason of
that. So he had him about to the backside of the wall, where he
saw a man with a vessel of oil in his hand, of the
which he
did also continually cast, but secretly, into the fire.
Then said
Christian, What means this?
The
Interpreter answered, This is Christ, who continually, with the oil
of his grace, maintains the work already begun in the
heart: by
the means of which, notwithstanding what the devil can do, the
souls of his people prove gracious still. And in that
thou
sawest that the man stood behind the wall to maintain the fire,
that is to teach thee that it is hard for the tempted to
see how
this work of grace is maintained in the soul.
I saw
also, that the Interpreter took him again by the hand, and led him
into a pleasant place, where was builded a stately
palace,
beautiful to behold; at the sight of which Christian was greatly
delighted. He saw also, upon the top thereof, certain
persons
walking, who were clothed all in gold.
Then said
Christian, May we go in thither?
Then the Interpreter
took him, and led him up towards the door of the
palace; and behold, at the door stood a great company of
men, as
desirous to go in; but durst not. There also sat a man at a
little distance from the door, at a table-side, with a book
and his
inkhorn before him, to take the name of him that should enter
therein; he saw also, that in the doorway stood many men
in armour
to keep it, being resolved to do the men that would enter
what hurt and mischief they could. Now was Christian
somewhat
in amaze. At last, when every man started back for fear of the armed men,
Christian saw a man of a very stout
countenance
come up to the man that sat there to write, saying, Set down
my name, Sir: the which when he had done, he saw the
man draw
his sword, and put a helmet upon his head, and rush toward
the door upon the armed men, who laid upon him with
deadly
force; but the man, not at all discouraged, fell to cutting
and hacking most fiercely. So after he had received and
given
many wounds to those that attempted to keep him out, he cut his
way through them all, and pressed forward into the
palace,
at which there was a pleasant voice heard from those that were
within, even of those that walked upon the top of the
palace,
saying --
Come in, come in; Eternal glory thou shalt win.
So he
went in, and was clothed with such garments as they. Then Christian
smiled and said; I think verily I know the meaning of
this.
Now, said
Christian, let me go hence. Nay, stay, said the Interpreter,
till I have shewed thee a little more, and
after
that thou shalt go on thy way. So he took him by the hand again,
and led him into a very dark room, where there sat a man
in an iron cage. Now the man, to look on, seemed very sad; he sat with his eyes looking down to the ground, his hands folded together,
and he sighed as if he would break his heart.
Then said Christian, What means this? At which the Interpreter bid him talk with the man. Then said Christian to the man,
What art
thou? The man answered, I am what
I was not once.
Chr. What
wast thou once?
Man. The
man said, I was once a fair and flourishing professor, both in
mine own eyes, and also in the eyes of others; I once
was, as I
thought, fair for the Celestial City, and had then even joy at
the thoughts that I should get thither.
Chr.
Well, but what art thou now? Man. I am now a man of despair,
and am shut up in it, as in this iron cage. I cannot
get out.
Oh, now I cannot!
Chr. But
how camest thou in this condition?
Man. I
left off to watch and be sober. I laid the reins, upon the neck
of my lusts; I sinned against the light of the Word and
the
goodness of God; I have grieved the Spirit, and he is gone; I tempted
the devil, and he is come to me; I have provoked God
to anger,
and he has left me: I have so hardened my heart, that I cannot
repent.
Then said
Christian to the Interpreter, But is there no hope for such a
man as this? Ask him, said the Interpreter. Nay, said
Christian,
pray, Sir, do you.
Inter.
Then said the Interpreter, Is there no hope, but you must be kept
in the iron cage of despair?
Man. No,
none at all.
Inter.
Why, the Son of the Blessed is very pitiful.
Man. I
have crucified him to myself afresh; I have despised his person; I
have despised his righteousness; I have counted his
blood an
unholy thing; I have done despite to the Spirit of grace.
Therefore I have shut myself out of all the promises, and
there now
remains to me nothing but threatenings, dreadful threatenings,
fearful threatenings, of certain judgment and
fiery
indignation, which shall devour me as an adversary.
Inter.
For what did you bring yourself into this condition?
Man. For
the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this world; in the enjoyment
of which I did then promise myself much delight; but
now every
one of those things also bite me, and gnaw me like a burning
worm.
Inter.
But canst thou not now repent and turn?
Man. God
hath denied me repentance. His Word gives me no encouragement
to believe; yea, himself hath shut me up in this
iron
cage; nor can all the men in the world let me out. O eternity,
eternity! how shall I grapple with the misery that I
must meet
with in eternity!
Inter.
Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this man's misery be
remembered by thee, and be an everlasting caution to
thee.
Chr.
Well, said Christian, this is fearful! God help me to watch and be
sober, and to pray that I may shun the cause of this
man's misery! Sir, is it not time for me to go on my way now?
Inter. Tarry
till I shall shew thee one thing more, and then thou
shalt go on thy way.
So he
took Christian by the hand again, and led him into a
chamber, where there was one rising out of bed; and as he
put on his raiment he shook and trembled.
Then said
Christian, Why doth
this man thus tremble? The Interpreter then bid him
tell to
Christian the reason of his so doing. So he began and said,
This night, as I was in my sleep, I dreamed, and behold
the
heavens grew exceeding black; also it thundered and lightened
in most fearful wise, that it put me into an agony; so
I looked
up in my dream, and saw the clouds rack at an unusual rate,
upon which I heard a great sound of a trumpet, and saw
also a
man sit upon a cloud, attended with the thousands of heaven; they
were all in flaming fire: also the heavens were in
a burning
flame. I heard then a voice saying, Arise, ye dead, and come
to judgment; and with that the rocks rent, the graves
opened,
and the dead that were therein came forth. Some of them were
exceeding glad, and looked upward; and some sought to hide
themselves
under the mountains. Then I saw the man that sat upon the cloud
open the book, and bid the world draw near. Yet there
was, by
reason of a fierce flame which issued out and came from before
him, a convenient distance betwixt him and them, as
betwixt
the judge and the prisoners at the bar. I heard it also proclaimed
to them that attended on the man that sat on the
cloud,
Gather together the tares, the chaff, and stubble, and cast them
into the burning lake. And with that, the bottomless
pit
opened, just whereabout I stood; out of the mouth of which there
came, in an abundant manner, smoke and coals of fire, with
hideous
noises. It was also said to the same persons, Gather my wheat
into the garner. And with that I saw many catched up and
carried away into the clouds, but I was left behind. I also sought to hide myself, but I could not,
for the
man that sat upon the cloud still kept his eye upon me;
my sins also came into my mind; and my conscience
did
accuse me on every side. Upon this I awaked from my sleep.
Chr. But
what is it that made you so afraid of this sight?
Man. Why,
I thought that the day of judgment was come, and that I was not
ready for it: but this frighted me most, that the
angels
gathered up several, and left me behind; also the pit of hell
opened her mouth just where I stood. My conscience, too,
afflicted
me; and, as I thought, the Judge had always his eye upon me,
shewing indignation in his countenance.
Then said
the Interpreter to Christian, Hast thou considered all these
things?
Chr. Yes,
and they put me in hope and fear.
Inter.
Well, keep all things so in thy mind that they may be as a goad in
thy sides, to prick thee forward in the way thou must
go. Then
Christian began to gird up his loins, and to address himself
to his journey. Then said the Interpreter, The Comforter
be always
with thee, good Christian, to guide thee in the way that
leads to the City. So Christian went on his way, saying --
Here I have seen things rare and
profitable; Things pleasant, dreadful, things to
make me stable
In what I have begun to take in hand; Then let me think on them and
understand
Wherefore they shewed me were, and let
me be Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee.
Now I saw
in my dream, that the highway up which Christian was to go,
was fenced on either side with a
wall, and
that wall was called Salvation. Up this way,therefore,
did burdened Christian run, but not without great
difficulty,
because of the load on his back. He ran
thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending, and upon
that
place stood a cross, and a little below, in the bottom, a sepulchre.
So I saw in my dream, that just as Christian came up
with the
cross, his burden loosed from off his shoulders, and fell from
off his back, and began to tumble, and so continued to
do, till
it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where it fell in, and I
saw it no more.
Then was
Christian glad and lightsome, and said, with a merry heart,
'He hath given me rest by his sorrow, and life by his
death.'
Then he stood still awhile to look and wonder; for it was very
surprising to him, that the sight of the cross should
thus ease
him of his burden. He looked therefore, and looked again,
even till the springs that were in his head sent the
waters
down his cheeks. Now, as he stood looking and weeping, behold three Shining
Ones came to him and saluted him with Peace
be unto
thee. So the first said to him, Thy sins be forgiven thee; the
second stripped him of his rags, and clothed him with
change of
raiment; the third also set a mark on his forehead, and gave
him a roll with a seal upon it, which he bade him look
on as he
ran, and that he should give it in at the Celestial Gate. So
they went their way.
Who's this? the Pilgrim. How! 'tis very
true, Old things are past away, all's become
new.
Strange! he's another man, upon my
word, They be fine feathers that make a fine
bird.
Then
Christian gave three leaps for joy, and went on singing --
Thus far I did come laden with my sin; Nor could aught ease the grief that I
was in
Till I came hither: What a place is
this! Must here be the beginning of my bliss?
Must here the burden fall from off my
back? Must here the strings that bound it to
me crack?
Blest cross! blest sepulchre! blest
rather be The Man that there was put to shame for me!
I saw then
in my dream, that he went on thus, even until he came at a
bottom, where he saw, a little out of the way, three men
fast
asleep, with fetters upon their heels. The name of the one was
Simple, another Sloth, and the third Presumption.
Christian
then seeing them lie in this case went to them, if peradventure
he might awake them, and cried, You are like them
that
sleep on the top of a mast, for the Dead Sea is under you -- a gulf
that hath no bottom. Awake, therefore, and come away;
be
willing also, and I will help you off with your irons. He also told
them, If he that goeth about like a roaring lion comes
by, you
will certainly become a prey to his teeth. With that they
looked upon him, and began to reply in this sort: Simple
said, 'I
see no danger;' Sloth said, 'Yet a little more sleep;' and
Presumption said, 'Every fat must stand upon its own bottom;
what is
the answer else that I should give thee?' And so they lay down
to sleep again, and Christian went on his way.
Yet was he
troubled to think that men in that danger should so
little esteem the kindness of him that so freely
offered
to help them, both by awakening of them, counselling of them, and
proffering to help them off with their irons. And as
he was
troubled thereabout, he espied two men come tumbling over the wall
on the left hand of the narrow way; and they made up
apace to
him. The name of the one was Formalist, and the name of the other
Hypocrisy. So, as I said, they drew up unto him, who
thus
entered with them into discourse.
Chr.
Gentlemen, whence came you, and whither go you?
Form. and
Hyp. We were born in the land of Vain-Glory, and are going for
praise to Mount Zion.
Chr. Why
came you not in at the gate which standeth at the beginning
of the way? Know you not that it is written, that he
that
cometh not in by the door, but climbeth up some other way, the same
is a thief and a robber?
Form. and
Hyp. They said, That to go to the gate for entrance was, by
all their countrymen, counted too far about; and that,
therefore,
their usual way was to make a short cut of it, and to climb
over the wall, as they had done.
Chr. But
will it not be counted a trespass against the Lord of the city
whither we are bound, thus to violate his revealed
will?
Form. and
Hyp. They told him, that, as for that, he needed not to
trouble his head thereabout; for what they did they had
custom
for; and could produce, if need were, testimony that would
witness it for more than a thousand years.
Chr. But,
said Christian, will your practice stand a trial at law?
Form. and
Hyp. They told him, That custom, it being of so long a
standing as above a thousand years, would, doubtless, now be
admitted
as a thing legal by any impartial judge; and besides, said
they, if we get into the way, what's matter which way we
get in?
if we are in, we are in; thou art but in the way, who, as we
perceive, came in at the gate; and we are also in the way,
that came
tumbling over the wall; wherein, now, is thy condition better
than ours?
Chr. I walk
by the rule of my Master: you walk by the rude working
of your fancies. You are counted thieves already, by the
Lord of
the way; therefore, I doubt you will not be found true men at
the end of the way. You come in by yourselves, without
his
direction; and shall go out by yourselves, without his mercy.
To this
they made him but little answer; only they bid him look to
himself. Then I saw that they went on every man in his way
without
much conference one with another, save that these two men told
Christian, that as to laws and ordinances, they doubted
not but
they should as conscientiously do them as he; therefore, said
they, we see not wherein thou differest from us but by the
coat that
is on thy back, which was, as we trow, given thee by some of
thy neighbours, to hide the shame of thy nakedness.
Chr. By
laws and ordinances you will not be saved, since you came not
in by the door. And as for this coat that is on my
back, it was given me by the Lord of the place whither I go; and that, as you say, to cover my nakedness with.
And I take
it as a token of his kindness to me; for I had
nothing but rags before. And besides, thus I comfort
myself as
I go: Surely, think I, when I come to the gate of the city, the
Lord thereof will know me for good since I have this
coat on
my back -- a coat that he gave me freely in the day that he
stripped me of my rags. I have, moreover, a mark in my
forehead,
of which, perhaps, you have taken no notice, which one of my
Lord's most intimate associates fixed there in the day
that my
burden fell off my shoulders. I will tell you, moreover, that I
had then given me a roll, sealed, to comfort me by
reading
as I go on the way; I was also bid to give it in at the Celestial
Gate, in token of my certain going in after it; all
which
things, I doubt, you want, and want them because you came not in at
the gate.
To these
things they gave him no answer; only they looked upon each
other, and laughed. Then, I saw that they went on all, save
that
Christian kept before, who had no more talk but with himself,
and that sometimes sighingly, and sometimes
comfortably;
also he would be often reading in the roll that one of the
Shining Ones gave him, by which he was refreshed.
I beheld,
then, that they all went on till they came to the foot of the
Hill Difficulty; at the bottom of which was a spring.
There
were also in the same place two other ways besides that which
came straight from the gate; one turned to the left hand,
and the other
to the right, at the bottom of the hill; but the narrow
way lay right up the hill, and the name of the going up
the side
of the hill is called Difficulty. Christian now went to the
spring, and drank thereof, to refresh himself, and then
began to
go up the hill, saying --
The hill, though high, I covet to
ascend,The difficulty will not me offend;
For I perceive the way to life lies
here.Come, pluck up heart, let's neither
faint nor fear;
Better, though difficult, the right way
to go,Than wrong, though easy, where the end
is woe.
The other
two also came to the foot of the hill; but when they saw that
the hill was steep and high, and that there were two
other
ways to go, and supposing also that these two ways might meet
again, with that up which Christian went, on the other side
of the hill, therefore they were resolved to go in those ways. Now the name of one of these ways was Danger,
and the name of the other Destruction. So the one took the way which is called Danger, which led him into a great wood,
and the
other took directly
up the way to Destruction, which led him into a wide
field,
full of dark mountains, where he stumbled and fell, and rose no
more.
Shall they who wrong begin yet rightly
end? Shall they at all have safety for their
friend?
No, no; in headstrong manner they set
out, And headlong will they fall at last, no
doubt.
I looked,
then, after Christian, to see him go up the hill, where I
perceived he fell from running to going, and from going
to
clambering upon his hands and his knees, because of the steepness
of the place. Now, about the midway to the top of the
hill was
a pleasant arbour, made by the Lord of the hill for the refreshing
of weary travellers; thither, therefore, Christian
got,
where also he sat
down to rest him. Then he pulled his roll out of his
bosom,
and read therein to his comfort; he also now began afresh to take a
review of the coat or garment that was given him as he
stood by
the cross. Thus pleasing himself awhile, he at last fell into
a slumber, and thence into a fast sleep, which
detained
him in that place until it was almost night; and in his sleep,
his roll fell out of his hand. Now, as he was sleeping,
there came
one to him, and awaked him, saying, Go to the ant, thou
sluggard; consider her ways and be wise. And with that
Christian
started up, and sped him on his way, and went apace, till he
came to the top of the hill.
Now, when
he was got up to the top of the hill, there came two men
running to meet him amain; the name of the one was Timorous,
and of
the other, Mistrust; to whom Christian said, Sirs, what's the
matter? You run the wrong way. Timorous answered, that they
were
going to the City of Zion, and had got up that difficult place;
but, said he, the further we go, the more danger we meet
with;
wherefore we turned, and are going back again.
Yes, said
Mistrust, for just before us lie a couple of lions in the way,
whether sleeping or waking we know not, and we could
not
think, if we came within reach, but they would presently pull us
in pieces.
Chr. Then
said Christian, You make me afraid, but whither shall I fly to
be safe? If I go back to mine own country, that is
prepared
for fire and brimstone, and I shall certainly perish there. If
I can get to the Celestial City, I am sure to be in
safety
there. I must venture. To go back is nothing but death; to go
forward is fear of death, and life-everlasting beyond it.
I will
yet go for- ward. So Mistrust
and Timorous ran down the hill, and Christian
went on
his way. But, thinking again of what he had heard from the men,
he felt in his bosom for his roll, that he might read
therein,
and be comforted; but he felt, and found it not. Then was
Christian in great distress, and knew not what to do; for he
wanted
that which used to relieve him, and that which should have been
his pass into the Celestial City. Here, therefore, he
begun to
be much perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he bethought
himself that he had slept in the arbour that is on the
side of
the hill; and, falling down upon his knees, he asked God's
forgiveness for that his foolish act, and then went back
to look
for his roll. But all the way he went back, who can sufficiently
set forth the sorrow of Christian's heart?
Sometimes
he sighed, sometimes he wept, and oftentimes he chid himself
for being so foolish to fall asleep in that place, which
was
erected only for a little refreshment for his weariness. Thus,
therefore, he went back, carefully looking on this side
and on
that, all the way as he went, if happily he might find his roll,
that had been his comfort so many times in his
journey.
He went thus, till he came again within sight of the arbour where
he sat and slept; but that sight renewed his sorrow
the more,
by bringing again, even afresh, his evil of sleeping into his
mind. Thus, therefore, he now went on bewailing his
sinful
sleep, saying, O wretched man that I am that I should sleep in the day-time!
that I should sleep in the midst of
difficulty!
that I should so indulge the flesh, as to use that rest for
ease to my flesh, which the Lord of the hill hath
erected only for the relief of the spirits of pilgrims!
How many
steps have I took in vain! Thus it happened to
Israel, for their sin; they were sent back again by the way
of the
Red Sea; and I am made to tread those steps with sorrow, which I
might have trod with delight, had it not been for this
sinful
sleep. How far might I have been on my way by this time! I am made
to tread those steps thrice over, which I needed not
to have
trod but once; yea, now also I am like to be benighted, for the
day is almost spent. O, that I had not slept!
Now, by
this time he was come to the arbour again, where for a while he
sat down and wept; but at last, as Christian would have
it,
looking sorrowfully down under the settle, there he espied his roll;
the which he, with trembling and haste, catched up,
and put
it into his bosom. But who can tell how joyful this man was when
he had gotten his roll again! for this roll was the
assurance
of his life and acceptance at the desired haven. Therefore
he laid it up in his bosom, gave thanks to God for
directing
his eye to the place where it lay, and with joy and tears
betook himself again to his journey. But oh, how nimbly
now did
he go up the rest of the hill! Yet, before he got up, the sun
went down upon Christian; and this made him again recall
the
vanity of his sleeping to his remembrance; and thus he again began to
condole with himself: O thou sinful sleep; how, for thy
sake, am
I like to be benighted in my journey! I must walk without
the sun; darkness must cover the path of my feet; and I
must hear
the noise of the doleful creatures, because of my sinful
sleep. Now also he remembered the story that Mistrust and
Timorous
told him of; how they were frighted with the sight of the
lions. Then said Christian to himself again, These beasts
range in the night for their prey; and if they should meet with me in the dark, how should I shift them? How should I escape
being by them torn in pieces? Thus he went on his way. But while he was thus bewailing his unhappy miscarriage, he lift up his eyes,
and behold there was a
very stately palace before him, the name of which was Beautiful;
and it stood just by the highway side.
So I saw
in my dream that he made haste and went forward, that if
possible he might get lodging there. Now, before he had gone
far, he
entered into a very narrow passage, which was about a furlong off
the porter's lodge; and looking very narrowly before
him as he
went, he espied two lions in the way. Now, thought he, I see the
dangers that Mistrust and Timorous were driven back
by. (The
lions were chained, but he saw not the chains.) Then he was afraid,
and thought also himself to go back after them, for
he
thought nothing but death was before him. But the porter at the
lodge, whose name is Watchful, perceiving that Christian
made a
halt as if he would go back, cried unto him, saying, Is thy
strength so small? Fear not the lions, for they are chained,
and are
placed there for trial of faith where it is, and for discovery
of those that had none. Keep in the midst of the path,
and no
hurt shall come unto thee.
Difficulty is behind, Fear is before,Though he's got on the hill, the lions
roar;
A Christian man is never long at ease, When one fright's gone, another doth
him seize.
Then I
saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the lions, but taking
good heed to the directions of the porter; he heard them
roar, but
they did him no harm. Then he
clapped his hands, and went on till he came and stood before
the gate where the porter was.
Then said Christian to the porter, Sir, what house is this? And may I lodge here to-night?
The porter answered, This house was built by the Lord of the hill, and he built it for the relief and security of pilgrims.
The porter also asked whence he was, and
whither he was going.
Chr. I am
come from the City of Destruction, and am going to Mount Zion;
but because the sun is now set, I desire, if I may,
to lodge
here to-night.
Por. What
is your name?
Chr. My
name is now Christian, but my name at the first was Graceless;
I came of the race of Japheth, whom God will persuade
to dwell
in the tents of Shem.
Por. But
how doth it happen that you come so late? The sun is set.
Chr. I
had been here sooner, but that, wretched man that I am! I slept
in the arbour that stands on the hillside; nay, I had,
notwithstanding
that, been here much sooner, but that, in my sleep, I
lost my evidence, and came without it to the brow of
the hill;
and then feeling for it, and finding it not, I was forced
with sorrow of heart, to go back to the place where I
slept my
sleep, where I found it, and now I am come.
Por.
Well, I will call out one of the virgins of this place, who will, if
she likes your talk, bring you into the rest of the
family,
according to the rules of the house. So Watchful, the porter,
rang a bell, at the sound of which came out at the door
of the
house a grave and beautiful damsel, named Discretion, and asked why
she was called.
The
porter answered, This man is in a journey from the City
of Destruction to Mount Zion, but being weary and
benighted,
he asked me if he might lodge here tonight; so I told him I
would call for thee, who, after discourse had with him,
mayest do
as seemeth thee good, even according to the law of the house.
Then she
asked him whence he was, and whither he was going, and he told
her. She asked him also how he got into the way; and he
told her.
Then she asked him what he had seen and met with in the way;
and he told, her. And last she asked his name; so he
said, It
is Christian, and I have so much the more a desire to lodge here
to-night, because, by what I perceive, this place was
built by
the Lord of the hill for the relief and security of pilgrims.
So she smiled, but the water stood in her eyes; and
after a
little pause, she said, I will call forth two or three more of
the family. So she ran to the door, and called out
Prudence,
Piety, and Charity, who, after a little more discourse with him,
had him into the family; and many of them, meeting him
at the
threshold of the house, said, Come in, thou blessed of the Lord;
this house was built by the Lord of the hill, on
purpose
to entertain such pilgrims in. Then he bowed his head, and
followed them into the house. So when he was come in and sat
down,
they gave him something to drink, and consented together, that
until supper was ready, some of them should have some
particular
discourse with Christian, for the best improvement of time; and
they appointed Piety, and Prudence, and Charity to
discourse
with him; and thus they began:
Piety.
Come, good Christian, since we have been so loving to you, to
receive you in our house this night, let us, if perhaps
we may
better ourselves thereby, talk with you of
all things that have happened to you in your pilgrimage.
Chr. With
a very good will, and I am glad that you are so well disposed.
Piety.
What moved you at first to betake yourself to a pilgrim's life?
Chr. I
was driven out of my native country by a dreadful sound that was
in mine ears: to wit, that unavoidable destruction did
attend
me, if I abode in that place where I was.
Piety.
But how did it happen that you came out of your country this way?
Chr. It
was as God would have it; for when I was under the fears of
destruction, I did not know whither to go; but by chance
there
came a man, even to me, as I was trembling and weeping, whose
name is Evangelist, and he directed me to the wicket-gate,
which
else I should never have found, and so set me into the way that hath
led me directly to this house.
Piety.
But did you not come by the house of the Interpreter?
Chr. Yes, and did see such things there, the remembrance of which will stick by me as long as I live; especially three things
-- to wit,
how Christ, in despite of Satan, maintains his work of
grace in the heart; how the man had sinned himself quite
out of
hopes of God's mercy; and also the dream of him that thought
in his sleep the day of judgment was come.
Piety.
Why, did you hear him tell his dream?
Chr. Yes,
and a dreadful one it was. I thought it made my heart ache as
he was telling of it; but yet I am glad I heard it.
Piety.
Was that all that you saw at the house of the Interpreter?
Chr. No;
he took me and had me where he shewed me a stately palace,
and how the people were clad in gold that were in it;
and how
there came a venturous man and cut his way through the armed men
that stood in the door to keep him out, and how he was
bid to
come in, and win eternal glory. Methought those things did
ravish my heart! I would have stayed at that good man's
house a
twelvemonth, but that I knew I had further to go.
Piety.
And what saw you else in the way?
Chr. Saw!
why, I went but a little further, and I saw one, as I thought
in my mind, hang bleeding upon the tree; and the very
sight of
him made my burden fall off my back, (for I groaned under a
very heavy burden,) but then it fell down from off me.
It was a
strange thing to me, for I never saw such a thing before;
yea, and while I stood looking up, for then I could not
forbear
looking, three Shining Ones came to me. One of them testified
that my sins were forgiven me; another stripped me of
my rags,
and gave me this broidered coat which you see; and the third set
the mark which you see in my forehead, and gave me
this
sealed roll. (And with that he plucked it out of his bosom.)
Piety.
But you saw more than this, did you not?
Chr. The
things that I have told you were the best; yet some other
matters I saw, as, namely -- I saw three men, Simple,
Sloth,
and Presumption, lie asleep a little out of the way, as I came,
with irons upon their heels; but do you think I could
awake
them? I also saw Formality and Hypocrisy come tumbling over the
wall, to go, as they pretended, to Zion, but they were
quickly
lost, even as I
myself did tell them; but they would not believe. But above
all, I found
it hard work to get up this hill, and as hard to come by
the lions' mouths, and truly if it had not been for the
good man,
the porter that stands at the gate, I do not know but that
after all I might have gone back again; but now I thank God
I am here,
and I thank you for receiving of me.
Then
Prudence thought good to ask him a few questions, and desired
his answer to them.
Prud. Do
you not think sometimes of the country from whence you came?
Chr. Yes,
but with much shame and detestation -- Truly, if I had been
mindful of that country from whence I came out, I might
have had
opportunity to have returned; but now I desire a better country,
that is, an heavenly.
Prud. Do
you not yet bear away with you some of the things that then you
were conversant withal?
Chr. Yes,
but greatly against my will; especially my inward and carnal
cogitations, with which all my countrymen, as well as
myself,
were delighted; but now all those things are my grief; and might
I but choose mine own things, I would choose never to
think of
those things more; but when I would be doing of that which is
best, that which is worst is with me.
Prud. Do
you not find sometimes as if those things were
vanquished,
which at other times are your perplexity?
Chr. Yes,
but that is seldom; but they are to me golden hours in which
such things happen to me.
Prud. Can
you remember by what means you find your annoyances, at times,
as if they were vanquished?
Chr. Yes,
when I think what I saw at the cross, that will do it; and when
I look upon my broidered coat, that will do it; also
when I
look into the roll that I carry in my bosom, that will do it; and
when my thoughts wax warm about whither I am going, that
will do
it.
Prud. And
what is it that makes you so desirous to go to Mount Zion?
Chr. Why,
there I hope to see him alive that did hang dead on the cross; and there I
hope to be rid of all those things that
to this
day are in me an annoyance to me; there, they say, there is no death;
and there I shall dwell with such company as I like
best.
For, to tell you truth, I love him, because I was by him eased of
my burden; and I am weary of my inward sickness. I
would
fain be where I shall die no more, and with the company that
shall continually cry, Holy, Holy, Holy.
Then said
Charity to Christian, Have you a family? Are you a married
man?
Chr. I
have a wife and four small children.
Char. And
why did you not bring them along with you?
Chr. Then
Christian wept, and said, Oh, how willingly would I have done
it! but they were all of them utterly averse to my
going on
pilgrimage.
Char. But
you should have talked to them, and have endeavoured to have
shewn them the danger of being behind.
Chr. So I
did; and told them also of what God had shewn to me of the
destruction of our city; but I seemed to them as one that
mocked,
and they believed me not.
Char. And did you pray to God that he would bless your counsel to them?
Chr. Yes,
and that with much affection: for you must think that my wife
and poor children were very dear unto me.
Char. But
did you tell them of your own sorrow, and fear of destruction?
for I suppose that destruction was visible enough
to you.
Chr. Yes,
over, and over, and over. They might also see my fears in my countenance,
in my tears, and also in my trembling under
the
apprehension of the judgment that did hang over our heads; but all
was not sufficient to prevail with them to come with me.
Char. But
what could they say for themselves, why they came not?
Chr. Why,
my wife was afraid of losing this world, and my children
were given to the foolish delights of youth: so what by
one
thing, and what by another, they left me to wander in this manner
alone.
Char. But
did you not, with your vain life, damp all that you by words
used by way of persuasion to bring them away with you?
Chr.
Indeed, I cannot commend my life; for I am conscious to myself of
many failings therein; I know also that a man by his
conversation
may soon overthrow what by argument or persuasion he doth
labour to fasten upon others for their good. Yet this I
can say,
I was very wary of giving them occasion, by any
unseemly
action, to make them averse to going on pilgrimage.
Yea, for
this very thing they would tell me I was too precise, and that
I denied myself of things, for their sakes, in which
they saw
no evil. Nay, I think I may say, that if what they saw in me did
hinder them, it was my great tenderness in
sinning
against God, or of doing any wrong to my neighbour.
Char.
Indeed Cain hated his brother, because his own works were evil, and
his brother's righteous; and if thy wife and children
have been
offended with thee for this, they thereby shew themselves
to be implacable to good, and thou hast delivered thy
soul from
their blood.
Now I saw
in my dream, that thus they sat talking together until supper
was ready. So when they had made ready, they sat down to
meat. Now
the table was furnished with fat things, and with wine that was well
refined: and all their talk at the table was about
the Lord
of the hill; as, namely, about what he had done, and wherefore
he did what he did, and why he had builded that house.
And by
what they said, I perceived that he had been a great warrior,
and had fought with and slain him that had the Power of
death,
but not without great danger to himself, which made me love him
the more.
For as
they said, and as I believe (said Christian), he did it with the
loss of much blood; but that which put glory of grace
into all
he did, was, that he did it out of pure love to his country.
And besides, there were some of them of the household
that said
they had been and spoke with him since he did die on the
cross; and they have attested that they had it from his own
lips, that he is such a lover of poor pilgrims, that the like is not to be found from the east to the west. They, moreover,
gave an
instance of what they affirmed, and that was, he
had stripped himself of his glory, that he might do this
for the poor; and that they heard him say and affirm, 'that he would not dwell in the mountain of Zion alone.'
They said,
moreover, that he had made many
pilgrims princes, though by nature they were beggars born,
and their
original had been the dunghill.
Thus they
discoursed together till late at night; and after they had
committed themselves to their Lord for protection, they
betook
themselves to rest: the Pilgrim they laid in a large upper
chamber, whose window opened towards the sun-rising: the
name of
the chamber was Peace; where he slept till break of day and then
he awoke and sang --
Thus to provide that I should be
forgiven! And dwell already the next door to
heaven!
So in the
morning they all got up; and, after some more discourse,
they told him that he should not depart till they had
shewn him
the rarities of that place. And first they had him into the
study, where they shewed him records of the greatest
antiquity;
in which, as I remember my dream, they shewed him first the
pedigree of the Lord of the hill, that he was the son
of the
Ancient of Days, and came by that eternal generation. Here also
was more fully recorded the acts that he had done, and
the names
of many hundreds that he had taken into his service; and how
he had placed them in such habitations that could
neither
by length of days nor decays of nature be dissolved.
Then they
read to him some of the worthy acts that some of his
servants
had done: as, how they had sub-dued
kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises, stopped
the
mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of
the sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed
valiant
in fight, and turned to flight the armies of the aliens.
They then
read again, in another part of the records of the house,
where it was shewed how willing their Lord was to receive
into his
favour any, even any, though they in time past had offered
great affronts to his person and proceedings. Here also
were
several other histories of many other famous things, of all which
Christian had a view; as of things both ancient and
modern;
together with prophecies and predictions of things that have
their certain accomplishment, both to the dread and
amazement
of enemies, and the comfort and solace of pilgrims.
The next
day they took him and had him into the armoury, where they
shewed him all manner of furniture, which their Lord had
provided for
pilgrims, as sword, shield, helmet, breastplate, all-prayer,
and shoes that would not wear out. And there was
here
enough of this to harness out as many men for the service of their
Lord as there be stars in the heaven for multitude.
They also
shewed him some of the engines with which some of his servants
had done wonderful things. They shewed him Moses' rod;
the
hammer and nail with which Jael slew Sisera; the pitchers, trumpets,
and lamps too, with which Gideon put to flight the
armies of
Midian. Then they shewed him the ox's goad wherewith Shamgar
slew six hundred men. They shewed him also the jaw-bone
with
which Samson did such mighty feats. They shewed him, moreover,
the sling and stone with which David slew Goliath of
Gath; and
the sword, also, with
which their Lord will kill the Man of Sin, in the day that
he shall
rise up to the prey. They shewed him, besides, many excellent
things, with which Christian was much delighted. This
done,
they went to their rest again.
Then I saw
in my dream, that on the morrow he got up to go forward;
but they desired him to stay till the next day also;
and then,
said they, we will, if the day be clear, shew you the Delectable
Mountains, which, they said, would yet further add to
his
comfort, because they were nearer the desired haven than the place
where at present he was; so he consented and stayed. When
the
morning was up, they had him to the top of the house, and bid him
look south; so he did: and behold, at a great distance,
he saw a
most pleasant mountainous country, beautified with woods,
vineyards, fruits of all sorts, flowers also, with
springs
and fountains, very delectable to behold. Then he asked the name
of the country. They said it was Immanuel's Land; and
it is as
common, said they, as this hill is, to and for all the pilgrims.
And when thou comest there from thence, said they,
thou
mayest see to the gate of the Celestial City, as the shepherds
that live there will make appear.
Now he
bethought himself of setting forward, and they were willing
he should. But first, said they, let us go again into
the
armoury. So they did; and when they came there, they harnessed
him from head to foot with what was of proof, lest,
perhaps,
he should meet with assaults in the way. He being, therefore,
thus accoutred, walketh out with his friends to the
gate, and
there he asked the porter if he saw any pilgrims pass by. Then
the porter answered, Yes.
Chr.
Pray, did you know him? said he.
Por. I
asked him his name, and he told me it was Faithful.
Chr. Oh,
said Christian, I know him; he is my townsman, my near neighbour;
he comes from the place where I was born. How far do
you think
he may be before?
Por. He
is got by this time below the hill.
Chr.
Well, said Christian, good Porter, the Lord be with thee, and add
to all thy blessings much increase, for the kindness
that thou
hast shewed to me.
Then he
began to go forward; but Discretion, Piety, Charity, and Prudence
would accompany him down to the foot of the hill. So
they went
on together, reiterating their former discourses, till they came
to go down the hill. Then said Christian, As it was
difficult
coming up, so, so far as I can see, it is dangerous going
down. Yes, said Prudence, so it is, for it is a hard
matter for
a man to go down into the Valley of Humiliation, as thou art
now, and to catch no slip by the way; therefore, said
they, are
we come out to accompany thee down the hill. So he began to
go down, but very warily; yet he caught a slip or two.
Then I
saw in my dream that these good companions, when Christian
was gone to the bottom of the hill, gave him a loaf of
bread, a
bottle of wine, and a cluster of raisins; and then he went on
his way.
But now,
in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian was hard put to
it; for he had gone but a little way, before he espied a
foul
fiend coming over the field to meet him; his name is Apollyon.
Then did Christian begin to be afraid, and to cast in
his mind
whether to go back or to stand his ground. But he considered
again that he had no armour for his back; and
therefore
thought that to turn the
back to him might give him the greater advantage with
ease to
pierce him with his darts. Therefore he resolved to venture
and stand his ground; for, thought he, had I no more in
mine eye
than the saving of my life, it would be the best way to stand.
So he
went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the monster was hideous to
behold; he was clothed with scales, like a fish, (and they
are his pride,)
he had wings like a dragon, feet like a bear, and out
of his belly came fire and smoke, and his mouth was as
the mouth
of a lion. When he was come up to Christian, he beheld him with
a disdainful countenance, and thus began to question
with him.
Apol.
Whence come you? and whither are you bound?
Chr. I am
come from the City of Destruction, which is the place of all
evil, and am going to the City of Zion.
Apol. By
this I perceive thou art one of my subjects, for all that
country is mine, and I am the prince and god of it. How is
it, then,
that thou hast run away from thy king? Were it not that I
hope thou mayest do me more service, I would strike thee
now, at
one blow, to the ground.
Chr. I was born, indeed, in your dominions, but your service was hard, and your wages such as a man could not live on,
for the wages of sin is death; therefore, when I was come to years, I did, as other considerate persons do, look out,
if,
perhaps, I might
mend myself.
Apol. There
is no prince that will thus lightly lose his subjects,
neither will I as yet lose thee; but since thou
complainest
of thy service and wages, be content to go back: what our
country will afford, I do here promise to give thee.
Chr. But
I have let myself to another, even to the King of princes;
and how can I, with fairness, go back with thee?
Apol.
Thou hast done in this, according to the proverb, 'Changed a bad for
a worse;' but it is ordinary for those that have
professed
themselves his servants, after a while to give him the slip, and
return again to me. Do thou so too, and all shall be
well.
Chr. I
have given him my faith, and sworn my allegiance to him; how,
then, can I go back from this, and not be hanged as a traitor?
Apol.
Thou didst the same to me, and yet I am willing to pass by all, if
now thou wilt yet turn again and go back.
Chr. What
I promised thee was in my nonage; and, besides, I count the
Prince under whose banner now I stand is able to
absolve me;
yea, and to pardon also what I did as to my compliance with thee; and besides,
O thou destroying Apollyon!
to speak
truth, I like his service, his wages, his servants, his government,
his company, and country, better than thine; and,
therefore,
leave off to persuade me further; I am his servant, and I
will follow him.
Apol.
Consider, again, when thou art in cool blood, what thou art like
to meet with in the way that thou goest. Thou knowest
that, for
the most part, his servants come to an ill end, because
they are transgressors against me and my ways. How many
of them
have been put to shameful deaths! and, besides, thou countest
his service better than mine, whereas he never came yet
from the
place where he is to deliver any that served him out of their
hands; but as for me, how many times, as all the world
very well
knows, have I delivered, either by power, or fraud,
those that have faithfully served me, from him and
his,
though taken by them; and so I will deliver thee.
Chr. His
forbearing at present to deliver them is on purpose to try their
love, whether they will cleave to him to the end; and
as for
the ill end thou sayest they come to, that is most glorious
in their account; for, for present deliverance, they do
not much expect
it, for they stay for their glory, and then they shall
have it when their Prince comes in his and the glory of
the
angels.
Apol.
Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy service to him; and how
dost thou think to receive wages of him?
Chr.
Wherein, O Apollyon! have I been unfaithful to him?
Apol.
Thou didst faint at first setting out, when thou wast almost
choked in the Gulf of Despond; thou didst attempt wrong
ways to
be rid of thy burden, whereas thou shouldst have stayed till thy
Prince had taken it off; thou didst sinfully sleep and
lose thy
choice thing; thou wast, also, almost persuaded to go back at
the sight of the lions; and when thou talkest of thy
journey,
and of what thou hast heard and seen, thou art inwardly desirous
of vain-glory in all that thou sayest or doest.
Chr. All
this is true, and much more which thou hast left out; but the
Prince whom I serve and honour is merciful, and ready to
forgive;
but, besides, these infirmities possessed me in thy country,
for there I sucked them in; and I have groaned under
them,
been sorry for them, and have obtained pardon of my Prince.
Apol.
Then Apollyon broke out into a grievous rage, saying, I am an enemy
to this Prince; I hate his person,
his laws,
and people; I am come out on purpose to withstand thee.
Chr.
Apollyon, beware what you do; for I am in the King's highway,
the way of holiness; therefore take heed to yourself.
Apol.
Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole breadth of the way,
and said, I am void of fear in this matter: prepare
thyself
to die; for I swear by my infernal den, that thou shalt go no further; here
will I spill thy soul. And with that he
threw a
flaming dart at his breast; but Christian had a shield in his
hand, with which he caught it, and so prevented the
danger of
that.
Then did
Christian draw, for he saw it was time to bestir him; and
Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing darts as thick as
hail; by
the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do to avoid
it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, and
foot.
This made Christian give a little back; Apollyon, therefore,
followed his work amain, and Christian again took
courage,
and resisted as manfully as he could. This sore combat lasted for
above half a day, even till Christian was almost
quite
spent; for you must know that Christian, by reason of his wounds,
must needs grow weaker and weaker.
Then
Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to gather up close to
Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall;
and with that Christian's sword flew out of his hand.
Then said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now. And with that he had almost pressed him to death, so that Christian began to despair of
life; but as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man,
Christian
nimbly stretched out his hand for his sword, and caught it, saying,
Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy; when I fall I
shall
arise; and with that gave him a deadly thrust, which made him give
back, as one that had received his mortal wound.
Christian
perceiving that, made at him again, saying, Nay, in all these
things we are more than conquerors through him that
loved us.
And with that Apollyon spread forth his dragon's wings,
and sped him away, that Christian for a season saw him no more.
In this
combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen and heard as I did,
what yelling and hideous roaring Apollyon made all the
time of the
fight -- he spake like a dragon; and, on the other side,
what sighs and groans burst from Christian's heart. I
never saw
him all the while give so much as one pleasant look, till he
perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edged
sword;
then, indeed, he did smile, and look upward; but it was the
dreadfullest sight that ever I saw.
A more unequal match can hardly be, -- Christian must fight an Angel; but you
see,
The valiant man by handling Sword and
Shield,Doth make him, though a Dragon, quit
the field.
So when
the battle was over, Christian said, I will here give thanks to
him that delivered me out of the mouth of the lion, to
him that
did help me against Apollyon. And so he did, saying --
Great Beelzebub, the captain of this
fiend, Design'd my ruin; therefore to this end
He sent him harness'd out: and he with
rage That hellish was, did fiercely me
engage.
But blessed Michael helped me, and I, By dint of sword, did quickly make him
fly.
Therefore to him let me give lasting
praise, And thank and bless his holy name
always.
Then
there came to him a hand, with some of the leaves of the tree of
life, the which Christian took, and applied to the
wounds
that he had received in the battle, and was healed immediately.
He also sat down in that place to eat bread, and to
drink of
the bottle that was given him a little before; so, being
refreshed, he addressed himself to his journey, with his
sword
drawn in his hand; for he said, I know not but some other enemy may
be at hand. But he met with no other affront from
Apollyon
quite through this valley.
Now, at
the end of this valley was another, called the Valley of the
Shadow of Death, and Christian must needs go through it,
because
the way to the Celestial City lay through the midst of it. Now,
this valley is a very solitary place. The prophet
Jeremiah
thus describes it: -- 'A wilderness, a land of deserts and of
pits, a land of drought, and of the shadow of death, a
land that
no man' (but a Christian) 'passed through, and where no man
dwelt.'
Now here
Christian was worse put to it than in his fight with Apollyon,
as by the sequel you shall see. I saw then in my
dream, that
when Christian was got to the borders of the shadow of Death,
there met him two men, children of them that brought
up an
evil report of the good land, making haste to go back; to whom
Christian spake as follows: --
Chr.
Whither are you going?
Men. They
said, Back! back! and we would have you to do so too, if either
life or peace is prized by you.
Chr. Why,
what's the matter? said Christian.
Men.
Matter! said they; we were going that way as you are going, and went
as, far as we durst; and indeed we were almost past
coming
back; for had we gone a little further, we had not been here to
bring the news to thee.
Chr. But
what have you met with? said Christian.
Men. Why,
we were almost in the Valley of the Shadow of Death; but that,
by good hap, we looked before us, and saw the danger
before we
came to it.
Chr. But
what have you seen? said Christian. Men. Seen! Why, the Valley
itself, which is as dark as pitch; we also saw there the
hobgoblins,
satyrs, and dragons of the pit; we heard also in that
Valley a continual howling and yelling, as of a people
under
unutterable misery, who there sat bound in affliction and irons;
and over that Valley hangs the discouraging clouds of
confusion.
Death also doth always spread his wings over it. In a word,
it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without order.
Chr.
Then, said Christian, I perceive not yet, by what you have said, but
that this is my way to the desired haven.
Men. Be
it thy way; we will not choose it for ours. So, they parted,
and Christian went on his way, but still with his sword
drawn in
his hand, for fear lest he should be assaulted.
I saw
then in my dream, so far as this valley reached, there was on the
right hand a very deep ditch; that ditch is it into which
the blind
have led the blind in all ages, and have
both there miserably perished. Again, behold, on the
left
hand, there was a very dangerous quag, into which, if even a good
man falls, he can find no bottom for his foot to stand
on. Into that
quag King David once did fall, and had no doubt therein
been smothered, had not HE that is able plucked him out.
The
pathway was here also exceeding narrow, and therefore good Christian was the
more put to it; for when he sought, in the
dark, to
shun the ditch on the one hand, he was ready to tip over into
the mire on the other; also when he sought to escape
the mire,
without great carefulness he would be ready to fall into the
ditch. Thus he went on, and I heard him here sigh
bitterly;
for, besides the dangers mentioned above, the pathway was here
so dark, and ofttimes, when he lift up his foot to set
forward,
he knew not where or upon what he should set it next.
Poor man! where art thou now? thy day
is night. Good man, be not cast down, thou yet
art right,
Thy way to heaven lies by the gates of
hell; Cheer up, hold out, with thee it shall
go well.
About the
midst of this valley, I perceived the mouth of hell to be, and
it stood also hard by the wayside. Now, thought
Christian,
what shall I do? And ever and anon the flame and smoke
would come out in such abundance, with sparks and hideous
noises,
(things that cared not for Christian's sword, as did Apollyon
before,) that he was forced to put up his sword, and
betake himself
to another weapon called all-prayer. So he cried, in my
hearing, O Lord, I beseech thee, deliver my soul. Thus he
went on a great
while, yet still the flames would be reaching towards
him. Also
he heard doleful voices, and rushings to and fro, so that
sometimes he thought he should be torn in pieces, or
trodden
down like mire in the streets. This frightful sight was seen, and
these dreadful noises were heard by him for several
miles together; and, coming to a place where he thought he heard a company of fiends coming forward to meet him, he stopped,
and began
to muse what he had best to do. Sometimes he had half a thought
to go back; then again he thought he might be half way
through
the valley; he remembered also how he had already vanquished
many a danger, and that the danger of going back
might be
much more than for to go forward; so he resolved to go on. Yet
the fiends seemed to come nearer and nearer; but when
they were
come even almost at him, he cried out with a most vehement
voice, I will walk in the strength of the Lord God! so
they gave
back, and came no further. One thing
I would not let slip. I took notice that now, poor
Christian
was so confounded, that he did not know his own voice; and thus I
perceived it. Just when he was come over against the
mouth of
the burning pit, one of the wicked ones got behind him, and stept
up softly to him, and whisperingly suggested many
grievous
blasphemies to him, which he verily thought had proceeded
from his own mind. This put Christian more to it than
anything
that he met with before, even to think that he should now
blaspheme him that he loved so much before; yet, if he could
have
helped it, he would not have done it; but he had not the discretion
either to stop his ears, or to know from whence these
blasphemies
came.
When
Christian had travelled in this disconsolate condition
some considerable time, he thought he heard the voice of
a man, as
going before him, saying, Though I walk through the valley of
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art
with me. Then he
was glad, and that for these reasons: --
First,
Because he gathered from thence, that some who feared God were in
this valley as well as himself.
Secondly,
For that he perceived God was with them, though in that dark
and dismal state; and why not, thought he, with me?
though,
by reason of the impediment that attends this place, I cannot
perceive it.
Thirdly,
For that he hoped, could he overtake them, to have company
by and by. So he went on, and called to him that was
before;
but he knew not what to answer; for that he also thought himself
to be alone. And by and by the day broke; then said
Christian,
He hath turned the shadow of death into the morning.
Now morning
being come, he looked back, not out of desire to return,
but to see, by the light of the day, what hazards he had
gone
through in the dark. So he saw more perfectly the ditch that was
on the one hand, and the quag that was on the other;
also how
narrow the way was which led betwixt them both; also now he
saw the hobgoblins, and satyrs, and dragons of the pit,
but all
afar off, (for after break of day, they came not nigh;) yet they
were discovered to him, according to that which is
written,
He discovereth deep things out of darkness, and bringeth
out to light the shadow of death.
Now was
Christian much affected with his deliverance from all the
dangers of his solitary way; which dangers, though he feared
them more
before, yet he saw them more clearly now, because the light of
the day made them
conspicuous
to him. And about this time the sun was rising, and this was
another mercy to Christian; for you must note, that
though
the first part of the Valley of the Shadow of Death was dangerous,
yet this second part which he was yet to go, was, if
possible,
far more dangerous; for from the place where he now stood,
even to the end of the valley, the way was all along set
so full
of snares, traps, gins, and nets here, and so full of pits,
pitfalls, deep holes, and shelvings down there, that, had
it now
been dark, as it was when he came the first part of the way, had
he had a thousand souls, they had in reason been cast
away;
but, as I said just now, the sun was rising. Then said he, His
candle shineth upon my head, and by his light I walk through
darkness.
In this
light, therefore, he came to the end of the valley. Now I saw in
my dream, that at the end of this valley lay blood,
bones, ashes, and mangled bodies of men, even of pilgrims that had gone this way formerly; and while I was musing what should be the reason,
I espied a
little before me a cave, where two giants,
Pope and Pagan, dwelt in old time; by whose power and
tyranny
the men whose bones, blood, and ashes, &c., lay there, were
cruelly put to death. But by this place Christian went
without
much danger, whereat I somewhat wondered; but I have learnt
since, that Pagan has been dead many a day; and as for
the
other, though he be yet alive, he is, by reason of age, and also of
the many shrewd brushes that he met with in his younger
days,
grown so crazy and stiff in his joints, that he can now do little
more than sit in his cave's mouth, grinning at pilgrims
as they
go by, and biting his nails because he cannot come at them.
So I saw
that Christian went on his way; yet, at the sight of the Old
Man that sat in the mouth of the cave, he could not tell
what to
think, especially because he spake to him, though he could not
go after him, saying, You will never mend till more of
you be
burned. But he held his peace, and set a good face on it, and so
went by and catched no hurt. Then sang Christian: --
O world of wonders! (I can say no
less,) That I should be preserved in that
distress
That I have met with here! O blessed be That hand that from it hath deliver'd
me!
Dangers in darkness, devils, hell, and
sin Did compass me, while I this vale was
in:
Yea, snares, and pits, and traps, and
nets, did lie My path about, that worthless, silly I
Might have been catch'd, entangled, and
cast down; But since I live, let JESUS wear the
crown.
Now, as
Christian went on his way, he came to a little ascent, which was
cast up on purpose that pilgrims might see before
them. Up
there, therefore, Christian went, and looking forward, he saw
Faithful before him, upon his journey. Then said
Christian
aloud, Ho! ho! So-ho! stay, and I will be your companion!
At that, Faithful looked behind him; to whom
Christian
cried again, Stay, stay, till I come up to you! But Faithful
answered, No, I am upon my life, and the avenger of
blood is
behind me. At this,
Christian was somewhat moved, and putting to all his
strength,
he quickly got up with Faithful, and did also overrun him; so
the last was first. Then did Christian vain-gloriously
smile,
because he had gotten the start
of his brother; but not taking good heed to his feet,
he
suddenly stumbled and fell, and could not rise again until Faithful
came up to help him.
Then I
saw in my dream they went very lovingly on together, and had sweet
discourse of all things that had happened to them in
their
pilgrimage; and thus Christian began: --
Chr. My
honoured and well-beloved brother, Faithful, I am glad that I
have overtaken you; and that God has so tempered our
spirits,
that we can walk as companions in this so pleasant a path.
Faith. I
had thought, dear friend, to have had your company quite
from our town; but you did get the start of me, wherefore
I was
forced to come thus much of the way alone.
Chr. How
long did you stay in the City of Destruction before you set out
after me on your pilgrimage?
Faith.
Till I could stay no longer; for there was great talk presently
after you were gone out that our city would, in short
time,
with fire from heaven, be burned down to the ground.
Chr.
What! did your neighbours talk so?
Faith.
Yes, it was for a while in everybody's mouth.
Chr.
What! and did no more of them but you come out to escape the
danger?
Faith. Though
there was, as I said, a great talk thereabout, yet I do not
think they did firmly believe it. For in the heat of
the
discourse, I heard some of them deridingly speak of you and of your
desperate journey, (for so they called this your
pilgrimage,) but I did believe, and do still, that the end of our city will be with fire and brimstone from above; and therefore
I have
made my escape.
Chr. Did
you hear no talk of neighbour Pliable?
Faith. Yes, Christian, I heard that he followed you till he came at the Slough of Despond, where, as some said, he fell in;
but he
would not be known to have so done; but I am sure he was soundly
bedabbled with that kind of dirt.
Chr. And
what said the neighbours to him?
Faith. He
hath, since his going back, been had greatly in derision,
and that among all sorts of people; some do mock and
despise
him; and scarce will any set him on work. He is now seven
times worse than if he had never gone out of the city.
Chr. But
why should they be so set against him, since they also despise
the way that he forsook?
Faith.
Oh, they say, hang him, he is a turncoat! he was not true to his
profession. I think God has stirred up even his enemies
to hiss
at him, and make him a proverb, because he hath forsaken the way.
Chr. Had
you no talk with him before you came out?
Faith. I
met him once in the streets, but he leered away on the other side, as one
ashamed of what he had done; so I spake not to him.
Chr.
Well, at my first setting out, I had hopes of that man; but now I
fear he will perish in the overthrow of the city; for it
is
happened to him according to the true proverb, The dog is turned to
his own vomit again; and the sow that was washed, to
her
wallowing in the mire.
Faith. These
are my fears of him too; but who can hinder that which
will be?
Chr.
Well, neighbour Faithful, said Christian, let us leave him, and talk
of things that more immediately concern ourselves. Tell
me now,
what you have met with in the way as you came; for I know you
have met with some things, or else it may be writ for a wonder.
Faith. I
escaped the Slough that I perceived you fell into, and got up to
the gate without that danger; only I met with one
whose
name was Wanton, who had like to have done me a mischief.
Chr. It
was well you escaped her net; Joseph was hard put to it by her,
and he escaped her as you did; but it had like to have
cost him
his life. But what did she do to you?
Faith.
You cannot think, but that you know something, what a flattering
tongue she had; she lay at me hard to turn aside with
her,
promising me all manner of content.
Chr. Nay,
she did not promise you the content of a good conscience.
Faith.
You know what I mean; all carnal and fleshly content.
Chr. Thank
God you have escaped her: The abhorred of the Lord shall
fall into her ditch.
Faith.
Nay, I know not whether I did wholly escape her or no.
Chr. Why,
I trow, you did not consent to her desires?
Faith.
No, not to defile myself; for I remembered an old writing that I
had seen, which said, Her steps take hold on hell. So I
shut mine
eyes, because I would not be bewitched with her looks. Then she
railed on me, and I went my way.
Chr. Did
you meet with no other assault as you came?
Faith.
When I came to the foot of the hill called Difficulty,
I met with a very aged man, who asked me what I was,
and
whither bound. I told him that I am a pilgrim, going to the Celestial
City. Then said the old man, Thou lookest like an
honest fellow;
wilt thou be content to dwell with me for the wages
that I shall give thee? Then I asked him his name, and
where he
dwelt. He said his name was Adam the First, and that he dwelt in
the town of Deceit. I asked him then what was his work,
and what
the wages he would give. He told me that his work was many
delights; and his wages that I should be his heir at last.
I further
asked him what house he kept, and what other servants he had.
So he told me that his house was maintained with all the
dainties
in the world; and that his servants were those of his own
begetting. Then I asked if he had any children. He said that
he had
but three daughters: The Lust of the Flesh, The Lust of the Eyes,
and The Pride of Life, and that I should marry them
all if I
would. Then I asked how long time he would have me live with him?
And he told me, As long as he lived himself.
Chr.
Well, and what conclusion came the old man and you to at last?
Faith. Why, at first, I found myself somewhat inclinable to go with the man, for I thought he spake very fair; but looking in his forehead,
as I
talked with him, I saw there written, Put off the old
man with his deeds.
Chr. And
how then?
Faith.
Then it came burning hot into my mind, whatever he said, and however
he flattered, when he got me home to his house, he
would sell me for a slave. So I bid him forbear to talk, for I would not come near the door of his house. Then he reviled me,
and told
me that he would send such a
one after me, that should make my way bitter to my soul.
So I
turned to go away from him; but just as I turned myself to go
thence, I felt him take hold of my flesh, and give me such a
deadly
twitch back, that I thought he had pulled part of me after
himself. This made me cry, O wretched man! So I went on my
way up
the hill. Now when
I had got about half-way up, I looked behind, and saw
one
coming after me, swift as the wind; so he overtook me just about the
place where the settle stands.
Chr. Just
there, said Christian, did I sit down to rest me; but being
overcome with sleep, I there lost this roll out of my bosom.
Faith.
But, good brother, hear me out. So soon as the man overtook
me, he was but a word and a blow, for down he knocked
me, and laid
me for dead. But when I was a little come to myself again, I
asked him wherefore he served me so. He said, because
of my
secret inclining to Adam the First; and with that he struck me
another deadly blow on the breast, and beat me down
backward;
so I lay at his foot as dead as before. So, when I came to
myself again, I cried him mercy; but he said, I know not
how to
shew mercy; and with that he knocked me down again. He had
doubtless made an end of me, but that one came by, and bid him
forbear.
Chr. Who
was that that bid him forbear?
Faith. I did not know him at first, but as he went by, I perceived the holes in his hands and in his side;
then I concluded
that he was our Lord. So I went up the hill.
Chr. That
man that overtook you was Moses. He spareth
none, neither knoweth he how to shew mercy to those that transgress
his law.
Faith. I
know it very well; it was not the first time that he has met
with me. It was he that came to me when I dwelt securely
at home, and
that told me he would burn my house over my head if I stayed
there.
Chr. But
did you not see the house that stood there on the top of the
hill, on the side of which Moses met you?
Faith.
Yes, and the lions too, before I came at it: but for the lions, I
think they were asleep, for it was about noon; and
because I
had so much of the day before me, I passed by the porter,
and came down the hill.
Chr. He
told me, indeed, that he saw you go by, but I wish you had
called at the house, for they would have shewed you so many
rarities,
that you would scarce have forgot them to the day of your
death. But pray tell me, Did you meet nobody in the Valley
of
Humility?
Faith.
Yes, I met with one Discontent, who would willingly have persuaded
me to go back again with him; his reason was, for that
the
valley was altogether without honour. He told me, moreover, that
there to go was the way to disobey all my friends, as
Pride,
Arrogancy, Selfconceit, Worldly-glory, with others, who he knew,
as he said, would be very much offended, if I made such
a fool of
myself as to wade through this valley.
Chr.
Well, and how did you answer him?
Faith. I
told him, that although all these that he named might claim
kindred of me, and that rightly, for indeed they were my
relations
according to the flesh; yet since I became a pilgrim, they have
disowned me, as I also have rejected them; and
therefore
they were to me now no more than if they had never been of
my lineage.
I told
him, moreover, that as to this valley, he had quite misrepresented
the thing; for before honour is humility, and a
haughty
spirit before a fall. Therefore, said I, I had rather gothrough
this valley to the honour that was so accounted by the
wisest,
than choose that which he esteemed most worthy our affections.
Chr. Met
you with nothing else in that valley? Faith.
Yes, I met with Shame; but of all the men that I met with
in my
pilgrimage, he, I think, bears the wrong name. The others would be
said nay, after a little argumentation, and somewhat
else; but
this bold-faced Shame would never have done.
Chr. Why,
what did he say to you?
Faith.
What! why, he objected against religion itself; he said it was a
pitiful, low, sneaking business for a man to mind
religion;
he said that a tender conscience was an unmanly thing; and that
for a man to watch over his words and ways, so as to
tie up
himself from that hectoring liberty that the brave spirits
of the times accustom themselves unto, would make him
the
ridicule of the times. He objected also, that but few of the mighty,
rich, or wise, were ever of my opinion; nor any of them
neither,
before they were persuaded to be fools, and to be of a voluntary
fondness, to venture the loss of all, for nobody knows
what. He,
moreover, objected the base and low estate and condition
of those that were chiefly the pilgrims of the times
in which
they lived: also their ignorance and want of understanding
in all natural science. Yea, he did hold me to it
at that
rate also, about a great many more things than here I relate;
as, that it was a shame to sit whining and mourning
under a sermon, and a shame to come sighing and groaning home: that it was a shame to ask my neighbour forgiveness for petty faults,
or to make restitution
where I have taken from any. He said, also, that
religion made a man grow strange to the great, because of
a few
vices, which he called by finer names; and made him own and
respect the base, because of the same religious fraternity.
And is
not this, said he, a shame?
Chr. And
what did you say to him?
Faith.
Say! I could not tell what to say at the first. Yea, he put me so
to it, that my blood came up in my face; even this
Shame
fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite off. But at last I
began to consider, that that which is highly esteemed
among
men, is had in abomination with God. And I thought again, this
Shame tells me what men are; but it tells me nothing what
God or
the Word of God is. And I thought, moreover, that at the day of
doom, we shall not be doomed to death or life according
to the
hectoring spirits of the world, but according to the wisdom
and law of the Highest. Therefore, thought I, what God
says is
best, indeed is best, though all the men in the world are
against it. Seeing, then, that God prefers his religion;
seeing
God prefers a tender conscience; seeing they that make themselves
fools for the kingdom of heaven are wisest; and that
the poor
man that loveth Christ is richer than the greatest man in the
world that hates him; Shame, depart, thou art an enemy to
my
salvation! Shall I entertain thee against my sovereign Lord? How then
shall I look him in the face at his coming? Should I
now be
ashamed of his ways and servants, how can I expect the blessing?
But, indeed, this Shame was a bold villain; I could
scarce shake him out of my company; yea, he would be haunting of me, and continually whispering me in the ear,
with some one or other of the infirmities that attend religion; but at last I told him it was but in vain to attempt further
in this business; for those things that he disdained, in those did I see most glory; and so at last I got past this importunate one.
And when I had shaken him off,
then I began to sing --
Are manifold, and suited to the flesh, And come, and come, and come again
afresh;
That now, or sometime else, we by them
may Be taken, overcome, and cast away.
Oh, let the pilgrims, let the pilgrims,
then Be vigilant, and quit themselves like
men.
Chr. I am
glad, my brother, that thou didst withstand this villain
so bravely; for of all, as thou sayest, I think he has
the wrong name; for he is so bold as to follow us in the streets, and to attempt to put us to shame before all men: that is,
to make us
ashamed of that which is good; but if he was not himself
audacious, he would never attempt to do as he does. But
let us
still resist him; for notwithstanding all his bravadoes, he
promoteth the fool and none else. The wise shall inherit
glory,
said Solomon, but shame shall be the promotion of fools.
Faith. I
think we must cry to Him for help against Shame, who would
have us to be valiant for the truth upon the earth.
Chr. You
say true; but did you meet nobody else in that valley?
Faith.
No, not I; for I had sunshine all the rest of the way
through that, and also through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.
Chr. It
was well for you. I am sure it fared far otherwise with me; I had
for a long season, as soon almost as I entered into
that
valley, a dreadful combat with that foul fiend Apollyon; yea, I
thought verily he would have killed me, especially when
he got me
down and crushed me under him, as if he would have crushed
me to pieces; for as he threw me, my sword flew out of
my hand;
nay, he told me he was sure of me: but I cried to God, and he
heard me, and delivered me out of all my troubles. Then
I entered
into the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and had no light for
almost half the way through it. I thought I should
have been
killed there, over and over; but at last day broke, and the
sun rose, and I went through that which was behind with
far more ease and quiet. Moreover, I saw in my dream, that as they went on, Faithful, as he chanced to look on one side,
saw a man whose name is Talkative,
walking at a distance beside them; for in this place
there was
room enough for them all to walk. He was a tall man, and something
more comely at a distance than at hand. To this
man
Faithful addressed himself in this manner: --
Faith.
Friend, whither away? Are you going to the heavenly country?
Talk. I
am going to the same place.
Faith.
That is well; then I hope we may have your good company.
Talk.
With a very good will will I be your companion.
Faith.
Come on, then, and let us go together, and let us spend our time
in discoursing of things that are profitable.
Talk. To talk
of things that are good, to me is very acceptable, with you
or with any other; and I am glad that I have met with
those
that incline to so good a work; for, to speak the truth, there are
but few that care thus to spend their time, (as they
are in
their travels,) but choose much rather to be speaking of things to no profit;
and this hath been a trouble for me.
Faith.
That is indeed a thing to be lamented; for what things so worthy of
the use of the tongue and mouth of men on earth as are
the
things of the God of heaven?
Talk. I
like you wonderful well, for your sayings are full of conviction;
and I will add, what thing is so pleasant, and what
so
profitable, as to talk of the things of God? What things so pleasant
(that is, if a man hath any delight in things that are
wonderful)?
For instance, if a man doth delight to talk of the history
or the mystery of things; or if a man doth love to talk
of
miracles, wonders, or signs, where shall he find things recorded so
delightful, and so sweetly penned, as in the Holy Scripture?
Faith.
That is true; but to be profited by such things in our talk
should be that which we design.
Talk.
That is it that I said; for to talk of such things is most profitable;
for by so doing, a man may get knowledge of many
things;
as of the vanity of earthly things, and the benefit of things
above. Thus, in general, but more particularly by this,
a man may
learn the necessity of the new birth, the insufficiency
of our works, the need of Christ's righteousness,
&c.
Besides, by this a man may learn, by talk, what it is to repent,
to believe, to pray, to suffer, or the like; by this
also a man may learn what are the great promises and consolations of the gospel, to his own comfort. Further,
by this a man may learn to refute false opinions, to vindicate the truth, and also to instruct the ignorant.
Faith.
All this is true, and glad am I to hear these things from you.
Talk.
Alas! the want of this is the cause why so few understand the need of
faith, and the necessity of a work of grace in their
soul, in
order to eternal life; but ignorantly live in the works of the
law, by which a man can by no means obtain the kingdom of
heaven.
Faith.
But, by your leave, heavenly knowledge of these is the gift of
God; no man attaineth to them by human industry, or only
by the
talk of them.
Talk. All
this I know very well; for a man can receive nothing, except it
be given him from Heaven; all is of grace, not of
works. I
could give you a hundred scriptures for the confirmation
of this.
Faith.
Well, then, said Faithful, what is that one thing that we shall at
this time found our discourse upon?
Talk.
What you will. I will talk of things heavenly, or things earthly;
things moral, or things evangelical; things sacred, or
things
profane; things past, or things to come; things foreign, or things
at home; things more essential, or things
circumstantial;
provided that all be done to our profit.
Faith.
Now did Faithful begin to wonder; and stepping to Christian,
(for he walked all this while by himself,) he said to
him, (but
softly,) What a brave companion have we got? Surely this man
will make a very excellent pilgrim.
Chr. At
this Christian modestly smiled, and said, This man, with whom you
are so taken, will beguile, with that tongue of his,
twenty of
them that know him not.
Faith. Do
you know him, then?
Chr. Know
him! Yes, better than he knows himself.
Faith.
Pray, what is he?
Chr. His
name is Talkative; he dwelleth in our town. I wonder that you
should be a stranger to him, only I consider that our town is
large.
Faith.
Whose son is he? And whereabout does he dwell?
Chr. He
is the son of one Say-well; he dwelt in Prating Row; and is known
of all that are acquainted with him, by the name of
Talkative
in Prating Row; and notwithstanding his fine tongue, he is but
a sorry fellow.
Faith.
Well, he seems to be a very pretty man.
Chr. That
is, to them who have not thorough acquaintance with him; for
he is best abroad; near home, he is ugly enough. Your
saying
that he is a pretty man, brings to my mind what I have observed
in the work of the painter, whose pictures shew best at
a
distance, but, very near, more unpleasing.
Faith.
But I am ready to think you do but jest, because you smiled.
Chr. God
forbid that I should jest (although I smiled) in this matter,
or that I should accuse any falsely! I will give you a
further
discovery of him. This man is for any company, and for any talk;
as he talketh now with you, so will he talk when he is
on the
ale-bench; and the more drink he hath in his crown, the more of
these things he hath in his mouth; religion hath no
place in
his heart, or house, or
conversation; all he hath lieth in his tongue, and his religion
is, to make a noise therewith.
Faith. Say
you so! then am I in this man greatly deceived.
Chr.
Deceived! you may be sure of it; remember the proverb, They say and
do not. But the kingdom of God is not in word, but in
Power. He
talketh of prayer, of repentance, of faith, and of the new
birth; but he knows but only to talk of them. I have been in
his
family, and have observed him both at home and abroad; and I know
what I say of him is the truth. His house is as empty of
religion
as the white of an egg is of savour. There is there neither
prayer nor sign of repentance for sin; yea, the brute in
his kind
serves God far better than he. He is the very stain, reproach,
and shame of religion, to all that know him; it can
hardly
have a good word in all that end of the town where he dwells,
through him. Thus say the common people that know him,
A saint
abroad, and a devil at home. His poor family finds it so; he is
such a churl, such a railer at and so unreasonable
with his servants, that they neither know how to do for or speak to him. Men that have any dealings with him say it is better
to deal
with a Turk than with him; for fairer dealing they shall have at
their hands. This Talkative (if it be possible) will go
beyond
them, defraud, beguile, and overreach them. Besides, he brings up
his sons to follow his steps; and if he findeth in any
of them a
foolish timorousness, (for so he calls the first appearance
of a tender conscience,) he calls them fools and
blockheads,
and by no means will employ them in much, or speak to their commendations
before others. For my part, I am of
opinion,
that he has, by his wicked life, caused
many to stumble and fall; and will be, if God prevent not, the
ruin of many more.
Faith.
Well, my brother, I am bound to believe you; not only because
you say you know him, but also because, like a
Christian,
you make your reports of men. For I cannot think that you speak
these things of ill-will, but because it is even so as
you say.
Chr. Had
I known him no more than you, I might perhaps have thought
of him, as, at the first, you did; yea, had he received
this
report at their hands only that are enemies to religion, I should
have thought it had been a slander, -- a lot that often
falls
from bad men's mouths upon good men's names and professions;
but all these things, yea, and a great many more as
bad, of
my own knowledge, I can prove him guilty of. Besides, good men
are ashamed of him; they can neither call him brother,
nor
friend; the very naming of him among them makes them blush, if they
know him.
Faith.
Well, I see that saying and doing are two things, and hereafter
I shall better observe this distinction.
Chr. They
are two things, indeed, and are as diverse as are the soul and
the body; for as the body without the soul is but a
dead
carcass, so saying, if it be alone, is but a dead carcass also. The
soul of religion is the practical part: Pure religion
and
undefiled, before God and the Father, is this, To visit the fatherless
and widows in their affliction, and to keep himself
unspotted
from the world. This Talkative is not aware of; he thinks
that hearing and saying will make a good Christian, and
thus he
deceiveth his own soul. Hearing is but as the sowing of the seed;
talking is not sufficient to prove that fruit is indeed
in the
heart and life; and let us assure ourselves, that at the day of
doom men shall be judged according to their fruits. It
will not
be said then, Did you believe? but, Were you doers, or talkers
only? and accordingly shall they be judged. The end of
the world
is compared to our harvest; and you know men at harvest
regard nothing but fruit. Not that anything can be
accepted
that is not of faith, but I speak this to shew you how insignificant
the profession of Talkative will be at that day.
Faith. This
brings to my mind that of Moses, by which he describeth
the beast that is clean. He is such a one that
parteth
the hoof and cheweth the cud; not that parteth the hoof only, or
that cheweth the cud only. The hare cheweth the cud,
but yet
is unclean, because he parteth not the hoof. And this truly
resembleth Talkative; he cheweth the cud, he seeketh
knowledge,
he cheweth upon the word; but he divideth not the hoof, he
parteth not with the way of sinners; but, as the hare,
he
retaineth the foot of a dog or bear, and therefore he is unclean.
Chr. You
have spoken, for aught I know, the true gospel sense of those
texts. And I will add another thing: Paul calleth some
men, yea,
and those great talkers, too, sounding brass and tinkling
cymbals; that is, as he expounds them in another place,
things
without life, giving sound. Things without life, that is, without
the true faith and grace of the gospel; and
consequently,
things that shall never be placed in the kingdom of heaven
among those that are the children of life; though
their
sound, by their talk, be as if it were the tongue or voice of an
angel.
Faith. Well, I was not so fond of his company at first, but I am as sick of it now. What shall we do to be rid of him?
Chr. Take
my advice, and do as I bid you, and you shall find that he
will soon be sick of your company too, except God shall
touch his
heart, and turn it.
Faith.
What would you have me to do?
Chr. Why,
go to him, and enter into some serious discourse about the power
of religion; and ask him plainly (when he has approved
of it,
for that he will) whether this thing be set up in his heart, house, or
conversation.
Faith.
Then Faithful stepped forward again, and said to Talkative,
Come, what cheer? How is it now?
Talk.
Thank you, well. I thought we should have had a great deal of talk
by this time.
Faith.
Well, if you will, we will fall to it now; and since you left it
with me to state the question, let it be this, How doth
the
saving grace of God discover itself when it is in the heart of man?
Talk. I
perceive, then, that our talk must be about the power of things.
Well, it is a very good question, and I shall be willing
to answer
you. And take my answer in brief, thus: -- First, Where the
grace of God is in the heart, it causeth there a great
outcry
against sin. Secondly -- --
Faith.
Nay, hold, let us consider of one at once. I think you should
rather say, It shews itself by inclining the soul to
abhor its
sin.
Talk.
Why, what difference is there between crying out against, and
abhorring of sin?
Faith.
Oh, a great deal. A man may cry out against sin of policy,
but he cannot abhor it but by virtue of a
godly
antipathy against it. I have heard many cry out against sin in
the pulpit, who yet can abide it well enough in the
heart,
house, and conversation. Joseph's mistress cried out with a loud
voice, as if she had been very holy; but she would
willingly,
notwithstanding that, have committed uncleanness with him. Some
cry out against sin even as the mother cries out
against
her child in her lap, when she calleth it slut and naughty
girl, and then falls to hugging and kissing it.
Talk. You
lie at the catch, I perceive.
Faith.
No, not I; I am only for setting things right. But what is the second
thing whereby you would prove a discovery of a
work of
grace in the heart?
Talk.
Great knowledge of gospel mysteries.
Faith.
This sign should have been first; but first or last, it is also
false; for knowledge, great knowledge, may be obtained
in the
mysteries of the gospel, and yet no work of grace in the soul.
Yea, if a man have all knowledge, he may yet be nothing,
and so
consequently be no child of God. When Christ said, Do you know all
these things? and the disciples had answered, Yes; he
addeth,
Blessed are ye if ye do them. He doth not lay the blessing
in the knowing of them, but in the doing of them. For
there is
a knowledge that is not attended with doing: He that knoweth
his masters will, and doeth it not. A man may know like
an angel,
and yet be no Christian, therefore your sign of it is not true.
Indeed, to know is a thing that pleaseth talkers and
boasters,
but to do is that which pleaseth God. Not that the heart can
be good without knowledge; for without that, the heart
is naught.
There is, therefore, knowledge and knowledge. Knowledge
that resteth in the bare speculation of things; and
knowledge
that is accompanied with the grace of faith and love;which
puts a man upon doing even the will of God from the heart:
the first
of these will serve the talker; but without the other the true
Christian is not content. Give me understanding, and I
shall
keep thy law; yea, I shall observe it with my whole heart.
Talk. You
lie at the catch again; this is not for edification.
Faith.
Well, if you please, propound another sign how this work of grace
discovereth itself where it is.
Talk. Not
I, for I see we shall not agree.
Faith.
Well, if you will not, will you give me leave to do it?
Talk. You
may use your liberty.
Faith. A work of grace in the soul discovereth itself, either to him that hath it, or to standers by. To him that hath it thus:
It gives him conviction of sin, especially of the defilement of his nature and the sin of unbelief,
(for the
sake of which he is sure to be damned, if he findeth
not mercy at God's hand, by faith in Jesus Christ). This
sight and
sense of things worketh in him sorrow and shame for sin; he
findeth, moreover, revealed in him the Saviour of the
world,
and the absolute necessity of closing with him for life, at the
which he findeth hungerings and thirstings after him; to
which
hungerings, &c., the promise is made. Now, according to the
strength or weakness of his faith in his Saviour, so is his
joy and
peace, so is his love to holiness, so are his desires to know him
more, and also to serve him in this world. But though
I say it
discovereth itself thus unto him, yet it is but seldom that he
is able to conclude that this is a work of grace;
because
his corruptions now, and his
abused reason, make his mind to misjudge in this matter;
therefore,
in him that hath this work, there is required a very sound
judgment before he can, with steadiness, conclude that
this is a
work of grace. To
others, it is thus discovered: --
1. By an
experimental confession of his faith in Christ.
2. By a
life answerable to that confession; to wit, a life of holiness,
heart-holiness, family-holiness, (if he hath a
family,)
and by conversation-holiness in the world which, in the general, teacheth
him, inwardly, to abhor his sin, and himself
for that,
in secret; to suppress it in his family and to promote holiness
in the world; not by talk only, as a hypocrite or
talkative
person may do, but by a practical subjection, in faith and love,
to the power of the Word. And now, Sir, as to this
brief
description of the work of grace, and also the discovery of it, if
you have aught to object, object; if not, then give me
leave to
propound to you a second question.
Talk.
Nay, my part is not now to object, but to hear; let me, therefore,
have your second question.
Faith. It
is this: Do you experience this first part of this description
of it? and doth your life and conversation testify
the same?
or standeth your religion in word or in tongue, and not in
deed and truth? Pray, if you incline to answer me in
this, say
no more than you know the God above will say Amen to; and also
nothing but what your conscience can justify you in;
for not
he that commendeth himself is approved, but whom the Lord
commendeth. Besides, to say I am thus and thus, when my
conversation,
and all my neighbours, tell me I lie, is great wickedness.
Talk.
Then Talkative at first began to blush; but, re-covering
himself, thus he replied: You come now to experience,
to conscience,
and God; and to appeal to him for justification of what
is spoken. This kind of discourse I did not expect; nor
am I
disposed to give an answer to such questions, because I count not
myself bound thereto, unless you take upon you to be
a catechiser,
and, though you should so do, yet I may refuse to make you
my judge. But, I pray, will you tell me why you ask me
such
questions?
Faith.
Because I saw you forward to talk, and because I knew not that you
had aught else but notion. Besides, to tell you all the
truth, I
have heard of you, that you are a man whose religion lies in
talk, and that your conversation gives this your
mouth-profession
the lie. They say, you are a spot among Christians;
and that religion fareth the worse for your ungodly
conversation;
that some have already stumbled at your wicked ways, and
that more are in danger of being destroyed thereby;
your
religion, and an alehouse, and covetousness, and uncleanness,
and swearing, and lying, and vain-company keeping,
&c., will
stand together. The proverb is true of you which is said of a
whore, to wit, that she is a shame to all women; so
are you a
shame to all professors.
Talk.
Since you are ready to take up reports and to judge so rashly as
you do, I cannot but conclude you are some peevish or
melancholy
man, not fit to be discoursed with; and so adieu.
Chr. Then came up Christian, and said to his brother, I told you how it would happen: your words and his lusts could not agree;
he had
rather leave your company than reform his life. But he is gone, as
I said; let him go, the loss is no man's but his own;
he has saved us the trouble of going from him; for he continuing (as I suppose he will do) as he is, he would have been but
a blot in
our company: besides, the
apostle says, From such withdraw thyself.
Faith.
But I am glad we had this little discourse with him; it may
happen that he will think of it again: however, I have dealt
plainly
with him, and so am clear of his blood, if he perisheth.
Chr. You
did well to talk so plainly to him as you did; there is but
little of this faithful dealing with men nowa-days, and that
makes
religion to stink so in the nostrils of many, as it doth; for they
are these talkative fools whose religion is only in
word, and
are debauched and vain in their conversation, that (being so
much admitted into the fellowship of the godly) do
puzzle
the world, blemish Christianity, and grieve the sincere. I wish
that all men would deal with such as you have done: then
should
they either be made more conformable to religion, or the company
of saints would be too hot for them. Then did Faithful say,
How Talkative at first lifts up his
plumes! How bravely doth he speak! How he
presumes
To drive down all before him! But so
soon As Faithful talks of heart-work, like
the moon
That's past the full, into the wane he
goes. And so will all, but he that HEART-WORK
knows.
Thus they
went on talking of what they had seen by the way, and so made
that way easy which would otherwise, no doubt, have been
tedious
to them; for now they went through a wilderness.
Now, when
they were got almost quite out of this wilderness, Faithful
chanced to cast his eye back, and espied one coming
after them,
and he knew him. Oh! said Faithful to his brother, who comes
yonder? Then Christian looked, and said, It is my good
friend
Evangelist. Ay, and my good friend too, said Faithful, for it
was he that set me in the way to the gate. Now was
Evangelist
come up to them, and thus saluted them: --
Evan. Peace be with you, dearly beloved; and peace be to your helpers.
Chr.
Welcome, welcome, my good Evangelist, the sight of thy countenance
brings to my remembrance thy ancient kindness and
unwearied
labouring for my eternal good.
Faith.
And a thousand times welcome, said good Faithful. Thy company,
O sweet Evangelist, how desirable it is to us poor pilgrims!
Evan.
Then said Evangelist, How hath it fared with you, my friends,
since the time of our last parting? What have you met
with, and
how have you behaved yourselves?
Then
Christian and Faithful told him of all things that had happened
to them in the way; and how, and with what difficulty,
they had
arrived at that place.
Evan. Right
glad am I, said Evangelist, not that you have met with
trials, but that you have been victors; and for that you
have,
notwithstanding many weaknesses, continued in the way to this very
day.
I say,
right glad am I of this thing, and that for mine own sake and
yours. I have sowed, and you have reaped: and the day is
coming,
when both he that sowed and they that reaped shall rejoice
together; that is, if you hold
out: for
in due season ye shall reap, if ye faint not. The crown is before
you, and it is an incorruptible one; so run, that you
may
obtain it. Some there be that set out for this crown, and, after
they have gone far for it, another comes in, and takes it
from
them: hold fast, therefore, that you have; let no man take your
crown. You are not yet out of the gun-shot of the devil;
you have
not resisted unto blood, striving against sin; let the kingdom
be always before you, and believe steadfastly concerning
things
that are invisible. Let nothing that is on this side the other
world get within you; and, above all, look well to your
own hearts, and to the lusts thereof, for they are deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; set your faces like a flint;
you
have all power in heaven and earth on your side.
Chr. Then
Christian thanked him for his exhortation; but told him,
withal, that they would have him speak further to them for
their
help the rest of the way, and the rather, for that they well knew
that he was a prophet, and could tell them of things
that
might happen unto them, and also how they might resist and overcome
them. To which request Faithful also consented. So
Evangelist
began as followeth: --
Evan. My
sons, you have heard, in the words of the truth of the gospel,
that you must, through many tribulations, enter into the
kingdom
of heaven. And, again, that in every city bonds and afflictions
abide in you; and therefore you cannot expect that
you
should go long on your pilgrimage without them, in some sort or other.
You have found something of the truth of these
testimonies
upon you already, and more will immediately follow; for now,
as you see, you are almost out of this wilderness,
and
therefore you will soon come into a town that you will by and by
see before you; and in that town you will be hardly beset
with
enemies, who will strain hard but they will kill you; and be you
sure that one or both of you must seal the testimony
which you
hold, with blood; but be you faithful unto death, and the King
will give you a crown of life. He that shall die there,
although
his death will be unnatural, and his pain perhaps great, he will yet have the
better of his fellow; not only
because
he will be arrived at the Celestial City soonest, but because
he will escape many miseries that the other will meet
with in
the rest of his journey. But when you are come to the town, and
shall find fulfilled what I have here related, then
remember
your friend, and quit yourselves like men, and commit the
keeping of your souls to your God in well-doing, as unto a
faithful
Creator.
Then I
saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the wilderness,
they presently saw a town before them, and the name
of that
town is Vanity; and at the town there is a fair kept, called
Vanity Fair: it is kept all the year long. it beareth the
name of
Vanity Fair because the town where it is kept is lighter than
vanity; and, also because all that is there sold, or that
cometh
thither, is vanity. As is the saying of the wise, all that
cometh is vanity.
This fair
is no new-erected business, but a thing of ancient standing;
I will shew you the original of it.
Almost
five thousand years agone, there were pilgrims walking to the
Celestial City, as these two honest persons are: and
Beelzebub,
Apollyon, and Legion, with their companions, perceiving
by the path that the pilgrims made, that their way to
the city
lay through this town of Vanity,
they contrived here to set up a fair; a fair wherein,
should be
sold all sorts of vanity, and that it should last all the year
long: therefore at this fair are all such merchandise
sold, as
houses, lands, trades, places, honours, preferments, titles,
countries, kingdoms, lusts, pleasures, and delights of
all
sorts, as whores, bawds, wives, husbands, children, masters, servants,
lives, blood, bodies, souls, silver, gold, pearls,
precious stones, and what not. And, moreover, at this fair there is at all times to be seen juggling cheats, games, plays, fools,
apes,
knaves, and rogues,and that
of every kind. Here are
to be seen, too, and that for nothing, thefts, murders,
adulteries,
false swearers, and that of a bloodred colour. And as in
other fairs of less moment, there are the several rows
and
streets, under their proper names, where such and such wares are vended;
so here likewise you have the proper places, rows,
streets,
(viz; countries and kingdoms,) where the wares of this fair are
soonest to be found. Here is the Britain Row, the
French
Row, the Italian Row, the Spanish Row, the German Row, where
several sorts of vanities are to be sold. But, as in other
fairs, some one commodity is as the chief of all the fair, so the ware of Rome and her merchandise is greatly promoted in this fair;
only our
English nation, with some others, have taken a dislike
thereat. Now, as I
said, the way to the Celestial City lies just through
this town
where this lusty fair is kept; and he that will go to the city,
and yet not go through this town, must needs go out of
the world. The Prince of princes himself, when here, went through this town to his own country, and that upon a fair day too; yea,
and as I
think, it was
Beelzebub, the chief lord of this fair, that invited him
to buy of
his vanities; yea, would have made him lord of the fair,
would he but have done him reverence as he went through
the town.
Yea, because he was such a person of honour, Beelzebub had him
from street to street, and shewed him all the kingdoms
of the
world in a little time, that he might, if possible, allure
the Blessed One to cheapen and buy some of his vanities;
but he
had no mind to the merchandise, and therefore left the town,
without laying out so much as one farthing upon these
vanities.
This fair, therefore, is an ancient thing, of long standing,
and a very great fair. Now these pilgrims, as I said,
must
needs go through this fair. Well, so they did: but, behold, even as
they entered into the fair, all the people in the fair
were
moved, and the town itself as it were in a hubbub about them; and
that for several reasons: for --
First,
The pilgrims were clothed with such kind of raiment as was
diverse from the raiment of any that traded in that fair.
The
people, therefore, of the fair, made a great gazing upon them:
some said they were fools, some they were bedlams, and
some they
are outlandish men.
Secondly,
And as they wondered at their apparel, so they did likewise
at their speech; for few could understand what they
said;
they naturally spoke the language of Canaan, but they that kept the
fair were the men of this world; so that, from one end
of the
fair to the other, they seemed barbarians each to the other.
Thirdly,
But that which did not a little amuse the merchandisers was, that
these pilgrims set very light by
all their
wares; they cared not so much as to look upon them; and if
they called upon them to buy, they would put their
fingers
in their ears, and cry, Turn away mine eyes from beholding
vanity, and look upwards, signifying that their trade
and
traffic was in heaven.
One
chanced mockingly, beholding the carriage of the men, to say unto
them, What will ye buy? But they, looking gravely upon him,
answered,
We buy the truth. At that there was an occasion taken to
despise the men the more; some mocking, some taunting, some
speaking
reproachfully, and some calling upon others to smite them. At
last things came to a hubbub and great stir in the
fair,
insomuch that all order was confounded. Now was word presently
brought to the great one of the fair, who quickly came
down, and
deputed some of his most trusty friends to take these men into
examination, about whom the fair was almost overturned.
So the
men were brought to examination; and they that sat upon them,
asked them whence they came, whither they went, and what
they did there, in such an unusual garb? The men told them that they were pilgrims and strangers in the world, and that they
were
going to their own country, which was the heavenly Jerusalem,
and that they had given no occasion to the men of the
town, nor
yet to the merchandisers, thus to abuse them, and to let them
in their journey, except it was for that, when one
asked
them what they would buy, they said they would buy the truth.
But they that were appointed to examine them did not
believe them
to be any other than bedlams and mad, or else such as came
to put all things into a confusion in the fair.
Therefore
they took them and beat them, and besmeared
them with dirt, and then put them into the cage, that
they
might be made a spectacle to all the men of the fair.
Behold Vanity Fair! the pilgrims there
Are chain'd and stand beside:
Even so it was our Lord pass'd here,
And on Mount Calvary died.
There,
therefore, they lay for some time, and were made the objects
of any man's sport, or malice, or revenge, the great one
of the
fair laughing still at all that befell them. But the men being
patient, and not rendering railing for railing, but
contrariwise,
blessing, and giving good words for bad, and kindness for
injuries done, some men in the fair that were more
observing,
and less prejudiced than the rest, began to check and blame the
baser sort for their continual abuses done by them to
the men;
they, therefore, in angry manner, let fly at them again, counting
them as bad as the men in the cage, and telling
them that
they seemed confederates, and should be made partakers of their misfortunes.
The other replied that, for aught they
could
see, the men were quiet, and sober, and intended nobody any harm;
and that there were many that traded in their fair
that were
more worthy to be put into the cage, yea, and pillory too, than
were the men they had abused. Thus, after divers words
had
passed on both sides, the men behaving themselves all the while
very wisely and soberly before them, they fell to some
blows
among themselves, and did harm one to another. Then were these two
poor men brought before their examiners again, and
there charged as being guilty of the late hubbub that had been in the fair. So they beat them pitifully, and hanged irons upon them,
and led
them in chains up
and down the fair, for an example and a terror to others,
lest any should speak in their behalf, or join
themselves
unto them. But Christian and Faithful behaved themselves
yet more wisely, and received the ignominy and shame
that was
cast upon them, with so much meekness and patience, that it
won to their side, though but few in comparison of the
rest,
several of the men in the fair. This put the other party yet into greater
rage, insomuch that they concluded the death of
these two
men. Wherefore they threatened, that the cage nor irons
should serve their turn, but that they should die, for the
abuse
they had done, and for deluding the men of the fair.
Then were
they remanded to the cage again, until further order should be
taken with them. So they put them in, and made their
feet fast
in the stocks. Here,
therefore, they called again to mind what they had heard
from
their faithful friend Evangelist, and were the more confirmed
in their way and sufferings by what he told them would
happen to
them. They also now comforted each other, that whose lot it
was to suffer, even he should have the best of it;
therefore
each man secretly wished that he might have that preferment:
but committing themselves to the all-wise disposal
of Him
that ruleth all things, with much content, they abode in the
condition in which they were, until they should be otherwise
disposed
of. Then a
convenient time being appointed, they brought them forth to their
trial, in order to their condemnation. When the time
was come, they were brought before their enemies and arraigned. The judge's name was Lord Hategood. Their indictment was one and the same
in
substance, though somewhat varying in
form, the contents whereof were this: --
'That
they were enemies to and disturbers of their trade; that they had
made commotions and divisions in the town, and had won
a party
to their own most dangerous opinions, in contempt of the law of
their prince.'
Now, Faithful, play the man, speak for
thy God: Fear not the wickeds' malice; nor their
rod!
Speak boldly, man, the truth is on thy
side: Die for it, and to life in triumph
ride.
Then
Faithful began to answer, that he had only set himself against
that which hath set itself against Him that is higher
than the
highest. And, said he, as for disturbance, I make none, being
myself a man of peace; the parties that were won to us,
were won
by beholding our truth and innocence, and they are only turned
from the worse to the better. And as to the king you talk
of, since
he is Beelzebub, the enemy of our Lord, I defy him and all his angels.
Then
proclamation was made, that they that had aught to say for their lord
the king against the prisoner at the bar, should
forthwith
appear and give in their evidence. So there came in three
witnesses, to wit, Envy, Superstition, and Pickthank. They
were then
asked if they knew the prisoner at the bar; and what they had
to say for their lord the king against him.
Then
stood forth Envy, and said to this effect: My Lord, I have known
this man a long time, and will attest upon my oath before
this
honourable bench that he is --
Judge.
Hold! Give him his oath. (So they sware him.) Then he said --
Envy. My
Lord, this man, notwithstanding his plausible name, is one of
the vilest men in our country. He neither regardeth
prince
nor people, law nor custom; but doth all that he can to possess
all men with certain of his disloyal notions, which he
in the
general calls principles of faith and holiness. And, in particular,
I heard him once myself affirm that Christianity and
the
customs of our town of Vanity were diametrically opposite, and could
not be reconciled. By which saying, my Lord, he doth
at once
not only condemn all our laudable doings, but us in the doing of
them.
Judge.
Then did the Judge say to him, Hast thou any more to say?
Envy. My
Lord, I could say much more, only I would not be tedious to
the court. Yet, if need be, when the other gentlemen
have
given in their evidence, rather than anything shall be wanting
that will despatch him, I will enlarge my testimony
against
him. So he was bid to stand by.
Then they
called Superstition, and bid him look upon the prisoner.
They also asked, what he could say for their lord the
king
against him. Then they sware him; so he began.
Super. My
Lord, I have no great acquaintance with this man, nor do I
desire to have further knowledge of him; however, this I
know,
that he is a very pestilent fellow, from some discourse that, the
other day, I had with him in this town; for then,
talking with him, I heard him say, that our religion was naught, and such by which a man could by no means please God. Which say-
ings of
his, my Lord, your Lordship very well knows, what necessarily
thence will follow, to wit, that we do still worship
in vain,
are yet in our sins, and finally shall be damned; and this is
that which I have to say.
Then was Pickthank
sworn, and bid say what he knew, in behalf of their
lord the king, against the prisoner at the bar.
Pick. My
Lord, and you gentlemen all, This fellow I have known of a long
time, and have heard him speak things that ought not
to be
spoke; for he hath railed on our noble prince Beelzebub, and hath
spoken contemptibly of his honourable friends, whose
names are
the Lord Old Man, the Lord Carnal Delight, the Lord Luxurious,
the Lord Desire of Vain Glory, my old Lord Lechery,
Sir
Having Greedy, with all the rest of our nobility; and he hath
said, moreover, That if all men were of his mind, if
possible,
there is not one of these noblemen should have any longer a
being in this town. Besides, he hath not been afraid to
rail on
you, my Lord, who are now appointed to be his judge, calling
you an ungodly villain, with many other such like
vilifying
terms, with which he hath bespattered most of the gentry of
our town.
When this
Pickthank had told his tale, the Judge directed his speech to
the prisoner at the bar, saying, Thou runagate,
heretic,
and traitor, hast thou heard what these honest gentlemen
have witnessed against thee?
Faith.
May I speak a few words in my own defence?
Judge.
Sirrah! sirrah! thou deservest to live no longer, but to be slain immediately
upon the place; yet, that all men may see
our
gentleness towards thee, let us hear what thou, vile runagate,
hast to say.
Faith. 1.
I say, then, in answer to what Mr. Envy hath spoken,I never
said aught but this, That what rule, or laws, or
customs, or people, were flat against the Word of God, are diametrically opposite to Christianity. If I have said amiss in this,
convince
me of my error, and I am ready here before you to make my
recantation.
2. As to
the second, to wit, Mr. Superstition, and his charge against
me, I said only this, That in the worship of God there
is
required a Divine faith; but there can be no Divine faith without a
Divine revelation of the will of God. Therefore,
whatever
is thrust into the worship of God that is not agreeable to Divine
revelation, cannot be done but by a human faith, which
faith
will not be profitable to eternal life.
3. As to
what Mr. Pickthank hath said, I say (avoiding terms, as that I am
said to rail, and the like) that the prince of this
town, with
all the rabblement, his attendants, by this gentleman named,
are more fit for a being in hell, than in this town and
country:
and so, the Lord have mercy upon me!
Then the
Judge called to the jury, (who all this while stood by, to hear
and observe:) Gentlemen of the jury, you see this man
about
whom so great an uproar hath been made in this town. You have also
heard what these worthy gentlemen have witnessed
against
him. Also you have heard his reply and confession. It lieth now
in your breasts to hang him or save his life; but yet
I think
meet to instruct you into our law.
There was
an Act made in the days of Pharaoh the Great, servant to our
prince, that lest those of a contrary religion should
multiply and grow too strong for him, their males should be thrown into the river. There was also an Act made in the days of
Nebuchadnezzar the Great, another of his servants, that whosoever would not fall down and worship his golden image,
should be thrown into a fiery furnace.There was
also an Act made in the days of Darius, that whoso,
for some
time, called upon any god but him, should be cast into the
lions' den. Now the substance of these laws this rebel has
broken,
not only in thought, (which is not to be borne,) but also in word
and deed, which must therefore needs be intolerable.
For that
of Pharaoh, his law was made upon a supposition, to prevent
mischief, no crime being yet apparent; but here is a
crime
apparent. For the second and third, you see he disputeth against
our religion; and for the treason he hath confessed, he
deserveth
to die the death.
Then went
the jury out, whose names were, Mr. Blind-man, Mr. No-good,
Mr. Malice, Mr. Love-lust, Mr. Live-loose, Mr. Heady,
Mr.
High-mind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hate-light,
and Mr. Implacable; who every one gave in his
private
verdict against him among themselves, and afterwards unanimously
concluded to bring him in guilty before the Judge.
And
first, among themselves, Mr. Blind-man, the foreman, said, I see clearly
that this man is a heretic. Then said Mr. No-good,
Away with
such a fellow from the earth. Ay, said Mr. Malice, for I hate the very looks
of him. Then said Mr. Love-lust, I could
never
endure him. Nor I, said Mr. Live-loose, for he would always be
condemning my way. Hang him, hang him, said Mr. Heady.
A sorry
scrub, said Mr. High-mind. My heart riseth against him, said Mr.
Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Hanging is too
good for
him, said Mr. Cruelty.
Let us despatch
him out of the way, said Mr. Hate-light. Then said Mr.
Implacable, Might I have all the world given me, I
could not
be reconciled to him; therefore, let us forthwith bring him
in guilty of death. And so they did; therefore he was
presently
condemned to be had from the place where he was, to the place
from whence he came, and there to be put to the most
cruel
death that could be invented.
They,
therefore, brought him out, to do with him according to their
law; and, first, they scourged him, then they buffeted
him, then
they lanced his flesh with knives; after that, they stoned
him with stones, then pricked him with their swords; and,
last of
all, they burned him to ashes at the stake. Thus came Faithful
to his end.
Now I saw that there stood behind the multitude a chariot and a couple of horses, waiting for Faithful, who
(so soon as his adversaries had despatched
him) was taken up into it, and straightway
was carried up through the clouds, with sound of
trumpet,
the nearest way to the Celestial Gate.
Brave Faithful, bravely done in word
and deed; Judge, witnesses, and jury have,
instead
Of overcoming thee, but shewn their
rage: When they are dead, thou'lt live from
age to age.
But as for
Christian, he had some respite, and was remanded back to
prison. So he there remained for a space; but He that
overrules
all things, having the power of their rage in his own hand, so
wrought it about, that Christian for that time escaped
them, and
went his way; and as he went, he sang, saying --
Well, Faithful, thou hast faithfully
profest Unto thy Lord; with whom thou shalt be
blest,
When faithless ones, with all their
vain delights, Are crying out under their hellish
plights:
Sing, Faithful, sing, and let thy name
survive; For though they kill'd thee, thou art
yet alive!
Now I saw
in my dream, that Christian went not forth alone, for there was
one whose name was Hopeful (being made so by the
beholding
of Christian and Faithful in their words and behaviour,
in their sufferings at the fair,) who joined himself
unto him,
and, entering into a brotherly covenant, told him that he would
be his companion. Thus, one died to bear testimony to
the truth,
and another rises out of his ashes, to be a companion with
Christian in his pilgrimage. This Hopeful also told
Christian,
that there were many more of the men in the fair, that
would take their time and follow after.
So I saw
that quickly after they were got out of the fair, they overtook
one that was going before them, whose name was By-ends:
so they
said to him, What countryman; Sir? and how far go you this way?
He told them that he came from the town of
Fair-speech,
and he was going to the Celestial City, but told them not
his name.
From
Fair-speech! said Christian. Is there any good that lives there?
By-ends.
Yes, said By-ends, I hope.
Chr.
Pray, Sir, what may I call you? said Christian.
By-ends.
I am a stranger to you, and you to me: if you be going this way,
I shall be glad of your company; if not, I must be
content.
Chr. This
town of Fair-speech, said Christian, I have heard of; and, as I
remember, they say it is a wealthy place.
By-ends. Yes,
I will assure you that it is; and I have very many rich
kindred there.
Chr.
Pray, who are your kindred there? if a man may be so bold.
By-ends.
Almost the whole town; and in particular, my Lord Turn-about,
my Lord Time-server, my Lord Fair-speech, (from
whose
ancestors that town first took its name,) also Mr. Smooth-man,
Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Any-thing; and the parson
of our
parish, Mr. Two-tongues, was my mother's own brother by father's side; and to
tell you the truth, I am become a
gentleman
of good quality, yet my great-grandfather was but a water-man,
looking one way and rowing another, and I got most of
my estate
by the same occupation.
Chr. Are
you a married man?
By-ends.
Yes, and my wife is a very virtuous woman, the daughter of a virtuous
woman; she was my Lady Feigning's daughter,
therefore
she came of a very honourable family, and is arrived to such a
pitch of breeding, that she knows how to carry it to
all, even
to prince and peasant. It is true we somewhat differ in
religion from those of the stricter sort, yet but in two
small
points: first, we never strive against wind and tide; secondly,
we are always most zealous when religion goes in his
silver
slippers; we love much to walk with him in the street, if the sun
shines, and the people applaud him.
Then
Christian stepped a little aside to his fellow, Hopeful, saying,
It runs in my mind that this is one By-ends of
Fair-speech;
and if it be he, we have as very a knave in
our company as dwelleth in all these parts. Then said
Hopeful, Ask him; methinks he should not be ashamed of his name. So Christian came up with him again, and said, Sir,
you talk as if you knew something more than all the world doth; and if I take not my mark amiss, I deem I have half a guess of you:
Is not your
name Mr. By-ends, of Fair-speech?
By-ends.
This is not my name, but indeed it is a nick-name that is given
me by some that cannot abide me: and I must be content
to bear
it as a reproach, as other good men have borne theirs before
me.
Chr. But did
you never give an occasion to men to call you by this
name?
By-ends.
Never, never! The worst that ever I did to give them an occasion
to give me this name was, that I had always the luck to
jump in
my judgment with the present way of the times, whatever it was,
and my chance was to get thereby; but if things are thus
cast upon
me, let me count them, a blessing; but let not the malicious
load me therefore with reproach.
Chr. I
thought, indeed, that you were the man that I heard of; and to
tell you what I think, I fear this name belongs to you
more
properly than you are willing we should think it doth.
By-ends.
Well, if you will thus imagine, I cannot help it; you shall
find me a fair company-keeper, if you will still admit me your
associate.
Chr. If you
will go with us, you must go against wind and tide; the
which, I perceive, is against your opinion; you must also
own
religion in his rags, as well as when in his silver slippers;
and stand by him, too, when bound in irons, as well as
when he
walketh the streets with applause.
By-ends.
You must not impose, nor lord it over my faith; leave me to my
liberty, and let me go with you.
Chr. Not
a step further, unless you will do in what I propound as we.
Then said
By-ends, I shall never desert my old principles, since they are
harmless and profitable. If I may not go with you, I
must do
as I did before you overtook me, even go by myself, until
some overtake me that will be glad of my company.
Now I saw
in my dream that Christian and Hopeful forsook him, and kept
their distance before him; but one of them looking
back, saw
three men following Mr. By-ends, and behold, as they came up
with him, he made them a very low conge; and they also
gave him
a compliment. The men's names were Mr. Hold-the-world, Mr.
Money-love, and Mr. Save-all; men that Mr. By-ends had
formerly
been acquainted with; for in their minority they were schoolfellows,
and were taught by one Mr. Gripe-man, a
schoolmaster
in Love-gain, which is a market town in the county of
Coveting, in the north. This schoolmaster taught them the art
of
getting, either by violence, cozenage, flattery, lying, or by putting
on the guise of religion; and these four gentlemen had
attained much
of the art of their master, so that they could each of
them have kept such a school themselves.
Well,
when they had, as I said, thus saluted each other, Mr. Money-love
said to Mr. By-ends, Who are they upon the road
before
us? (for Christian and Hopeful were yet within view).
By-ends.
They are a couple of far countrymen, that, after their mode, are
going on pilgrimage.
Money-love. Alas! Why did they not stay, that we might have had their good company? for they, and we, and you, Sir, I hope,
are all
going on pilgrimage.
By-ends.
We are so, indeed; but the men before us are so rigid, and love
so much their own notions, and do also so lightly
esteem
the opinions of others, that let a man be never so godly, yet if he
jumps not with them in all things, they thrust him
quite out
of their company.
Save-all.
That is bad, but we read of some that are righteous overmuch;
and such men's rigidness prevails with them to judge
and
condemn all but themselves. But, I pray, what, and how many, were the things
wherein you differed?
By-ends.
Why, they, after their headstrong manner, conclude that it is
duty to rush on their journey all weathers; and I am for
waiting
for wind and tide. They are for hazarding all for God at a clap;
and I am for taking all advantages to secure my life and
estate.
They are for holding their notions, though all other men are against them;
but I am for religion in what, and so far as
the
times, and my safety, will bear it. They are for religion when in
rags and contempt; but I am for him when he walks in his
golden
slippers, in the sunshine, and with applause.
Mr.
Hold-the-world. Ay, and hold you there still, good Mr. By-ends;
for, for my part, I can count him but a fool, that,
having
the liberty to keep what he has, shall be so unwise as to lose it.
Let us be wise as serpents; it is best to make hay when
the sun
shines; you see how the bee lieth still all winter, and bestirs
her only when she can have profit with pleasure. God
sends
sometimes rain, and sometimes sunshine; if they be such fools to
go through the first, yet let us be content to take fair
weather
along
with us. For my part, I like that religion best that will stand
with the security of God's good blessings unto us; for who
can imagine,
that is ruled by his reason, since God has bestowed upon us
the good things of this life, but that he would have us
keep them
for his sake? Abraham and Solomon grew rich in religion.
And Job says, that a good man shall lay up gold as
dust. But
he must not be such as the men before us, if they be as you
have described them.
Mr.
Save-all. I think that we are all agreed in this matter, and therefore
there needs no more words about it.
Mr.
Money-love. No, there needs no more words about this matter, indeed;
for he that believes neither Scripture nor reason (and
you see
we have both on our side) neither knows his own liberty, nor seeks
his own safety.
Mr.
By-ends. My brethren, we are, as you see, going all on pilgrimage;
and, for our better diversion from things that are
bad, give
me leave to propound unto you this question: -- Suppose a
man, a minister, or a tradesman, &c., should have an
advantage
lie before him, to get the good blessings of this life, yet
so as that he can by no means come by them except, in
appearance
at least, he becomes extraordinarily zealous in some points of
religion that he meddled not with before, may he not
use these
means to attain his end, and yet be a right honest man?
Mr. Money-love.
I see the bottom of your question; and, with these
gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavour to shape you an
answer.
And first, to speak to your question as it concerns a minister
himself: Suppose a minister, a worthy man, possessed
but of a very small benefice, and has in his eye a greater, more fat, and plump by far; he has also now an opportunity of getting of it,
yet so as by being more studious, by preaching more frequently and zealously, and, because the temper of the people requires it,
by
altering of some
of his principles; for my part, I see no reason but a man may
do this, (provided he has a call,) ay, and more a great
deal
besides, and yet be an honest man. For why --
1. His
desire of a greater benefice is lawful, (this cannot be contradicted,)
since it is set before him by Providence; so
then, he
may get it, if he can, making no question for conscience'
sake.
2.
Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him more studious,
a more zealous preacher, &c., and so makes him a
better
man; yea, makes him better improve his parts, which is according
to the mind of God.
3. Now,
as for his complying with the temper of his people, by dissenting,
to serve them, some of his principles, this argueth
-- (1.)
That he is of a self-denying, temper; (2.) Of a sweet and
winning deportment; and so (3.) More fit for the ministerial function.
4. I
conclude, then, that a minister that changes a small for a great,
should not, for so doing, be judged as covetous; but
rather,
since he has improved in his parts and industry thereby, be
counted as one that pursues his call, and the opportunity put
into his
hands to do good. And now
to the second part of the question, which concerns the
tradesman
you mentioned. Suppose such a one to have but a poor employ in
the world, but by becoming religious, he may mend his
market,
perhaps get a rich wife, or more and far better customers to his shop; for my
part, I see no reason but that
this may
be lawfully done. For why --
1. To become
religious is a virtue, by what means soever a man becomes
so.
2. Nor is
it unlawful to get a rich wife, or more custom to myshop.
3.
Besides, the man that gets these by becoming religious, gets that
which is good, of them that are good, by becoming good
himself;
so then here is a good wife, and good customers, and good
gain, and all these by becoming religious, which is good;
therefore,
to become religious, to get all these, is a good and profitable
design.
This
answer, thus made by this Mr. Money-love to Mr. By-ends's question,
was highly applauded by them all; wherefore they
concluded
upon the whole, that it was most wholesome and advantageous.
And because, as they thought, no man was able to
contradict
it, and because Christian and Hopeful were yet within call,
they jointly agreed to assault them with the question as
soon as they overtook them; and the rather because they had opposed Mr. By-ends before. So they called after them, and they stopped,
and stood
still till they came up to them; but they concluded,
as they went, that not Mr. By-ends, but old Mr.
Hold-the-world,
should propound the question to them, because, as they
supposed, their answer to him would be without the
remainder
of that heat that was kindled betwixt Mr. By-ends and them, at
their parting a little before.
So they
came up to each other, and after a short salutation, Mr. Hold-the-world
propounded the question to Christian and his
fellow,
and bid them to answer it if they could.
Chr. Then
said Christian, Even a babe in religion may answer ten thousand
such questions. For if it be unlaw-
ful to
follow Christ for loaves, (as it is in the sixth of John,)
how much more abominable is it to make of him and
religion
a stalking-horse to get and enjoy the world! Nor do we find any
other than heathens, hypocrites, devils, and witches,
that are
of this opinion.
1.
Heathens; for when Hamor and Shechem had a mind to the daughter
and cattle of Jacob, and saw that there was no way for
them to
come at them, but by becoming circumcised, they say to their
companions, If every male of us be circumcised, as they
are
circumcised, shall not their cattle, and their substance, and every
beast of theirs, be ours? Their daughter and their
cattle were
that which they sought to obtain, and their religion the
stalking-horse they made use of to come at them. Read the
whole
story, Gen. xxxiv. 20-23.
2. The
hypocritical Pharisees were also of this religion; long prayers
were their pretence, but to get widows' houses was their
intent;
and greater damnation was from God their judgment.
3. Judas
the devil was also of this religion; he was religious for the
bag, that he might be possessed of what was therein; but
he was
lost, cast away, and the very son of perdition.
4. Simon
the witch was of this religion too; for he would have had the
Holy Ghost, that he might have got money therewith; and
his
sentence from Peter's mouth was according.
5.
Neither will it out of my mind, but that that man that takes up religion
for the world, will throw away religion for the
world;
for so surely as Judas resigned the world in becoming religious,
so surely did he also sell religion and his Master
for the
same. To answer the ques- tion,
therefore, affirmatively, as I perceive you have done, and
to accept
of, as authentic, such answer, is both heathenish, hypocritical,
and devilish; and your reward will be according to
your
works. Then they stood staring one upon another, but had not wherewith
to answer Christian. Hopeful also approved of the
soundness
of Christian's answer; so there was a great silence among
them. Mr. By-ends and his company also staggered and kept
behind,
that Christian and Hopeful might outgo them. Then said Christian
to his fellow, If these men cannot stand before the
sentence
of men, what will they do with the sentence of God? And if they are mute when
dealt with by vessels of clay, what will
they do
when they shall be rebuked by the flames of a devouring fire?
Then
Christian and Hopeful outwent them again, and went till they came
to a delicate plain called Ease, where they went with
much
content; but that plain was but narrow, so they were
quickly got
over it. Now at the further side of that plain was
a little
hill called Lucre, and in that hill a silver mine, which
some of them that had formerly gone that way, because of
the
rarity of it, had turned aside to see; but going too near the brink
of the pit, the ground being deceitful under them,
broke,
and they were slain; some also had been maimed there, and could
not, to their dying day, be their own men again.
Then I
saw in my dream, that a little off the road, over against the
silver mine, stood Demas (gentlemanlike) to call to
passengers
to come and see; who said to Christian and his fellow,
Ho! turn aside hither, and I will shew you a thing.
Chr. What
thing so deserving as to turn us out of the way to see it?
Demas.
Here is a silver mine, and some digging in it for treasure.
If you will come, with a little pains you may richly
provide for yourselves.
Hope.
Then said Hopeful, Let us go see.
Chr. Not
I, said Christian, I have heard of this place before now; and
how many have there been slain; and besides that,
treasure
is a snare to those that seek it; for it hindereth them in their
pilgrimage. Then Christian called to Demas, saying, Is
not the
place dangerous? Hath it not hindered many in their pilgrimage?
Demas.
Not very dangerous, except to those that are careless, (but
withal he blushed as he spake).
Chr. Then
said Christian to Hopeful, Let us not stir a step, but still
keep on our way.
Hope. I
will warrant you, when By-ends comes up, if he hath the
same
invitation as we, he will turn in thither to see.
Chr. No doubt
thereof, for his principles lead him that way, and a hundred
to one but he dies there.
Demas.
Then Demas called again, saying, But will you not come over and
see?
Chr. Then
Christian roundly answered, saying, Demas, thou art an enemy to
the right ways of the Lord of this way, and hast been
already
condemned for thine own turning aside, by one of His Majesty's
judges; and why seekest thou to bring us into the like
condemnation?
Besides, if we at all turn aside, our Lord and King will
certainly hear thereof, and will there put us to
shame,
where we would stand with boldness before him.
Demas
cried again, that he also was one of their fraternity; and that if
they would tarry a little, he also himself would walk
with
them.
Chr. Then
said Christian, What is thy name? Is it not the same by the
which I have called thee?
Demas.
Yes, my name is Demas; I am the son of Abraham.
Chr. I
know you; Gehazi was your great-grandfather, and Judas your
father; and you have trod in their steps. It is but a
devilish
prank that thou usest; thy father was hanged for a traitor,
and thou deservest no better reward. Assure thyself,
that when
we come to the King, we will do him word of this thy behaviour.
Thus they went their way.
By this
time By-ends and his companions were come again within sight,
and they, at the first beck, went over to Demas. Now,
whether
they fell into the pit by looking over the brink thereof,
or whether they went down to dig, or whether they were
smothered
in the bottom by the damps that commonly arise, of these
things I am not certain; but this I observed, that they
never
were seen again in the way. Then sang Christian --
By-ends and silver Demas both agree; One calls, the other runs, that he may
be
A sharer in his lucre; so these do Take up in this world, and no further
go.
Now I saw
that, just on the other side of this plain, the pilgrims
came to a place where stood an old monument, hard by
the
highway side, at the sight of which they were both concerned,
because of the strangeness of the form thereof; for
it seemed
to them as if it had been a woman transformed into the shape of a pillar;
here, therefore they stood looking, and
looking upon it, but could not for a time tell what they should make thereof. At last Hopeful espied written above the head thereof,
a writing in an unusual hand; but he being no scholar, called to Christian (for he was learned) to see if he could pick out the meaning;
so he came, and
after a little laying of letters together, he found the same
to be this, Remember Lot's Wife. So he read it to his
fellow;
after which they both concluded that that was the pillar of salt
into which Lot's wife was turned, for her looking back
with a
covetous heart, when she was going from Sodom for safety. Which
sudden and amazing sight gave them occasion of this
discourse.
Chr. Ah,
my brother! this is a seasonable sight; it came opportunely
to us after the invitation which Demas gave us to
come over
to view the Hill Lucre; and had we gone over, as he desired
us, and as thou wast inclining to do, my brother, we
had, for
aught I know, been made ourselves like this woman, a spectacle
for those that shall come after to behold.
Hope. I
am sorry that I was so foolish, and am made to wonder that I am
not now as Lot's wife; for wherein was the difference
betwixt
her sin and mine? She only looked back; and I had a desire to
go see. Let grace be adored, and let me be ashamed
that ever
such a thing should be in mine heart.
Chr. Let
us take notice of what we see here, for our help for time to
come. This woman escaped one judgment, for she fell not
by the
destruction of Sodom; yet she was destroyed by another, as we see
she is turned into a pillar of salt.
Hope. True;
and she may be to us both caution and example; caution,
that we should shun her sin; or a sign
of what
judgment will overtake such as shall not be prevented by this
caution; so Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, with the two hundred
and fifty
men that perished in their sin, did also become a sign or
example to others to beware. But above all, I muse at one
thing, to
wit, how Demas and his fellows can stand so confidently
yonder to look for that treasure, which this woman,
but for looking
behind her after, (for we read not that she stepped
one foot out of the way) was turned into a pillar of
salt;
especially since the judgment which overtook her did make her an
example, within sight of where they are; for they cannot
choose
but see her, did they but lift up their eyes.
Chr. It
is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth that their hearts
are grown desperate in the case; and I cannot tell who to
compare
them to so fitly, as to them that pick pockets in the presence
of the judge, or that will cut purses under the
gallows.
It is said of the men of Sodom, that they were sinners exceedingly,
because they were sinners before the Lord, that is,
in his
eyesight, and notwithstanding the kindnesses that he had shewed
them; for the land of Sodom was now like the garden of
Eden
heretofore. This, therefore, provoked him the more to jealousy,
and made their plague as hot as the fire of the Lord
out of
heaven could make it. And it is most rationally to be concluded,
that such, even such as these are, that shall sin in
the
sight, yea, and that too in despite of such examples that are set
continually before them, to caution them to the
contrary,
must be partakers of severest judgments.
Hope.
Doubtless thou hast said the truth; but what a mercy is it that
neither thou, but especially I, am not made myself this
example!
This ministereth occasion to us to
thank God, to fear before him, and always to remember Lot's
wife.
I saw,
then, that they went on their way to a pleasant river; which
David the king called the river of God, but John, the
river of
the water of life. Now their way lay just upon the bank of the
river; here, therefore, Christian and his companion
walked
with great delight; they drank also of the water of the river,
which was pleasant, and enlivening to their weary
spirits;
besides, on the banks of this river, on either side, were green trees, that
bore all manner of fruit; and the leaves
of the
trees were good for medicine; with the fruit of these trees
they were also much delighted; and the leaves they eat to
prevent
surfeits, and other diseases that are incident to those that heat
their blood by travels. On either side of the river
was also
a meadow, curiously beautified with lilies, and it was green all
the year long. In this meadow they lay down, and
slept;
for here they might lie down safely. When they awoke, they
gathered again of the fruit of the trees, and drank again
of the
water of the river, and then lay down again to sleep. Thus they
did several days and nights. Then they sang --
Behold ye how these crystal streams do
glide, To comfort pilgrims by the highway
side;
The meadows green, beside their
fragrant smell, Yield dainties for them; and he that
can tell
What pleasant fruit, yea, leaves, these
trees do yield, Will soon sell all, that he may buy
this field.
So when
they were disposed to go on, (for they were not, as yet, at their
journey's end,) they ate and drank, and departed.
a little
sorry; yet they durst not go out of the way. Now the way from
the river was rough, and their feet tender, by reason
of their
travels; so the souls of the pilgrims were much discouraged
because of the way. Wherefore, still as they went
on, they
wished for better way. Now, a little before them, there was on
the left hand of the road a meadow, and a stile to go
over into
it; and that meadow is called By-path Meadow. Then said
Christian to his fellow, If this meadow lieth along by our
wayside,
let us go over into it. Then he went to the stile to see, and
behold, a path lay along by the way, on the other side
of the fence.
It is according to my wish, said Christian. Here is the
easiest going; come, good Hopeful, and let us go over.
Hope. But
how if this path should lead us out of the way?
Chr. That
is not like, said the other. Look, doth it not go along by
the wayside? So Hopeful, being persuaded by his fellow,
went
after him over the stile. When they were gone over, and were got
into the path, they found it very easy for their feet;
and
withal, they, looking before them, espied a man walking as they did,
(and his name was Vain-confidence;) so they called
after
him, and asked him whither that way led. He said, To the Celestial
Gate. Look, said Christian, did not I tell you so? By
this you
may see we are right. So they followed, and he went before
them. But, behold, the night came on, and it grew very
dark; so
that they that were behind lost the sight of him that went
before.
He,
therefore, that went before, (Vain-confidence by name,)
not seeing the way before him, fell into a deep pit,
which was
on purpose there made, by the Prince of those grounds, to catch
vain-glorious fools withal, and was dashed in pieces
with his
fall.
Now
Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they called to know the
matter, but there was none to answer, only they heard
a
groaning. Then said Hopeful, Where are we now? Then was his fellow
silent, as mistrusting that he had led him out of the
way; and
now it began to rain, and thunder, and lighten in a very
dreadful manner; and the water rose amain.
Then
Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, Oh, that I had kept on my way!
Chr. Who
could have thought that this path should have led us out of
the way?
Hope. I
was afraid on it at the very first, and therefore gave you that
gentle caution. I would have spoken plainer, but that
you are
older than I.
Chr. Good
brother, be not offended; I am sorry I have brought thee out
of the way, and that I have put thee into such imminent
danger;
pray, my brother, forgive me; I did not do it of an evil intent.
Hope. Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee; and believe, too, that this shall be for our good.
Chr. I am
glad I have with me a merciful brother; but we must not stand
thus: let us try to go back again.
Hope.
But, good brother, let me go before.
Chr. No,
if you please, let me go first, that if there be any danger, I
may be first therein, because by my means we are both
gone out
of the way.
Hope. No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first; for your mind being troubled may lead you out of the way again. Then,
for their
encouragement, they heard the voice of one
saying, Set thine heart toward the highway, even the way
which
thou wentest; turn again. But by this time the waters were greatly
risen, by reason of which the way of going back was very
dangerous.
(Then I thought that it is easier going out of the way, when
we are in, than going in when we are out.) Yet they
adventured
to go back, but it was so dark, and the flood was so high,
that in their going back they had like to have been
drowned nine
or ten times.
Neither
could they, with all the skill they had, get again to the stile
that night. Wherefore, at last, lighting under a
little
shelter, they sat down there until the daybreak; but, being
weary, they fell asleep. Now there was, not far from the
place
where they lay, a castle called Doubting Castle, the owner whereof
was Giant Despair; and it was in his grounds they now
were
sleeping: wherefore he, getting up in the morning early, and
walking up and down in his fields, caught Christian and
Hopeful
asleep in his grounds. Then, with a grim and surly voice, he
bid them awake; and asked them whence they were, and
what they
did in his grounds. They told him they were pilgrims, and that
they had lost their way. Then said the Giant, You have
this
night trespassed on me, by trampling in and lying on my grounds,
and therefore you must go along with me. So they were
forced to
go, because he was stronger than they. They also had but
little to say, for they knew themselves in a fault. The
Giant,
therefore, drove them before him, and put them into his castle,
into a very dark dungeon, nasty and stinking to the
spirits of these two men. Here, then, they lay from Wednesday morning till Saturday night, without one bit of bread, or drop of drink,
or light, or any to ask how they did; they were, therefore, here in evil case, and were far from friends and acquaintance.
Now in
this place Christian had double sorrow,
because it was through his unadvised counsel that they were
brought into this distress.
The pilgrims now, to gratify the flesh, Will seek its ease; but oh! how they
afresh
Do thereby plunge themselves new griefs
into! Who seek to please the flesh,
themselves undo.
Now,
Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence. So when he
was gone to bed, he told his wife what he had done; to
wit, that
he had taken a couple of prisoners and cast them into his
dungeon, for trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her
also what
he had best to do further to them. So she asked him what they
were, whence they came, and whither they were bound;
and he
told her. Then she counselled him that when he arose in the
morning he should beat them without any mercy. So, when he
arose, he
getteth him a grievous crab-tree cudgel, and goes down into the
dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating of
them as
if they were dogs, although they never gave him a word of
distaste. Then he falls upon them, and beats them fearfully,
in such sort
that they were not able to help themselves, or to turn them
upon the floor. This done, he withdraws and leaves
them
there to condole their misery and to mourn under their distress.
So all that day they spent the time in nothing but
sighs and bitter lamentations. The next night, she, talking with her husband about them further, and understanding they were yet alive,
did advise
him to counsel them to make away
themselves. So when morning was come, he goes to them
in a surly manner as before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the stripes that he had given them the day before,
he told
them, that since they were never like to come out of that place, their
only way would be forthwith to make an end of themselves,
either
with knife, halter, or poison, for why, said he, should you
choose life, seeing it is attended with so much bitterness?
But they
desired him to let them go. With that he looked ugly upon
them, and, rushing to them, had doubtless made an end of
them
himself, but that he fell into one of his fits, (for he sometimes,
in sunshiny weather, fell into fits,) and lost for a
time the
use of his hand; wherefore he withdrew, and left them as
before, to consider what to do. Then did the prisoners
consult between themselves whether it was best to take his counsel or no; and thus they began to discourse: --
Chr.
Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The life that we now live
is miserable. For my part I know not whether is best,
to live
thus, or to die out of hand. My soul chooseth strangling rather
than life, and the grave is more easy for me than this
dungeon.
Shall we be ruled by the Giant?
Hope.
Indeed, our present condition is dreadful, and death would be far
more welcome to me than thus for ever to abide; but yet,
let us
consider, the Lord of the country to which we are going hath
said, Thou shalt do no murder: no, not to another man's
person;
much more, then, are we forbidden to take his counsel to kill
ourselves. Besides, he that kills another, can but commit
murder
upon his body; but for one to kill himself is to kill body
and soul at once. And, moreover, my brother, thou
talkest
of ease in the grave; but hast thou forgotten the hell, whither
for certain the murderers go? For no murderer hath
eternal
life, &c. And let us consider, again, that all the law is not in
the hand of Giant Despair. Others, so far as I can
understand,
have been taken by him, as well as we; and yet have escaped
out of his hand. Who knows, but the God that made the
world may
cause that Giant Despair may die? or that, at some time or
other, he may forget to lock us in? or that he may, in
a short
time, have another of his fits before us, and may lose the use
of his limbs? and if ever that should come to pass
again, for
my part, I am resolved to pluck up the heart of a man, and
to try my utmost to get from under his hand. I was a
fool that
I did not try to do it before; but, however, my brother,
let us be patient, and endure a while. The time may
come that
may give us a happy release; but let us not be our own murderers.
With these words Hopeful at present did moderate the
mind of
his brother; so they continued together (in the dark) that day,
in their sad and doleful condition.
Well,
towards evening, the Giant goes down into the dungeon again, to
see if his prisoners had taken his counsel; but when
he came
there he found them alive; and truly, alive was all; for now, what
for want of bread and water, and by reason of the
wounds
they received when he beat them, they could do little but breathe.
But, I say, he found them alive; at which he fell into
a
grievous rage, and told them that, seeing they had disobeyed his
counsel, it should be worse with them than if they had never
been
born.
At this
they trembled greatly, and I think that Christian fell
into a swoon; but, coming a little to himself again,
they
renewed their discourse about the Giant's counsel; and whether
yet they had best to take it or no. Now Christian again
seemed to
be for doing it, but Hopeful made his second reply as followeth:
--
Hope. My
brother, said he, rememberest thou not how valiant thou hast been
heretofore? Apollyon could not crush thee, nor could
all that
thou didst hear, or see, or feel, in the Valley of the Shadow of
Death. What hardship, terror, and amazement hast thou
already
gone through! And art thou now nothing but fear! Thou seest
that I am in the dungeon with thee, a far weaker man by
nature
than thou art; also, this Giant has wounded me as well as thee, and
hath also cut off the bread and water from my mouth;
and with
thee I mourn without the light. But let us exercise a little more patience;
remember how thou playedst the man at
Vanity
Fair, and wast neither afraid of the chain, nor cage, nor yet of
bloody death. Wherefore let us (at least to avoid the
shame,
that becomes not a Christian to be found in) bear up with patience
as well as we can.
Now,
night being come again, and the Giant and his wife being in bed, she
asked him concerning the prisoners, and if they had
taken his
counsel. To which he replied, They are sturdy rogues, they
choose rather to bear all hardship, than to make away
themselves.
Then said she, Take them into the castle-yard to-morrow,
and shew them the bones and skulls of those that thou
hast
already despatched, and make them believe, ere a week comes to an
end, thou also wilt tear them in pieces, as thou hast done
their fellows before them.
So when
the morning was come, the Giant goes to them
again, and takes them into the castle-yard, and shews them,
as his
wife had bidden him. These, said he, were pilgrims as you are,
once, and they trespassed in my grounds, as you have done;
and when
I thought fit, I tore them in pieces, and so, within ten days,
I will do you. Go, get you down to your den again; and
with that
he beat them all the way thither. They lay, therefore, all day
on Saturday in a lamentable case, as before. Now, when
night was
come, and when Mrs. Diffidence and her husband, the Giant,
were got to bed, they began to renew their discourse of
their
prisoners; and withal the old Giant wondered, that he could
neither by his blows nor his counsel bring them to an end.
And with
that his wife replied, I fear, said she, that they live in hope
that some will come to relieve them, or that they have
picklocks
about them, by the means of which they hope to escape. And
sayest thou so, my dear? said the Giant; I will, therefore,
search
them in the morning.
Well, on Saturday,
about midnight, they began to pray, and continued
in prayer till almost break of day.
Now, a
little before it was day, good Christian, as one half amazed, brake out in
this passionate speech: -- What a fool,
quoth he,
am I, thus to lie in a stinking dungeon, when I may as well walk
at liberty! I have a key in my bosom, called Promise,
that
will, I am persuaded, open any lock in Doubting Castle. Then said
Hopeful, That is good news, good brother; pluck it out
of thy
bosom, and try.
Then
Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at the
dungeon door, whose bolt (as he turned the key) gave back,
and the door flew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both came out.
Then he went to the outward door that leads into the castle-yard, and, with his key, opened that door also. After,
he went to the iron gate, for that must be opened too; but that lock went damnable hard, yet the key did open it.
Then they
thrust open the gate to make their
escape with speed, but that gate, as it opened, made such
a
creaking, that it waked Giant Despair, who, hastily rising to pursue
his prisoners, felt his limbs to fail, for his fits took
him
again, so that he could by no means go after them. Then they went on, and
came to the King's highway, and so were safe,
because
they were out of his jurisdiction.
Now, when
they were over the stile, they began to contrive with themselves
what they should do at that stile to prevent those
that
should come after from falling into the hands of Giant Despair.
So they consented to erect there a pillar, and to
engrave
upon the side thereof this sentence -- 'Over this stile is the
way to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair,
who
despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, and seeks to destroy
his holy pilgrims.' Many, therefore, that followed after
read what
was written, and escaped the danger. This done, they sang as
follows: --
Out of the way we went, and then we
found What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground;
And let them that come after have a
care, Lest heedlessness makes them, as we, to
fare.
Lest they for trespassing his prisoners
are, Whose castle's Doubting, and whose
name's Despair.
They went
then till they came to the Delectable Mountains, which mountains
belong to the Lord of that hill of
which we
have spoken before; so they went up to the mountains, to behold
the gardens and orchards, the vineyards and fountains
of water;
where also they drank and washed themselves, and did freely
eat of the vineyards. Now there were on the tops of these
mountains
Shepherds feeding their flocks, and they stood by the highway
side. The Pilgrims therefore went to them, and leaning
upon
their staves, (as is common with weary pilgrims when they stand to
talk with any by the way,) they asked, Whose Delectable
Mountains
are these? And whose be the sheep that feed upon them?
Mountains delectable they now ascend, Where Shepherds be, which to them do
commend
Alluring things, and things that
cautious are, Pilgrims are steady kept by faith and
fear.
Shep.
These mountains are Immanuel's Land, and they are within sight of
his city; and the sheep also are his, and he laid down
his life
for them.
Chr. Is
this the way to the Celestial City?
Shep. You
are just in your way.
Chr. How
far is it thither?
Shep. Too
far for any but those that shall get thither indeed.
Chr. Is
the way safe or dangerous?
Shep. Safe
for those for whom it is to be safe; but the transgressors
shall fall therein.
Chr. Is
there, in this place, any relief for pilgrims that are weary and
faint in the way?
Shep. The
Lord of these mountains hath given us a charge not to be
forgetful to entertain strangers, therefore the good of the
place is
before you.
I saw
also in my dream, that when the Shepherds perceived that they were
wayfaring men, they also put questions to them, to
which
they made answer as in other places; as, Whence came you? and, How
got you into the way? and, By what means have you so
persevered
therein? For but few of them that begin to come hither do
shew their face on these mountains. But when the
Shepherds
heard their answers, being pleased therewith, they looked very
lovingly upon them, and said, Welcome to the
Delectable
Mountains.
The
Shepherds, I say, whose names were Knowledge, Experience, Watchful,
and Sincere, took them by the hand, and had them to
their
tents, and made them partake of that which was ready at present.
They said, moreover, We would that ye should stay here
awhile,
to be acquainted with us; and yet more to solace yourselves
with the good of these Delectable Mountains. They
then told
them, that they were content to stay; so they went to their rest
that night, because it was very late.
Then I
saw in my dream, that in the morning the Shepherds called up to
Christian and Hopeful to walk with them upon the
mountains;
so they went forth with them, and walked a while, having a
pleasant prospect on every side. Then said the
Shepherds
one to another, Shall we shew these pilgrims some wonders?
So when they had concluded to do it, they had them
first to
the top of a hill called Error, which was very steep on the
furthest side, and bid them look down to the bottom. So
Christian
and Hopeful looked down, and saw at the bottom several men
dashed all to pieces by a fall that they had from the top.
Then said Christian, What meaneth this? The Shepherds answered, Have you not heard of them that were made to err by hearkening
to Hymeneus and Philetus as concerning the faith of the resurrection of the body? They answered, Yes. Then said the Shepherds,
Those that you see lie dashed in pieces at the bottom of this mountain are they; and they have continued to this day unburied,
as you
see, for an example to others to take heed how
they clamber too high, or how they come too near the brink of
this mountain.
Then I
saw that they had them to the top of another mountain, and the name of that is
Caution, and bid them look afar off;
which, when they did, they perceived, as they thought, several men walking up and down among the tombs that were there;
and they
perceived that the men were blind, because they stumbled sometimes
upon the tombs, and because they could not get out
from
among them. Then said Christian, What means this?
The
Shepherds then answered, Did you not see a little below these
mountains a stile, that led into a meadow, on the left
hand of
this way? They answered, Yes. Then said the Shepherds, From that
stile there goes a path that leads directly to
Doubting
Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair, and these, pointing
to them among the tombs, came once on pilgrimage, as
you do
now, even till they came to that same stile; and because the right
way was rough in that place, they chose to go out of
it into
that meadow, and there were taken by Giant Despair, and cast into
Doubting Castle; where, after they had been a while
kept in
the dungeon, he at last did put out their eyes, and led them
among those tombs, where he has left them to wander to this
very day,
that the saying of the wise man might be fulfilled, He that wandereth out of the way of understanding, shall remain in
the congregation of the dead. Then Christian and Hopeful looked upon one another, with tears gushing out, but yet said nothing
to the
Shepherds.
Then I
saw in my dream, that the Shepherds had them to another place, in
a bottom, where was a door in the side of a hill, and
they
opened the door, and bid them look in. They looked in, therefore,
and saw that within it was very dark and smoky; they
also
thought that they heard there a rumbling noise as of fire, and a cry
of some tormented, and that they smelt the scent of
brimstone.
Then said Christian, What means this? The Shepherds told
them, This is a by-way to hell, a way that hypocrites go in
at;
namely, such as sell their birthright, with Esau; such as sell
their master, with Judas; such as blaspheme the gospel,
with
Alexander; and that lie and dissemble, with Ananias and Sapphira
his wife. Then said Hopeful to the Shepherds, I
perceive
that these had on them, even every one, a show of pilgrimage,
as we have now; had they not?
Shep.
Yes, and held it a long time too.
Hope. How
far might they go on in pilgrimage in their day, since they
notwithstanding were thus miserably cast away?
Shep.
Some further, and some not so far, as these mountains.
Then said
the Pilgrims one to another, We have need to cry to the
Strong for strength.
Shep. Ay,
and you will have need to use it, when you have it, too.
By this
time the Pilgrims had a desire to go forward, and the Shepherds
a desire they should; so they walked together towards
the end of the mountains.
Then said the Shepherds one to another, Let us here shew to the Pilgrims the gates of the Celestial City, if they have skill
to look through our perspective glass. The Pilgrims then lovingly accepted the motion; so they had them to the top of a high hill,
called Clear,
and gave them their glass to look.
Then they
essayed to look, but the remembrance of that last thing
that the Shepherds had shewn them, made their hands shake;
by means
of which impediment, they could not look steadily through
the glass; yet they thought they saw something like the
gate, and
also some of the glory of the place. Then they went away, and
sang this song --
Thus, by the Shepherds, secrets are
reveal'd,
Which from all other men are kept
conceal'd.
Come to the Shepherds, then, if you
would see
Things deep, things hid, and that mysterious
be.
When they
were about to depart, one of the Shepherds gave them a note of
the way. Another of them bid them beware of the
Flatterer.
The third bid them take heed that they sleep not upon the
Enchanted Ground. And the fourth bid them God-speed. So I
awoke
from my dream.
And I
slept, and dreamed again, and saw the same two Pilgrims going
down the mountains along the highway towards the city.
Now, a little below these mountains, on the left hand, lieth the country of Conceit; from which country there comes into the way in
which the
Pilgrims walked, a little crooked lane. Here, therefore, they met with a very
brisk lad, that came out of that
country;
and his name was Ignorance. So Christian asked him from what
parts he came, and whither he was going.
Ignor.
Sir, I was born in the country that lieth off there a little on the left hand,
and I am going to the Celestial City.
Chr. But
how do you think to get in at the gate? for you may find some
difficulty there.
Ignor. As
other people do, said he.
Chr. But
what have you to shew at that gate, that may cause that the gate
should be opened to you?
Ignor. I
know my Lord's will, and I have been a good liver; I pay every
man his own; I pray, fast, pay tithes, and give alms,
and have
left my country for whither I am going.
Chr. But
thou camest not in at the wicket-gate that is at the head of
this way; thou camest in hither through that same
crooked
lane, and therefore, I fear, however thou mayest think of thyself,
when the reckoning day shall come, thou wilt have
laid to
thy charge that thou art a thief and a robber, instead of
getting admittance into the city.
Ignor.
Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me, I know you not; be
content and follow the religion of your country, and I will
follow
the religion of mine. I hope all will be well. And as for the gate
that you talk of, all the world knows that that is a
great way
off of our country. I cannot think that any man in all our parts
doth so much as know the way to it, nor need they
matter
whether they do or no, since we have, as you see, a fine, pleasant
green lane, that comes down from our country, the next
way into
the way.
When
Christian saw that the man was wise in his own conceit, he said to
Hopeful, whisperingly, There is more hope of a fool than
of him. And said, moreover, When he that is a fool walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saith to every one that
he is a fool. What, shall we talk further with him, or out-go him at present, and so leave him to think of what he hath heard already,
and then
stop again for him afterwards,
and see if by degrees we can do any good to him?
Then said
Hopeful --
Let Ignorance a little while now muse On what is said, and let him not refuse
Good counsel to embrace, lest he remain Still ignorant of what's the chiefest
gain.
God saith, those that no understanding
have, Although he made them, them he will not
save.
Hope. He
further added, It is not good, I think, to say all to him at
once; let us pass him by, if you will, and talk to him
anon,
even as he is able to bear it.
So they
both went on, and Ignorance he came after. Now when they had
passed him a little way, they entered into a very dark lane,
where
they met a man whom seven devils had bound with seven strong
cords, and were carrying of him back to the door that
they saw
on the side of the hill. Now good Christian began to tremble,
and so did Hopeful his companion; yet as the devils led
away the
man, Christian looked to see if he knew him; and he thought
it might be one Turn-away, that dwelt in the town of
Apostasy.
But he did not perfectly see his face, for he did hang his head like
a thief that is found. But being once past,
Hopeful
looked after him, and espied on his back a paper with this
inscription, Wanton professor and damnable apostate. Then
said Christian to his fellow, Now I call to remembrance, that which was told me of a thing that happened to a good man hereabout.
The name of the man was Little-faith, but a good man, and he dwelt in the town of Sincere. The thing was this: --
At the entering in at this passage, there comes down from Broad-way Gate, a lane called Dead Man's Lane; so called because
of the murders that are commonly done there; and this Little-faith going on pilgrimage, as we do now, chanced to sit down there,
and slept. Now there happened, at that time, to come down the lane, from Broad-way Gate, three sturdy rogues,
and their names were Faint-heart, Mistrust, and Guilt, (three brothers,) and they espying Little-faith,
where he
was, came galloping up with speed. Now the good
man was just awake from his sleep, and was getting up
to go on
his journey. So they came up all to him, and with threatening
language bid him stand. At this Little-faith looked
as white
as a clout, and had neither power to fight nor fly. Then said
Faint-heart, Deliver thy purse. But he making no haste
to do it (for
he was loath to lose his money,) Mistrust ran up to him,
and thrusting his hand into his pocket, pulled out
thence a
bag of silver. Then he cried out, Thieves! Thieves! With that
Guilt, with a great club that was in his hand, struck
Little-faith
on the head, and with that blow felled him flat to the
ground, where he lay bleeding as one that would bleed to
death.
All this while the thieves stood by. But, at last, they hearing
that some were upon the road, and fearing lest it should
be one
Great-grace, that dwells in the city of Good-confidence, they
betook themselves to their heels, and left this good man to
shift for
himself. Now, after a while, Little-faith came to himself,
and getting up, made shift to scrabble on his way. This
was the
story.
Hope. But
did they take from him all that ever he had?
Chr. No;
the place where his jewels were they never ransacked, so those
he kept still. But, as I was told, the good man was
much
afflicted for his loss, for the thieves got most of his spending-money.
That which they got not (as I said) were jewels,
also he
had a little odd money left, but scarce enough to bring him to his journey's
end; nay, if I was not misinformed, he was
forced to
beg as he went, to keep himself alive; for his jewels he might not
sell. But beg, and do what he could, he went (as we
say) with
many a hungry belly the most part of the rest of the way.
Hope. But
is it not a wonder they got not from him his certificate,
by which he was to receive his admittance at the
Celestial
Gate?
Chr. It
is a wonder; but they got not that, though they missed it not
through any good cunning of his; for he, being dismayed
with
their coming upon him, had neither power nor skill to hide anything;
so it was more by good Providence than by his
endeavour,
that they missed of that good thing.
Hope. But
it must needs be a comfort to him, that they got not his
jewels from him.
Chr. It
might have been great comfort to him, had he used it as he
should; but they that told me the story said, that he made
but
little use of it all the rest of the way, and that because of the
dismay that he had in the taking away his money; indeed,
he forgot
it a great part of the rest of his journey; and besides,
when at any time it came into his mind, and he began to
be comforted
therewith, then
would fresh thoughts of his loss come again upon him, and those
thoughts would swallow up all.
Hope.
Alas! poor man! This could not but be a great grief to him.
Chr.
Grief! ay, a grief indeed. Would it not have been so to any of us,
had we been used as he, to be robbed, and wounded too,
and that
in a strange place, as he was? It is a wonder he did not die
with grief, poor heart! I was told that he scattered
almost
all the rest of the way with nothing but doleful and bitter
complaints; telling also to all that overtook him, or
that he
overtook in the way as he went, where he was robbed, and how; who
they were that did it, and what he lost; how he was
wounded,
and that he hardly escaped with his life.
Hope. But
it is a wonder that his necessity did not put him upon selling
or pawning some of his jewels, that he might have
wherewith
to relieve himself in his journey.
Chr. Thou
talkest like one upon whose head is the shell to this very day;
for what should he pawn them, or to whom should he
sell
them? In all that country where he was robbed, his jewels were not
accounted of; nor did he want that relief which could
from thence be administered to him. Besides, had his jewels been missing at the gate of the Celestial City, he had
(and that
he knew well enough) been excluded from an inheritance there; and that
would have been worse to him than the appearance and
villainy
of ten thousand thieves.
Hope. Why
art thou so tart, my brother? Esau sold his birthright,
and that for a mess of pottage, and that birthright
was his
greatest jewel; and if he, why might not Little-faith do so too?
Chr. Esau
did sell his birthright indeed, and so do many besides,
and by so doing exclude themselves from the chief
blessing,
as also that caitiff did; but you must put a difference
betwixt Esau and Little-faith, and also betwixt their
estates.
Esau's birthright was typical, but Little-faith's jewels
were not so; Esau's belly was his god, but Little-faith's
belly was
not so; Esau's want lay in his fleshly appetite, Little-faith's
did not so. Besides, Esau could see no further
than to
the fulfilling of his lusts; Behold, I am at the point to die,
(said he,) and what profit shall this birthright do me?
But Little-faith,
though it was his lot to have but a little faith,
was by his little faith kept from such extravagances, and
made to
see and prize his jewels more than to sell them, as Esau did his
birthright. You read not anywhere that Esau had faith,
no, not
so much as a little; therefore, no marvel if, where the flesh
only bears sway, (as it will in that man where no faith is
to
resist,) if he sells his birthright, and his soul and all, and that
to the devil of hell; for it is with such, as it is
with the
ass, who in her occasions cannot be turned away. When their
minds are set upon their lusts, they will have them
whatever
they cost. But Little-faith was of another temper, his mind was
on things divine; his livelihood was upon things that
were
spiritual, and from above; therefore, to what end should he that is
of such a temper sell his jewels (had there been any
that
would have bought them) to fill his mind with empty things? Will a
man give a penny to fill his belly with hay; or can you
persuade
the turtle-dove to live upon carrion like the crow? Though
faithless ones can, for carnal lusts, pawn, or mortgage,
or sell what they have, and themselves outright to boot; yet they that have faith, saving faith, though but a little of it,
cannot do
so. Here, therefore,
my brother, is thy mistake.
Hope. I
acknowledge it; but yet your severe reflection had almost
made me angry.
Chr. Why,
I did but compare thee to some of the birds that are of the
brisker sort, who will run to and fro in untrodden paths,
with the
shell upon their heads; but pass by that, and consider the
matter under debate, and all shall be well betwixt thee and me.
Hope.
But, Christian, these three fellows, I am persuaded in my heart,
are but a company of cowards; would they have run else,
think
you, as they did, at the noise of one that was coming on the road?
Why did not Little-faith pluck up a greater heart? He
might,
methinks, have stood one brush with them, and have yielded
when there had been no remedy.
Chr. That
they are cowards, many have said, but few have found it so in
the time of trial. As for a great heart, Little-faith
had none;
and I perceive by thee, my brother, hadst thou been the man
concerned, thou art but for a brush, and then to yield.
And,
verily, since this is the height of thy stomach, now they are at a
distance from us, should they appear to thee as they
did to
him they might put thee to second thoughts.
But,
consider again, they are but journeymen thieves, they serve under the
king of the bottomless pit, who, if need be, will come
into
their aid himself, and his voice is as the roaring of a lion. I
myself have been engaged as this Little-faith was, and
I found
it a terrible thing. These three villains set upon me, and I
beginning, like a Christian, to resist, they gave but a
call, and in came their master. I would, as the saying is, have given my life for a penny, but that, as God would have it,
I was clothed with armour of proof. Ay, and yet, though I was so harnessed, I found it hard work to quit myself like a man.
No man can
tell what in that combat attends us, but he that hath been in the battle
himself.
Hope.
Well, but they ran, you see, when they did but suppose that one
Great-grace was in the way.
Chr.
True, they have often fled, both they and their master, when
Great-grace hath but appeared; and no marvel; for he is the
King's
champion. But, I trow, you will put some difference betwixt
Little-faith and the King's champion. All the King's
subjects
are not his champions, nor can they, when tried, do such
feats of war as he. Is it meet to think that a little child
should
handle Goliath as David did? Or that there should be the strength
of an ox in a wren? Some are strong, some are weak;
some have
great faith, some have little. This man was one of the weak, and
therefore he went to the wall.
Hope. I
would it had been Great-grace for their sakes.
Chr. If
it had been, he might have had his hands full; for I must tell
you, that though Great-grace is excellent good at his
weapons,
and has, and can, so long as he keeps them at sword's point, do
well enough with them; yet, if they get within him,
even
Faint-heart, Mistrust, or the other, it shall go hard but they will
throw up his heels. And when a man is down, you know,
what can
he do?
Whoso looks well upon Great-grace's face, shall see those scars and cuts there, that shall easily give demonstration of what
say. Yea,
once I heard that he should say, (and that when he was in the
combat,) We despaired even of life. How did these sturdy
rogues and their fellows make David groan, mourn, and roar? Yea, Heman, and Hezekiah, too, though champions in their day,
were forced to bestir them, when by these assaulted; and yet, notwithstanding, they had their coats soundly brushed by them.
Peter, upon a time, would go try what he could do; but though some do say of him that he is the prince of the apostles,
they handled him so,that they
made him at last afraid of a sorry girl.
Besides,
their king is at their whistle. He is never out of hearing;
and if at any time they be put to the worst, he, if
possible,
comes in to help them; and of him it is said, The sword of
him that layeth at him cannot hold the spear, the dart,
nor the
habergeon; he esteemeth iron as straw, and brass as rotten
wood. The arrow cannot make him flee; sling stones are
turned
with him into stubble. Darts are counted as stubble: he laugheth
at the shaking of a spear. What can a man do in this
case? It
is true, if a man could, at every turn, have Job's horse,
and had skill and courage to ride him, he might do
notable
things; for his neck is clothed with thunder, he will not be
afraid of the grasshopper; the glory of his nostrils is
terrible:
he paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength,
he goeth on to meet the armed men. He mocketh at fear,
and is
not affrighted, neither turneth he back from the sword. The
quiver rattleth against him, the glittering spear, and the
shield.
He swalloweth the ground with fierceness and rage, neither believeth
he that it is the sound of the trumpet. He
saith
among the trumpets, Ha, ha! and he smelleth the battle afar off,
the thunder of the captains, and the shouting.
But for
such footmen as thee and I are, let us never desire to meet with
an enemy, nor vaunt as if we could do better, when we
hear of
others that they have been foiled,
Nor be
tickled at the thoughts of our own manhood; for such commonly
come by the worst when tried. Witness Peter, of whom I
made
mention before. He would swagger, ay, he would; he would, as his
vain mind prompted him to say, do better, and stand more
for his
Master than all men; but who so foiled, and run down by these
villains, as he?
When,
therefore, we hear that such robberies are done on the
King's
highway, two things become us to do: --
1. To go
out harnessed, and to be sure to take a shield with us; for it
was for want of that, that he that laid so lustily at
Leviathan could not make him yield; for, indeed, if that be wanting, he fears us not at all. Therefore, he that had skill hath said,
Above
all, taking the shield of faith, wherewith ye shall be
able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked.
2. It is
good, also, that we desire of the King a convoy, yea, that he will
go with us himself. This made David rejoice when in
the
Valley of the Shadow of Death; and Moses was rather for dying
where he stood, than to go one step without his God. Oh,
my
brother, if he will but go along with us, what need we be afraid of
ten thousands that shall set themselves against us?
But,
without him, the proud helpers fall under the slain.
I, for my
part, have been in the fray before now; and though, through
the goodness of him that is best, I am, as you see,
alive,
yet I cannot boast of my manhood. Glad shall I be, if I meet with
no more such brunts; though I fear we are not got
beyond
all danger. However, since the lion and the bear have not as yet
devoured me, I hope God will also deliver us from the
next
uncircumcised Philistine. Then sang Christian --
Poor Little-faith! Hast been among the
thieves?
Wast robb'd? Remember this, whoso
believes,
And gets more faith, shall then a
victor be
Over ten thousand, else scarce over
three.
So they
went on and Ignorance followed. They went then till they came at a
place where they saw a way put itself into their way,
and
seemed withal to lie as straight as the way which they should
go: and here they knew not which of the two to take, for
both seemed
straight before them; therefore, here they stood still to
consider. And as they were thinking about the way,
behold a
man, black of flesh, but covered with a very light robe,
came to them, and asked them why they stood there. They
answered
they were going to the Celestial City, but knew not which of
these ways to take. Follow me, said the man, it is
thither
that I am going. So they followed him in the way that but now
came into the road, which by degrees turned, and turned
them so
from the city that they desired to go to, that, in little
time, their faces were turned away from it; yet they
followed
him. But by and by, before they were aware, he led them both
within the compass of a net, in which they were both so
entangled
that they knew not what to do; and with that the white robe fell
off the black man's back. Then they saw where they
were.
Wherefore, there they lay crying some time, for they could not get
themselves out.
Chr. Then
said Christian to his fellow, Now do I see myself in error.
Did not the Shepherds bid us beware of the flatterers? As
is the
saying of the wise man, so we have found it this day. A man that
flattereth his neighbour, spreadeth a net for his feet.
Hope.
They also gave us a note of directions about the way, for our more sure
finding thereof; but therein we have also
forgotten
to read, and have not kept ourselves from the paths of the
destroyer. Here David was wiser than we; for saith he,
Concerning
the works of men, by the word of thy lips, I have kept me
from the paths of the destroyer. Thus they lay bewailing
themselves
in the net. At last they espied a Shining One coming towards
them with a whip of small cord in his hand. When he was
come to
the place where they were, he asked them whence they came, and
what they did there. They told him that they were poor
pilgrims
going to Zion, but were led out of their way by a black man, clothed in white,
who bid us, said they, follow him, for he
was going
thither too. Then said he with the whip, It is Flatterer,
a false apostle, that hath transformed himself into
an angel
of light. So he rent the net, and let the men out. Then said he
to them, Follow me, that I may set you in your way
again. So
he led them back to the way which they had left to follow
the Flatterer. Then he asked them, saying, Where did you
lie the
last night? They said, With the Shepherds upon the Delectable
Mountains. He asked them then if they had not of
those Shepherds a note of direction for the way.
They answered, Yes. But did you, said he, when you were at a stand, pluck out and read your note? They answered, No. He asked them,
Why? They said,
they forgot. He asked, moreover, if the Shepherds did not bid them
beware of the Flatterer? They answered, Yes, but we did
not imagine,
said they, that this fine-spoken man had been he.
Then I
saw in my dream that he commanded them to lie down; which,
when they did, he chastised them sore,
to teach
them the good way wherein they should walk; and as he chastised
them he said, As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten;
be
zealous, therefore, and repent. This done, he bid them go on their
way, and take good heed to the other directions of the
shepherds.
So they thanked him for all his kindness, and went softly
along the right way, singing --
Come hither, you that walk along the way;
See how the pilgrims fare that go
astray.
They catched are in an entangling net,
'Cause they good counsel lightly did
forget:
'Tis true they rescued were, but yet you see,
They're scourged to boot. Let this your
caution be.
Christian
to his fellow, Yonder is a man with his back towards Zion, and
he is coming to meet us.
Hope. I
see him; let us take heed to ourselves now, lest he should
prove a flatterer also. So he drew nearer and nearer, and
at last
came up unto them. His name was Atheist, and he asked them
whither they were going.
Chr. We
are going to Mount Zion.
Then
Atheist fell into a very great laughter.
Chr. What
is the meaning of your laughter?
Atheist.
I laugh to see what ignorant persons you are, to take upon you
so tedious a journey, and you are like to have nothing
but your
travel for your pains.
Chr. Why,
man, do you think we shall not be received?
Atheist.
Received! There is no such place as you dream of in all this
world.
Chr. But
there is in the world to come.
Atheist. When
I was at home in mine own country, I heard as you now
affirm, and from that hearing went out to see, and have been
seeking
this city this twenty years; but find no more of it than I did the
first day I set out.
Chr. We
have both heard and believe that there is such a place to be
found.
Atheist.
Had not I, when at home, believed, I had not come thus far to
seek; but finding none, (and yet I should, had there been
such a
place to be found, for I have gone to seek it further than
you,) I am going back again, and will seek to refresh
myself
with the things that I then cast away, for hopes of that which, I
now see, is not.
Chr. Then
said Christian to Hopeful his fellow, Is it true which this man
hath said?
Hope.
Take heed, he is one of the flatterers; remember what it hath cost
us once already for our hearkening to such kind of
fellows.
What! no Mount Zion? Did we not see, from the Delectable
Mountains the gate of the city? Also, are we not now
to walk by
faith? Let us go on, said Hopeful, lest the man with the whip
overtake us again. You should have taught me that
lesson,
which I will round you in the ears withal: Cease, my son, to
hear the instruction that causeth to err from the words
of
knowledge. I say, my brother, cease to hear him, and let us believe
to the saving of the soul.
Chr. My
brother, I did not put the question to thee for that I doubted
of the truth of our belief myself, but to prove thee,
and to
fetch from thee a fruit of the honesty of thy heart. As for this
man, I know that he is blinded by the god of this
world.
Let thee and I go on, knowing that we
have belief of the truth, and no lie is of the truth.
Hope. Now
do I rejoice in hope of the glory of God. So they turned
away from the man; and he laughing at them went his way.
I saw
then in my dream, that they went till they came into a certain
country, whose air naturally tended to make one drowsy,
if he came a stranger into it. And here Hopeful began to be very dull and heavy of sleep; wherefore he said unto Christian,
I do now
begin to grow so drowsy that I can scarcely hold up mine eyes, let
us lie down here and take one nap.
Chr. By
no means, said the other, lest sleeping, we never awake more.
Hope. Why,
my brother? Sleep is sweet to the labouring man; we may be
refreshed if we take a nap.
Chr. Do
you not remember that one of the Shepherds bid us beware of the
Enchanted Ground? He meant by that that we should beware
of
sleeping; Therefore let us not sleep, as do others, but let us watch
and be sober.
Hope. I
acknowledge myself in a fault, and had I been here alone I had by
sleeping run the danger of death. I see it is true that
the wise
man saith, Two are better than one. Hitherto hath thy company
been my mercy, and thou shalt have a good reward for thy labour.
Chr. Now
then, said Christian, to prevent drowsiness in this place,
let us fall into good discourse.
Hope.
With all my heart, said the other.
Chr.
Where shall we begin?
Hope. Where
God began with us. But do you begin, if you please.
Chr. I
will sing you first this song: --
Yea, let them learn of them, in any wise, Thus to keep ope their drowsy
slumb'ring eyes.
Saints' fellowship, if it be managed
well, Keeps them awake, and that in spite of
hell.
Chr. Then
Christian began and said, I will ask you a question. How came
you to think at first of so doing as you do now?
Hope. Do
you mean, how came I at first to look after the good of my soul?
Chr. Yes,
that is my meaning.
Hope. I
continued a great while in the delight of those things which
were seen and sold at our fair; things which, I believe
now,
would have, had I continued in them, still drowned me in perdition
and destruction.
Chr. What
things are they?
Hope. All
the treasures and riches of the world. Also, I delighted
much in rioting, revelling, drinking, swearing, lying,
uncleanness,
Sabbath-breaking, and what not, that tended to destroy
the soul. But I found at last, by hearing and
considering
of things that are divine, which indeed I heard of you, as
also of beloved Faithful that was put to death for his
faith and
good living in Vanity Fair, that the end of these things is
death. And that for these things' sake cometh the
wrath of
God upon the children of disobedience.
Chr. And
did you presently fall under the power of this conviction?
Hope. No,
I was not willing presently to know the evil of sin, nor the
damnation that follows upon the com-
mission
of it; but endeavoured, when my mind at first began to be shaken
with the Word, to shut mine eyes against the light thereof.
Chr. But what
was the cause of your carrying of it thus to the first
workings of God's blessed Spirit upon you?
Hope. The causes were --
1. I was ignorant that this was the work of
God upon me. I never thought that, by awakenings for
sin, God at first begins the conversion of a sinner.
2. Sin was yet very sweet to my flesh, and I was loath to leave it.
3. I could not tell how to part with mine old companions, theirpresence and actions were so desirable unto me.
4. The hours in which convictions were upon me were such troublesome and such heart-affrighting hours that I could not bear,
no not so
much as the
remembrance of them, upon my heart.
Chr.
Then, as it seems, sometimes you got rid of your trouble.
Hope.
Yes, verily, but it would come into my mind again, and then I
should be as bad, nay, worse, than I was before.
Chr. Why,
what was it that brought your sins to mind again?
Hope.
Many things; as,
1. If I
did but meet a good man in the streets; or,
2. If I
have heard any read in the Bible; or,
3. If mine
head did begin to ache; or,
4. If I
were told that some of my neighbours were sick; or,
5. If I
heard the bell toll for some that were dead; or,
6. If I
thought of dying myself; or,
7. If I
heard that sudden death happened to others;
8. But especially,
when I thought of myself, that I must quickly come to judgment.
Chr. And
could you at any time, with ease, get off the guilt of sin, when
by any of these ways it came upon you?
Hope. No,
not I, for then they got faster hold of my conscience; and then,
if I did but think of going back to sin, (though my
mind was
turned against it,) it would be double torment to me.
Chr. And
how did you do then?
Hope. I
thought I must endeavour to mend my life; for else, thought
I, I am sure to be damned.
Chr. And
did you endeavour to mend?
Hope.
Yes; and fled from not only my sins, but sinful company too; and
betook me to religious duties, as prayer, reading,
weeping
for sin, speaking truth to my neighbours, &c. These things
did I, with many others, too much here to relate.
Chr. And
did you think yourself well then?
Hope.
Yes, for a while; but at the last, my trouble came tumbling
upon me again, and that over the neck of all my reformations.
Chr. How
came that about, since you were now reformed?
Hope. There
were several things brought it upon me, especially such
sayings as these: All our righteousnesses are as filthy
rags. By
the works of the law shall no flesh be justified. When ye shall
have done all those things, say, We are unprofitable;
with many
more such like. From whence I began to reason with myself
thus: If ALL my righteousnesses are filthy rags; if, by
the deeds
of the law, NO man can be justified; and if, when we have done
ALL, we are yet unprofitable, then it is but a folly
to think of heaven
by the law. I further thought thus: If a man runs a hundred
pounds into the shopkeeper's debt, and after that shall
pay for
all that he shall fetch; yet, if this old debt stands still in
the book uncrossed, for that the shopkeeper may sue
him, and
cast him into prison till he shall pay the debt.
Chr.
Well, and how did you apply this to yourself? I thought thus with
myself.
Hope.
Why; I have, by my sins, run a great way into God's book, and that
my now reforming will not pay off that score; therefore
I should
think still, under all my present amendments, But how shall I
be freed from that damnation that I have brought myself
in danger
of by my former transgressions?
Chr. A
very good application: but, pray, go on.
Hope.
Another thing that hath troubled me, even since my late amendments,
is, that if I look narrowly into the best of what I
do now, I
still see sin, new sin, mixing itself with the best of that I
do; so that now I am forced to conclude, that
notwithstanding
my former fond conceits of myself and duties, I have
committed sin enough in one duty to send me to hell, though
my former
life had been faultless.
Chr. And
what did you do then?
Hope. Do!
I could not tell what to do, until I brake my mind to Faithful,
for he and I were well acquainted. And he told me,
that
unless I could obtain the righteousness of a man that never had
sinned, neither mine own, nor all the righteousness of the
world
could save me.
Chr. And
did you think he spake true?
Hope. Had
he told me so when I was pleased and satisfied with mine own
amendment, I had called him fool
for his
pains; but now, since I see mine own infirmity, and the sin that
cleaves to my best performance, I have been forced to
be of his
opinion.
Chr. But did
you think, when at first he suggested it to you, that
there was such a man to be found, of whom it might justly
be said
that he never committed sin?
Hope. I
must confess the words at first sounded strangely, but after a
little more talk and company with him, I had full
conviction
about it.
Chr. And
did you ask him what man this was, and how you must be justified
by him?
Hope.
Yes, and he told me it was the Lord Jesus, that dwelleth on the
right hand of the Most High. And thus, said he, you must
be justified
by him, even by trusting to what he hath done by himself,
in the days of his flesh, and suffered when he did hang
on the tree. I asked him further, how that man's righteousness could be of that efficacy to justify another before God?
And he
told me he was the mighty God, and did what he did, and died the death
also, not for himself, but for me; to whom his doings, and
the
worthiness of them, should be imputed, if I believed on him.
Chr. And
what did you do then?
Hope. I
made my objections against my believing, for that I thought
he was not willing to save me.
Chr. And
what said Faithful to you then?
Hope. He
bid me go to him and see. Then I said it was presumption;
but he said, No, for I was invited to come. Then he
gave me a
book of Jesus, his inditing, to encourage me the more freely to
come; and he said, concerning that book, that every
jot and tittle thereof stood firmer than heaven and earth. Then I asked him, What I must do when I came; and he told me,
I must entreat upon my knees, with all my heart and soul, the Father to reveal him to me. Then I asked him further,
how I must
make my supplication to him? And he said,
Go, and thou shalt find him upon a mercy-seat, where he
sits all
the year long, to give pardon and forgiveness to them that
come. I told him that I knew not what to say when I came.
And he
bid me say to this effect: God be merciful to me a sinner,
and make me to know and believe in Jesus Christ; for I
see, that
if his righteousness had not been, or I have not faith in that
righteousness, I am utterly cast away. Lord, I have
heard
that thou art a merciful God, and hast ordained that thy Son Jesus
Christ should be the Saviour of the world; and
moreover,
that thou art willing to bestow him upon such a poor sinner as
I am, (and I am a sinner indeed;) Lord, take therefore
this
opportunity and magnify thy grace in the salvation of my soul,
through thy Son Jesus Christ. Amen.
Chr. And
did you do as you were bidden?
Hope.
Yes; over, and over, and over.
Chr. And did
the Father reveal his Son to you?
Hope. Not
at the first, nor second, nor third, nor fourth, nor fifth;
no, nor at the sixth time neither.
Chr. What
did you do then?
Hope:
What! why, I could not tell what to do.
Chr. Had
you not thoughts of leaving off praying?
Hope.
Yes; an hundred times twice told.
Chr. And
what was the reason you did not?
Hope. I
believed that that was true which had been told me, to wit, that
without the righteousness of this Christ, all the
world
could not save me; and therefore, thought I with myself, if I
leave off I die, and I can but
die at
the throne of grace. And withal, this came into my mind, Though it
tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it
will not
tarry. So I continued praying until the Father shewed me his
Son.
Chr. And
how was he revealed unto you?
Hope. I
did not see him with my bodily eyes, but with the eyes of my
understanding; and thus it was: One day I was very sad, I
think
sadder than at any one time in my life, and this sadness was
through a fresh sight of the greatness and vileness of my
sins. And
as I was then looking for nothing but hell, and the everlasting
damnation of my soul, suddenly, as I thought, I saw
the Lord
Jesus Christ look down from heaven upon me, and saying, Believe
on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.
Lord,
what is believing? And then I saw from that saying, He that
cometh to me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on
me shall
never thirst, that believing and coming was all one; and that
he that came, that is, ran out in his heart and
affections
after salvation by Christ, he indeed believed in Christ. Then
the water stood in mine eyes, and I asked further.
But,
Lord, may such a great sinner as I am be indeed accepted of thee, and
be saved by thee? And I heard him say, And him that
cometh to
me, I will in no wise cast out. Then I said, But how, Lord, must
I consider of thee in my coming to thee, that my
faith may be placed aright upon thee? Then he said, Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. He is the end of the law for
righteousness to every one that believeth. He died for our sins, and
rose again for our justification. He loved us, and washed us
from our
sins in his own blood. He is mediator betwixt God and us. He
ever liveth to make intercession for us. From all which
I
gathered, that I must look for righteousness in his person, and for satisfaction
for my sins by his blood; that what he did
in
obedience to his Father's law, and in submitting to the penalty
thereof, was not for himself, but for him that will
accept it
for his salvation, and be thankful. And now was my heart
full of joy, mine eyes full of tears, and mine affections
running
over with love to the name, people, and ways of Jesus Christ.
Chr. This
was a revelation of Christ to your soul indeed; but tell me
particularly what effect this had upon your spirit.
Hope. It made
me see that all the world, notwithstanding all the righteousness
thereof, is in a state of condemnation. It made me
see that
God the Father, though he be just, can justly justify the
coming sinner. It made me greatly ashamed of the vileness of
my former
life, and confounded me with the sense of mine own ignorance;
for there never came thought into my heart before now
that
shewed me so the beauty of Jesus Christ. It made me love a holy
life, and long to do something for the honour and glory of
the name of
the Lord Jesus; yea, I thought that had I now a thousand
gallons of blood in my body, I could spill it all for
the sake
of the Lord Jesus.
I saw
then in my dream that Hopeful looked back and saw Ignorance,
whom they had left behind, coming after. Look, said
he to
Christian, how far yonder youngster loitereth behind.
Chr. Ay,
ay, I see him; he careth not for our company.
Hope. But
I trow it would not have hurt him had he kept pace with us
hitherto.
Chr. That
is true; but I warrant you he thinketh otherwise.
Hope.
That, I think, he doth; but, however, let us tarry for him. So
they did.
Then
Christian said to him, Come away, man, why do you stay so behind?
Ignor. I
take my pleasure in walking alone, even more a great deal than
in company, unless I like it the better.
Then said
Christian to Hopeful, (but softly,) Did I not tell you he cared
not for our company? But, however, said he, come up,
and let
us talk away the time in this solitary place. Then directing
his speech to Ignorance, he said, Come, how do you?
How
stands it between God and your soul now?
Ignor. I
hope well; for I am always full of good motions, that come into
my mind, to comfort me as I walk.
Chr. What
good motions? pray, tell us.
Ignor. Why,
I think of God and heaven.
Chr. So
do the devils and damned souls.
Ignor.
But I think of them and desire them.
Chr. So
do many that are never like to come there. The soul of the
sluggard desireth, and hath nothing.
Ignor. But
I think of them, and leave all for them.
Chr. That
I doubt; for leaving all is a hard matter: yea, a harder
matter than many are aware of. But why, or by what, art
thou
persuaded that thou hast left all for God and heaven.
Ignor. My
heart tells me so.
Chr. The
wise man says, He that trusts his own heart is a fool.
Ignor.
This is spoken of an evil heart, but mine is a good one.
Chr. But
how dost thou prove that?
Ignor. It
comforts me in hopes of heaven.
Chr. That
may be through its deceitfulness; for a man's heart may
minister comfort to him in the hopes of that thing for which
he yet
has no ground to hope.
Ignor.
But my heart and life agree together, and therefore my hope is
well grounded.
Chr. Who
told thee that thy heart and life agree together?
Ignor. My
heart tells me so.
Chr. Ask
my fellow if I be a thief! Thy heart tells thee so! Except
the Word of God beareth witness in this matter, other
testimony
is of no value.
Ignor.
But is it not a good heart that hath good thoughts? and is not
that a good life that is according to God's commandments?
Chr. Yes, that is a good heart that hath good thoughts, and that is a good life that is according to God's commandments;
but it is
one thing, indeed, to have these, and another thing only to think so.
Ignor.
Pray, what count you good thoughts, and a life according to God's
commandments?
Chr.
There are good thoughts of divers kinds; some respecting ourselves,
some God, some Christ, and some other things.
Ignor. What
be good thoughts respecting ourselves?
Chr. Such
as agree with the Word of God.
Ignor.
When do our thoughts of ourselves agree with the Word of God?
Chr. When
we pass the same judgment upon ourselves which the
Word passes. To explain myself -- the Word of God
saith of
persons in a natural condition, There is none righteous,
there is none that doeth good. It saith also, that
every
imagination of the heart of man is only evil, and that continually. And again,
The imagination of man's heart is evil
from his
youth. Now then, when we think thus of ourselves, having
sense thereof, then are our thoughts good ones, because
according
to the Word of God.
Ignor. I
will never believe that my heart is thus bad.
Chr. Therefore
thou never hadst one good thought concerning thyself
in thy life. But let me go on. As the Word passeth a
judgment
upon our heart, so it passeth a judgment upon our ways; and when
OUR thoughts of our hearts and ways agree with the
judgment
which the Word giveth of both, then are both good, because
agreeing thereto.
Ignor.
Make out your meaning.
Chr. Why,
the Word of God saith that man's ways are crooked ways; not
good, but perverse. It saith they are naturally out of
the good
way, that they have not known it. Now, when a man thus thinketh
of his ways, -- I say, when he doth sensibly, and with
heart-humiliation,
thus think, then hath he good thoughts of his own ways,
because his thoughts now agree with the judgment of
the Word
of God.
Ignor.
What are good thoughts concerning God?
Chr. Even
as I have said concerning ourselves, when our thoughts of God do
agree with what the Word saith of him; and that is,
when we
think of his being and attributes as the Word hath taught,
of which I cannot now discourse at large; but to speak
of him with reference to us: Then we have right thoughts of God, when we think that he knows us better than we know ourselves,
and can see sin in us when and where we can see none in ourselves; when we think he knows our inmost thoughts, and that our heart,
with all
its depths,
is always open unto his eyes; also, when we think that all our
righteousness stinks in his nostrils, and that,
therefore,
he cannot abide to see us stand before him in any confidence,
even in all our best performances.
Ignor. Do
you think that I am such a fool as to think God can see no
further than I? or, that I would come to God in the best
of my
performances?
Chr. Why,
how dost thou think in this matter?
Ignor.
Why, to be short, I think I must believe in Christ for justification.
Chr. How!
think thou must believe in Christ, when thou seest not thy need
of him! Thou neither seest thy original nor actual
infirmities;
but hast such an opinion of thyself, and of what thou dost,
as plainly renders thee to be one that did never see
a
necessity of Christ's personal righteousness to justify thee before
God. How, then, dost thou say, I believe in Christ?
Ignor. I
believe well enough for all that.
Chr. How
dost thou believe?
Ignor. I
believe that Christ died for sinners, and that I shall be
justified before God from the curse, through his gracious
acceptance
of my obedience to his law. Or thus, Christ makes my duties,
that are religious, acceptable to his Father, by virtue
of his
merits; and so shall I be justified.
Chr. Let
me give an answer to this confession of thy faith: --
1. Thou
believest with a fantastical faith; for this faith is nowhere
described in the Word.
2. Thou
believest with a false faith; because it taketh justification
from the personal righteousness of Christ, and applies
it to thy own.
3. This
faith maketh not Christ a justifier of thy person, but of thy
actions; and of thy person for thy actions' sake, which is false.
4. Therefore,
this faith is deceitful, even such as will leave thee
under wrath, in the day of God Almighty; for true
justifying
faith puts the soul, as sensible of its condition by the law,
upon flying for refuge unto Christ's righteousness,
which
righteousness of his is not an act of grace, by which he maketh
for justification, thy obedience accepted with God; but
his
personal obedience to the law, in doing and suffering for us what that
required at our hands; this righteousness, I say, true
faith
accepteth; under the skirt of which, the soul being shrouded,
and by it presented as spotless before God, it is
accepted,
and acquit from condemnation.
Ignor.
What! would you have us trust to what Christ, in his own person,
has done without us? This conceit would loosen the reins
of our
lust, and tolerate us to live as we list; for what matter how we
live, if we may be justified by Christ's personal
righteousness
from all, when we believe it?
Chr.
Ignorance is thy name, and as thy name is, so art thou; even this
thy answer demonstrateth what I say. Ignorant thou art
of what
justifying righteousness is, and as ignorant how to secure
thy soul, through the faith of it, from the heavy wrath
of God. Yea, thou also art ignorant of the true effects of saving faith in this righteousness of Christ, which is,
to bow and
win over the heart to God in
Christ, to love his name, his word, ways, and people,and not
as thou ignorantly imaginest.
Hope. Ask
him if ever he had Christ revealed to him from heaven.
Ignor.
What! you are a man for revelations! I believe that what both you,
and all the rest of you, say about that matter, is but
the fruit
of distracted brains.
Hope.
Why, man! Christ is so hid in God from the natural apprehensions
of the flesh, that he cannot by any man be
savingly
known, unless God the Father reveals him to them.
Ignor.
That is your faith, but not mine; yet mine, I doubt not, is as
good as yours, though I have not in my head so many
whimsies
as you.
Chr. Give
me leave to put in a word. You ought not so slightly to speak
of this matter; for this I will boldly affirm, even as
my good
companion hath done, that no man can know Jesus Christbut by
the revelation of the Father; yea, and faith too, by
which the
soul layeth hold upon Christ, if it be right, must be wrought
by the exceeding greatness of his mighty power; the
working
of which faith, I perceive, poor Ignorance, thou art ignorant
of. Be awakened, then, see thine own wretchedness, and
fly to
the Lord Jesus; and by his righteousness, which is the righteousness
of God, for he himself is God, thou shalt be
delivered
from condemnation.
Ignor.
You go so fast, I cannot keep pace with you. Do you go onbefore; I
must stay a while behind.
Then they
said --
Well, Ignorance, wilt thou yet foolish
be, To slight good counsel, ten times given
thee?
And if thou yet refuse it, thou shalt
know, Ere long, the evil of thy doing so.
Remember, man, in time, stoop, do not
fear; Good counsel taken well, saves:
therefore hear.
But if thou yet shalt slight it, thou
wilt be The loser, (Ignorance,) I'll warrant
thee.
Then
Christian addressed thus himself to his fellow: --
Chr. Well, come, my good Hopeful, I perceive that thou and I must walk by ourselves again. So I saw in my dream that they went on
apace before, and Ignorance he came hobbling after. Then said Christian to his companion, It pities me much for this poor man,
it will certainly
go ill with him at last.
Hope.
Alas! there are abundance in our town in his condition, whole
families, yea, whole streets, and that of pilgrims too;
and if
there be so many in our parts, how many, think you, must there be
in the place where he was born?
Chr.
Indeed the Word saith, He hath blinded their eyes lest they should
see, &c. But now we are by ourselves, what do you think
of such
men? Have they at no time, think you, convictions of sin, and so
consequently fears that their state is dangerous?
Hope.
Nay, do you answer that question yourself, for you are the elder
man.
Chr. Then
I say, sometimes (as I think) they may; but they being naturally
ignorant, understand not that such convictions tend to
their good; and therefore they do desperately seek to stifle them, and presumptuously continue to flatter themselves in the way of
their own
hearts.
Hope. I
do believe, as you say, that fear tends much to men's good, and
to make them right, at their beginning to go on
pilgrimage.
Chr. Without
all doubt it doth, if it be right; for so says the Word, The
fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.
Hope. How
will you describe right fear?
Chr. True
or right fear is discovered by three things: --
1. By its
rise; it is caused by saving convictions for sin.
2. It
driveth the soul to lay fast hold of Christ for salvation.
3. It
begetteth and continueth in the soul a great reverence of God, his
Word, and ways, keeping it tender, and making it afraid
to turn from
them, to the right hand or to the left, to anything that may
dishonour God, break its peace, grieve the Spirit, or
cause the
enemy to speak reproachfully.
Hope.
Well said; I believe you have said the truth. Are we now almost
got past the Enchanted Ground?
Chr. Why,
art thou weary of this discourse?
Hope. No,
verily, but that I would know where we are.
Chr. We
have not now above two miles further to go thereon. But let us
return to our matter. Now the ignorant know not that such
convictions
as tend to put them in fear are for their good, and therefore
they seek to stifle them.
Hope. How
do they seek to stifle them?
Chr. 1.
They think that those fears are wrought by the devil, (though
indeed they are wrought of God;) and, thinking so, they
resist them as things that directly tend to their overthrow.
2. They also think that these fears tend to the spoiling of their faith, when, alas, for them, poor men that they are,
they have none at all! and therefore they harden their. hearts against them.
3. They presume they ought not to fear; and, therefore, in despite of them, wax presumptuously confident.
4. They
see that those
fears tend to take away from them their pitiful old self-holiness,
and therefore they resist them with all their
might.
Hope. I know
something of this myself; for, before I knew myself,
it was so with me.
Chr.
Well, we will leave, at this time, our neighbor Ignorance by
himself, and fall upon another profitable question.
Hope.
With all my heart, but you shall still begin.
Chr. Well
then, did you not know, about ten years ago, one Temporary
in your parts, who was a forward man in religion then?
Hope.
Know him! yes, he dwelt in Graceless, a town about two miles off
of Honesty, and he dwelt next door to one Turnback.
Chr.
Right, he dwelt under the same roof with him. Well, that man was
much awakened once; I believe that then he had some
sight of
his sins, and of the wages that were due thereto.
Hope. I
am of your mind, for, my house not being above three miles from
him, he would ofttimes come to me, and that with many
tears.
Truly I pitied the man, and was
not altogether without hope of him; but one may see, it is not
every one that cries, Lord, Lord.
Chr. He
told me once that he was resolved to go on pilgrimage, as we do
now; but all of a sudden he grew acquainted with one
Save-self,
and then he became a stranger to me.
Hope.
Now, since we are talking about him, let us a little inquire
into the reason of the sudden backsliding of him and such
others.
Chr. It
may be very profitable, but do you begin. Hope.
Well, then, there are in my judgment four reasons for it:
--
1. Though
the consciences of such men are awakened, yet their minds are
not changed; therefore, when the power of guilt
weareth away, that which provoked them to be religious ceaseth, wherefore they naturally turn to their own course again,
even as we
see the dog that is sick of what he has eaten, so long as his sickness
prevails he vomits and casts up all; not that he doth
this of a
free mind (if we may say a dog has a mind), but because
it troubleth his stomach; but now, when his sickness is
over, and
so his stomach eased, his desire being not at all alienate
from his vomit, he turns him about and licks up all,
and so it
is true which is written, The dog is turned to his own vomit
again. Thus I say, being hot for heaven, by virtue only of
the sense
and fear of the torments of hell, as their sense of hell and
the fears of damnation chills and cools, so their
desires
for heaven and salvation cool also. So then it comes to pass,
that when their guilt and fear is gone, their desires for
heaven
and happiness die, and they return to their course again.
2.
Another reason is, they have slavish fears that do overmaster them; I
speak now of the fears that they have of men, for the
fear of man bringeth a snare. So then, though they seem to be hot for heaven, so long as the flames of hell are about their ears,
yet when that terror is a little over, they betake themselves to second thoughts; namely, that it is good to be wise, and not to run
(for they know not what) the hazard of losing all, or, at least, of bringing themselves into unavoidable and unnecessary troubles,
and so they fall in with the world
again.
3. The shame
that attends religion lies also as a block in their way; they
are proud and haughty; and religion in their eye is
low and
contemptible, therefore, when they have lost their sense of hell
and wrath to come, they return again to their former course.
4. Guilt,
and to meditate terror, are grievous to them. They like not
to see their misery before they come into it; though
perhaps
the sight of it first, if they loved that sight, might make them
fly whither the righteous fly and are safe. But
because
they do, as I hinted before, even shun the thoughts of guilt and
terror, therefore, when once they are rid of their
awakenings
about the terrors and wrath of God, they harden their hearts
gladly, and choose such ways as will harden them more and
more.
Chr. You
are pretty near the business, for the bottom of all is for want
of a change in their mind and will. And therefore they
are but
like the felon that standeth before the judge, he quakes and
trembles, and seems to repent most heartily, but the bottom
of all is
the fear of the halter; not that he hath any detestation
of the offence, as is evident, because, let but this
man have
his liberty, and he will
be a thief, and so a rogue still, whereas, if his mind was
changed, he would be otherwise.
Hope. Now
I have showed you the reasons of their going back, do you show
me the manner thereof.
Chr. So I
will willingly.
1. They
draw off their thoughts, all that they may, from the remembrance
of God, death, and judgment to come.
2. Then
they cast off by degrees private duties, as closet prayer,
curbing their lusts, watching, sorrow for sin, and the like.
3. Then
they shun the company of lively and warm Christians.
4. After
that they grow cold to public duty, as hearing, reading,
godly conference, and the like.
5. Then
they begin to pick holes, as we say, in the coats of some of
the godly; and that devilishly, that they may have a
seeming
colour to throw religion (for the sake of some infirmity they have
espied in them) behind their backs.
6. Then they
begin to adhere to, and associate themselves with, carnal,
loose, and wanton men.
7. Then
they give way to carnal and wanton discourses in secret; and glad
are they if they can see such things in any that are
counted
honest, that they may the more boldly do it through their
example.
8. After
this they begin to play with little sins openly.
9. And
then, being hardened, they show themselves as they are. Thus,
being launched again into the gulf of misery, unless a
miracle
of grace prevent it, they everlastingly perish in their own
deceivings.
Now I saw
in my dream, that by this time the Pilgrims
were got over the Enchanted Ground, and entering into the
country
of Beulah, whose air was very sweet and pleasant, the way lying
directly through it, they solaced themselves there for
a season.
Yea, here they heard continually the singing of birds, and saw
every day the flowers appear on the earth, and heard the
voice of
the turtle in the land. In this country the sun shineth night and
day. wherefore this was beyond the Valley of the
Shadow of
Death, and also out of the reach of Giant Despair, neither
could they from this place so much as see Doubting
Castle.
Here they were within sight of the city they were going to, also
here met them some of the inhabitants thereof; for in
this land
the Shining Ones commonly walked, because it was upon the
borders of heaven. In this land also, the contract between
the bride
and the bridegroom was renewed; yea, here, As the bridegroom rejoiceth over the bride, so did their God rejoice
over
them. Here they had no want of corn and wine; for in this place
they met with abundance of what they had sought for in all
their
pilgrimage. Here they heard voices from out of the city, loud
voices, saying, Say ye to the daughter of Zion, Behold, thy
salvation
cometh! Behold, his reward is with him! Here all the inhabitants
of the country called them, The holy people, The
redeemed
of the Lord, Sought out, &c.
Now as
they walked in this land, they had more rejoicing than in parts
more remote from the kingdom to which they were bound; and
drawing
near to the city, they had yet a more perfect view thereof.
It was builded of pearls and precious stones, also the
street thereof
was paved with gold; so that by reason of the natural
glory of the city, and the reflection of the sunbeams
upon it,
Christian
with desire fell sick; Hopeful also had a fit or two of the
same disease. Wherefore, here they lay by it a while,
crying
out, because of their pangs, If ye find my beloved, tell him that
I am sick of love.
But,
being a little strengthened, and better able to bear their sickness,
they walked on their way, and came yet nearer and
nearer,
where were orchards, vineyards, and gardens, and their gates
opened into the highway. Now, as they came up to these
places,
behold the gardener stood in the way, to whom the Pilgrims
said, Whose goodly vineyards and gardens are these? He
answered,
They are the King's, and are planted here for his own delight,
and also for the solace of pilgrims. So the gardener
had them
into the vineyards, and bid them refresh themselves with the
dainties. He also showed them there the King's walks,
and the
arbours where he delighted to be; and here they tarried and
slept.
Now I
beheld in my dream that they talked more in their sleep at this time
than ever they did in all their journey; and being in
a muse
thereabout, the gardener said even to me, Wherefore musest thou
at the matter? It is the nature of the fruit of the
grapes of
these vineyards to go down so sweetly as to cause the lips of
them that are asleep to speak.
So I saw
that when they awoke, they addressed themselves to go up to the
city; but, as I said, the reflection of the sun upon
the city
(for the city was pure gold) was so extremely glorious that they
could not, as yet, with open face behold it, but
through
an instrument made for that purpose. So I saw, that as I went
on, there met them two men, in raiment that shone like
gold;
also their faces shone as the light.
These men
asked the Pilgrims whence they came; and they told them.
They also asked them where they had lodged, what
difficulties
and dangers, what comforts and pleasures they had met in the
way; and they told them. Then said the men that met
them, You
have but two difficulties more to meet with, and then you are
in the city.
Christian
then, and his companion, asked the men to go along with them;
so they told them they would. But, said they, you
must
obtain it by your own faith. So I saw in my dream that they went on together,
until they came in sight of the gate.
Now, I
further saw, that betwixt them and the gate was a river, but there
was no bridge to go over: the river was very deep. At
the
sight, therefore, of this river, the Pilgrims were much stunned;
but the men that went in with them said, You must go
through,
or you cannot come at the gate.
The
Pilgrims then began to inquire if there was no other way to the gate;
to which they answered, Yes; but there hath not any,
save two,
to wit, Enoch and Elijah, been permitted to tread that path
since the foundation of the world, nor shall, until the
last
trumpet shall sound. The Pilgrims then, especially Christian,
began to despond in their minds, and looked this way
and that,
but no way could be found by them by which they might escape
the river. Then they asked the men if the waters were all
of a
depth. They said: No; yet they could not help them in that case;
for, said they, you shall find it deeper or shallower as
you believe in the King of the place. They then addressed themselves to the water and, entering, Christian began to sink,
and crying
out to his good friend Hopeful,
he said, I sink in deep waters; the billows go over my
head, all his waves go over me! Selah.
Then said
the other, Be of good cheer, my brother, I feel the bottom,
and it is good. Then said Christian, Ah! my friend, the
sorrows
of death hath compassed me about; I shall not see the land that
flows with milk and honey; and with that a great
darkness
and horror fell upon Christian, so that he could not see
before him. Also here he in great measure lost his senses,
so that
he could neither remember nor orderly talk of any of those
sweet refreshments that he had met with in the way of his
pilgrimage.
But all the words that he spake still tended to discover
that he had horror of mind, and heart fears that he
should
die in that river, and never obtain entrance in at the gate.
Here also, as they that stood by perceived, he was much in
the
troublesome thoughts of the sins that he had committed, both since and
before he began to be a pilgrim. It was also observed
that he
was troubled with apparitions of hobgoblins and evil spirits,
for ever and anon he would intimate so much by words.
Hopeful,
therefore, here had much ado to keep his brother's head above
water; yea, sometimes he would be quite gone down, and
then, ere
a while, he would rise up again half dead. Hopeful also
would endeavour to comfort him, saying, Brother, I see the
gate, and
men standing by to receive us: but Christian would answer,
It is you, it is you they wait for; you have been
Hopeful ever since I knew you. And so have you, said he to Christian. Ah! brother! said he, surely if I was right he would
now arise to help me; but for my sins he hath brought me into the snare, and hath left me. Then said Hopeful, My brother,
you have quite forgot the text, where it is said of the wicked, There are no bands in their death, but their strength is firm.
They are not in trouble as other men, neither are they plagued like other men. These troubles and distresses that you go through
in these waters are no sign that God hath forsaken you; but are sent to try you, whether you will call to mind that which heretofore
you have
received of his goodness, and live upon him in your distresses.
Then I
saw in my dream, that Christian was as in a muse a while. To whom
also Hopeful added this word, Be of good cheer, Jesus
Christ
maketh thee whole; and with that Christian brake out with a loud
voice, Oh, I see him again! and he tells me, When thou
passest through the waters, I will be with thee, and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee. Then they both took
courage,
and the enemy was after that as still as a stone, until they were
gone over. Christian therefore presently found ground
to stand
upon, and so it followed that the rest of the river was but shallow.
Thus they got over. Now, upon the bank of the
river, on the other side, they saw the two shining men again, who there waited for them; wherefore, being come out of the river,
they
saluted them, saying, We are ministering spirits, sent
forth to minister for those that shall be heirs of
salvation.
Thus they went along towards the gate.
Now, now look how the holy pilgrims
ride, Clouds are their chariots, angels are
their guide:
Who would not here for him all hazards
run, That thus provides for his when this
world's done.
Now you
must note that the city stood upon a mighty hill, but the
Pilgrims went up that hill with ease, because they had these
two men
to lead them up by the arms; also, they had left their mortal
garments behind them in the river, for though they went
in with them, they came out without them. They, therefore, went up here with much agility and speed, though the foundation upon
which the
city was framed was higher than the clouds. They therefore
went up through the regions of the air, sweetly
talking
as they went, being comforted, because they safely got over the
river, and had such glorious companions to attend them.
The talk
they had with the Shining Ones was about the glory of the place;
who told them that the beauty and glory of it was
inexpressible.
There, said they, is the Mount Zion, the heavenly Jerusalem,
the innumerable company of angels, and the spirits of
just men
made perfect. You are going now, said they, to the paradise of
God, wherein you shall see the tree of life, and eat
of the
never-fading fruits thereof; and when you come there, you shall
have white robes given you, and your walk and talk shall
be every
day with the King, even all the days of eternity. There you shall not see
again such things as you saw when you were in
the lower
region upon the earth, to wit, sorrow, sickness, affliction,
and death, for the former things are passed away.
You are
now going to Abraham, to Isaac, and Jacob, and to the prophets
-- men that God hath taken away from the evil to come,
and that
are now resting upon their beds, each one walking in his
righteousness. The men then asked, What must we do in the
holy place? To whom it was answered, You must there receive the comforts of all your toil, and have joy for all your sorrow;
you must reap what you have sown, even the fruit of all your prayers, and tears, and sufferings for the King by the way.
In that place you must wear crowns of gold, and enjoy the
perpetual sight and vision of the Holy One, for there
you shall
see him as he is. There also you shall serve him continually
with praise, with shouting, and thanksgiving, whom
you
desired to serve in the world, though with much difficulty, because
of the infirmity of your flesh. There your eyes shall be
delighted
with seeing, and your ears with hearing the pleasant voice of
the Mighty One. There you shall enjoy your friends
again
that are gone thither before you; and there you shall with joy
receive, even every one that follows into the holy place
after
you. There also shall you be clothed with glory and majesty,
and put into an equipage fit to ride out with the King
of Glory.
When he shall come with sound of trumpet in the clouds,
as upon the wings of the wind, you shall come with him;
and when
he shall sit upon the throne of judgment; you shall sit by him;
yea, and when he shall pass sentence upon all the
workers
of iniquity, let them be angels or men, you also shall have a
voice in that judgment, because they were his and your
enemies.
Also, when he shall again return to the city, you shall go too,
with sound of trumpet, and be ever with him.
Now while
they were thus drawing towards the gate, behold a company
of the heavenly host came out to meet them; to whom it
was said,
by the other two Shining Ones, These are the men that have
loved our Lord when they were in the world, and that have
left all
for his holy name; and he hath sent us to fetch them, and we have
brought them thus far on their desired journey, that they
may go in and look their Redeemer in the face with joy. Then the heavenly host gave a great shout, saying, Blessed are they which
are called
unto the marriage supper of the Lamb. There came out also at
this time to meet them, several of the King's
trumpeters,
clothed in white and shining raiment, who, with melodious
noises, and loud, made even the heavens to echo with
their
sound. These trumpeters saluted Christian and his fellow with ten
thousand welcomes from the world; and this they did
with
shouting, and sound of trumpet.
This
done, they compassed them round on every side; some went before,
some behind, and some on the right hand, some on the
left, (as
it were to guard them through the upper regions,) continually
sounding as they went, with melodious noise, in
notes on
high: so that the very sight was, to them that could behold
it, as if heaven itself was come down to meet them. Thus,
therefore,
they walked on together; and as they walked, ever and anon
these trumpeters, even with joyful sound, would, by mixing
their
music with looks and gestures, still signify to Christian and his
brother, how welcome they were into their company, and
with what
gladness they came to meet them; and now were these two men,
as it were, in heaven, before they came at it, being
swallowed
up with the sight of angels, and with hearing of their melodious
notes. Here also they had the city itself in view, and
they
thought they heard all the bells therein to ring, to welcome
them thereto. But above all, the warm and joyful
thoughts
that they had about their own dwelling there, with such company,
and that for ever and ever. Oh, by what tongue or pen
can their
glorious joy be expressed! And thus they came up to the gate.
Now, when
they were come up to the gate, there was written over it in
letters of gold, Blessed are they that do his
commandments,
that they may have right to the tree of life, and may enter
in through the gates into the city.
Then I
saw in my dream that the Shining Men bid them call at the gate; the
which, when they did, some looked from above over the
gate, to
wit, Enoch, Moses, and Elijah, &c., to whom it was said,
These pilgrims are come from the City of Destruction, for
the love
that they bear to the King of this place; and then the Pilgrims
gave in unto them each man his certificate, which they
had
received in the beginning; those, therefore, were carried in to the King,
who, when he had read them, said, Where are the
men? To
whom it was answered, They are standing without the gate. The
King then commanded to open the gate, That the
righteous
nation, said he, which keepeth the truth, may enter in.
Now I saw
in my dream that these two men went in at the gate: and lo,
as they entered, they were transfigured, and they had
raiment
put on that shone like gold. There was also that met them with
harps and crowns, and gave them to them -- the harps
to praise
withal, and the crowns in token of honor. Then I heard in
my dream that all the bells in the city rang again for
joy, and
that it was said unto them, Enter ye into the joy of your
Lord. I also heard the men themselves, that they sang with
a loud
voice, saying, Blessing and honor, and glory, and power, be unto
him that sitteth Upon the throne, and unto the Lamb, for
ever and
ever.
Now, just
as the gates were opened to let in the men, I looked in after
them, and, behold, the City shone like the sun; the
streets also were paved with gold, and in them walked many men, with crowns on their heads, palms in their hands,
and golden harps to sing praises withal. There were also of them that had wings, and they answered one another without intermission,
saying,
Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord. And
after that they shut up the gates; which, when I had seen, I
wished myself among them.
Now while
I was gazing upon all these things, I turned my head to look
back, and saw Ignorance come up to the river side; but
he soon
got over, and that without half that difficulty which the other
two men met with. For it happened that there was then
in that place, one Vain-hope, a ferryman, that with his boat helped him over; so he, as the other I saw, did ascend the hill,
to come up
to the gate, only he came alone; neither did any man meet him
with the least encouragement. When he was come up to
the gate,
he looked up to the writing that was above, and then began to
knock, supposing that entrance should have been quickly
administered
to him; but he was asked by the men that looked over the
top of the gate, Whence came you, and what would you
have? He
answered, I have eat and drank in the presence of the King, and
he has taught in our streets. Then they asked him for
his
certificate, that they might go in and show it to the King; so he
fumbled in his bosom for one, and found none. Then said
they,
Have you none? But the man answered never a word. So they told the King,
but he would not come down to see him, but
commanded
the two Shining Ones that conducted Christian and Hopeful
to the City, to go out and take Ignorance, and bind him
hand and
foot, and have him away. Then they took him up, and
carried him through the air to the door that I saw in
the side
of the hill, and put him in there. Then I saw that there was
a way to hell, even from the gates of heaven, as well
as from
the City of Destruction. So I awoke, and behold it was a dream.
Now,
reader, I have told my dream to thee; See if
thou canst interpret it to me, Or to
thyself, or neighbor; but take heed
Of
misinterpreting; for that, instead Of doing
good, will but thyself abuse: By
misinterpreting, evil ensues.
Take heed, also, that thou be not extreme, In playing with the outside of my dream: Nor let my figure or similitude
Put thee
into a laughter or a feud. Leave
this for boys and fools; but as for thee, Do thou
the substance of my matter see.
Put by
the curtains, look within my veil, Turn up
my metaphors, and do not fail, There, if
thou seekest them, such things to find,
As will
be helpful to an honest mind. What of
my dross thou findest there, be bold To throw
away, but yet preserve the gold;
What if
my gold be wrapped up in ore? -- None
throws away the apple for the core. But if
thou shalt cast all away as vain,
I know
not but 'twill make me dream again.
[The End]
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