, mm iOa n w wi ii x i i n i » > iwy ' 
 
 ipilopti
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 <*?^SS^^t^^)W1 
 
 Christian and Hopeful lu the Land of Beulah.
 
 London; 
 
 pROOMBRIDGE AND SoNS.
 
 THE 
 
 PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 
 
 KKOM THIS WOKF.D TO THAT WHICH IS I'O COME. 
 
 liV 
 
 JOHN BUNYAN. 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY A. F. LYDON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 GROOMBRTDrxF. AND SONS, 5, PATERNOSTKR ROW
 
 PR 
 
 3330 
 
 A^L9 
 
 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 Portrait of John Bunyan ...... Viyuette Title. 
 
 Christian at the Gate ........ Page 17 
 
 Christian losing his burden ........ 25 
 
 Christian's fight with Apollyon ....... 31' 
 
 The Pilgrim.^ t'ouiid bj' (jiaiit Despair ..... 72 
 
 Christian and Hopeful caught in the net ..... iS4 
 
 Christian and Hopeful in the Land of Beulah {Frontis'piece) . ^'8 
 
 Christiana and her Children arrive at the Slough of Despond . 113 
 
 Christiana entertained by the Interjireter .... liil 
 
 The Shephtid Boy in the Valky of Humiliiition . l-^O 
 
 The Pilgrims arriving at the Inn ....... It-i* 
 
 Christiana crossing the Eiver 191 
 
 1062394
 
 THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY 
 FOR HIS BOOK. 
 
 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. 
 
 And thus it was: 1, writing of the way 
 .Ind race of saints, in this our gospel day, 
 Fell suddenly into an allegory 
 A.bout their journey, and the way to glory. 
 In more than twenty things which I set down. 
 This done, I twenty more ];ad in my crown; 
 And they again began to multiply, 
 Like sparks that from the coals of lire do fly. 
 jN"ay, then, thought I, if tUat you breed so iast, 
 ['11 put you by yourselves, lest you at last 
 Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out 
 T^he book that I already am about. 
 
 Well, so I did; but yet I did not think 
 To show to all the world my pen and ink 
 In such a mode: I only thought to make 
 I knew not what: nor did I midertakc 
 Thereby to please my neighbour: no, not I. 
 I did it my own self to gratify. 
 
 Neither did I but vacant seasons spend 
 In this my scribble; nor did I intend 
 But to divert myself in doing this 
 From worser thouglits which make me do amiss. 
 
 Thus, I set pen to paper with delight, 
 And quickly had my thoughts in black and wliite; 
 For, having now my metliod by the end, 
 Still as I pulled, it came: ami so I penned 
 It down: until it came at last to be, 
 For length and breadth, the bigness which you see.
 
 THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY. 
 
 Well, when I bad thus put my 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, 
 1 print it will, and so the case decided. 
 
 i'or, 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 moderate, 
 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 carpeth 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 :
 
 THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY. 
 
 His guns, his nets, Liis lime-twigs, light, and bell; 
 He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell 
 or 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 atiII miss. 
 
 If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell, 
 And may be found too in an oy ster- 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, 
 Thnt 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, 
 ]\[ake 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 
 I'ly 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 spoaketh to hini; and happy is ho 
 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, whoso considers
 
 THE ATJTHOK's APOLOGY. 
 
 Uhrist, 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 JBook 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, 
 
 A.nd 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. 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, 
 Thau 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
 
 THE AUTHOR S APOtORY. 
 
 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 casea 
 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 show the profit of my book, and then 
 Commit both thee and it unto the Hand 
 That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand 
 This book it chalketh out before mine eyes 
 The man that seeks the everlasting prize; 
 It shows you whence he comes, whither he goes; 
 What he leaves undone, also what he does; 
 It also shows you how he runs and runs, 
 Till he unto the gate of glory comes. 
 It shows, too, who set out for life amain, 
 As if the lasting crown they would obtain; 
 Here also you may see the reason why 
 They loe 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: 
 Tea, it will make the slothful active be; 
 The blind also delightful tilings to see. 
 Art thou for something rare and profitable? 
 Wouldcst thou see a truth within a fable? 
 Art thou forgetful? Wouldcst thou remember 
 From New Year's day to the last of Decemhir'-' 
 Then read my fancies; they will stick like burs, 
 And may be, to the helpless, comforters. 
 
 This book is writ in such a dialect 
 As may the minds of listless men affect: 
 It seems a novelty, and yet contains 
 Nothing but sound and honest gospel strains. 
 
 Wouldst thou divert thyself from melancholy? 
 Wouldst thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly ?_ 
 Wouldst thou read riddles, and their explanation? 
 Or else be drowned in thy contemplation?
 
 THE AUTHOR S APOLOGY. 
 
 Dost thou love picking meat? Or wouldst tlioii soe 
 
 A man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to thco? 
 
 Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep? 
 
 Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep? 
 
 "VVouldest thou lose thyself, and catch no harm, 
 
 And find thyself again without a charm? 
 
 Wouldst read thyself, and read thou knowest not what, 
 
 And yet know whether thou art blest or not. 
 
 By reading the same lines ? Oh, then come hither, 
 
 And lay my book, thy head, and heart together. 
 
 JOHN BUNYAN.
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PEOGRESS 
 
 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, 1 
 saAv 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?" (Acts 
 ii. 37; xvi. 30, 31.) 
 
 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 :i burden that lieth hard ui)on 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 ray 
 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 somi- 
 frenzy distemper had got into his head: therefore, it drawing towards 
 night, and they hoping that sleej) 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, some- 
 times they would chide, and sometimes they would quite neglect him, 
 VVLerel'ore he began to retire himself to his chamlier, to pray for and
 
 8 THE PILGKIM S PROGRESS. 
 
 pity them, and also to condole his own misery; he would also walk 
 solitarily in the fields, sometimes reading, and sometimes praying: and 
 thus for some days he spent his time. 
 
 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?" (Acts xvi. 30.) 
 
 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 show 
 Him how to mount from that which is below." 
 
 Then said Evangelist, Why not willing to die, since this life is at- 
 tended 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," (Matt. iii. 7.) 
 
 The man therefore, read it, and looking upon Evangelist very carefully, 
 f,aid. 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 neighbours 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. Neighbours,
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 9 
 
 wherefore are ye come? They said, To persuade you to go back with 
 ns. 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 neighbours, 
 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, neighbour 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 neighbour. 
 
 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 neighbour. Pliable; there arc 
 such things to be had which I spoke of, and many more glories beside. 
 If you believe not me, read here in this book ; and for the truth of wliaii 
 is expressed tliercin, behold all is confirmed by the blood of Him that 
 made it. 
 
 Pli. Well, neighbour 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 neighbour, 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.
 
 10 THE pilgrim's PT^nr.RESS. 
 
 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. 
 
 Cur. Come, neighbour Pliable, how do you do? I am g'ad you are 
 persuaded to go along with ine. 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, neighbour 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. 
 
 Cur. 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 of 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? 
 
 Cur. 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 tens of thousands that have gone before us to that 
 place; none of them are hurtful, but loving and holy; every one walk- 
 ing 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 bare 
 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? 
 
 Cur. 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
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 11 
 
 of the slough was Despond. Here, therefore, they wallowed for a time, 
 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 Kiable, Ah ! neighbour Christian, where are you now ? 
 
 Cur. Truly, said Christian, I do not know. 
 
 Pli. At this Pliable began to be offeudcd, 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; 
 i,he 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 
 liim, whose name was Help, and asked him, what he did there? 
 
 CiiR. 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? 
 
 CiiR. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next way, and fell in. 
 
 Help. Then said he, Give mo thy hand: so he gave him his hand, 
 :md 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 filtli 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 ariscth in his soul many 
 tears, and doubts, and discouraging apprehensions, Avhich all of them 
 get together, and settle in this place. And this is the reason of the 
 badness of this grouua. 
 
 It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should remain so 
 bad. His labourers also have, by the direction of His ]\Iajcsty's survoj-ors, 
 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 
 
 ?lace; if so be, it might have been mended, but it is the Slough of 
 lospond still, and so will be when they have done what they can.
 
 12 THK pilgrim's PROGRESS. 
 
 True, there are, by the direction of the Lawgiver, 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 aside, 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 neighbours came to visit him; and some 
 of them called him wise man for coming back, and some called him 
 fool ior 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. 
 
 WoRTT). 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 ?
 
 THE pilgbim's PROGBE.^S. 13 
 
 Ciiu. A mail that appeared to me to be a very great and hononrable 
 person; his name, as I remember, is Evangelist. 
 
 Would. I beshrew him for his counsel! there is nob 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 will 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, on 
 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 bnck is more terrible to me 
 than are 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? 
 
 CiiR. By reading this book in my hand. 
 
 Would. I thought so; audit is happened unto thee as to other weak 
 men, who, meddling with things too high for them, do suddenly I all 
 into thy distractions ; which distractions do not only unman men (as 
 thine, I perceive, have done thee,) but they run them upon desperate 
 adventures to obtain they know not what. 
 
 CiiR. I know what I would obtain: it is ease from 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 renndy 
 is at hand. Besides, I will add, that, instead of those dangers, thou 
 shalt meet with much safety, friendship, and content. 
 
 CiiR. Pray, Sir, open this secret to me 
 
 Would. Why, in yonder village — the village is named ]\[orality— 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 
 bath done a great deal of good this wny; 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 may est go, and be helped presently. His house 
 is not quite a mile from this j)laee, and if ho should not be at home 
 himself, he hath a pretty young man to his son, whose namn 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;
 
 14 THE pilgtiim's pkoghess. 
 
 and that -wbicli will make thy lite the more liappy is, to be sure, there 
 thou shalt live by honest neighbours, in credit and good iashion. 
 
 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. 
 
 Ohr. Sir, which is my way to this honest man's house? 
 
 "World. Do you see yonder high hill ? 
 
 CiiR. Yes, very well. 
 
 World. By that hill you must go, and the first house you come at 
 is his. 
 
 So Christian turned out of hi.s 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, lie 
 sweat and did quake for fear. 
 
 When Christians unto carnal men give ear, 
 Out of their way they go, and pay for't clear: 
 For Master Wordly Wiseman can but show 
 A saint the way to bondage and to woe. 
 
 And now he began to be sorry that he had taken Mr. Worldly Wise- 
 man'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? 
 
 Che. Yes, dear Sir, says 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 could take oft' 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?
 
 THE riLGEIM's PRORKESS. 15 
 
 CiTR. "WTiy he asked mo whither I was going? And I told him. 
 
 Evan. And what said he then? 
 
 Cur. He asked me if I had a family? And I told him. But, said 
 I. I am so leaden with the burden that is on my back, that I cannot 
 takr, 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 
 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 deliver- 
 ance. So he said that he would show 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 show 
 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" (Heb. xii. 25.) He 
 said, moreover, "Now the just shall live by faith: but if any man draw 
 back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him" (Heb. x. 38.) 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 foot 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 for- 
 given unto men" (Matt. xii. 31; Mark iii. 28; Luke xii. 10; Heb. vi. 4.) 
 "Be not faithless, but believing" (John xx. 27.) 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. t will now show 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; 
 pai'tly, because he savoureth only of the doctrine of this world, (there- 
 fore he always goes to the town of Morality to church:) and partly 
 because he loveth that doctrine best, for it saveth him from the Cross. 
 And because he is of this carnal temper, therelbrc he secketh to prevent 
 my ways, though right. Now there are three things in this man's 
 counsel, that thou must utterly al)hor. 
 
 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 thereto: because this is to reject the coun.sel of God 
 lor the sake of the counsel of a Wordly Wiseman. The Lord says,
 
 Jg THE pilgrim's PEOGRESS. 
 
 "SLrlve to enter in at tlie strait gate" (Luke xii. 21,) the gate to which 
 I send thee- for "strait is the gate that leadeth unto hfe, and tew ttiere 
 be that find it" (Matt. vii. 13, 14.) From this little wicket-gate, and 
 from the way thereto, hath this wicked man turned thee, to the brmgmg 
 of thee almost to destruction; hate, therefore, his turmug thee out ot 
 the way, and abhor thyself for hearkening to him. 
 
 Secondly, Thou must abhor his labouring to render the cross odious 
 nnto thee; for thou art to prefer it "before the treasures m Egypt 
 (Heb xi. 25, 26.) Besides, the King of glory hath told thee, that he that 
 "Will save his life shall lose it" (Mark viii. 35; John su. 25; Matt. x. 
 G9.) 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" (Luke xiv. 26.) I say, therefore, 
 for man to labour to persuade thee, that that shall be thy death, without 
 which, THE tiiuth hath said, thou canst not have eternal life; this doctrine 
 
 thou must abhor. ^ t j i.r. 
 
 Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet m the way that leadeth 
 to the ministration of death. And for this thou must consider to whom 
 he Bent thee, and also how unable that person was to deHver thee from 
 thy burden. . 
 
 He to whom thou was 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 
 bis 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 these 
 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, EvangeUst 
 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" 
 (Gal. iii. 10.) 
 
 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 gentleman'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: — 
 
 Che. Sir, what think you? Is there hope? May I now go back and
 
 Christian at the Gate.
 
 THE PIL&RTM's PBOGBESS. 17 
 
 go up to the wicket-gate? Shall 1 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 good-will for men; only, said he, take heed that thou turn 
 not aside again, "lest thou j^erish from the way, when his wrath is 
 kindled but a little" (Psalm ii. 12.) 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" (Matt. vii. 7.) 
 
 " lie 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 rebell 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? 
 
 CiiR. 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; aud 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 arc with him shoot 
 arrows at those that come up to this gate, if haply they may die before 
 thoy can enter in. 
 
 Then said ('hristian, I rejoice and tremble. So when ho was got in, 
 the man of the gate asked him who directed him thither? 
 
 CuK. Evangelist bid mo como hit-licr, and knock (as I did;) and he 
 said that you. Sir, would tell mc what I must do. 
 
 Good-will. An open door is set before thee, and no man can shut it. 
 
 CiiR. Now I begin to reap the benefits of my hazards.
 
 \^ ' THK pilgrim's PE0&RES8. 
 
 Good-will. But how is it that you came alone? 
 
 Chr. Because none of my neighbours saw their danger, as 1 saw 
 Eiinc. 
 
 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 adventure 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 sought for ease at the hands of Mr. Legality? They are, both of 
 them, very cheats. 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. 
 
 Cur. 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 talkim; 
 Vv'ith my Lord; but, oh, what a favour is this to me, that yet I am 
 admitted entrance here! 
 
 GooD-wii L. We make no objections against any, notwithstanding all 
 that they hn\-e done before they came hither. They are "in nowise cast 
 out," (Joliu vi. 37,) and therefore, good Christian, come a little way with 
 me, and I will teach thee about the way thou must go. Look before
 
 TTTE pilgrim's PROGRESS. \Q 
 
 thee; dost thou see this uarrow 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 
 
 Chr. But, said Christian, are there no turnings or windings, by 
 which a stranger may lose his waj? 
 
 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 show 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? 
 
 Cjir. 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. 
 
 CiiR. 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 show me excellent things, such as would be a 
 help to me in my journey. 
 
 Inter. Then said the Interpreter, Come in; I will show 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 hang 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 ^vrittcn 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 mcaneth 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
 
 20 THE PILGEIM S PEOGEESS. 
 
 to heaven, the best of books in his hand, and the law of truth writ on 
 his lips, it is to show thee that his work is to know and unfold dark 
 things to sinners; eV^en 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 show 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 showed 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 autho- 
 rized to be thy guide in all difficult places thou mayest meet with in 
 the way; wherefore, take good heed to what I have showed 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 re- 
 viewed 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 Inter- 
 preter 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. 
 
 Ohk. 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 show 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 it. 
 
 Again, as thou sawest the damsel sprinkle the room with water, upon 
 which it was cleansed with pleasure; this is to show 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 mixcli discontented; 
 but Patience was very quiet. Then Christian asked. What is the reason 
 of the discontent of Passion? The Interpreter answered. The Governor
 
 THE PILGRIM S PROORKSS. 21 
 
 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. 
 
 Cur. 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 ag thou 
 sawcst 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 Viorld. 
 
 Cur. 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 
 be 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 time to spend it; but he that hath his portion 
 last, must have it lastingly, therefore it is said of Dives, "Thou in thy 
 lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; 
 but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented," (Luke xvi. 25.) 
 
 CiiR. 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 tem- 
 ]ioral; but the things which are not seen are eternal," (2 Cor. iv. 18.) 
 But though this be so, yet since things present and our fieshy apjictite 
 are such near neighbours one to another; and again, because things to 
 come, and carnal sense, are such strangers one to another; therelbro it 
 is that the first of these so suddenly fall into amity, and that distance 
 is so continued between the second. 
 
 Tlien 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 bj^ it, always casting much water upon it, to quench 
 it; yet did the fire burn higher and hotter.
 
 22 THE PTLftKTM's P"ROGK"RSS. 
 
 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 bum higher 
 and hotter, thou shalt also see the reason of that. So he had him about 
 to the back-side 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 is the meaning of 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. JSTow was 
 Christian somewhat in amaze. At last, when every man started back 
 for fear of tlie armed men. Christian saw a man of a very stout coun- 
 tenance 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 an 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 showed thee a little more, and after that thou shalt go on
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 23 
 
 ill}' way. So lie took him by tlie hand again, and led him into a v(;ry 
 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 ir 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, 
 [ atn what I was not once. 
 
 CiiR. What wast thou once? 
 
 Man. The man said, I was once a fair and flourishing professor, both 
 in mints 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! 
 
 Cna. But how earnest 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 sucli 
 0. man as this? Ask him, said the Interpreter. 
 
 Chr. Then said Christian, Is there no hope, but you must be kept 
 in the iron cage of despair? 
 
 .Man. No, none at all. 
 
 CiiR. 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," (Heb 
 X. 2R, 29.) Therefore I have shut myself out of all the promises, and 
 thoro now remains to me nothing but threatenings, dreadful threatcnings, 
 fearful threatenings of certain judgment and fiery indignation, whirii 
 ■shall devour me as an adversary. 
 
 Chr. For what did you bring yourself into this condition? 
 
 Man. For the lusts, pleasures, and profits of this world; in the en- 
 joyment of which I did then promi.se myself much delight; but now 
 every one of those things also bite me, and gnaw me like a bnrning 
 worm. 
 
 Chr. But canst thou not now repent and turn? 
 
 Man. God hath denied me repentance. His Word gives me no en- 
 couragement 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 tliat I must meet with in eternity ! 
 
 Tnteii. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this man's mi.sery 
 be remerabcrod by thee, and be an everlasting caution to thee. 
 
 CuR. Well, said Christian, this is fearful! God help me tc watch and
 
 24 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 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 show 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 racked 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 tbe burning lake," 
 (Matt. iii. 12; xiii. 30; Mai. iv. 1.) 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," 
 (Luke iii. 17.) 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 was 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 frightened 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, showing 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,
 
 '(fr/yrwX 
 
 
 GbT.fstian. losiiif^ his burderu
 
 THE pilgrim's puogrkss. 25 
 
 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 began to take in hand ; 
 Then let me think on them, and understand 
 Wherefore they showed me were, and let me be 
 Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee." 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, that the highway np 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 sepulclire, whore it fell in, and I saw it no more. 
 
 Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said, with a uierry heart, 
 "He hath given mo 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 to thee." So the first said to him, "Thy sins be for- 
 given thee" (Mark ii. 5,) the second stripped him of his rags, and 
 clothed him "with change of raiment" (Zcch. iii. 4,) the third also sot 
 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 Pilgrrim. IIow! 'tis very trnr-. 
 Old thinps are past away, all 's become new. 
 Stranpe! he's another man, upon my word, 
 They be fine featliors 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 tlic grief tliat I was in 
 Till I came hitlier : \\ hat a place is this! 
 Must here be tlie beginning of my bliss? 
 Must liere the burden fall from off my back? 
 Must here the strings that bound it to me crack? 
 Hirst cross! blest sepulchre! blest rather be 
 The man that there was put to shame for me I" 
 
 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
 
 26 THE pilgrim's I'UOORESS. 
 
 asleep, witli 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 perad- 
 venture he might awake them, and cried. Ye 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 tub must stand 
 upon its own bottom." 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 es- 
 pied 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 was 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?" (John x. 1.) 
 
 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 beside, said they, if we get 
 into the way, what 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
 
 THF. PILGRIM S PROGRESS. 27 
 
 way; tlierefore I doubt you will not be found true men at the end of 
 the way. Tou 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 wo trow, given thee by some of thy neighbours, to hide the shame 
 of thy nakedness. 
 
 Chk. 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 Loi'd thereof will know me for good, since I have his 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 r/imfort 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, thouprh liifrh, I covet to ascend. 
 The (lilhciilty will not mo offend; 
 For I perceive the way to life lies here. 
 Come, pluck up heart, let's neither faint nor fear; 
 Better, thouph dithcult, the ripht way to tfo, 
 Than wrong, though easy, where the end is woe.' 
 
 The other two also came to the foot of the hill; but when they saw
 
 28 THE PILGRIM S PliOGRESS. 
 
 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, witli 
 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 those 
 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 look 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 I 
 No, no ; in headstrontf 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 j 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," (Prov. vi. 6.) 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 
 aien 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. 
 
 Chk. Then said Christian, You make me afraid, but whither shall I 
 fly to be safe.f' 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 forward. 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
 
 THE pilgrim's progrkss. 20 
 
 Tor his roll, that he might read therein, and be comforted; but he felt, 
 ;ind 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, there- 
 fore, he began 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 foi- 
 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 aslee]) 
 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, " wretched man that I 
 am!" that I should sleep in the day-time! that I should sleep in the 
 midst of difficulty! that I shoiald 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 Lave 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 [ needed not to have trod but once; yea, now 
 also I am like to be benighted, for the day is almost spent. Oh! 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 Avas 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 lie 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. thou sinful sleep: how, for thy sake am I like to be be- 
 nighted in my journey! I must walk without the sun; darkness nmst 
 cover the path of my foet; and I must hear the noise of the doleful 
 creatures, because of my sinful sleep. Now also he remembered the 
 stoiy that Mistrust and Timorous told him of, how they were frighted
 
 30 THE ptl&ktm's PEO&RESS. 
 
 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 beliind, 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. 
 
 PoE. What is your name? 
 
 Chr. My name is now Christian, but my name at the first was Grace* 
 less; 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 hill-side; nay, I had, notwith- 
 standing 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.
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 31 
 
 PoR. Well, I will call out one of the virgins of this place, who will, 
 if she likes your talk, bring you in to the rest of the family, according 
 to the rules of the house. So Watchful, the porter, rang a bell, at the 
 sound or 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 to-night : 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 ho 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 ^vith Christian, for the best improvement of time; 
 and they appointed Piety, and Prudence, and Charity to discourse with 
 bim; and thus they began: 
 
 Piety. Come, good Cliristian, since we have been no loving to you, to 
 receive you into 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. 
 
 Cim. With fi very good will, and I am glad that you are so well 
 disposed 
 
 PiKTt. What moved you at first to betake yourself to a pilgrim's life? 
 
 CiiR. 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. 
 
 PiKTY. But how did it happen that you came out of your country this 
 way ? 
 
 CiiR. lb was a.s Hod 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 wcejiing, whose name is 
 Evangelist, and he directed me to the wicket-gate, which else I should 
 never have found, and so lie set me into the way that bath led me 
 directly to tliis house. 
 
 Piety. But did you not come by the house of the Interpreter?
 
 32 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 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 judg- 
 ment was come. 
 
 Piety. Why, did you hear him tell his dream? 
 
 Chr. Tes, 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. 
 
 PiETr. Was that all that you saw at the house of the Interpreter? 
 
 Chr. "No; he took me and had me where he showed 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, Lang bleeding upon a 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 cov/ntry, 
 that is, an heavenly" (Heb. xi. 15, 16.)
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 33 
 
 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 but 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 mo 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 L> 
 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 pil- 
 grimage. 
 
 Char. But you should have talked to them, and have endeavoured 
 to have shown them the danger of being behind. 
 
 Chr. So I did; and told them also what God had shown 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 des- 
 truction? for I suppose that destruction was visible enough to you. 
 
 Chu. 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
 
 134 THE pilgeim's progrkss. 
 
 apprehension of tlio judgmenfc that did hang over our heads; but (J' 
 was not sufficient to prevail with them to come vpith me. 
 
 Char. But what could they say for themselves, why they came not? 
 
 Chr. Why, my wife Avas afraid of losing this world, and my children 
 were given to the foolish delights of youth: so whab 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," (1 John iii. 12;) and if thy wife and 
 children have been offended with thee for this, they thereby show 
 themselves to be implacable to good, and "thou hast delivered thy soul 
 from their blood," (Ezek. iii. 19.) 
 
 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 w^as furnished "with fat things, and with wine that was 
 well refined," (Isa. xxv. 6;) 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," (Heb. ii. 14, 15,) 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 
 mouiifain 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 

 
 THE PTLGHTM'" PTIOG-RFSS. 35 
 
 opened toward the sun-rising : the name of the chamber was Peace, where 
 he slept till break of day, and then he awoke and sang — 
 
 " Where am I now ? Is this the love and care 
 Of Jesus for the men that pilgrims are ? 
 Thus to provide ! that I should be forgiven I 
 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 shown him the 
 rarities of that place. And first they had him into the study, where 
 they showed him records of the greatest antiquity; in which, as I 
 remember my dream,, they showed 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 ser- 
 vants had done: as, how they had "subdued 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," (Heb^ xi. 33, 3-i-.) 
 
 They then rear" Again, in another part of the records of the house, 
 where it was showed 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 predic- 
 tions 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 showed him all manner of furniture, which their Lord had provided 
 for pilgrims, as sword, shield, helmet, breastplate, all-jirayer, and shoes 
 that would not wear out. And there was here enough of this to harness 
 out as many men for the service of the Lord as there be stars in the 
 heaven for multitude. 
 
 They also showed him some of the engines with which some of his 
 servants had done wonderful things. They showed 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 showed liim the ox's goad wherewith Shamgar slew six 
 hundred men. They showed him also the jaw-bone with which Samson 
 did such mighty feats. They showed 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 showed him, besides, many excellent things, with 
 which Christian was much delighted. This done, they went to their 
 rest again.
 
 3fl THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that on the morrow he got up to go for- 
 ward; but they desired him to stay till the next day also; and then, 
 said they, we will, if the day be clear, show you the Delectable Moun- 
 tains, 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 up 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 Emmanuel'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, thoii 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, walked 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 has 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 
 showed 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, 
 '^ 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
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. o 7 
 
 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? 
 
 Chb. 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 m.ore 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," (Rom. vi. 23,) therefore, when I was come to years, T 
 did as other considerate persons do, look out, if, perhaps, I might mend 
 myself. 
 
 Apol. There is no prince that will thus lightly loose his subjects, 
 neither will I as yet loose 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. 
 
 CnR. 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. 
 
 Che. 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. 
 
 Cur. What I promised thee was in my nonage; and, besides, I count 
 the Prince under whose banner now I stand is able to absolve mc; yea, 
 and to pardon also what I did in my compliance with thee ; and, l)csides, 
 
 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 
 
 1 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 knowcst that, for the
 
 38 THK PrLGTfTM's PROG'RKSS. 
 
 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? 
 
 Chk. Wherein, 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 shouldest have stayed till thy Prince 
 bad 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 journej', ai)d of what thou hast heard and seen, 
 thou art inwardly desirous of vainglory 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 withsta^id thee. 
 
 Chr. Apollyon, beware what you do; for lam 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
 
 t
 
 
 
 ./^^-...^^ 
 
 "ly*^ 
 
 Christian's fight with ApoUyon.
 
 THK PTLGRTM S p-ROOKKSa. 39 
 
 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 '^'Hristian began to despair of life: but as God would have it, 
 while Ap<.Vi:yon 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, mine enemy: when I 
 fall I shall arise," (Micah vii. 8, 2 Cor. xii. 9,) and with that gave him j 
 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," (Rom. viii. 37.) 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 
 1 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 Cliristian'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 1 )ok upward 
 but it was the dreadfulest sight that ever I saw. 
 
 "A more unequal match can hardly be, — 
 
 CiimsTiAN must fi^ht an Anp;cl ; liut you see, 
 
 The valiant man by hanrllinf; Sword and Shield, 
 
 Doth rialio him, tlio' a Dra^jon, quit the ftcld." 
 
 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 A])ollyoi)." And so ho did, saying — 
 
 "Great Bcclze.iub, the captain of this fiend. 
 DesijniM my ruin ; therefore to this end 
 lie sent him harnoss'd out: and be with rajre, 
 That hellish was, did fiercely me cnsraRe. 
 I'.ut blessed Michael helped me, and I, 
 liy dint of sword, did quickly make him fly. 
 Therefore to him let ine pive 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 apji^iod 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.
 
 40 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 
 
 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: — 
 
 Chk. Whither are you going? 
 
 Men. They said, Back! back! and we would have you do so coo, ii 
 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 Yalley 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 sat there 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 assualted. 
 
 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 mirr
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 41 
 
 on the other; kIso 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, that ofttimes, when he lift np 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, he 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 way-side. Now, thought Christian, what 
 shall I do? And ever and anon the flame and smoke would come out 
 in such abandance, 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!" 
 (Psa. cxvi. 4.) 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, 60 that sometimes he thought he should be torn to 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 
 liow 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 stcpt 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 con- 
 siderable time, he thought he heard the voice of a man, as going before 
 hi_m, saying, "Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I 
 will fear no evil, for thou art with me," (Psa. xxiii. 4.) 
 
 Then he was glad, and that for these reasons:
 
 42 THIS PILGBIM -^ PBO«r<RS8 
 
 First, Because he gathered from theuoe, ^'Ti&t som' <v»io ^feared (-rod 
 were in this valley as well as himself. 
 
 Secondly, For that he perceived God was with cliera, ohouc-»ii in that 
 dark and dismal state: and why not thought he, wita me? Liiough by 
 reason of the impediment that attends this place, i "^annoii perceive it. 
 
 Thirdly, For that he hoped, could he overtake them, *» ijave company 
 by-and-by. So he went on, and called to him that was oefore; 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," (Amos v. 8.) 
 
 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," ( Job xii. 22.) 
 
 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 danger- 
 ous, 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 ol 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 ^vas rising. Then, said he, "His 
 candle shincth upon my head, and by his light I walk throurjli darkness," 
 ( Job xxix 3.) 
 
 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 pUgrims 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, 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.
 
 THE PTLGniM S PrtOOTlFRS. 43 
 
 So I sa-w that Christian went on his way; yet at the sight or 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 
 DO hurt. Then sang Christian — 
 
 "0 ■world of wonders! (I can say no less) 
 That I should he 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 Jtsus 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, Cliristian went, and looking forward, he saw Faithful before 
 Mm, upon his journey. Then said Christian aloud, "Ho! ho! Soho! 
 stay, and I will be your companion!" At that, Faithful looked behind 
 him; to whom Christian cried again, "Stay, stay till I come uja to you." 
 But Faithful answered. "No, I am upon my life, and the avenger of 
 blood is behind me," (Josh. xx. 2 — 6.) 
 
 At this Christian was somewhat moved, and putting to all his strength, 
 ho quickly got up with Faithful, and did also overrun him; so the last 
 was first. Then did Christian vaingloriously 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 : 
 
 Cuii. My honoured and well-beloved brother Faithful, I am glad that 
 I have overtaken you; and that God hath 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. 
 
 Cur. What! did your neighbours talk so? 
 
 Faith. Yes, it was for awhile in everybody's mouth. 
 
 Chr. What! and did no more of them but you come out to escapr 
 the danger? 
 
 Faith. Though there was, as I said, a groat talk thereabout, yet I
 
 4-1- rnr: pilgetm's progbess. 
 
 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 cQd 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 des- 
 pise the way that he forsook ? 
 
 Faith. Oh, they say, hang him, he is a turn-coat! 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 tha.t man; but 
 now I fear he will perish in the overthrow of the city. For it is hap- 
 pened 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," (2 Pet. ii. 22.) 
 
 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 T perceived you fell into, and got 
 up to the gate^ without that danger, only I met with one whose name 
 was Wanton, who had liked 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 youP 
 
 Faixh. 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," (Psalm xxii. 14.) 
 
 Faith. Nay, I know not whether I did wholly escape her or no.
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 45 
 
 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," (Psalm v. 
 5.) 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 
 t>ie old man, Thou lookest like an honest fellow; wilt thou be content 
 to dwell with me for the wages that I shall give thee.P 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 that 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 ho 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 Byes, 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 be told me, 
 as long as he lived himself. 
 
 CuR. 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 
 T. talked with him, I saw there written, " Put off the old man with his 
 deeds," (Eph. iv. 22.) 
 
 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 
 Bell 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 my- 
 self to go thence, I felt him take hold of my fiesh, and give me such 
 a deadly twitch back, that I thought he had pulled part of me after 
 himself This made mc cry, "Oh, wretched man!" (Kom. vii. 24.) 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. 
 
 Chu. 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 over- 
 took me, he was but a word and a blow, for down he kudcked me, and 
 laid me for dead. But when I was a little come to myself again, I
 
 4fi THE pilgrim's PKOGKESS. 
 
 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 show mercy; and with that 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 show 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 rue, 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 shown jon 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, Self- 
 conceit, 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 ac- 
 cording 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 misrepre- 
 sented the thing ; " for before honour is humility, and a haughty spirit 
 before a fall." Therefore, said I, I had rather go through 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
 
 THE pilgrim's PKOGKESS 17 
 
 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. 
 
 Cmi. 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 accustomed 
 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 to 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 sluxme to sit whining 
 and mourning under a sermon, and a sliame to come sighing and 
 groaning home; that it was a shame to ask my neighbour forgiveness 
 lor petty faults, or to make restitution where I had taken from any. 
 He said, also, that religion made a man grow strange to the great, be- 
 cause 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 tiliame? 
 
 Cilli. And what did you say to him? 
 
 Faith. Say! I could not te.l what to say at the first. Tea, he put 
 me so to it, that ray blood came up in my face; even this Shame 
 fetched it up, and had almost beat me quite oil". But at last I began 
 to consider, that, "that which is highly esteemed among men, is had 
 in abomination with God," (Luke xvi. 15.) 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, wo shall not be doomed to death or life according to the hec- 
 toring 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 1 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 hira 
 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
 
 4S THE pilgrim's peogeess. 
 
 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 — 
 
 "The trials that those men cio meet -withal, 
 That are obedient to the heavenly call, 
 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, lot 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. ISTo, not I; for I had sunshine all the rest of the way through 
 that, and also through the Yalley 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. 
 
 I
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 49 
 
 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, wit!: 
 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 spare 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 to 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 convic- 
 tion; 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 pro- 
 fitable; 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 gos- 
 pel, 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 crace 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 thom by human industry, or only by the talk 
 of them. 
 
 Talk. All this I know very well; for a man can receive nothing, ex- 
 cept 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 Avill. T will talk of things heavenly, or things earth- 
 ly; things moral, or things evangelical; things sacred, or things profane; 
 things past, or things to come; things foreign, or things at home; things
 
 50 THK PTLGRTM's PROGRESS. 
 
 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. 
 
 CiiR. 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 Kow; and 
 is known of all that are acquainted with him, by the name of Talkative 
 in Prating Eow ; 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 show 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 mat- 
 ter, 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," (Matt, xxiii. 3.) But the "kingdom of God is not in 
 word, but in power," (1 Cor. iv. 20.) 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 ob.served 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
 
 THE PII-GRTm's PEOGEESS. 6i 
 
 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 hira, 
 pay it is better to deal with a Turk than with him; ibr fairer dealing 
 they shall have at their hands. This Talkative (if it be possible) will go 
 beyond them, defraud, beguile, and oA^crreach 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 re- 
 port 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 ovra knowledge, I can prove 
 him guilty of. Besides, good men are ashamed of him ; they can neither 
 ■:all him brother, nor friend; the very naming of him among them makes 
 jhem 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 
 Baying, 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 aflliction, and 
 to keep himself unspotted from the world," (James i. 27; see ver. 22 — 26.) 
 This Talkative is not aware of; he thinks that hearing and saying will 
 make a good Christian, and thus he dcceiveth 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? 
 o,nd accordingly shall they be judged. The end of the world is compared 
 to our liarvest; and you know men at harvest regard nothing but fruit. 
 Not that anything can be accepted that is not of faith, but 1 speak this 
 to show you how insignificant the profession of Talkative will be at that 
 day. 
 
 Faith. This brings to my mind that of Moses, by which he dcscribcth 
 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 chewcth the 
 cud only. The hare cheweth the cud, but yet is unclean, because he
 
 52 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 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," 
 (1 Cor. xiii. 1 — 3; xiv. 7.) 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 wiUing 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 shows 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 again 
 her child in her lap, when she calleth it slut and naughty girl, 
 then falls to hugging ind kissing it.
 
 THE PILGBTM S PRO GUESS, 53 
 
 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 master's 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 Jcnoiv 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 rcsteth 
 in the bare speculation of things; and knowledge that is accompanied 
 with the grace of foith 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 
 ray whole heart," (Psa. cxix. 34.) 
 
 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 findcth 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 hungcrings 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 tliat be 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
 
 54 THE PILOKTM's PROGHtESS. 
 
 work, there is required a very soiind 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 descrip- 
 tion 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 conscieiice 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. 
 
 Ta'.,k. Then Talkative at first began to blush; but, recovering him- 
 self, 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 answer 
 to such questions, because I count not myself bound thereto, unless 
 you take upon you to be a catechizer, 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 unclean- 
 ness, and swearing, and lying, and vain-company keeping, &c., will stand 
 together. The proverb is true of you which is said of a, harlot, to \su", 
 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. 
 
 Chk. Then came up Chriitiau, and said to his brother, I told you
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 55 
 
 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 bat 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 now-a-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 luch as you have done: then should 
 they either be made more conforiiiable to religion, or the company of 
 saints would be too hot for them. Then did Faith !ul say, 
 
 '■ Ilow Talkative at first lifts up his plumes! 
 How bravely doth he speak ! Ilow he presumes 
 To drive down all before him ! But so soon 
 As Faithful talks of heart-work, like the mcou 
 That's past tlie full, into the wane he fjoes. 
 And so will all, but he that ukart-wouk 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. Aye, and 
 my good friend too, says Faithful, for it was he that set me the way to 
 the gate. Now was Evangelist come up to them, ^nd thus saluted them: 
 
 Evan. Peace be with you dearly beloved; and peace be to your helpers. 
 
 Chk. "Welcome, welcome, my good Evaisgelist; the sight of thy coun- 
 tenance brings to my remembrance thy accent kindness and unwearied 
 lobouring 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 l-iaithful told him of all things that had happened 
 to them in the way ; and how, and with what difficulty, they had arrived 
 to that place. 
 
 Evan. Right glad am I, said Evangelist, not that you have met with 
 trinls. but that you have been victors; and for that you have, notwith- 
 standing many weaknesses, continued in the way to this very day.
 
 56 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 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," (John iv. 36; Gal. vi. 9.) The crown is before you, and it is an 
 incorruptible one; "so run, that you may obtain it," (1 Cor. ix. 24 — 27.) 
 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 of out 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 con- 
 cerning 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 helji 
 the rest of the way, and the rather, for that they well knew that he war- 
 a prophet, and could tell them of things that might happen unto them, 
 and also how they might resist and overcome them. To which reqtiest 
 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 you; 
 and therefore you cannot expect that you should go long on your pil- 
 grimage without them, in some sort or other. Tou have found something 
 of the truth of these testimonies upon you already, and more will im- 
 mediately 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 imnatural, 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 o( 
 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," (1 Peter iv. 19.) 
 
 Then I saw in my dream, that when they were got out of the wilder- 
 ness, 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
 
 THE pilgktm's peogeess. 57 
 
 of the wise, "all that cometh is vanity," (Eccles. i. ; ii. 11, 17; xi. 8; Isa. 
 xl. 17.) 
 
 This fair is no new-erected business, but a thing of ancient standing; 
 I will show 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 pil- 
 grims 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 merchandize sold, as houses, lands, trades, places, 
 honoiirs, perferments, titles, countries, kingdoms, lusts, pleasures and 
 delights of all sorts, as harlots, 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 blood-red 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 merchandize 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, ifc 
 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 sach a person of honour, Beelzebub had him from street to street, 
 and shoAved him all the kingdoms of the world in a little time, tbat he 
 might, if possible, allure the Blessed One to cheapen and buy 
 some of his vanities ; but he had no mind to the merchandize, and therefore 
 left the town, without laying out so much as one farthing upon llicse 
 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, beliold, even as they 
 entered into the fair, all the pcojile in the fair were moved, and the 
 town itself, as it were, in a hubbub about them; and that for several 
 reasons: for —
 
 58 THE pilgkim's proghess. 
 
 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 like- 
 wise 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 fiir to the 
 other, they seemed barbarians each to the other. 
 
 Thirdly, But that which did not a little amuse the merchandizers 
 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 merchandizers, 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 aud mad, or else such as came to put all 
 things into a confusion in the fair. Thei'efore 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 chained and stoned 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
 
 THE PILGRIM ^ PROGRESS. 59 
 
 observing, and less prejudiced than the rest, began to check and blame 
 the baser sorb for their continual abuses done by them to the men; they, 
 therefore, in angry manner, let tly 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 compainson 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 tliat preferment: but committing himself 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 dis- 
 posed 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 nam<^ 
 was Lord Hate-good. Their indictment was one and the same in sub- 
 stance, 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."
 
 GO THE PILGBIM's PROGRESS. 
 
 " Now, Faithful, play the man, speak for thy God 
 fear not the wicked's 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 be 
 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 holiuess. 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. 
 
 Sup. My liord, 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 nought, and such by which a man could by 
 no means please God. Which sayings 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.
 
 THE PILGEIm's PROGEESS. 61 
 
 Tben 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 ol 
 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 nae ! 
 
 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 Ijreasts 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 Gi'eat, servant 
 to our prince, that lest those of a contrary religion sliould multiply 
 and grow too strong for him, their males should be thrown into the
 
 62 TTTE ptlghim's pkogress. 
 
 river. Thei'e Avas 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 lion's 
 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 shown 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
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 63 
 
 about, that Christian for that time escaped them, and went his way, 
 and as he went, he sang, saying — 
 
 " Well, Faithful, thou hast faithfully profcst 
 Unto thy Lord ; with whom thou shalt be blest 
 When faithless ones, with all their vain delights. 
 Are crying out under their hellish plights : 
 iSing, Kaitliful, sing, and let thy name survive ; 
 For, though they killed 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 over- 
 took 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 i' 
 
 By-ends. Yes, said By-ends, I hope. 
 
 Chr. Pray, sir, what may I call you, said Christian. 
 
 By-f.nds. 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. 
 
 Bv-f.nds. Yes, I will assure you that it is; and I have very many rich 
 kindred there. 
 
 CiiR. 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 trutli, I am 
 become a gentleman of good quality, yet my great-grandfather was but 
 a waterman, 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 at such a pitch of 
 breeding, that she knows how to carry it to all, even to prince and pea- 
 sant. It is true wo somewhat diflbr 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
 
 64 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 silver slippers ; we love much to walk with, him in the street, if the ffun 
 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 nickname 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. 
 
 Chk. But did you never give an occasion to men to call you by this 
 name? 
 
 By-knds. jSTever, 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. 
 
 Che. 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. 
 
 Che. 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 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. 
 
 IJy-ends. You must not impose, nor lord it over my faith; leave me 
 to my liberty, and let me go with you. 
 
 Che. 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 school-fellows, and were taught by one Mr 
 Gripe-man, a schoolmaster in Lovegain, which is a market town in the 
 county of Coveting, in the north. This schoolmaster taught them the
 
 THE PILGRIMS PEOGEESS. 65 
 
 art of getting, either by violence, cozenage, flattery, lying, or by putting 
 on a 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 a pilgrimage. 
 
 MoxEY-LOVE. Alas ! Why did they not stay, that we might have had 
 their good company P 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 over- 
 much; 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-TiiE-woiiLD. Aye, 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 2:)art, 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 Scri])turo nor reason (and you see 
 we have both on our side,) neither knows his own liberty, nor seeks his 
 own safety.
 
 fif) THT? pilgrim's PROGRESS. 
 
 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 Lim, 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 ? 
 
 Mu. 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: Sup- 
 pose 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,) aye, 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 complying with the temper of his people by dissembling, 
 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 hand to do good. 
 
 And now to the second part of the question, which concerns the 
 tradesman you mentioned. Suppose such an 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 my shop. 
 
 3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming religious, gets that 
 which is good, of them that are good, by becoming good liimsell! so then 
 here is a good wife, and good customers, and good gain, and all these 
 by becoming religions, 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' question,
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGEKSS. 67 
 
 was higLly applaiicled 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 con- 
 cluded, 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 unlawful 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 ways 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. Kead 
 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 
 Lag, 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 ho might have got money therewith ; and his sen- 
 tence from Peter's mouth was according. 
 
 5. Neither will it out of my mind, but that that man that takes n]> 
 religion for the world, will throw awav religion for the world; for si> 
 surely as Judas resigned the world in becoming religious, so surely did 
 he also sell religion and his Master lor the same. To answer the ques- 
 tion, therelbre, aflirmatively, as I perceive you have done, and to acccjit 
 of, as authentic, such answer, is both heathenish, hypocritical, and devil- 
 ish; and your reward will be according to your works. Then they siciod 
 staring one upon another, but had not wherewith to answer Chfistian, 
 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 
 Btaggered and kept behind, that Christian and Hopeful might outgo
 
 68 THE pilgrim's PEOGEESa. 
 
 them. Then said Christian to his fellow, If these men cannot stand be- 
 fore the sentence of men, what will they do with the sentence of Godf 
 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 at 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 (gentleman-like) to call to passengers to 
 come and see; who said to Christian and his fellow. Ho! turn aside 
 hither, and I will show you a thing. 
 
 Chr. What thing so deserving as to turn us out of the way to see it ? 
 
 Demas. Here is a silV'er 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.) 
 
 CiiR. 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 the 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.
 
 THE pilgrim's peogeess. 69 
 
 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 shaier in his lucre; so these do 
 Take up in this ivorld, 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, 
 "Eemember 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 i this is a seasonable sight ; it came opportunely 
 to us after the invitation which Demas gave us to come over to view 
 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 our- 
 selves 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. 
 
 Cur. 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
 
 7U THE PTLGKTM S PK0GTIKS8. 
 
 snch as sTiall not be prevented by this cantion; so Korak, 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 abov'e a'l, 
 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 oufc 
 of the way) was turned into a pillar of salt; esperially 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 kind- 
 nesses that he had showed 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. 
 
 HoPF. Doubtless thou bast 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 
 alwnys 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," (Psa. Ixv. 9; Rev. xxii. 1; Ezek. xlvii. 1.) Now their way 
 lay just upon the bank of the river; here, therefore. Christian and bis 
 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; foi 
 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 piljfrims by the highway side; 
 The meadows preen, beside their fragrant smell, 
 Yield dainties for them: and he that can cell 
 What pleasant fruit, yea, leaves, these trees do yield, 
 Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field,"
 
 THE pilgrim's PKOGKESS. 71 
 
 So when they were disposed to go on (for they were not as yet at 
 their journey's en'l,) thoy ate and drank, and deparfed. 
 
 Now, I beheld in my dream, that they had not journeyed far, but the 
 river and the way for a time parted; at which they were not 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 
 tlie souls of the pilgrims were much disconniged because of the way," 
 (Num. xxi. 4) Wherefore, still as they went on, they wished for better 
 way. Now, a little befo/e 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-p;ith 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 othpr 
 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. Wlien they were gone over, and were got into the ])ath, 
 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-confi- 
 dence); 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 durk; 
 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 matt(-'r, but there was none to answer, only they heard a groaning. 
 Then said Hopeful, Wliere 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? 
 
 HopB. 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. 
 
 CiiK. Good brother, be not offended; I am sorry I ha\c brought thee 
 cut 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 ibr our good.
 
 72 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 
 
 Chr. I am glad I have with me a merciful brother ; but we must not 
 
 Btand 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 encourage- 
 ment, they heard the voice of one saying, " Set thine heart toward the 
 highway, even the way which thou wentest; turn again," (Jer. xxxi. 21.) 
 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 stUe 
 that night. Wherefore, at last, lighting under a little shelter, they sat 
 down there until the day-break ; 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, be- 
 cause 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 Daspair 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 coun-
 
 The Pilgrims found by Giant Despair.
 
 THE pilgeim's peogress. 73 
 
 selled 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 farther, and understanding 
 they were yet alive, did advise him to counsel them to make away with 
 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, eaid 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 sun- 
 .';hiny 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 wo 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 Avelcome 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 
 Inmsolf 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 that 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 bis 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
 
 74 THE PILaRIM's PROGRESS. 
 
 •while. The time inay 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! 
 Aud art thou 7iow nothing but fear! Thou seest that I am in the dun- 
 geon 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 playedsfc 
 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 
 w.'il 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 coun- 
 sel. To which he replied, They are sturdy rogues, they choose rather to 
 bear all hardship, than to make away with themselves- Then said she, 
 Take them into the castle-yard to-morrow, and show 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 castlc-yard, and shows 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 rhem 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 besan to renew their discourse of their 
 prisoners; and withal the old Giant wondered, that he could neither by
 
 THE pilgeim's peogbess. 75 
 
 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 ib 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 Avith speed, 
 but that gate, as it opened, made such a creaking, that it Avakod Uiant 
 Despair, who, h^istily 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 ca^ne to the King's highway, and so were safe, 
 because thoy were out of his jurisdiction. 
 
 Now, when they were gone 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 con- 
 sented 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 dcspiseth the King of the Celestial Country, and 
 seeks to destroy his holy pilgrims." Many, therefore, that followed after, 
 road what was v.ritton. and escaped the danger. This done, they sang 
 as follows : — 
 
 "Out of tlie way we went, and tlien we found 
 
 What 'twas to tread upon loibidilen ground; 
 
 And let them that come after have a care. 
 
 Lest htrdlessness makes them, as we, to fare. 
 
 Lest they for trespassing his prisoners are, 
 
 Who-e Castle's Doubling, 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 be- 
 fore; so they went up to the mountains, to behold the gardens and or- 
 ■hards; the vineyards and fountains of water; where also thoy 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 pilcfrims, when they 
 stand to talk with any by the way), they asked. Whose Delectable
 
 76 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 Mountains are these? And whose be the sheep that feed upon them? 
 
 "Mountains delectable tbey 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 transgres- 
 sors shall fall therein," (Hos. xiv. 9.) 
 
 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," (Heb. xiii. 2,) 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 show 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 ac- 
 quainted 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 Christian and Hopeful to walk with them upon the mountains; so 
 they went forth with them, and walked awhile, having a pleasant pros- 
 pect on every side. Then said the Shepherds one to another. Shall we 
 show 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 ver;y 
 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 Hymeneiis and 
 Philetus, as concerning the faith of the resurrection of the body ? They 
 
 1
 
 THE pilghim's prooeess. 77 
 
 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 con- 
 tinued 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 under- 
 standing, shall remain in the congregation of the dead," (Prov. xxi. 16.) 
 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 Shej)herds 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 a 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 ? 
 
 SiiEP. 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? 
 
 SuEP. 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
 
 78 THE pilgeim's proqeess, 
 
 mountains. Then said the Shepherds one to another, Let us here show Lo 
 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 Shejiher Is had shown 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 Irom all other men are kept conceal'd. 
 Come to the Shc|)hei'ds, then, if you would see 
 Things deep, things hid, and that mysteiious 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 slept 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 lie came, and whither lie was 
 
 I 
 
 1 
 
 \er. 
 
 Ignor. Sir, I was bom in the country that lieth oflf there a little on 
 the left hand, and I am going to the Celestial City. 
 
 Cur. But how do you think to get in at the gate.'' for you may find 
 some difficulty there. 
 
 Ignor. As other good people do, said he. 
 
 CiiR. But what have you to show 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. 
 
 CiiR. But thoti camcst not in at the wicket-gate that is at the head 
 of this way; thou camcst in hither through that same crooked lane, 
 and therefore, I fear, however thou mayost think of thyself, when the 
 reckoning day sViall come, thou wilt have laid to thy charge that thou 
 art a thief and a robber, instead of getting admittance into the city. 
 
 Ignoii. Gentlemen, ye be utter strangers to me, I know you not; 
 be content to 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. 
 
 -sa
 
 THE riLOETM's PEOOHESS. 79 
 
 since we have, as yon 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," (Prov. xxvi. 12.) And said, moreover, "When he that is a 
 fool walketh by the way, his wisdom faileth him, and he saitli to every 
 one that he is a fool," (Eccles. x. 3.) What, shall we talk further with 
 him, or out-go him at present, and so leave him to think nf what he 
 hath heard already, and then stop again fur 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 iffnorant of wliat's the chiefcst fiain! 
 God saith, those that no undcrstandiiip have. 
 Although he made them, them he will not saTe." 
 
 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 Chri.stian 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, fur 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 hajipcncd, at that 
 time, to come down the lane, from Broad-way Gati, 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 liis sle(^p, 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-l'aith looktd as white 
 as a clout, and had neither power to fight or tly. Then said Faint-heart, 
 Deliver thy purse. But he making no haste to do it (lor he was loth 
 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,
 
 80 THE pilgrim's PKOGRESS. 
 
 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 scramble 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 nauch 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 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. 
 
 J
 
 THE PILGEIM's PEOQEESS. 81 
 
 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 ex- 
 cluded from an inheritance there; and that would have been worse to 
 him than the appearance and villany 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 fleshy 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? " (Gen. xxv. 32.) But Little-faith, 
 though it was his lot to have but a little iaith, 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 bo 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; there- 
 fore, to Avhat end should he that is of such a tcmpor 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, there- 
 fore, 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 fi'o 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
 
 82 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 you, as they did, at the iioise 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 in to 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 villians 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. Aye, 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 Goliah 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 tjut they will throw up his heels. And when a man is 
 down, you know, what can he do? 
 
 Whoso looks Avell upon Great-grace's face, shall see those scars and cuts 
 there, that shall easily give demonstration of what I 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
 
 THE pilgrim's peogeess. 83 
 
 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 rotted wood. The arrow cannot make him flee; sliug stones 
 are turned with him into stubble. Darts are counted as stubble : he 
 laugheth at the shaking of a spear," (Job xli. 26 — 29.) 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 jhe armed men. He mocketh at fear, 
 and is not affrighted, neither turneta 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," 
 (Job xx.xix. 19—25.) 
 
 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 
 sm-e 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 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," (Eph. vi. 16.) 
 
 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. Ob, 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," (Isa. x. 4.) 
 
 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 slaall 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
 
 84 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 deliver us from the next imcircumcised Philistine. Then sang Christian— 
 
 "Poor Little-faith! Hust been among the thieves t 
 Wast lobb'd? Kemeinber 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 I do 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," (Prov. 
 xxix. 5.) 
 
 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," 
 (Psa. xvii. -i.) Tlius 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, 
 be 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
 
 Chnstian and Hopeful caught xn the net.
 
 THE PILGRIM S PROOnESS. 85 
 
 direction for the -way. They answered, Yes. But did you, said he. 
 when you were at a stand, phick out and read your note? They 
 answered, No. He asked them, Why? Tliey said, they forgot. He 
 asked, moreover, if the Sliepherds 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 tht-y did, he cliastised 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," (Rev. iii. 19.) 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 yren^' softly along the right 
 way, singing — 
 
 ••Come hithor, you that walk along the way; 
 See how the pili^rims fare that go astray ! 
 They catchcd are in an entangled net, 
 'Cause they good counsel liglitly did forget: 
 'Tis true they rescued were, but yet you see. 
 They're scourged to boot. Let this your caution b'^." 
 
 Now, after a while, they perceived, afar off, one coming softly and 
 alone, all along the highway to meet them. Then said 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. 
 
 CiiR. What is the meaning of your laughter? 
 
 Atheist. I laugh to see Avhat ignorant persons you are, to take upon 
 you so tedious a journey, anfl you are like to have nothinrr 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 these twenty years, but find no more of it than I did the tirsc 
 day I set out. 
 
 Chr. We have both heard and believe that there is such a |)lace 
 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
 
 86 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 tliat I then cast away, for hopes of that which I uow see is not. 
 
 Chb. 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 ns 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 citj? 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," (Prov. xix. 27.) I say, my brother, ceai,t 
 to hear him, and let us "believe to the saving of the soul," (Heb. x. 39.) 
 
 Chk. My brotlier, I did not put the question to thee for that 1 
 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 me go on, 
 knowing, that we have belief of the truth, "and no lie is of the truth," 
 (1 John ii. 21.) 
 
 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 cer- 
 tain 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 be- 
 ware 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," (1 Thess. v. 6.) 
 
 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," (Eccles. iv. 9.) Hitherto 
 hath they company been my mercy, and thou shalt have a good reward 
 for thy labour. 
 
 Chr. ISTow 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: — 
 
 "When saints do sleepy grow, let them come hither, 
 .\nj hear how these two pilgrims talk together;
 
 THE piiokim's pbo&ress. 87 
 
 t 
 
 Yea, let them learn of them, in n7iy wise, 
 Thus to keep ope their drowsy slumb'rinf? eyes. 
 Saints' fellowship, if it be managed well. 
 Keeps them awake, and that in spite of hell." 
 
 Chk. Then Christian began and said, I will ask you a question. 
 How came you to think at first of so doing as you do nowP 
 
 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. 
 
 Cur. "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," (Rom. vi. 21 — 23.) And that for these things' 
 sake " Cometh the wrath of God upon the children of disobedience," 
 (Ephes. V. 6.) 
 
 CiiR. And did you presently fall under the power of this conviction ? 
 
 Hope. ZSTo, I was not willing presently to know the evil of sin, nor 
 the damnation that follows upon the commission of it ; but endeavoured, 
 when my mind at first began to be shaken with the Word, to shut 
 mine eyes against the light thereof. 
 
 CiiR. 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 loth to leave it. 3. I could not tell how to part 
 with mine old companions, their presence 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. 
 
 Ciiu. 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 Lhe bell toll for some that were dead; or, 
 
 6. If I thought of dying myself; or,
 
 88 THE pilgrim's PROGEES. 
 
 7 If I heard that sudden death happened to others; 
 
 8. But especially, when I thought of myself, that I must quickly 
 ..■ome 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. 
 
 Ohr. And how did you do then? 
 
 Hope. I thought I must endeavour to mend my life; for else, thought 
 1, I am sure to be damned. 
 
 Chk. 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. Tes, 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 mgs," (Isa. Ixiv. 
 6.) "By the works of the law shall no flesh be justified," (Gal. ii. 16.) 
 "When ye shall have done all those things, say. We are unprofitable," 
 (Luke xvii. 10;) 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? 
 
 Hope. Why, I thought thus with myself: 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 amend- 
 ments. 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 day 
 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 brak-s my mind to 
 
 ii
 
 THE PTT.GRT^r's PROGRESS 89 
 
 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 T 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 
 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 
 
 Cur. 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' inditing, to encourage me the more freely to come; and ho 
 said, concerning tliat 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 mo Then I asked him 
 further, how I must make my supplication to Him? And ho said, Go, 
 and thou shalt find Him upon a nicrcy-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 be bid me say 
 to this effect: God be merciful to mo a sinner, and make me to 
 know and believe in Jesus Christ; for I sec, 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 bo 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 therelore
 
 90 THE PILGEIm's PROGRESS. 
 
 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. 
 
 Che,. What did you do then? 
 
 Hope. What! why, I could not tell what to do. 
 
 Chr. Had you not thoughts of leaving ofi" 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," (Hab. ii. 3.) So I continued praying until the 
 Father showed 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," (Acts xvi. 31.) 
 
 But I replied, Lord, I am a great, a very great sinner. And he 
 answered, "My grace is sufficient for thee," (2 Cor. xii. 9.) Then I said. 
 But, 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," (John vi. 35;) that believing and coming was all one; 
 and that he that came, that is, ran out in his heart and aifections 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, T will in no wise cast 
 out," (John vi. 37.) 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," 
 (1 Tim. i. 15.) "He is the end of the law for righteousness to every 
 one that believeth," (Rom. x. 4.) "He died for our sins, and rose again 
 for our justification," (B<om. iv. 25.) "He loved us, and washed us from 
 our sins in his own blood," (Rev. i. 5.) "He is mediator betwixt God 
 and us," (1 Tim. ii. 5.) "He ever liveth to make intercession for us," 
 (Heb. vii. 25.) From all whirh I gathered, that I must look for
 
 THE PILGKIM's PKOGTIKSS. 91 
 
 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 sub- 
 mitting 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 tho 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; ibr there 
 never came thought into my heart before now, that showed 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 Igno- 
 rance, 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. Tliat 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 
 oared 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. 
 
 CiiK. What good motions? pray tell us. 
 
 Ignok. 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 desiretli, and hath nothing," (Prov. xiii. 4) 
 
 loNOK. 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 per- 
 suaded that thou hast left all for God and heaven?
 
 92 THE pilgrim's progeess. 
 
 Ir.NOR. My heart tells me so. 
 
 Chr. The wise man says, "He that trusts his owb heart is a fool," 
 (Prov. xxviii. 26.) 
 
 Ignoe. This is spoken of an evil heart, but mine is a good one. 
 
 Chr. But how dost thou prove that ? 
 
 Ignok. 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. 
 
 Igxor. But my heart and life agree together, and therefore my hope 
 is well grounded. 
 
 Chr. Who told thee that thy life and heart agree together? 
 
 Ignor. My heart tells me so. 
 
 Chr. A.sk my fellow if I be a thief! Thy heart tells thee so! Ex- 
 cept 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 our- 
 selves, some God, some Christ, and somo" 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? 
 
 Chk. 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, "Thei-e is none righteous, there is none that doeth 
 good," (Rom. iii. 10, 11, 12.) It saith also, that "Every imagination of the 
 heart of man is only evil, and that continually," (Gen. vi. 5.) And again, 
 "The imagination of man's heart is evil from his youth," (Gen. viii. 
 21.) 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 judg- 
 ment 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 
 
 J
 
 THE ptt,grtm's progress. 93 
 
 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 hatli 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 righteous- 
 ness stinks in His nostrils, and that therefore, He cannot abide to see 
 us stand before Him in any confidence, even in all our best perfor- 
 mances. 
 
 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. 
 
 CiiR. 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 per- 
 sonal 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, througli 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 bis merits; and so 
 shall 1 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 makcth not Christ a justificr of thy person, but of thy 
 actions; and of thy person for thy actions' sake, which is fiil.se. 
 
 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
 
 94 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 
 
 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 righteous- 
 ness, 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. 
 
 Ignok. 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 appre- 
 hensions 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 Christ but by the 
 revelation of the Father, yea, and faith too, by which the soul layetb 
 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 righteous- 
 ness, which is the righteousness of God (for He himself is God), thou 
 shalt be delivered from condemnation. 
 
 Ignor. You go fast, I cannot keep pace with you. Do you go on 
 before: 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 shall slight it, thou wilt be 
 The loser, Ignorance, T'U warrant thee."
 
 THE pilgrim's pbogeess. 95 
 
 Then Christian addressed thus himself to his fellow: — 
 
 CiTK. Weil, 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, I am 
 much grieved 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 pre- 
 sumptuously 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," (Prov. i. 7, ix. 10.) 
 
 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 Knchanted 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 there- 
 fore 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. Thoy also 
 think that these fears tend to the spoiling of their faitli, when, alas 
 for them, poor men that they are, they have none at all ! and therefore 
 they harden their hearts against tliem. 3. They presume they ouglit not
 
 90 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 
 
 ro fear; and therefore, in despite of them, wax presumptuonsly 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 neighbour Ignorance by 
 himself, and fall upon another profitable question. 
 
 Hope With all my heart, but you shall still begin. 
 
 Ohr. Well, then, did you not know, about ten years ago, one Tempo- 
 rary 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 castt 
 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 sick- 
 ness is over, and so his stomach eased, his desire being not at all alie- 
 nated 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," (2 
 Peter ii. 22.) Thus I say, being hot for heaven, by virtue only of the 
 sense and fear of the torments of bell, as that sense of hell, and the fear 
 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," (Prov. xxix. 25.) 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 
 
 II
 
 THE pilgrim's peogeess. 07 
 
 know not what) the hazard of losing all, or, at least, of bringins? thom- 
 Belvcs 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 con- 
 temptible; 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, aad choose such ways as will harden them 
 more and more. 
 
 Chu. 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. 
 
 CliR. So I will willingly 
 
 1. They draw ofi' their thoughts, all that they may, from the remem- 
 brance 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 infirmities 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
 
 '98 *rHE pilgkim's progress. 
 
 it, they solaced themselves there for a season. Tea, here they heard 
 continually the singing of birds, and saw every day the flowers appear 
 in 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," (Isa. Ixii. 5.) Here they 
 had no want of corn and wine; for in this place they met with abun- 
 dance of what they ha 1 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 !" (Isa. Ixii. 11.) 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," (Cant. v. 8.) 
 
 But, being a little strengthened, and better able to bear their sick- 
 ness, they walked on their way, and came 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 tho arbours where he delighted to be; and here they tarried 
 and slept. 
 
 Now I beh .id 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 vine- 
 yards 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
 
 I 
 
 THE pilgrim's PR0GBES9. 90 
 
 for tliat 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 their 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 obtaii. 
 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, bu' 
 there was no bridge to go over, and the river was very deep. At the 
 sight, therefore, of this river, the Pilgrims were much stunned; but 
 the men that went 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 have 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 
 a great measure lost his senses, so that he could neither remember, nor 
 orderly talk of any of those sweet refreshments that he had mot 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. ELere 
 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, cro & while, he would rise up again half dead
 
 TOO THE pilgrim's peoqeess. 
 
 Hopeful also did 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 Ho would now arise to help me; but for my 
 sins He hath brought me into this 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 mei», neither are they plagued 
 like other men," (Psa. Ixxiii. 4, 6.) These ti-oubles 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," (Isa. xlii. 2.) 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. Thua 
 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." 
 
 Kow 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 in- 
 numerable company of angels, and the spirits of just men made perfect,-" 
 (Heb, xii. 22 — 24.) You are going now. said they, to the paradise of God,
 
 I 
 
 THTT PTT.GHTM's PT?oaT?KS3. 101 
 
 wherein you stall see the tree of life, and eat of the ncver-fadiug 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, sick- 
 ness, affliction and death, "for the former things are passed away," (Isa. 
 Ixv. 16, 17.) Tou 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 suffer- 
 ings 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," (1 John iii. 2.) 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 enjc-y 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 yon. 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 trumjiot in the clouds, as 
 upon the wings of the Tvind, 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 cncrair s. Also, when He shall again return 
 to the city, you shall ^o too, with sound of trumpet, and be ever with 
 Tlim. 
 
 Now while they were thus drawing towards the Gate, behold a com- 
 pany 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 wc have brought 
 tlieni 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 arc called unto tlie marriage 
 supper of the Lamb," (Rev. xix. 9.) There came out also at this time 
 to meet them, several of the King's trumpetcr.s, clothed in white and 
 shining raiment, who, with melodious noises, and loml. 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 snouting, 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
 
 i02 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 
 
 it were to guard them through the upper regions,) continually sounding 
 as they went, with melodious noise, m 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 theso 
 two men, as it were, in heaven, before ttey 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." (Rev. xxii. 14.) 
 
 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, etc., to whom it was said. These 
 
 Eilgrims are come from the City of Destruction, for the love that they 
 ear to the King of this place; and thou 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," (Isa. xxvi. 2.) 
 
 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 were also that met them with harps 
 and crowns, and gave them to them — the harps to praise withal, and 
 the crowns in token of honour. Then I heard in my dream that all 
 ihe bells in the city rang again for joy, and that it was said unto them, 
 "Enter ye into the joy op yoi;r Lord." I also heard the men them- 
 selves, that they sang with a loud voice, saying, "Blessing and honoub. 
 
 4ND GLORY, AND POWER, BE UNTO HIM THAT SITTETH UPON THE THRONE. 
 AND UNTO THE LaMB, FOR EVER AND EVER," (Rev. V. 13.) 
 
 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 on- 
 another without intermission, saying, "Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord,"
 
 THE pilgrim's PTiOGRESS. 103 
 
 (Eev. iv. 8.) 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, aiid 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 
 others 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 tlie 
 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 us from the City of Destruction I So I awoke, and 
 behold it was a dream. 
 
 \ 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 Now, Eeader, I have told my dream to theo; 
 See if thou canst interpret it to me. 
 Or to thyself, or neighbour; but take heed 
 Of misinterpreting; for that, instead 
 Of doiiig 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 m..ittcr see.
 
 104 THE PITyOTlTM'a PT?OQRF«!S. 
 
 Put by the curtians, 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 here, 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. 
 
 RND OF THE FIRST PAR?
 
 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 THE SECOND PART. 
 
 Courteous Companions, 
 
 SOME time since, to tell you my dream that I had o. Christian the 
 Pilgrim, and of his dangerous journey towards the Celesiial Country, 
 was pleasant to mo, and profitable to you. I told you then, also, what 
 I saw concerning his wife and children, and how unwilling they were 
 to go with him on pilgrimage, insomuch that he was forced to go on 
 his progress without tliem; for he durst not run the danger of that 
 destruction which he feared would come by staying with them in the 
 City of Destruction. Wherefore, as I then showed you. he left them 
 and departed 
 
 Now it hath so happened, through the multiplicity of business, that 
 I have been much hindered and kept back from my wonted travels 
 into those parts from whence he went, and so could not, till now. 
 obtain an opportunity to make further inquiry after whom he left behind 
 that I might give you an account of them. But having had some 
 concerns that way of late, I went down again thitherward. Now, having 
 taken up my lodgings in a wood, about a mile off the place, as I slept 
 T dreamed again. 
 
 And as 1 was in my dream, behold, an aged gentleman came by 
 where I lay; and because he was to go some part of tlic way that I 
 was travelling, methought I got up and went with him. So as we 
 walked, and as travellers usually do, I was as if we fell into discourse, 
 and our talk happened to be about Christian and his travels: for thus 
 I began with the old man: — 
 
 Sir, said I, what town is that, there below, that lioth on the left hand 
 of our way ? 
 
 Then said Mr. Sagacity, (for that was his name.) It is the City of 
 Destruction, a populous place but possessed with a very ill-conditioned 
 and idl(> sort of people 
 
 I thought that was that city, quoth I; I went once myself through 
 that town, and therefore, know that this report you give of it is true-
 
 106 THE PILGEIM'S PROGRESS. 
 
 Sag. Too true; I wish I could speak truth in speaking better of 
 them that dwell therein. 
 
 Well Sir, quoth I, then I perceive you to be a well-meaning man; 
 and so one that takes pleasure to hear and tell of that which is good. 
 Pray did you never hear what happened to a man some time ago in 
 this town, whose name was Christian, that went on pilgrimage up 
 towards the higher regions ? 
 
 Sag. Hear of him? Ay, and I also heard of the molestations, 
 troubles, wars, captivities, cries, groans, frights, and fears that he met 
 with and had in his journey; besides, I must tell you, all our country 
 rings of him. There are but few houses that have heard of him and 
 his doings, but have sought after and got the records of his pilgrimage ; 
 yea, I think I may say that his hazardous journey has got a many 
 well-wishers to his ways; for though, when he was here, he was fool 
 in every man's mouth, yet, now he is gone, he is highly commended 
 of all. For, it is said, he lives bravely where he is ; yea, many of them 
 that are resolved never to run his hazards, yet have their mouths water 
 at his gains. 
 
 They may, quoth I, well think, if they think anything that is true, 
 that he liveth well where he is; for he now lives at and in the Foun- 
 tain of Life, and has what he has without labour and sorrow, for there 
 is no grief mixed therewith. But pray what talk have the people about 
 him? 
 
 Sag. Talk ! the people talk strangely about him ; some say that he 
 now walks in white, that he has a chain of gold about his neck : that 
 he has a crown of gold, beset with pearls, upon his head. Others say 
 that the Shining Ones, that sometimes showed themselves to him in 
 his jour ey, are become his companions, and that he is as familiar with 
 them in the place where he is, as here one neighbour is with another. 
 Besides, it is confidently afiirmed, concerning him, that the King of the 
 place where he is has bestowed upon him already a very rich and 
 pleasant dwelling at court, and that he every day eateth, and drinketh, 
 and walketh, and talketh with him; and receiveth of the smiles and 
 favours of him that is Jud.ije of all there. Moreover, it is expected of 
 some, that his Prince, the Lord of that country, will shortly come into 
 these parts, and will know the reason, if they can give any, why his 
 neighbours set so little by him, anrl had him so much in derision, when 
 they perceived that he would be a pilgrim. For, they say, that now 
 he is so in tlie affections of his Prince, and that his Sovereign is so 
 much concerned with the indignities that were cast upon Christian, 
 when he became a pilgrim, that he will look upon all as if done unto 
 himself; and no marvel, for it was for the love that he had to his 
 Prince that he ventured as he did. 
 
 I dare say, quoth I, I am glad on it; I am glad for the poor man's 
 sake, for that he now has rest from his labour, and for that he now 
 reapeth the benefit of his tears with joy, and for that he has got beyond 
 the gunshot of his enemies, and is out of the reach of them that hate 
 him. I also am g^ad, for that a rumour of these things is noised abroad
 
 THE PTT/GRTM's pbogbkss. UYI 
 
 m this country; who can tell but that it may work some good effect on 
 some that arc left behind ? But pray, Sir, while it is fresh in my mind, 
 do you hear anything of his wife and children ? Poor hearts ! I wonder 
 in mind what they do. 
 
 Sag. Who! Christiana and her sons? They are like to do as well 
 as did Christian himself: for though they all played the fool at the first, 
 and would by no means be persuaded by either the tears or entreaties 
 of Christian, yet second thoughts have wrought wonderfully with them ; 
 so they have packed up, and are also gone after him. 
 
 Better and better, quoth I. But what! wife and children, and all!" 
 Sag. It is true; I can give you an account of the matter, for I was 
 upon the spot at the instant, and was thoroughly acquainted with the 
 whole affair. 
 Then, said I, a man, it seems, may report it for a truth? 
 Sag. You need not fear to affirm it; I mean that they are all gone 
 on pilgrimage, both the good woman and her four boys. And being 
 (we are, as I perceive,) going some considerable way together. I will 
 give you an account of the whole of the matter. 
 
 This Christiana, (for that was her name from the day that she, with 
 her children, betook themselves to a pilgrim's life,) after her husband 
 was gone over the river, and she could hear of him no more, her 
 thoughts began to work in her mind. First, for that she had lost her 
 husband, and for that the loving bond of that relation was utterly 
 broken betwixt them. For you know, said he to me, nature can_ do nv. 
 less but entertain the living with many a heavy cogitation in the 
 remembrance of the loss of loving relations. This, therefore, of her 
 husband did cost her many a tear. But this was not all; for Christiana 
 did also begin to consider with herself, whether her unbecoming 
 behaviour towards her husband was not one cause that she saw him no 
 more; and that in such sort he was taken away from her And upon 
 this, came into her mind, by swarms, all her unkind, unnatural, and 
 ungodly carriages to her dear friend; which also clogged her conscience. 
 and did load her with guilt. She was, moreover, much broken with 
 calling to remembrance the restless groans, brinish tears, and self- 
 bcmoanings of her hu.sband. and how shu did harden her heart against 
 all his entreaties, and loving persuasions, of her and her sons, to go 
 with him ; yea, there was not anything that Christian either said to her 
 or did before her all the while that his burden did hang on his back, 
 but it returned upon her like a flash of lightning, and rent the caul ol 
 her heart in sunder. Specially that bitter outcry of his, 'What shall 1 
 do to be saved?" did ring in her ears most dolefully. 
 
 Then said she to her children, Sons, we are all undone \ have sinned 
 .away your father, and he is gone; he would have had us with him. but 
 I would not go myself. I also have hindered you of life Witli thnt 
 thi; boys all fell into tears, and cried out to go after their father O ' said 
 Christiana, that it had been but our lot to go with him, then had it 
 fared well with us, beyond what it is like to do now; for though 1 
 lorniorly foolishly imagined, concerning the troubles of your father, that
 
 108 THE pilgeim's peogress. 
 
 they proceeded of a foolish fancy that he had, or for that he was 
 overrun with melancholy humours; yet now it will not out of my mind, 
 but that they sprang from another cause, to wit, for that the Light oi' 
 light was given him, by the help of which, as I perceived, he has 
 escaped the snares of death. Then they all wept again, and cried out, 
 "O woe worth the day!" 
 
 The next night Christiana had a dream; and, behold, she saw as i^ 
 a broad parchment was opened before her, in which were recorded th^ 
 sum of her ways, and the times, as she thought, looked very black upon 
 her. Then she cried out aloud in her sleep, " Lord have mercy upon 
 me a sinner! " and the little children heard her. 
 
 After this she thought she saw two very ill-favoured ones standing 
 by her bedside, and saying. What shall we do with this woman ? for she 
 cries out for mercy waking and sleeping; if she be suffered to go on 
 as she begins, we shall lose her as we have lost her husband. Where- 
 fore, we must, by one way or other, seek to take her off from the thoughts 
 of what shall be hereafter, else all the world cannot help it but she will 
 become a pilgrim. 
 
 Now when she awoke in a great sweat, also a trembling was upon 
 her; but after awhile she fell to sleeping again. And then she thought 
 she saw Christian her ^husband in a place of bliss, among many im- 
 mortals, with a harp in his hand, standing and playing upon it before 
 One that sat on a throne, with a rainbow about his head. She saw 
 also as if he bowed his head, with his face to the paved work that was 
 under the Prince's feet, saying, I heartily thank my Lord and King, 
 for bringing of me into this place. Then shouted a company of them 
 that stood round about, and harped with their harps; but no man 
 living could tell what they said, but Christian and his companions. 
 
 Next morning, when she was up, had prayed to God, and talked with 
 her children awhile, one knocked hard at the door, to whom she spake 
 out, saying. If thou comest in God's name, come in. So he said, 
 Amen, and opened the door, and saluted her with "Peace be to this 
 house." The which, when he had done, he said, Christiana, knowest 
 thou wherefore I am come ? Then she blushed and trembled, also her 
 heart began to wax warm with desires to know whence he came, and 
 what was his errand to her. So he said unto her, My name is Secret; 
 T dwell with those that are high. It is talked of, where I dwell, as if 
 thou hadst a desire to go thither, also, there is a report, that thou art 
 aware of the evil thou hast formerly done to thy husband, in hardening 
 of thy heart against his way, and in keeping of these thy babes in 
 their ignorance. Christiana, the Merciful One has sent me to tell thee, 
 that He is a God ready to forgive, and that He taketh delight to mul- 
 tiply to pardon offences. He also would have thee know, that He 
 inviteth thee to come into His presence, to His table, and that He will 
 feed thee with the fat of His house, and with the heritage of Jacob 
 thy father. 
 
 There is Christian thy husband, (that was,) with legions more, his 
 companions, ever beholding that face that doth minister life to beholders ;
 
 TCTE PTLGBIM*8 PXIOOBE83. 10& 
 
 and they will all be glad when thoy shall hear the sound of thy feet 
 step over thy Fathers threshold. 
 
 Christiana at this was greatly abashed in herself, and bowing her 
 head to the ground, this Visitor proceeded, and said, Ch-'istiana, here 
 is also a letter for thee, which I have brought from thy husband's 
 King. So she took it, and opened it, but it smelt after the manner of 
 the best perfume, also it was written in letters of gold. The contents 
 of the letter were these, That the King would have her do as did 
 Christian her husband; for that was the way to come to his city, and 
 to dwell in his presence with joy for ever. At this the good woman 
 was quite overcome ; so she cried out to her visitor. Sir, will you carry 
 me and my children with you, that we also may go and worship this 
 King ? 
 
 Then said the visitor, Christiana, the bitter is before the sweet. Thou 
 must through troubles, as did he that went before thee, enter this Ce- 
 lestial City. Wherefore I advise thee to do as did Christian thy husband. 
 Go to the wicket-gate yonder, over the plain, for that stands in the 
 head of the way up which thou must go, and I wish thee all good 
 speed. Also I advise that thou put this letter in thy bosom; that thou 
 read therein to thyself, and to thy children, until you have got it by 
 rote of heart, for it is one of thy songs that thou must sing while thou 
 art in this house of thy pilgrimage: also this thou must deliver in at 
 the further gate. 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, that this old gentleman, as he told me 
 this story, did himself seem to be greatly aflTectcd therewith. He, 
 moreover, proceeded, and said, So Christiana called her sons together, 
 and began thus to address herself unto them: My sons, I have, as you 
 may perceive, been of late under much exercise in my soul, about the 
 death of your father; not for that I doubt at all of his happiness, for 
 I am satisfied now that he is well. I have been also much aflected 
 with the thoughts of mine own state and yours, which I verily believe 
 is by nature miserable. My carriage, also, to your father in his distress, 
 is a great load to my conscience; for I hardened both my own heart 
 and yours against him, and refused to go with him on pilgrimage. 
 
 The thoughts of these things would now kill me outright, but that 
 for a dream which I had last night, and but for the encouragement 
 that this stranger has given me this morning. Come, my children, let 
 us pack up and begone to the gate that leads to the Celestial Country, 
 that we may see your father, and be with him and his companions in 
 peace, according to the laws of that land. 
 
 Then did her children burst out into tears for joy. that the heart of 
 their mother was so inclined. So their visitor bade thcni farewell; and 
 they began to prepare to set out for their journey. 
 
 But while they were thus about to be gone, two of the women, that 
 were Christiana's neighbours, came up to her iioase, and knocked at 
 her door. To whom she said as before. If you come in God's name, 
 come in. At this the women were stunned, for this kind of language 
 they Ubcd not to hear, or to perceive tc drop from the lips of Ciiristiana
 
 110 THE pilgrim's PKOGEKSg. 
 
 Yet they came in : but, behold, they found the good woman a-preparing 
 to be gone from her house. 
 
 So they began and said, Neighbour, pray what is your meaning bv 
 
 thLS ? 
 
 Christiana answered and said to the eldest of them, whose name was 
 Mrs. Timorous, I am preparing for a journey. (This Timorous was 
 daughter to him that met Christian upon the Hill Difficulty, and would 
 have had him go back for fear of the lions.) 
 
 Tim. For what journey, I pray you? 
 
 Chris. Even to go after my good husband And with that she fell 
 a-weeping. 
 
 Tim. I hope not so, good neighbour; pray, for your poor children's 
 sakes, do not so unwomanly cast away yourself. 
 
 Chris. Nay, my children shall go with me, not one of them is willing 
 to stay behind. 
 
 Tim. I wonder, in my very heart, what, or who has brought you into 
 this mind. 
 
 Chris. Oh! neighbour, knew you but as much as I do, 1 doubt not 
 but that you would go with me. 
 
 Tim. Prithee, what new knowledge hast thou got, that so worketh 
 off thy mind from thy friends, and that tempteth thee to go nobody 
 knows where .^ 
 
 Chris. Then Christiana replied, I have been sorely afflicted since my 
 husband's departure from me; but especially since he went over the 
 river. But that which troubleth me most, is my churlish carriages to 
 him, when he was under his distress. Besides, I am now as he was 
 tlien; nothing will serve but going on pilgrimage. I was a-dreaming 
 last night that I saw him. Oh, that my soul was with him. He 
 dwelleth in the presence of the King of the country; he sits and eats 
 with him at his table; he is become a companion of immortals, and he 
 has a house now given him to dwell in, to which the best palaces on 
 earth, if compared, seem to me but as a dunghill. The Prince of the 
 place has also sent for me, with promise of entertainment if I shall 
 come to him; his messenger was here even now, and has brought me 
 a letter, which invites me to come. And with that she plucked out 
 her letter and read it, and said to them, What now will ye say to 
 this? 
 
 Tim, Oh, the madness that has possessed thee and thy husband, to 
 run yourselves upon such difficulties! You have hearrl, I am sure, 
 what your husband did meet with, even, in a manner, at the first step 
 he took on his way, as our neighbour Obstinate can yet testify, for he 
 went along with him; yea and Pliable too, until they, like wise men, were 
 afraid to go any further. We also heard, over and above, how he met 
 with the lions, Apollyon, the Shadow of Death, and many other things. 
 Nor is the danger that he met with at Vanity Fair to be forgotten by 
 theo; for if he, though a man, was so hard put to it. what canst thou, 
 being but a poor woman, do ? Consider, also, that these four awect 
 babes are thy children, thy flesh and thy bones. Wherefore, thougb 
 
 i
 
 TTTB PIXGEIM's PROGRESS 111 
 
 thon shouldsfc be so rash a3 to cast away thyself; yet for the sake of 
 the Iruit of thy body, keep thou at home. 
 
 But Christiana said unto her, Tempt m.e not, my neighbour I have 
 now a price put into my hand to get gain, and I should be a fool of 
 the greatest size, if I should have no heart to strike in with the oppor- 
 tunity. And fur that you tell me of all these troubles that I am like 
 to meet with in the way, they are so far off from being to me a dis- 
 couragement, that they show I am in the right. "The bitter must 
 come before the sweet,'* and that also will make the sweet the sweeter 
 Wherefore, since you came not to my house in God's name, as I said. 
 I pray you to be gone, and not disquiet me further. 
 
 Then Timorous also reviled her, and said to her fellow, Come, neigh- 
 bour Mercy, let us leave her in her own hands, since she scorns our 
 counsel and company. But Mercy was at a stand, and could not so 
 readily comply with her neighbour, and that for a twofold reason. 
 First, her bowels yearned over Christiana So she said within herself. 
 If my neighbour will needs be gone, I will go a little way with her 
 and help her. Secondly, her bowels yearned over her own soul, for 
 what Christiana had said had taken some hold upon her mind. Wherefore 
 she said within herself again, I will yet have more talk with this 
 Christiana, and if I find truth and life in what she shall eay, myself 
 with ray heart shall also go with her. Wherefore Mercy began thus tc 
 reply to her neighbour Timorous 
 
 Merct. Neighbour, I did, indeed, come with you to see Christiana 
 this morning; and since she is, as you see, a-taking of her last farewell 
 of her country, I think to walk, this sunshine morning, a little way 
 with her, to help her on the way But she told her not f-f the second 
 reason, but kept that to herself 
 
 Tim. Well, I see you have a mind to go a-fooling too, but take heed 
 in time and be wise. While we are out of danger, we are out; but 
 when we are in, we are in. So Mrs. Timorous returned to her house, 
 and Christiana betook herself to her journey. But when Timorous was 
 got home to her house, she sends for some of her neighbours, to wit 
 Mrs. Bat's-eyes, Mrs. Inconsiderate, Mrs. Light-mind, and ]Mrs. Know- 
 nothing. So when they were come to her house, she falls to telling of 
 the story of Christiana and of her intended journey A.nd thus sb? 
 began her tale 
 
 Tim. Neighbours, having had little to do this morning, I went to 
 give Christiana a visit; and when I came at the door, I knocked, as 
 you know it is our custom. And she answered, If you come in God's 
 name, come in. So in I went, thinking all was well. But when I came 
 in, I found Ik.t preparing herself to de]iart the town, she and also her 
 children. So I asked her what was her meaning by that And she 
 told me. in short, that she was now of a mind to go on pilgrimage, as 
 did her husband. She told mo also a dream that she had, and how 
 the King of the country where her husband was, had sent her an 
 inviting letter to come thither 
 
 Then said Mrs Know-nothing, A.na what do you think she will go?
 
 112 THE PILGEIM's PROGUESS. 
 
 TfM. Ay, go she will, whatever come on't; and methinks I know it 
 by this; for that which was my great argument to persuade her to 
 stay at home (to wit, the troubles she was like to meet with in the way) 
 is one great argument with her to put her forward on her journey. For 
 she told me in so many words, "The bitter goes before the sweet. Yea, 
 and forasmuch as it so doth, it makes the sweet the sweeter." 
 
 Mrs. Bat's-eyes. Oh, this blind and foolish woman! said she; will 
 she not take warning by her husband's afiiictions ? For mv part, I see, 
 if he were here again, he would rest him content in a whole skin, and 
 never run so many hazards for nothing. 
 
 Mrs. Inconsiderate also replied, saying, Away with such fantastical 
 fools from the town ! A good riddance, for my part, I say, of her. 
 Should she stay where she dwells, and retain this her mind, who could 
 live quietly by her? for she will either be dumpish or unneighbourly, 
 or talk of such matters as no wise body can abide; wherefore, for my 
 part, I shall never be sorry for her departure. Let her go, and let 
 better come in her room. It was never a good world since these whim- 
 sical fools dwelt in it. 
 
 Then Mrs. Light-mind added as followefch: — Come, put this kind of 
 talk away. I was yesterday at Madame Wanton's, where we were as 
 merry as the maids. For who do you think should be there, but I and 
 Mrs. Love-the-Flesh, and three or four more, with Mr. Lechery, Mrs. 
 Filth, and some others. So there we had music and dancing, and what 
 else was meet to fill up the pleasure. And, I dare say, my lady herself 
 is an admirably well-bred gentlewoman, and Mr. Lechery is as pretty a 
 fellow. 
 
 By this time Christiana was got on her way, and Mercy went along 
 with her. So as they went, her children being there also, Christiana 
 began to discourse. And, Mercy, said Christiana, I take this as an 
 unexpected favour, that thou shouldst set foot out of doors with rae, to 
 accompany me a little in my way. 
 
 Mercy. Then said young Mercy (for she was but young,) If I thought 
 it would be to purpose to go with you, I would never go near the town 
 any more. 
 
 Chris. Well, Mercy, said Christiana, cast in thy lot with me; I well 
 know what will be the end of our pilgrimage. My husband is where 
 he would not but be for all the gold in the Spanish mines. Nor shalt 
 thou be rejected, though thou goest but upon my invitation. The King 
 Avho hath sent for me and my children is one that delighteth in mercy. 
 Besides, if thou wilt, I will hire thee, and thou shalt go along with me 
 iis my servant ; yet we will have all things in common betwixt thee and 
 me ; only, go along with me. 
 
 Mercy. But how shall I be ascertained that I also shall be entertained ? 
 Had I this hope but from one that can tell, I would make no stick at 
 all, but would go, being helped by him that can help, though the way 
 was never so tedious. 
 
 Chris. Well, loving Mercy, I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Go 
 with me to the wicket-gate, and there I will further inquire for thec;
 
 Christiana and her Childreu arrive at the Sloufih ot Despond.
 
 THE PILORTM's PEOGEESS. 113 
 
 and if there thou shalt not meet with encouragement, I will be content 
 that thou shalt return to thy place. I also will pay thee for thy kindness 
 which thou showest to me and my children, in thy accompanying us in 
 our way as thou dost. 
 
 Mercy. Then will I go thither, and will take what shall follow; and 
 the Lord grant that my lot may there fall, even as the King of Heaven 
 shall have his heart upon me, 
 
 Christiana then was glad at her heart, not only that she had a com- 
 panion, but also for that she had prevailed with this poor maid to fall 
 in love with her own salvation. So they went on together, and Mercy 
 began to weep. Then said Christiana, Wherefore weepeth my sister so ? 
 
 Mebct. Alas! said she, who can but lament, that shall but rightly 
 consider, what a state and condition my poor relations are in that yet 
 remain in our sinful town? and that which makes my grief the more 
 heavy is, because they have no instructor, nor any to tell them what is 
 to come. 
 
 Chris. Bowels becometh pilgrims: and thou dost for thy friends as 
 my good Christian did for me when he left me; he mourned for that 1 
 would not heed nor regard him: but his Lord and ours did gather up 
 his tears, and put them into bis bottle; and now both I and thou, and 
 these my sweet babes, are reaping the fruit and benefit of them. I 
 hope, Mercy, these tears of thine wiU not be lost; for the truth hath 
 said, that "They that sow in tears shall reap in joy," in singing. And 
 " he that goeth forth and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless 
 come again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him," (Psa. cxxvi. 
 5, 6.) 
 
 Then said jVIcircy- 
 
 • Let the Most Blessed be my guide, 
 
 If tbe His blessed will; 
 Unto His gate, into His fold, 
 Up to His holy hill. 
 
 " And let Him never suffer me 
 To swerve or turn aside 
 From His free prace, and holy ways, 
 Whate'cr shall me betide. 
 
 " And let Him gather them of mine, 
 That I have left behind; 
 i>ord, make them pray they may be thin^, 
 With all their heart and mind." 
 
 i>fow my old friend proceeded and said; But '-vhen Christiana came 
 up to the Slough of Despond, she began to be at a stand; for, said 
 she, this is the place whore my dear husband had like to have been 
 smothered with mud. She perceived, also, that notwithstanding the 
 command of the King to make this place for pilgrims good, yet it was 
 rather worse than formerly. So I asked if that was true. Yes, said 
 the old gentleman, too true; for that many there be that pretend to br- 
 the King's labourers, and that say they are for mending the King's 
 highway, that bring dirb and dung instead of stones, and so mar instead 
 of mending. Here Christiana, therefore, with her boys, did make a
 
 114 THE PILGEIM's PROGRESS. 
 
 etand; but, said Mercy, Come, let us venture, only let us be wary 
 Then they looked well to the steps, and made a shift to get staggeringly 
 over. 
 
 Yet Christiana had like to have been in, and that not once nor twice. 
 Now they had uo sooner got over, but they thought they heard words 
 that said unto them, "Blessed is she that believed: for there shall be 
 a performance of those things which were told her from the Lord,' 
 (Luke i. 45.) 
 
 Then they went on again; and said Mercy to Christiana, Had I as 
 good ground to hope for a loving reception at the wicket-gate as you, 
 T think no Slough of Despond would discourage me. 
 
 Well, said the other, you know your sore, and I know mine, and, 
 good friend, we shall all have enough evil before we come at our 
 journey's end. 
 
 For can it be imagined, that the people that design to attain such 
 excellent glories as we do, and that are so envied that happiness as we 
 are; but that we shall meet with what fears and scares, with what 
 troubles and afflictions they can possibly assault us with, that hate us P 
 
 And now Mr. Sagacity left me to dream out my dream by myself. 
 Wherefore, methought I saw Christiana and Mercy, and the boys, go 
 all of them up to the gate ; to which, when they were come they betook 
 themselves to a short debate about how they must manage their calling 
 at the gate, and what should be said to him that did open to them. 
 So it was concluded, since Christiana was the eldest, that she should 
 knock for entrance, and that she should speak to him that did open, 
 for the rest. So Christiana began to knock; and as her poor husband 
 did, she knocked, and knocked again. But, instead of any that answered, 
 they all thought that they heard as if a dog came barking upon them : 
 a dog, and a great one too, and this made the women and children 
 afraid: nor durst they, for a while, to knock any more, for fear the 
 mastiff should fly upon them. Now, therefore, they were greatly tumbled 
 up and down in their minds, and knew not what to do; knock they 
 durst not, for fear of the dog; go back they durst not, for fear the 
 Keeper of that gate should espy them as they so went, and should be 
 offended with them ; at last they thought of knocking again, and knocked 
 more vehemently than they did at the first. Then said the Keeper of 
 the gate. Who is there? So the dog left off" to bark, and he opened 
 unto them. 
 
 Then Christiana made low obeisance, and said, Let not our Lord be 
 offended with his handmaidens, for that we have knocked at his princely 
 gate Then said the Keeper, Whence come ye, and what is that you 
 would have ? 
 
 Christiana answered. We are come from whence Christian did come, 
 and upon the same errand as he; to wit, to be, if it shall please you, 
 graciously admitted by this gate into the way that leads to the Celestial 
 City And I answer, my Lord, in the next place, that I am Christiana, 
 once the wife of Christian, that now is gotten above. 
 
 With that the Keeper of the gate did marvel, saving. What, is she
 
 THB PrLQBIM b fEOGEESS. 115 
 
 become now a pilgrim, that, but a while ago, abhorred tha^ life? ITien 
 she bowed her head, and said, Tes, and so are these my sweet babes 
 also. 
 
 Then he took her by the hand, and let her in, and said also, 'Suffer 
 the little children to come unto me;" and with that he shut up the gate. 
 This done, he called to a trumpeter that was above, over the gate, to 
 entertain Christiana with shouting and sound of trumpet for loy. So 
 he obeyed, and aounded. and filled the air with his melodious notes 
 
 Now, all this while poor Mercy did stand without, trembling and 
 crying, for fear that she was rejected. But when Christiana had gotten 
 admittance for herself and her boys, then she began to make intercession 
 for Mercy, 
 
 Chris. And she said. My Lord, 1 have a companion of mine that 
 stands yet without, that is come hither upon the same account as my- 
 self; one that is much dejected in her mind, for that she comes, as she 
 thinks, without sending for; whereas I was sent to by my husband's 
 King to come 
 
 Now, Mercy began to be very impatient, for each minute was as long 
 to her as an hour; wherefore she prevented Christiana from a fuller 
 interceding for her, by knocking at the gate herself A.nd she knocked 
 then so loud, that she made Christiana to start. Then said che Keeper 
 of the gate. Who is there? and said Christiana. It is my friend. 
 
 So he opened the gate, and looked out, but Mercy was fallen down 
 without, in a swoon, for she fainted, and was afraid that no gate would 
 be opened to her 
 
 Then he took her by the hand, and said. Damsel, 1 bid thee aris«. 
 
 Oh. Sir, said she, I am faint; there is scarce life left in me. But 
 he answered. That one once said, "When my soul fainted within me, I 
 remembered the Lord; and my prayer came in unto thee, into thine 
 holy temple," (Jonah ii. 7.) b"'ear not, but stand upon thy feet, and tell 
 me whei-efore thou art come. 
 
 Mkrcy. I am come for that unto which I was never invited, as my 
 friend Christiana was. Hers was from the King, and mine was but 
 from her. Wherefore I fear I presume. 
 
 Kef.f Did she desire thee to come with her to this placer* 
 
 Mercy. Yes; and, as my Lord sees, I am come. And, if there is 
 any grace or forgiveness of sins to spare. I beseech that L thy poor 
 handmaid, may bu partaker thereof 
 
 Then he took her again by the band, and led her gently in, and said, 
 I pray for all them that believe on me, by what means soever they 
 come unto me Then said he to those that stood by. Fetch something, 
 and give it to Mercy to smell on, thereby to stay her iainting So they 
 letchcd her a bundle of myrrh; and v.. while after, she was revived 
 
 And now was Christiana and her boys, and Mercy, i-eceived of the 
 Lord at the head ui' the way, and spoke kindly nnlo by him Then 
 said they yet further unto him. We are sorry for our sins, and beg of 
 our Lord his pardon, and further information what we must do. 
 
 1 grant pardon, said he, by word and deed by word, in the promise
 
 ] 16 THE pilgrim's PROGEESS. 
 
 of forgiveness; by deed, in tlie way I obtained it. Take the first from 
 my lips with a kiss; and the other as it shall be revealed. 
 
 Now, I saw in my dream, that he spake many good words unto 
 them, whereby they were greatly gladded. He also had them up to the 
 top of the gate, and showed them by what deed they were saved; and 
 told them withal. That that sight they would have again, as they went 
 along in the way, to their comfort. 
 
 So he left them awhile in a summer parlour below, where they 
 entered into talk by themselves; and thus Christiana began: Lord! 
 how glad am I that we are got in hither. 
 
 Mekcy. So you well may ; but I of all have cause to leap for joy. 
 
 Chkis. I thought one time, as I stood at the gate (because I had 
 knocked, and none did answer,) that aU our labour had been lost, especially 
 when that ugly cur made such a heavy barking against us. 
 
 Mekcy. But my worst fear was after I saw that you was taken into 
 his favour, and that I was left behind. Now, thought I, it is fulfilled 
 which is written, "Two women shall be grinding together, the one 
 shall be taken and the other left," (Matt. xxiv. 41.) I had much ado tc> 
 forbear crying out. Undone! undone! 
 
 And afraid I was to knock any more ; but when I looked up to what 
 was written over the gate, I took courage. I also thought that I 
 must either knock again, or die; so I knocked, but I cannot tell how, 
 for my spirit now struggled bewixt life and death. 
 
 Chris. Can you not tell how you knocked ? I am sure your knocks 
 were so earnest, that the very sound of them made me start ; I thought 
 I never heard such knocking in all my life ; I thought you would have 
 come in by violent hands, or have taken the kingdom by storm. 
 
 Mercy. Alas! to be in my case, who that so was could but have 
 done so? You saw that the door was shut upon me, and that there 
 was a most cruel dog thereabout. Who, I say, that was so faint-hearted 
 as I, that would not have knocked with all their might? But pray 
 what said my Lord to my rudeness? Was he not angry with me? 
 
 Chris. When he heard your lumbering noise, he gave a wonderful 
 innocent smile; I believe what you did pleased him well enough, for 
 he showed no sign to the contrary. But I marvel in my heart why he 
 keeps such a dog; had I known that before, I fear I should not have 
 had heart enough to have ventured myself in this manner. But now 
 we are in, we are in; and I am glad with all my heart. 
 
 Mercy. I will ask, if you please, next time he comes down, why he 
 keeps such a filthy cur in his yard; I hope he will not take it amiss. 
 
 Ay, do, said the children, and persuade him to hang him; for we 
 are afraid he will bite us when we go hence. 
 
 So at last he came down to them again, and Mercy fell to the ground 
 on her face before him, and worshipped, and said. Let my Lord accept 
 of the sacrifice of praise which I now oSer unto him with the calves 
 of my lips. 
 
 So he said unto her, "Peace be to thee, stand up." But she con- 
 tinued upon her face, and said, "Righteous art thou, O Lord, when I
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGEEeS. 117 
 
 plead with thee: yet let me talk with thee of thy judgments," (Jer. 
 xii. 1.) Wherefore dost thou keep so cruel a dog in thy yard, at the 
 sight of which such women and children as we are ready to fly from 
 thy gate for fear. 
 
 He answered and said, That dog has another owner, he also is kept 
 close in another man's ground, only my pilgrims hear his barking; he 
 belongs to the castle which you see there at a distance, but can come 
 up to the walls of this place. He has frighted many an honest lailgrim 
 from worse to better by the great voice of his roaring. Indeed, he that 
 owneth him doth not keep him of any good-will to me or mine, but 
 with intent to keep the pilgrims from coming to me, and that they 
 may be afraid to knock at this gate for entrance. Sometimes also he 
 has broken out, and has worried some that I loved; but I take all at 
 present patiently. I also give my pilgrims timely help, so they are 
 not delivered up to his power, to do them what his doggish nature 
 would prompt him to. But what ! my purchased one, I trow, hadst 
 thou known never so much beforehand, thou wouldst not have been 
 afraid of a dog. 
 
 The beggars that go from door to door will, rather than they will 
 lose a supposed alms, run the hazard of the bawling, barking, and 
 biting too, of a dog; and shall a dog — a dog in another man's yard, a 
 dog whose barking I turn to the profit of pilgrims — keep any from 
 coming to me? I deliver them from the lions, their darling from the 
 power of the dog. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy, I confess my ignorance; I spake what I 
 understood not; I acknowledge that thou dost all things well. 
 
 Chris. Then Christiana began to talk of their journey, and to in- 
 quire after the way. So he led them, and washed their feet, and set 
 them in the way of his steps, according as he had dealt with her 
 husband before. So I saw in my dream, that they walked on their 
 way, and had the weather very comfortable to them. 
 
 Then Christiana began to sing, saying, 
 
 " Blessed be the da)' that I began 
 A pilRrim for to be; 
 And blessed iilso be that man 
 That thereto moved me. 
 
 "'Tis true, 'twas long ere I began 
 To seek to live for ever : 
 But now I run fast as I can; 
 'Tis better late than never. 
 
 " Our tears to joy, our fears to faith. 
 Are turned, as we see. 
 That our beginning, as one saith, 
 Shows what our end will be." 
 
 Now there was on the other side of the wall that fenced in the way 
 up which Christiana and her companions were to go, a gnrden, and that 
 garden belonged to him whose was that barking dog of whom mention 
 was made before. And some of the fruit-trees that grew in that garden
 
 118 THE PILGRIM'S PEOGEESS. 
 
 shot tlieir branches over the wall; and being mellow, they that found 
 them did gather them up, and oft eat of them to their hurt. So Chris- 
 tiana's boys, as boys are apt to do, being pleased with the trees, and 
 with the fruit that did hang thereon, did pluck them, and began to 
 ea.t. Their mother did also chide them for so doing, but still the boys 
 went on. 
 
 Well, said she, my sons, you transgress, for that fruit is none of 
 ours; but she did not know that they did belong to the enemy; I will 
 warrant you, if she had, she would have been ready to die for fear. 
 But that passed, and they went on their way. Now, by that they were 
 jone about two bow- shots from the place that led them into the way, 
 they espied two very ill-favoured ones coming down apace to meet them. 
 With that Christiana and Mercy, her friend, covered themselves with 
 iheir veils, and so kept on their journey; the children also went on 
 before; so that at last they met together. Then they that came down 
 to meet them, came just up to the women, as if they would embrace 
 them; but Christiana said. Stand back, or go peaceably by, as you 
 should. Yet these two, as men that are deaf, regarded not Christiana's 
 words, but began to lay hands upon them. At that Cliristiana, waxing 
 very wroth, spurned at them with her feet, Mercy also, as well as she 
 could, did what she could to shift them. Christiana again said to 
 them. Stand back, and begone; for we have no money to lose, being 
 pilgrims, as you see, and such, too, as live upon the charity of our 
 friends. 
 
 Ill-favoured. Then said one of the two of the men, We make no 
 assault upon you for money, but are come out to tell you, that if you 
 will but grant one small request, which we shall ask, we will make 
 women ot you for ever. 
 
 CuEis. Now Christiana, imagining what they should mean, made 
 answer ;igain. We will neither hear, nor regard, nor yield to what you 
 shall ask. We are in haste, and cannot stay; our business is a business 
 of life and death. So, again, she and her companions made a fresh 
 essay to go past them; but they letted them in their way. 
 
 Ill-fav. And they said, We intend no hurt to your lives; it is an- 
 other thing we would have. 
 
 Cheis. Ah, quoth Christiana, you would have us body and soul, foi- 
 I know it is for that you are come; but we will die rather upon the 
 spot, than suffer ourselves to be brought into such snares as shall hazard 
 our well-being hereafter. And with that they both shrieked out, and 
 cried Murder! murder! and so put themselves under those laws that, 
 are provided for the protection of women. But the men still made 
 their approach upon them, with design to prevail against them They, 
 therefore, cried out again. 
 
 Now, they being, as I said, not far from the gate in at which they 
 came, their voice was heard from where they were, thither; wherefore 
 some of the house came out, and knowing that it was Christiana's 
 tongue, they made haste to her relief. But by tliat they were got 
 within sight of them, the women were in a very great scuffle, the 
 
 I
 
 IHT- PILGElll's PEOGnKSg. 119 
 
 Aildren also stood crying by. Then did he that came in for their relie'' 
 call out to the ruffians, sayinw, What is that thing that you do ? Would 
 you make my Lord's people to transgress? He also attempted to take 
 them, but they did make their escape over the wall into the garden of 
 the man to whom the great dog belonged; so the dog became their 
 protector. This Believer then came up to the women, and asked them 
 how they did. So they answered, We thank thy Prince, pretty well; 
 only we have been somewhat afTrighted; we thank thee also, for that 
 thou earnest in to our help, for otherwise we had been overcome. 
 
 Eeuever. So after a few more words, this Reliever said as followeth: 
 I marvelled much when you were entertained at the gate above, being, 
 as ye knew, that ye were but weak women, that you petitioned not the 
 Lord there for a conductor; then might you have avoided these troubles 
 and dangers, for He would have granted you one. 
 
 Chris. Alas! said Christiana, we were so taken with our present 
 blessings, that dangers to come were forgotten by us; besides, who 
 could have thought tha/ so near the King's palace, there should have 
 lurked such naughty ov.w3? Indeed, it had been well for us, had we 
 asked our Lord for one; but since our Lord knew it would be for our 
 profit, I wonder he sent not one along with us. 
 
 REfy. It is not always necessary to grant things not asked for, lest, 
 by so doing, they become of little esteem; but when the want of r 
 tbing is felt, it then comes under, in the eyes of him that feels it, thai 
 estimate that properly is its due, and so, consequently, will be thereafter 
 used. Had my Lord granted you a conductor, you would not neither 
 so have bewailed that oversight of yours, in not asking for one, as now 
 you have occasion to do. So all things work for good, and tend to 
 make you wary. 
 
 Chris. Shall we go back again to my Lord, and confess our folly, 
 and ask for one? 
 
 Rel. Your confession ol your folly I will present him with. To go 
 back again you need not; for in all places where you shall come, you 
 will find no want at all; for in every of my Lord's lodgings which he 
 has prepared for the reception of his pilgrims, there is sufficient to 
 furnish them against all attempts whatsoever. But, as I said, "He will 
 be inquired of by them, to do it for them," (Ezek. xxxvi. 37.) And it 
 is a poor thing that is not worth asking for. When he had thus .''aid. 
 he went back to his place, and the pilgrims went on their way. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy, What a sudden blank is here! I made 
 account we had now been past all danger, and that we should never 
 see sorrow more. 
 
 Chris. Thy innocency, my sister, said Christiana to Mercy, may ex- 
 cuse thee much; but as for me, my fault is so much the greater, for 
 that I saw this danger before I came out of the doors, and j'et did 
 not provide for it where provision might have been had T am there- 
 fore much to be blamed. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy, How knew you this before you came froni 
 home? Pray open to me this riddle
 
 120 THE PILGEIM's PE0QEES3. 
 
 Chris. Why, I will tell you. Before I set foot out of doors, one 
 night, as I lay in my bed, I had a dream about this; for, methought 
 I saw two men, as like these as ever the world they could look, stand 
 at my bed's feet, plotting how they might prevent my salvation. I will 
 tell you their very words. They said (it was when I was in my 
 troubles), What shall we do with this woman ? for she cries out, waking 
 and sleeping, for forgiveness. If she be suffered to go on as she be- 
 gins, we shall lose her, as we have lost her husband. This, you know, 
 might have made me take heed, and have provided when provision 
 might have been had. 
 
 Mercy. Well, said Mercy, as by this neglect we have an occasion 
 ministersd unto us, to behold our own imperfections; so our Lord has 
 taken occasion thereby to make manifest the riches of his grace ; for he, 
 as we see, has followed us with unasked kindness, and has delivered us 
 from their hands that were stronger than we, of his mere good pleasure. 
 
 Thus, now when they had talked away a little more time, they drew 
 nigh to a house which stood in the way, which house was built for the 
 relief of pilgrims ; as you will find more fully related in the First Part 
 of these Records of the Pilgrim's Progress. So they drew on towards 
 the house (the House of the Interpreter), and when they came to the 
 door, they heard a great talk in the house. They then gave ear, and 
 heard, as they thought, Christiana mentioned by name. For you must 
 !cnow that there went along, even before her, a talk of her and her 
 children's going on pilgrimage. And this thing was the more pleasing 
 to them, because they had heard that she was Christian's wife, that, 
 woman who was some time ago so unwilling to hear of going on pilgri- 
 mage. Thus, therefore, they stood still, and heard the good people 
 within commending her, who, they little thought, stood at the door. At 
 last Christiana knocked, as she had done at the gate before. Now, when 
 she had knocked, there came to the door a young damsel, named Inno- 
 cent, and opened the door and looked, and behold two women were there. 
 
 Damsel. Then said the damsel to them, With whom would you speak 
 in this place? 
 
 Chris. Christiana answered. We understand that this is a privileged 
 place for those that are become pilgrims, and we now at this door are 
 such; wherefore we pray that we may be partakers of that for which 
 we at this time are come; for the day, as thou seest, is very far spent, 
 and we are loath to-night to go any further. 
 
 Damsel. Pray what may I call your name, that I may teU it to my 
 Lord within? 
 
 Chris. My name is Christiana; I was the wife of that pilgrim that 
 some years ago did travel this way, and these be his four children. 
 This maiden also is my companion, and is going on pilgrimage too. 
 
 Innocent. Then ran Innocent in (for that was her name,) and said 
 fco those within. Can you think who is at the door ? There is Christiana 
 and her children, and her companion, all waiting for entertainment here. 
 Then they leaped for joy, and went and told their master. So he came 
 to the door, and looking upon her he said. Art thou that Christiana
 
 THE PILGEIM's PEOGRESS 121 
 
 whom Christian, the good man, left behind him, when he took himself 
 to a pilgrim's life? 
 
 Chris. I am that woman that was so hard-hearted as to slight my 
 husband's troubles, and that left him to go on in his journey alone, and 
 these are his four children ; but now I also am come, for I am convinced 
 that no way is right but this. 
 
 Inter. Then is fulfilled that which also is written of the man that 
 said to his son, "Go, work to-day in my vineyard. He answered and 
 said, I will not: but afterwards he repented and went," (Matt. xxi. 29.) 
 
 Chris. Then said Christiana, So be it. Amen. God make it a true 
 saying upon me, and grant that I may be found at the last of him in 
 peace, without spot, and blameless! 
 
 Inter. But why standest thou thus at the door? Come in, thou 
 daughter of Abraham. We were talking of thee but now, for tidings 
 have come to us before, how thou art become a pilgrim. Come, children, 
 come in; come, maiden, come in. So he had them aU into the house. 
 
 So, when they were within, they were bidden sit down and rest them; 
 the which when they had done, those that attended upon the pilgrims 
 in the house, came into the room to see them. And one smiled, and 
 another smiled, and they all smiled, for joy that Christiana was become 
 a pilgrim. They also looked upon the boys. They stroked them over 
 the faces with the hand, in token of their kind reception of them. 
 They also carried it lovingly to Mercy, and bid all welcome into their 
 Master's house. 
 
 After a while, because supper was not ready, the Interpreter took 
 them into his significant rooms, and showed them what Christian, 
 Christiana's husband, had seen some time before. Here, therefore, they 
 saw the man in the cage, the man and his dream, the man that cut his 
 way through his enemies, and the picture of the biggest of them all, 
 together with the rest of those things that were then so profitable to 
 Christian. 
 
 This done, and after these things had been somewhat digested by 
 Christiana and her company, the Interpreter takes them apart again, 
 and has them first into a roum where was a man that could look no 
 way but downwards, with a muck-rake in his hand. There stood also 
 one over his head, with a celestial crown in his hand, and proffered him 
 that crown for his muck-rake; but the man did neither look up, nor 
 regard, but raked to himself the straws, the small sticks, and dust of 
 the floor. 
 
 Then said Christiana, I persuade myself that I know somewhat the 
 meaning of this ; for this is a figure of a man of this world, is it not, 
 good Sir? 
 
 Inter. Thou hast said the right, said he, and his muck-rake doth 
 show his carnal mind. And whereas thou seest him rather give lieed 
 to rake up straws and sticks, and the dust of the floor, than to what 
 He says that calls to him from above with the celestial crown in his 
 hand, it is to show that heaven is but as a fable to som'^, and that 
 things here are counted the only things substantial. Now, whereas it
 
 122 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 was also showed thoe, that the man could look no way but downwards, 
 it is to let thee know that earthly things, when they are with power 
 upon men's minds, quite carry their hearts away from God. 
 
 Cheis. Then said Christiana, Oh, deliver me Irom this muck-rake! 
 
 Inter. That prayer, said the Interpreter, has lain by till it is almost 
 rusty. " Give me not riches," is scarce the prayer of one of ten thousand. 
 Straws, and sticks, and dust, with most, are the great things now looked 
 after. 
 
 With that Mercy and Christiana wept, and said. It is, alas ! too true. 
 
 When the Interpreter had shown them this, he had them into the very 
 best room in the house ; a very brave room it was. So he bid them look 
 round about, and see if they could find anything profitable there. Then 
 they looked round and round ; for there was nothing there to be seen but 
 a very great spider on the wall : and that they overlooked. 
 
 Mekcy. Then said Mercy, Sir, I see nothing; but Christiana held her 
 peace. 
 
 Inter. But, said the Interpreter, look again ; and she therefore looked 
 again, and said. Here is not anything but an ugly spider, who hangs by 
 her hands upon the wall. Then said he. Is there but one spider in all this 
 spacious room? Then the water stood in Christiana's eyes, for she was a 
 woman quick of apprehensiori: and she said, Yea, Lord, there is here 
 more than one. Yea, and spiders whose venom is far more destructive 
 than that which is in her. The Interpreter then looked pleasantly upon 
 her, and said, Thou hast said the truth. This made Mercy blush, and 
 the boys to cover their faces, for they all began now to understand the 
 riddle. 
 
 Then said the Interpreter again, "The spider taketh hold with her 
 hands (as you see,) and is in Kings' palaces," (Prov. xxx. 28.) And 
 wherefore is this recorded, but to show you, that how full of the venom 
 of sin soever you be, yet you may, by the hand of faith, lay hold of, 
 and dwell in the best room that belongs to the King's house above. 
 
 Chris. I thought, said Christiana, of something of this; but I could 
 not imagine it all. I thought that we were like spiders, and that we 
 looked like ugly creatures, in what fine room soever we were; but that 
 by this spider, this venomous and ill-favoured creature, we were to learn 
 how to act faith, that came not into my mind. And yet she has taken 
 hold with her hands, as I see, and dwells in the best room in the house. 
 God has made nothing in vain 
 
 Then they seemed all to be glad; but the water stood in their eyes; 
 yet they looked one upon another, and also bowed before the Interpreter. 
 
 He had them then into another room, where was a hen and chickens, 
 and bid them observe a while. So one of the chickens went to the 
 trough to drink, and every time she drank, she lifted up her head and 
 her eyes towards heaven. See, said he, what this little chick doth, and 
 learn of her to acknowledge whence your mercies come, by receiving 
 them with looking up. Yet again, said he, observe and look; so they 
 gave heed and perceived that the hen did walk in a four-fold method 
 towards her chickens. 1. She had a common call, and that she hath all
 
 THE pilgrim's peogeess. 123 
 
 day long. 2. She had a special call, and that she had but sometimes. 
 3. She had a brooding note. And 4. She had an outcry. 
 
 Now, said he, compare this hen to your King, and these chickens to 
 his obedient ones. For, answerable to her, himself has his methods, 
 which he walketh in towards his people; by his common call, he gives 
 nothing; by his special call, he always has something to give; he has 
 also a brooding voice, for them that are under his wing; and he has an 
 outcry to give the alarm when he seeth the enemy come. I chose, my 
 darUngs, to lead you into the room where such things are, because you 
 are women, and they are easy for you. 
 
 And, Sir, said Christiana, pray let us see some more. So he had 
 them into the slaughter-haase, where vas a butcher killing of a sheep; 
 and behold the sheep was quiet, and ^■5ok her death patiently. Then 
 said the Interpreter, You must learn oi ihis sheep to sutler, and to put 
 up wrongs without murmurings and complaints. Behold how quietly 
 .'ihe taketh her death, and without objecting, she suflfereth her skin to 
 be pulled over her ears. Your King doth caU you his sheep. 
 
 After this, he led them into his garden, where was great variety of 
 flowers; and he said. Do you see sU these? So Christiana said. Yes. 
 Then said he again, Behold the flowfc?s are diverse in stature, in quality, 
 and colour, and smell, and virtue; and some are better than some; also 
 where the gardener hath set them, there they stand, and quarrel not 
 with one another. 
 
 Again, he had them into his field, which he had sowed with wheat 
 and corn; but when they beheld, the tops of all were cut off, only the 
 straw remained; he said again. This ground was dunged, and ploughed, 
 and sowed ; but what shall we do with the crop ? Then said Christiana, 
 Burn some, and make muck of the rest. Then said the Interpreter 
 again. Fruit, you see, is that thing you look for, and for want of that 
 you condemn it to the fire, and to be trodden under foot of men: be- 
 ware that in this you condemn not yourselves. 
 
 Then, as they Avere coming in from abroad, they espied a little robin 
 with a great spider in his mouth; so the Interpreter said. Look here. 
 So they looked, and Mercy wondered: but Christiana said. What a 
 disparagement is it to such a little pretty bird as the robin redbreast 
 is, he being also a bird above many, that loveth to maintain a kind of 
 sociableness with man; I had thought they had lived upon crumbs of 
 bread, or upon other such harmless matter. I like him worse than I did. 
 
 The Interpreter then replied. This robin is an emblem, very apt to 
 set forth some professors by; for to sight they are, as this robin, pretty 
 of note, colour, and carriage. They seem also to have a ver}' great love 
 lor professors that are sincere: and above all others, to desire to sociate 
 with them, and to be in their company, as if they could live upon the 
 pood mau's crumbs. They pretend also, that therefore it is that they 
 Irequent the house of the godly and the appointments of the Lord; but, 
 when they are by themselves, as the robin, they can catch and gobble 
 up ' spiders, they can change their diet, drink iniquity, and swallow down 
 Bin like water. 
 
 So, when they were come again into the house, because supper as yet
 
 124 THE ptlgeim's progbess. 
 
 was not ready, Christiana again desired that the Interpreter would either 
 show or tell of some other things that are profitable. 
 
 Then the Interpreter began, and said, The fatter the sow is, the more 
 she desires the mire ; the fatter the ox is, the more gamesomely he goes 
 to the slaughter; and the more healthy the lusty man is, the more prone 
 he is unto evil. 
 
 There is a desire in women to go neat and fine, and it is a comely 
 thing to be adorned with that that in God's sight is of great price. 
 
 It is easier watching a night or two, than to sit up a whole year 
 together. So it is easier for one to begin to profess well, than to hold 
 out as he should to the end. 
 
 Every shipmaster, when in a storm, will willingly cast that overboard 
 that is of the smallest value in the vessel; but who will throw the best 
 out first .P None but he that feareth not God. 
 
 One leak will sink a ship; and one sin will destroy a sinner. 
 
 He that forgets his friend, is ungrateful unto him; but he that forgets 
 his Saviour, is unmerciful to himself. 
 
 He that lives in sin, and looks for happiness hereafter, is like him 
 that soweth cockle, and thinks to fill his barn with wheat or barley. 
 
 If a man would live well, let him fetch his last day to him, and make 
 it always his company keeper. 
 
 Whispering, and change of thoughts, prove that sin is in the world. 
 
 If the world, which God sets light by, is counted a thing of that 
 worth with men; what is heaven, which God commendeth? 
 
 If the life that is attended with so many troubles, is so loath to be 
 let go by us, what is the life above.'' 
 
 Everybody will cry up the goodness of men; but who is there that 
 is, as he should, affected with the goodness of God? 
 
 We seldom sit down to meat, but we eat and leave; so there is in 
 Jesus Christ more merit and righteousness than the whole world has 
 need of. 
 
 When the Interpreter had done, he takes them out into his garden 
 again, and had them to a tree, whose inside was all rotten and gone, and 
 yet it grew and had leaves. Then said Mercy, What means this? This 
 tree, said he, whose outside is fair, aiid whose inside is rotten, it is to 
 which many may be compared that are in the garden of God ; who with 
 their mouths speak high in behalf of God, but indeed will do nothing 
 for Him; whose leaves are fair, but their heart good for nothing but to 
 be tinder for the devil's tinder-box. 
 
 Now supper was ready, the table spread, and all things set on the 
 board; so they sat down and did eat, when one had given thanks And 
 the Interpreter did usually entertain those that lodged with him, with 
 music at meals; so the minstrels played. There was also one that did 
 sing, and a very fine voice he had. His song was this: 
 
 "The Lord is only my support, 
 
 And He that doth me feed; 
 How can I then want anything: 
 
 Whereof I stand in need?" 
 
 When the song and music was ended, the Interpreter asked Christiana
 
 i^^ll^ „. 
 
 Christiana entertained by the Interpreter.
 
 THE PTXaRTM's PROGl?FSS. 125 
 
 what it was that at first did move her to betake herself to a Pilgrim's 
 life. Christiana answered, First, The loss of ray husband came into my 
 mind, at which I was heartily grieved; but all that was but natural 
 affection. Then, after that, came the troubles and pilgrimage of my 
 husband into my mind, and also how like a churl I had carried it to 
 him as to that. So guilt took hold of my mind, and would have drawn 
 me into the pond; but that opportunely I had a dream of the well-being 
 of my husband, and a letter sent me by the King of that country where 
 my husband dwells, to come to him. The dream and the letter together 
 so wrought upon my mind, that they forced me to this way. 
 
 Inter. But met you with no opposition before you set out of doors .f" 
 
 Chris. Yes, a neighbour of mine, one Mrs. Timorous (she was akin 
 to him that would have persiiaded my husband to go back, for fear of 
 the lions.) She also so befooled me for, as she called it, my intended 
 desperate adventure; she also urged what she could to dishearten rae 
 from it, the hardship and troubles that my husband met with in the 
 way: but all this I got over pretty well But a dream that I had of 
 two ill-looked ones, that I thought did plot how to make me miscarry 
 in my journey, that hath troubled me much; yea, it still runs in my 
 mind, and makes me afraid of every one that I meet, lest they should 
 meet me to do me a mischief, and to tvirn me out of the way. Yea, 
 I may tell my Lord, though I would not have everybody should know 
 it, that between this and the gate by which we got into the way, we 
 were both so sorely assaulted that we were made to cry out. Murder! 
 and the two that made this assault upon us were like the two that I 
 saw in my dream. 
 
 Then said the Interpreter, Thy beginning is good, thy latter end shall 
 greatly increase. So he addressed himself to Mercy, and said unto her. 
 And what moved thee to come hither, sweet heart? 
 
 Then Mercy blushed and trembled, and for a while continued silent. 
 
 Intek. Then said he, Be not afraid, only believe, and speak thy mind. 
 
 Mercy. So she began, and said Truly, Sir, my want of experience is 
 that which makes me covet to be in silence, and that also that fills 
 rae with fears of coming short at last. I cannot tell of visions and 
 dreams as my friend Cliristiana can ; nor know I what it is to mourn 
 for my refusing of the counsel of those that were good relations. 
 
 Inter. What was it then, dear heart, that hath prevailed with thee 
 to do as thou hast done? 
 
 Mercy. Why, when our friend here was packing up to be gone from 
 our town, I and another went accidentally to see her; so we knocked 
 at the door, and went in. When we were within, and seeing what she 
 was doing, we asked what was her meaning. She said she was sent for 
 to go to her husband; and then she up and told us how she had seen 
 him in a dream, dwelling in a curious place, among immortals, wearing 
 a crown, playing upon a harp, eating and drinking at his Prince's tni.le, 
 and singing praises to him for bringing him thither, &c. Now. me- 
 thought, while she was telling these things unto us, my heart burned 
 within me; and I said in my heart, If this be true, I will leave my
 
 126 T!iE pilgrim's progeess. 
 
 father and my mother, and the land of my nativity, and will, if I may, 
 go along with Christiana. 
 
 So I asked her further of the truth of these things, and if she would 
 let me go with her; for I saw now that there was no dwelling, but 
 with the danger of ruin, any longer in our town. But yet I came 
 away with a heavy heart, not for that I was unwilling to come away, 
 but for that so many of my relations were left behind. 
 
 And I am come, with all the desire of my heart, and will go, if 1 
 may, with Christiana, unto her husband, and his King. 
 
 Inter. Thy setting out is good, for thou hast given credit to the 
 truth. Thou art a Ruth, who did, for the love she bare to Naomi, and 
 to the Lord her God, leave father and mother, and the land of her na- 
 tivity, to come out, and go with a people that she knew not heretofore 
 "The Lord recompense thy work, and a full reward be given thee of 
 the Lord God of Israel, under whose wings thou art come to trust," 
 (Euth ii. 12.) 
 
 Now supper was ended, and preparation was made for bed; the 
 women were laid singly alone, and the boys by themselves. Now when 
 Mercy was in bed, she could not sleep for joy, for that now her doubts 
 of missing at last, were removed further from her than ever they were 
 before. So she lay blessing and praising God, who had had such favour 
 for her. 
 
 In the morning they rose with the sun, and prepared themselves for 
 their departure; but the Interpreter would have them tarry awhile, for, 
 said he, you must orderly go from hence. Then said he to the damsel 
 that first opened unto them, Take them and have them into the garden 
 to the bath, and there wash them, and make them clean from the soil 
 which they have gathered by travelling. Then Innocent the damsel 
 took them, and had them into the garden, and brought them to the 
 bath; so she told them that there they must wash and be clean, for so 
 her master would have the women to do that called at his house, as 
 they were going on pilgrimage. They then went in and washed, yea, 
 they and the boys and all; and they came out of that bath, not only 
 sweet and clean, but also much enlivened and strengthened in their 
 joints. So when they came in, they looked fairer a deal than when 
 they went out to the washing. 
 
 When they were returned out of the garden troni the bath, the In- 
 terpreter took them, and looked upon them, and said unto them. Fair 
 as the moon. Then he called for the seal, wherewith they used to he 
 scaled that were washed in his bath. So the seal was brought, and he 
 set his mark upon them, that they might be known in the places 
 whither they were yet to go. Now the seal was the contents and sura 
 of the passover which the children of Israel did eat when they came 
 out from the land of Egypt, and the mark was set between their eyes. 
 The seal greatly added to their beauty, for it was an ornament to their 
 faces. It also added to their gravity, and made their countenances 
 more like those of angels. 
 
 Then said the Interpreter again to the damsel that waited upon these
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 127 
 
 women, Go into the vestry and fetch out garmenls for these people; 
 so she went and fetched out white raiment, and laid down before him- 
 so he commanded them to put it on. "It was fine linen, white and 
 clean," (Kev. xix. 8.) When the women were thus adorned, they seemed 
 to be a terror one to the other; for that they could not see that glory 
 each one on herself which they could see in each other. Now, therefore 
 they began to esteem each other better than themselves. "For you are 
 fairer than I am," said one; and, "You are more comely than I am," 
 said another. The children also stood amazed to see into what fashion 
 they were brought. 
 
 The Interpreter then called for a man-servant of his, one Great-heart, 
 and bid him take sword and helmet and shield; and take these my 
 daughters, said he, and conduct them to the house called Beautiful, at 
 which place they will rest next. So he took his weapons and went be- 
 fore them; and the Interpreter said, God speed. Those, also, that belonged 
 to the family, sent them away with many a good wish. So they went 
 on their way and sang — 
 
 "This place has been our second stage; 
 
 Here we have heard and seen 
 Those good things that, from age to age. 
 To others hid have been. 
 
 "The dunghill-raker, spider, hen. 
 
 The chicken, too, to me 
 Hath taught a les?t)n ; let me then 
 Conformed to it be 
 
 "Tho butcher, garden, and the field, 
 
 The robin and his bait. 
 Also the rotten tree doth yield 
 Mp argument of weight. 
 
 "To move me lor to watch ano pray, 
 
 To strive to be sincere ; 
 To takr my cross up day by day. 
 And serve the i.ord with fear." 
 
 Now I saw in ray drcatn, that they went on, and Great-heart went 
 before them : so they went and came to the place where Christian's 
 burden fell off" his back, and tumbled into a sepulchre. Here, then, 
 they made a pause; and here also they blessed God. Now, said Chris- 
 tiana, it comes to my mind, what was said to us at the gate, to wit, 
 that we should have pardon by word and deed; by word, that is, by 
 the promise; by deed, to wit, in the way it was obtained. What the 
 promise is, of that I know something; but what it is to have pardon 
 by deed, or in the way that it was obtained, Mr. Great-heart, I suppose 
 you know; wherefore, if you please, let us hear you discourse thereof. 
 
 Great-heart. Pardon by the deed done, is pardon obtained by some 
 one, for another that hath need thereof: not by the person pardoned, 
 but in the way, saith another, in which I have obtained it. So then, 
 to speak to the question more at large, the pardon that you and Mercy 
 and these boys have attained, was obtained by another, to wit, by Him 
 that let you in at the fjate; and He hath obtained it in this double
 
 12S THE pilgrim's peogeess. 
 
 way. He has performed righteousness to cover you, and spilt blood to 
 wash you in. 
 
 Chkis. But if he parts with his righteousness to us, what will he 
 have for himself? 
 
 Gkeat-heakt. He has more righteousness than you have need of, or 
 than he needeth himself. 
 
 Cheis. Pray make that appear. 
 
 Great-heart. With all my heart; but first I must premise, that He 
 of whom we are now about to speak is one that has not his fellow. He 
 has two natures in one person, plain to be distinguished, impossible to 
 be divided. Unto each of these natures a righteousness belongeth, and 
 each righteousness is essential to that nature; so that one may as easily 
 cause the nature to be extinct, as to separate its justice or righteousness 
 from it. Of these righteousnesses, therefore, we are not made partakers, 
 BO as that they, or any of them, should be put upon us that we might 
 be made just, and live thereby. Besides these, there is a righteousness 
 which this Person has, as these two natures are joined in one : and this 
 is not the righteousness of the Godhead, as distinguished from the 
 manhood; nor the righteousness of the manhood as distinguished from 
 the Godhead; but a righteousness which standeth in the union of both 
 natures, and may probably be called, the righteousness that is essential 
 to His being prepared of God to the capacity of His mediatory office 
 which He was to be intrusted with. If He parts with His first right- 
 eousness. He parts with His Godhead; if He parts with His second 
 righteousness. He parts with the purity of His manhood; if He parts 
 with this third, He parts with that perfection that capacitates Him to 
 the oflBce of mediation. He has, therefore, another righteousness which 
 standeth in performance, or obedience to a revealed will; and that is it 
 that He puts upon sinners, and that by which their sins are covered. 
 Wherefore He saith, "As by one man's disobedience, many were made 
 sinners; so by the obedience of one, shall many be made righteous," 
 (Rom. V. 19.) 
 
 Chris. But are the other righteousnesses of no use to us.P 
 
 Great-heart. Tes; for though they are essential to his natures and 
 office, and so cannot be communicated unto another, yet it is by virtue 
 of them, that the righteousness that justifies, is, for that purpose, effica- 
 cious. The righteousness of his Godhead gives virtue to his obedience; 
 the righteousness of his manhood giveth capability to his obedience to 
 justify; and the righteousness that standeth in the union of these two 
 natures to his office, giveth authority to that righteousness to do the 
 work for which it is ordained. 
 
 So then, here is a righteousness that Christ, as God, has no need for, 
 for he is God without it; here is a righteousness that Christ, as man, 
 has no need of to make him so, for he is perfect man without it; again, 
 here is a righteousness that Christ, as God-man, has no need of, for he 
 is perfectly so without it. Here, then, is a righteousness that Christ, as 
 God, as man, as God-man, has no need of, with reference to himself, 
 and therefore he can spare it: a justifying righteousness, that he for
 
 THE pilgbim's progeess. 129 
 
 himself wanteth not, and therefore he giveth it away; hence it is called 
 "the gift of righteousness," (Rom. v. 17.) This righteousness, since Chriso 
 Jesus the Lord has made himself under the law, must be given away; 
 for the law doth not only bind him that is under it "to do justly," but 
 to use charity. Wherefore he must, he ought, by the law, if he hath 
 two coats, to give one to him that hath none. Now, our Lord, indeed, 
 liuth two coats, one for himself, and one to spare; wherefore he freely 
 bestows one upon those that have none. And thus, Christiana and 
 Mercy, and the rest of you that are here, doth your pardon come by 
 deed, or by the work of another man. Tour Lord Christ is He that 
 lias worked, and has given away what He wrought for to the next poor 
 beggar He meets. 
 
 But, again, in order to pardon by deed, there must something be 
 paid to God as a price, as well as something prepared to cover us 
 Avithal. Sin has delivered us up to the just curse of a righteous law; 
 now, irom this curse we must be justified by way of redemption, a 
 price being paid for the harms we have done, and this is by the blood 
 of your Lord, who came and stood in your place and stead, and died 
 your death for your transgressions. Thus has he ransomed you from 
 your transgressions by blood, and covered your polluted and deformed 
 souls with righteousness. For the sake of which, God passeth by you, 
 and will not hurt you when He comes to judge the world. 
 
 Chris. This is brave. Now, I see there was something to be learned 
 by our being pardoned by word and deed. Good Mercy, let us labour 
 to keep this in mind; and, my children, do you remember it also. But, 
 Sir, was not this it that made ray good Christian's burden fall from 
 oft' his shoulder, and that made him give three leaps for joy? 
 
 Great-heart. Yes, it was the belief of this, that cut those strings 
 that could not be cut by other means ; and it was to give him a proof 
 of the virtue of this, that he was suffered to carry his burden to the 
 cross. 
 
 Chris. I thought so; for though my heart was lightful and joyous 
 before, yet it is ten times more lightsome and joyous now. And 1 am 
 persuaded by what I have felt, though I have felt but little as yet, that 
 if the most burdened man in the world was here, and did see and 
 believe as I now do, it would make his heart the more merry and 
 blithe. 
 
 Grkat-heart. There is not only comfort, and the ease of a burden 
 brouoht to us, by the sight and consideration of these, but an endeared 
 affection begot in us by it; for who can, if he doth but once think that 
 pardon comes, not only by promise, but thus, but be affected by the 
 ways and means of his redemption, and so with the man that wrought 
 it for him? 
 
 Chris. True; methinks it makes my heart bleed to think that He 
 should bleed for me. Oh, thou loving One! Oh, thou blessed One! 
 Thou deservest to have me; thou hast bought me; thou deservest to 
 have me all ; thou hast paid for me ten thousand times more than I am 
 worth! JN'o marvel that this made the water stand in my husband's eyes, 
 
 K.
 
 130 THE pilgeim's progeess. 
 
 and that it made him trudge so nimbly on; I am persuaded he wished 
 mo with him; but vile -wretch that I was, I let him come all alone. Oh, 
 Mercy, that thy father and mother were here; yea, and Mrs. Timorous 
 also , nay, I wish now with all my heart, that here was Madam Wanton 
 too. Surely, surely their hearts would be affected; nor could the fear 
 of the one, nor the powerful lusts of the other, prevail with them to go 
 borne again, and to refuse to become good pilgrims. 
 
 Great-heart. You speak now in the warmth of your affections. Will 
 it, think you, be always thus with you? Besides, this is not communi- 
 cated to every one that did see your Jesus bleed. There were that stood 
 by, and that saw the blood run from his heart to the ground, and yet 
 were so far off this, that, instead of lamenting, they laughed at him: 
 and, instead of becoming his disciples, did harden their hearts against 
 him. So that all that you have, my daughters, you have by a peculiar 
 impression made by a divine contemplating upon what I have spoken to 
 you. Eemember that it was told you, that the hen, by her common call, 
 gives no meat to her chickens. This you have, therefore, by a special 
 grace. 
 
 Now, I saw still in my dream, that they went on until they were come 
 to the place that Simple, and Sloth, and Presumption lay and slept in, 
 when Christian went by on pilgrimage; and, behold, they were hanged 
 up in irons, a little way off on the other side. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy to him that was their guide and conductor, 
 What are those three men; and for what are they hanged there? 
 
 Great-heart. These three men were men of very bad qualities. They 
 liad no mind to be pilgrims themselves, and whosoever they could, they 
 hindered. They were lor sloth and folly themselves, and whoever they 
 could persuade with, they made so too; and, withal, taught them to pre- 
 sume that they should do well at last. They were asleep when Christian 
 went by; and now you go by, they are hanged. 
 
 "Behold bei'c how the slothful are a sign 
 Hung up, 'cause holy ways they did decline. 
 See here, too, how the child doth play the man, 
 And weak grow strong when Great-heart leads the van." 
 
 Mercy. But could they persuade any to be of their opinion? 
 
 Great-heart. Yes; they turned several out of the way. There was 
 Slow-pace, that they persuaded to do as they. They also prevailed with 
 one ShorL-wind, with one No-heart, with one Linger-after lust, and with 
 one Sleepy-head, and with a young woman, her name was Dull, to turn 
 out of the way, and become as they. Besides, they brought up an ill 
 report of your Lord, persuading others that He was a taskmaster. They 
 also brought up an evil report of the good land, saying it was not half 
 so good as some pretend it was. They also began to vilify his servants, 
 and to count the very best of them meddlesome, troublesome busybodies. 
 Further they could call the bread of God husks; the comforts of his 
 children, fancies ; the travel and labour of pilgrims, things to no purpose. 
 
 Chris. Nay. said Christiana, if they were such, they shall never be
 
 THK PILGEIm's PHOGBESS. I3l 
 
 bowailed by me. They have but what they deserve; and I think it is 
 well that they hang so near the highway, that others may see and take 
 warning. But had it not been well if their crimes had been engraven 
 on some plate of iron or brass, and left here, even where they did their 
 mischief, for a caution to other bad men? 
 
 Gkeat-heart. So it is, as you well may perceive, if you will go a 
 little to the wall. 
 
 Mercy. No, no; let them hang, and their names rot, and their crimes 
 live for ever against them. I think it a high favour that they were 
 hanged before we came hither; who knows else what they might have 
 done to such poor women as we are? Then she turned it into a song, 
 saying — 
 
 "No'n' then, you three, hang there, and be a sign 
 To ;ill that shall against the truth combine, 
 And let him that comes alter fear this end, 
 If unto pilgrims he is not a friend. 
 And thou, my soul, of all such men beware, 
 That unto holiness opposers are." 
 
 Thus they went on, till they came at the foot of the Hill Difficulty, 
 where, again, their good friend, Mr. Great-heart, took an occasion to tell 
 them of what happened there when Christian himself went by. So he 
 had them first to the spring. Lo, said he, this is the spring that Chris- 
 tian drunk of, before he went up this hill; and then it was clear and 
 good, but now it is dirty with the feet of some that are not desirous 
 that pilgrims here should quench their thirst. Thereat, Mercy said, And 
 why so envious, trow? But, said their guide, it will do, if taken up, and 
 put into a vessel that is sweet and good; for then the dirt will sink to 
 the bottom, and the water will come out by itself more clear. Thus, 
 therefore, Christiana and her companions were compelled to do. They 
 took it up, and put it into an earthen pot, and so let it stand till the 
 dirt wavS gone to the bottom, and then they drank thereof. 
 
 Nexr, he showed them the two by-ways that were at the foot of the 
 hill, where Formality and Hypocrisy lost themselves. And, said he, these 
 are dangerous paths. Two were here cast away when Christian came by; 
 and, although, as you see, these ways are since stopped up with chains, 
 posts, and a ditcli, yet there arc that will choose to adventure here, 
 rather than take the pains to go up this hill. 
 
 Chris. "The way of transgressors is hard," (Prov. xiii. 15.) It is a 
 wonder that they can get into those ways without danger of breaking 
 their necks. 
 
 Great- HEART. They will venture. Yea, if at any time any of the 
 king's servants do happen to see them, and do call unto them, and tell 
 them that they are in the wrong ways, and do bid them beware the 
 danger, then they will railingly return answer, and say, "As for the word 
 that thou hast spoken unto us in the name of the Lord, we will uoi 
 hearken unto thee; but we will certainly do whatsoever thing goeth forth 
 out of our own mouth," &c., (Jcr. xliv. 16, 17.) Nay, if you look a little 
 further, you shall see that these ways are made cautionary enough, not
 
 132 THE PILGEIM's PEOGEE88. 
 
 only by these posts, and ditcla, and chain, but also by being hedged up, 
 yet they will choose to go there. 
 
 Chris. They are idle; they love not to take pains; up-hill way is 
 unpleasant to them. So it is fulfilled unto them as it is written, " The 
 way of the slothful man is as an hedge of thorns," (Prov. xv. 19.) Tea, 
 they will rather choose to walk upon a snare, than to go up this hill> 
 and the rest of this way to the city. 
 
 Then they set forward, and began to go up the hill, and up the hill 
 they went; but before they got to the top, Christiana began to pant; 
 and said, I dare say this is a breathing hill. No marvel if they that 
 love their ease more than their souls, choose to themselves a smoother 
 way. Then said Mercy, I must sit down; also the least of the children 
 began to cry. Come, come, said Great-heart, sit not down here, for a 
 little above is the Prince's arbour. Then took he the Httle boy by the 
 hand, and led him up thereto. 
 
 When they were come to the arbour, they were very willing to sit 
 down, for they were all in a pelting heat. Then said Mercy, How sweet 
 is rest to them that labour. And how good is the Prince of pilgrims 
 to provide such resting-places for them! Of this arbour I have heard 
 much; but I never saw it before. But here let us beware of sleeping; 
 for, as I have heard, for that it cost poor Christian dear. 
 
 Then said Mr Great-heart to the little ones, Come, my pretty boys, 
 how do you do? What think you now of going on pilgrimage? Sir, 
 said the least, I was almost beat out of heart; but I thank you for 
 lending me a hand at my need. And I remember now what my mother 
 hath told me, namely, that the way to heaven is as up a ladder, and 
 the way to hell is as down a hill. But I had rather go up the ladder 
 to life, than down the hill to death. 
 
 Then said Mercy, But the proverb is, To go down the hill is easy. 
 But James said, (for that was his name,) The day is coming when, in 
 my opinion, going down hill will be hardest of aU. 'Tis a good boy, 
 said his Master, thou hast given her a right answer. Then Mercy 
 smiled ; but the little boy did blush. 
 
 Chris. Come, said Christiana, will you eat a bit, a little to sweeten 
 your mouths, while you sit here to rest your legs ? For I have here a 
 
 fiece of pomegranate, which Mr. Interpreter put in my hand, just when 
 came out of his doors. He gave me also a piece of a honeycomb, 
 and a little bottle of spirits. I thought he gave you something, said 
 Mercy, because he called you aside. Yes : so he did, said the other 
 But, said Christiana, it shall still be, as I said it should, when at first 
 we came from home, thou shalt be a sharer in all the good that I have, 
 because thou so willingly didst become my companion. Then she gave 
 to them, and they did eat, both Mercy and the boys. And, said Chris- 
 tiana to Mr. Great-heart, Sir, will you do as we? But he answered, 
 You are going on pilgrimage, and presently I shall return. Much good 
 may what you have do to you. At home I eat the same every day. 
 Now, when they had eaten and drank, and had chatted a little longer, 
 their guide said to them. The day wears away, if you think good, let
 
 THE PILGKTM's PBOGnESS. 133 
 
 ns prepare to be going. So they got up to go, and the little boys went 
 b'fore. But Christiana forgot to take her bottle of spirits with her; so 
 she sent her little boy back to fetch it. Then said Mercy, I think this 
 is a losing place. Here Christian lost his roll; and here Christiana 
 left her bottle behind her. Sir, what is the cause of this? So their 
 guide made answer, and said, The cause is sleep or forgetfulness. Some 
 sleep when they should keep awake ; and some forget when they should 
 remember; and this is the very cause why, often at the resting-places, 
 some pilgrims, in some things, come off losers. Pilgrims should watch, 
 and remember what they have already received under their greatest 
 enjoyments; but for want of doing so, ofttimes their rejoicing ends in 
 tears, and their sunshine in a cloud. Witness the story of Christian 
 at this place. 
 
 When they were come to the place where Mistrust and Timorous met 
 Christian, to persuade him to go back for fear of the lions, they per- 
 ceived as it were a stage, and before it, towards the road, a broad plate, 
 with a copy of verses written thereon, and underneath, the reason of 
 raising up of that stage in that place, rendered. The verses were 
 these : — 
 
 "Let him -who sees this stage take heed 
 Unto his heart and tongue: 
 Lest if he do not, here he speed. 
 As some have long agone." 
 
 The words underneath the verses were, "This stage was built to 
 punish such upon, who, through Timorousness or Mistrust, shall be 
 afraid to go further on pilgrimage; also, on this stage, both Mistrust 
 and Timorous were burned through the tongue with a hot iron, for 
 endeavouring to hinder Christian in his journey." 
 
 Then said Mercy, This is much like ibo the saying of the Beloved, 
 "What shall be given unto thee? or what shall be done unto thee, thou 
 false tongue ? Sharp arrows of the mighty, with coals of juniper," 
 (Psalm cxx. 3, 4.) 
 
 So they went on, till they came within sight of the lions. Now Mr. 
 Great-heart was a strong man, so he was not afraid of a lion; but yet 
 when they were come up to the place where the lions V7cre, the boys 
 that went before were glad to cringe behijid, for they were afraid of 
 the lions; so they stepped back, and went behind. At this their guide 
 smiled, and said. How now, my boys, do you love to go before, when 
 no danger doth approach, and love to come behind so soon as the lions 
 appear ? 
 
 Now, as they went up, Mr. Great-heart drew his sword, with intent 
 to make a way for the pilgrims, in spite of the lions. Then there ap- 
 peared one, that it seems, had taken upon him to back the lions; and 
 he said to the Pilgrims' guide, What is the cause of your coming hither? 
 Now the name of that raa)i was Grim, or Bloody-man, because of his 
 slaying of pilgrims, and he was ot the race of the giants. 
 
 Great-heart. Then said the Pilgrims' guide, These women and children
 
 134 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 are going on pilgrimage; and this is the way they must go, and go it 
 they shall, iu spite of thee and the lions. 
 
 Grim. This is not their way, neither shall they go therein. I am come 
 forth to withstand them, and to that end will back the lions. 
 
 Now, to say truth, by reason of the fierceness of the lions, and of the 
 grim carriage of him that did back them, this way had of late lain much 
 unoccupied, and was almost all grown over with grass. 
 
 Chkis. Then said Christiana, Though the highways have been unoc- 
 cupied heretofore, and though the travellers have been made in time 
 past to walk through by-paths, it must not be so now I am risen. Now, 
 "I am risen a mother in Israel," (Judges v. 6, 7.) 
 
 Grim. Then he swore by the lions but it should; and therefore bid 
 them turn aside, for they should not have passage there. 
 
 Great-heart. But their guide made first his approach unto Grim, 
 and laid so heavily at him with his sword, that he forced him to a retreat. 
 
 Grim. Then said he that attempted to back the lions, Will you slay 
 me upon mine own ground? 
 
 Great-heart. It is the King's highv,^ay that we are in, and in His 
 way it is that thou hast placed thy lions; but these women and these 
 children, though weak, shall hold on their way in spite of thy lions. And 
 with that he gave him again a downright blow, and brought him upon 
 his knees. With this blow he also broke his helmet, and with the next 
 he cut off an arm. Then did the giant roar so hideously, that his voice 
 frighted the women, and yet they were glad to see him lie sprawling 
 upon the ground. Now the lions were chained, and so of themselves 
 could do nothing. Wherefore, when old Grim, that intended to back 
 them, was dead, Mr. Great-heart said to the Pilgrims, " Come now, and 
 follow me, and no hurt shall happen to you from the lions." They 
 therefore went on, but the women trembled as they passed by them; 
 the boys also looked as if they would die, but they all got by without 
 further hurt. 
 
 Now then they were within sight of the Porter's Lodge, and they 
 soon came up unto it; but they made the naore haste after this to go 
 thither, because it is dangerous trnvelling there in the night. So when 
 they were come to the gate, the guide knocked, and the Porter cried, 
 Who is there? But as soon as the guide had said. It is I, he knew 
 his voice, and came down (for the guide had oft before that, come 
 thither, as a conductor of pilgrims.) When he was come down, he 
 opened the gate, and seeing the guide standing just before it (for he 
 saw not the women, for they were behind him,) he said unto him, How 
 now, Mr. Great-heart, what is your business here so late to-night? I 
 have brought, said he, some pilgrims hither, Avhere, by my Lord's com- 
 mandment, they must lodge ; I had been here some time ago, had I 
 not been opposed by the giant that did use to back the lions; but I, 
 after a long and tedious combat with him, have cut him off, and have 
 brought the pilgrims hither in safety. 
 
 Porter. Will you not go in, and stay till morning? 
 
 Great-heart. No, I will return to my Lord to-night.
 
 THE PILGKIM'a PROGRESS. igC' 
 
 Chrts. Oh, Sir, I know not how to bo willing you should leave ug 
 in our pilgrimage, you have been so faithful and so loving to us, you 
 have fought so stoutly for us, you have been so hearty in counselling 
 of us, that I shall never forget your favour towards us. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy, that we might have thy company to 
 our journey's end! How can such poor women as we hold out in a 
 way so full of troubles as this way is, without a friend and defender? 
 .Tames. Then said James, the youngest of the boys, Pray, Sir, be 
 persuaded to go with us, and help us, because we are so weak, and the 
 way so dangerous as it is. 
 
 Great-heart. I am at my Lord's commandment; if he shall alio* 
 me to be your guide quite through, I will willingly wait upon you. But 
 here you failed at first; for, when He bid me come thus far with you, 
 then you should have begged me of Him to have gone quite through 
 with you, and he would have granted your request. However, at present, 
 I must withdraw ; and so, good Christiana, Mercy, and my brave children. 
 Adieu. 
 
 Then the Porter, Mr. Watchful, asked Christiana of her country, and 
 of her kindred; and she said, I came from the City of Destruction; I 
 am a widow wciman, and my husband is dead ; his name was Christian, 
 the Pilgrim. How! said the Porter, was he your husband? Yes, said 
 she, and these are his children; and this, pointing to Mercy, is one of 
 my townswomen. Then the Poi'tcr rang his bell, as at such times he 
 is wont, and there came to the door one of the damsels, whose name 
 was Humble-mind; and to her the Porter said, Go tell it within, that 
 Christiana, the wife of Christian, and her children, are come hither on 
 pilgrimage. She went in, therefore, and told it. But O what noise for 
 gladness was there within, when the damsel did but drop that word out 
 of her mouth ! 
 
 So they came with haste to the Porter, for Christiana stood still at 
 the door. Then some of the most grave said unto her. Come in, Chris- 
 tiana, come in, thou wife of that good man; come in, thou blessed 
 woman; come in, with all that are with thee. So she went in, and 
 they i'ollowed her that were her children and her companions. Now 
 when they were gone in, they were had into a very large room, where 
 they were bidden to sit down; so they sat down, and the chief of thr 
 house was called to see and welcome the guests. Then they came in, 
 and understanding who they were, did salute each other with a kiss, 
 and said. Welcome, ye vessels of the grace of God; welcome to us your 
 friends. 
 
 Now, because it was somewhat late, and because the pilgrims were 
 weary Avith their journey, and also made faint with the sight of the 
 fight, and of the terrible lions, therefore they desired, as soon as might 
 be, to prepare to go to rest. Nay, said those of the family, refresh 
 yourselves first with a morsel of meat; for they had prepared for them 
 a lamb, with the accustomed sauce belonging thereto, for the Porter 
 bad heard before of their coming, and had told it to thr-in within. Sr 
 when they had supped, and ended their prayer with a j^sahn, they de-
 
 136 THE ptt-gbtm's PROGT?T;sg. 
 
 sired they miglit go to rest. But let us, said Christiana, if we may be 
 so bold as to choose, be in that chamber that was my husband's when 
 he was here; so they had them up thither, and they lay all in a room 
 When they were at rest, Christiana and Mercy entered into discourse- 
 about things that were convenient, 
 
 Chris. Little did I think once, that when my husband went on pil- 
 grimage, I should ever have followed. 
 
 Mekcy. And you as a little thought of lying in his bed, and in his 
 chamber to rest, as you do now. 
 
 Chkis. And much less did I ever think of seeing his face with 
 comfort, and of worshipping the Lord the King with him. and yet now 
 T believe I shall. 
 
 Mercy. Hark! Don't you hear a noise P 
 
 Chris. Yes; it is, as I believe, a noise of music, for joy that we are 
 here. 
 
 Mercy. Wonderful' music in the house, music in the heart, and 
 music also in heaven, for joy that we are here ! 
 
 Thus they talked a while, and then betook themselves to sleep. So. 
 in the morning, when they were awake, Christiana said to Mercy: 
 
 Chris. What was the matter that yon did laugh in your sleep to- 
 night? I suppose you was in a dream. 
 
 Mercy. So I was, and a sweet dream it was; but are you sure I 
 laughed ? 
 
 Chris. Yes; you laughed heartily; but prithee, Mercy, tell me thy 
 dream. 
 
 Mercy. T was a-dreaming that I sat all alone in a solitary place, and 
 was bemoaning of the hardness of my heart. Now, I had not sat there 
 long, but methought many were gathered about me, to see me, and to 
 hear what it was that I said. So they hearkened, and I went on 
 bemoaning the hardness of my heart. At this; some of them laughed 
 at me, some called me fool, and some began to thrust me about With 
 that methought I looked up, and saw one coming with wings towards 
 me. So he came directly to me, and said, Mercy, what aileth thee? 
 Now, when he had heard me make my complaint, he said, "Peace be 
 to thee." He also wiped mine eyes with his handkerchief, and clad 
 me in silver and gold. He put a chain about my neck, and ear-rings 
 in mine ears, and a beautiful crown upon my head. Then he took me 
 by the hand, and said, Mercy, come after me. So he went up, and I 
 followed, till we came at a golden gate Then he knocked; and when 
 they within had opened, the man went in. and I followed him up to 
 a throne, upon which one sat, and he said to me, Welcome, daughter. 
 The place looked bright and twinkling, like the stars, or rather like 
 the sua: and I thought that I saw your husband there. So I awoke 
 from my dream. But did I laugh? 
 
 Chris. Laugh! ay, and well you might, to see yourself so well. For 
 you must give me leave to tell you, that I believe it was a good dream; 
 and that, as you have begun to find the first part true, so you shall 
 find the second at last. "God speaketh once, yea, twice, yet man per-
 
 THE PTLG-RTM's PROGRESS. 137 
 
 ceiveth it not. In a dream, in a vision of the night, when deep sleep 
 falleth upon men, and shimberings upon the bed," (Job xxxiii. 14, 15.) 
 We need not, when a-bed, lie awake to talk with God. He can visit 
 us while we sleep, and cause ns then to hear his voice. Our heart 
 ofttimes wakes when we sleep; and God can speak to that, either by- 
 words, by proverbs, by signs and similitudes, as well as if one was 
 awake. 
 
 Merct. "Well, I am glad of my dream; for I hope, ere long, to see 
 it fulfilled, to the making me laugh again. 
 
 Ciiais. I think it is now high time to rise, and to know what wc 
 must do. 
 
 Merct. Pray, if they invite us to stay awhile, let us willingly accept 
 the proffer. I am the willinger to stay awhile here, to grow better ac- 
 quainted with these maids. Methinks Prudence. Piety, and Ch.vity have 
 very comely and sober countenances. 
 
 Chris. We shall see what they will do. So when they were up and 
 ready, they came down, and they asked one another of their rest, and if 
 it was comfortable or not. 
 
 Mercy. Very good, said Mercy; it was one of the best night's lodg- 
 ings that ever I had in my life. 
 
 Then said Prndence and Piety, If you will be persuaded to stay here 
 awhile, you shall have what the house will afford. 
 
 Char. Ay, and that with a very good will, said Charity. So they 
 consented and staid there about a month or above, and became very pro- 
 fitable one to another. And because Prudence would see how Christiana 
 had brought up her children, she asked leave of her to catechise them. 
 So she gave her free consent. Then she began at the youngest, whose 
 name was James. 
 
 Prudence. And she said. Come, James, canst thou tell me who madr 
 thee? 
 
 James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. 
 
 Prud. Good boy. And canst thou tell me who saves thee? 
 
 James. God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost. 
 
 Prud. Good boy still. But how doth God the Father save thee? 
 
 James. By his grace. 
 
 Prud. How doth God the Son save thee? 
 
 James. By his righteousness, death, and blood, and life. 
 
 Prud. And how doth God the Holy Ghost save thee? 
 
 James By His illumination, by His renovation, and by His preser- 
 vation. 
 
 Then said Prudence to Christiana, You are to be commended for thus 
 bringing up your children. I suppose I need not ask the rest these 
 questions, since the youngest of them can answer them so well. I will 
 therefore now apply myself to the next youngest. 
 
 Prud. Then she said. Come, Joseph (for his name was Josepli), will 
 you let me catechise you? 
 
 Joseph. With all my heart. 
 
 Prud. What is man ? 
 
 JosKPJi. A reasonable creature, so made by God, as my brother said.
 
 138 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 Prud. What is supposed by this word "saved?" 
 
 Joseph. That man, by sin, has brought himself into a state of cap- 
 tivity and misery. 
 
 Prud. What is supposed by his being saved by the Trinity? 
 
 Joseph. That Sin is so great and mighty a tyrant, that none can pull 
 us out of its clutches but God; and that God is so good and loving to 
 man, as to pull him indeed out of this miserable state. 
 
 Prud. What is God's design in saving of poor men? 
 
 Joseph. The glorifying of His name, of His grace and justice &c , and 
 the everlasting happiness of His creature. 
 
 Prud. Who are they that must be saved.-' 
 
 Joseph. Those that accept of His salvation. 
 
 Prud. Good boy, Joseph; thy mother has taught thee well, and thou 
 hast hearkened to what she hath said unto thee. 
 
 Then said Prudence to Samuel, who was the eldest but one 
 
 Prud. Come, Samuel, are you willing that I should catechise you alsor 
 
 Samuel, Yes, forsooth, if you please. 
 
 Prud. What is heaven P 
 
 Sam. a place and state most blessed, because God dwelleth there, 
 
 Prud. What is hell? 
 
 Sam. a place and state most woeful, because it is the dwelling-place 
 of sin, the devil, and death. 
 
 Prud. Why wouldest thou go to heaven? 
 
 Sam. That I may see God, and serve Him without weariness; that I 
 may see Christ, and love Him everlastingly; that T may have that ful- 
 ness of the Holy Spirit in me that I can by no means here enjoy. 
 
 Prud. A very good boy also, and one that has learned well. 
 
 Then she addressed iierself to the eldest, whose name was Matthew; 
 and she said to him. Come, Matthew, shall J also catechise you? 
 
 Matthew. With a very good will. 
 
 Prud. I ask, then, if there was over anything that had a being an- 
 tecedent to, or before God? 
 
 Matt. No; for God is eternal; nor is there anything excepting him- 
 self, that had a being until the beginning of the first day. "For in six- 
 days the Lord made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that in them is." 
 
 Prud What do you think of the Bible ? 
 
 Matt It is the holy Word of God. 
 
 Prud Is there nothing written therein but what you understand? 
 
 Matt Yes; a good deal. 
 
 Prud. What do you do when you meet with such places therein that 
 you do not understand? 
 
 Matt. I think God is wiser than I. I pray also that He will please 
 to let me know all therein that He knows will be for my good. 
 
 Prud. How believe you as touching the resurrection of the dead? 
 
 Matt. 1 believe they shall rise, the same that was buried: the same 
 m nature, though not in corruption. And I believe this upon a double 
 account: First, because God has promised it; secondly, because He is 
 able to perform it. 
 
 Then said Prudence to the boys, You must still heaikeu to your
 
 THE pilgrim's puogeess. 139 
 
 raother, for she can learn you more. You must also diligently give ear 
 to what good talk you shall hear from others; for, for your sakes do 
 they speak good things. Observe, also, and that with carefulness, what 
 the heavens and the earth do teach you; but especially be much in the 
 meditation of that Book that was the cause of your father's becoming 
 a pilgrim. I, for my part, my children, will teach you what I can 
 while you are here, and shall be glad if you will ask me questions that 
 tend to godly edifying. 
 
 Now, by that these Pilgrims had been at this place a week, Mercy 
 had a visitor that pretended some goodwill unto her, and his name was 
 Mr. Brisk, a man of some breeding, and that pretended to religion; but 
 a man that stuck very close to the world. So he came once or twice, 
 or more, to Mercy, and offered love unto her. Now Mercy was of a 
 fair countenance, and therefore the more alluring. 
 
 Her mind also was, to be always busying of herself in doing; for 
 when she had nothing to do for herself, she would be making of hose 
 and garments for others, and would bestow them upon them that had 
 need. And Mr. Brisk, not knowing where or how she disposed of what 
 she had made, seemed to be greatly taken, for that he found her never 
 idle. I will warrant her a good housewife, quoth he to himself. 
 
 Mercy then revealed the business to the maidens that were of the 
 house, and inquired of them concerning him, for the}' did know him 
 better than she. So they told her. that he was a very busy young 
 man, and one that pretended to religion; but was, as they feared, a 
 stranger to the power of that which was good. 
 
 Nay then, said ]\Iercy, I will look no more on him; for I purpose 
 never to have a clog to my soul. 
 
 Prudence then replied that there needed no great matter of dis- 
 couragement to be given to him, her continuing so as she had begur 
 to do lor the poor, would quickly cool his courage. 
 
 So the next time he comes, he finds her at her old work, a-makinp 
 of things for the poor. Then said he, What! always at it? Yes, said 
 she, either for myself or for others. And what canst thou earn a-day? 
 quoth he. I do these things, said she, " that I may be rich in good 
 works, laying up in store a good foundation against the time to come, 
 that I may lay hold on eternal life," (1 Tim. vi. 17 — 19.) Why, prithee, 
 what dost thou with them ? Clothe the naked, said she. With that 
 his countenance fell. So he forebore to come at her again: and when 
 he was asked the reason why, he said, that Mercy was a pretty lass, 
 but troubled with ill conditions. 
 
 When he had left her. Prudence said. Did I not tell thee, that Mr. 
 Brisk would soon forsake thee? yea, he will raise np an ill report of 
 thee: for, notwithstanding his pretence to religion, and his seeming 
 love to Mercy, yet Mercy and he are of tempers so different, that I 
 believe they will never come together. 
 
 Mercy . I might have had husbands afore now, though I spal.e not 
 of it to any; but they were such as did not like my conditions, though 
 never did any of them find fault with my person. So they and I could 
 not agree.
 
 110 THE PILGBIM's PROGRESS. 
 
 PiiuD. Mercy in our days is little set by, any farther than as to its 
 name; the practice, which is set forth by thy conditions, there are few 
 that can abide. 
 
 Mercy. Well, said Mercy, if nobody will have me, I will die a maid, 
 or my conditions shall be to me as a husband; for I cannot change 
 my nature ; and to have one that lies cross to me in this, that I purpose 
 never to admit of as long as I live. I had a sister named Bountifal, 
 that was married to one of these churls; but he and she could never 
 agree; but because my sister was resolved to do as she had begun, 
 that is, to show kindness to the poor, therefore her husband first 
 cried her down at the cross, and then turned her out of his doors. 
 
 Prud. And yet he was a professor, I warrant you. 
 
 Mercy. Tes, such a one as he was, and of such as he the world is 
 now full; but I am for none of them all. 
 
 Now Matthew, the eldest son of Christiana, fell sick, and his sickness 
 was sore upon him, for he was much pained in his bowels, so that he 
 was with it, at times, pulled as it were both ends together. There 
 dwelt also not far from thence, one Mr. Skill, an ancient and well- 
 approved physician. So Christiana desired it, and they sent for him, 
 and he came. "When he was entered the room, and had a little observed 
 the boy, he concluded that he was sick of the gripes. Then he said 
 to his mother. What diet has Matthew of late fed upon? Diet! said 
 Christiana, nothing but that which is wholesome. The physician answered, 
 This boy has been tampering with something that lies in his maw un- 
 digested, and that will nob away without means A^nd I tell you, he 
 must be purged, or else he will die. 
 
 Sam. Then, said Samuel, Mother, mother, what was that which my 
 brother did gather up and eat, so sdon as we were come from the gato 
 that is at the head of this way ? You know that there was an orchard 
 on the left hand, on the other side of the wall, and some of the trees 
 hung over the wall, and my brother did plash and did eat. 
 
 Chris. True, my child, said Christiana, he did take thereof, and did 
 eat; naughty boy as he was, I did chide him, and yet he would eat 
 thereof. 
 
 Skill. I knew he had eaten something that was not wholesome food, 
 and that food, to wit, that fruit, is even the most hurtful of all. It is 
 the fruit of Beelzebub's orchard. I do marvel that none did warn you 
 of it; many have died thereof 
 
 Chris. Then Christiana began to cry; and she said, naughty boy! 
 and careless mother! What shall I do for my son? 
 
 Skill. Come, do not be too much dejected; the boy may do well 
 again, but he must purge and vomit. 
 
 Chris. Pray, Sir, try the utmost of yot'r.- skill with him, whatever 
 it costs. 
 
 Skill. Nay, I hope I shall be reasonable. So he made him a purge, 
 but it was too weak; it was said, it was made of the blood of a goat, 
 the ashes of a heifer, and with some of the juice of hyssop, &c. When 
 Mr. Skill saw that his purge was too weak, he made him one to the 
 purpose; it was made e« carn$ et sanguine Christi (You know physicians
 
 THE pilgrim's PEOGHESS. 141 
 
 give Btrange medicines to their patients.) And it was made up into 
 pills, with a promise or two, and a proportionable quantity of salt. 
 Now he was to take them three at a time fasting, in half a quarter of 
 a pint of the tears of repentance. When this potion was prepared, and 
 brought to the boy, he was loath to take it, though torn with the 
 gripes as if he should be pulled in pieces. Come, Come, said the 
 physician, you must take it. It goes against my stomach, said the boy. 
 I must have you take it, said his mother. I shall vomit it up again, 
 said the boy. Pray, Sir, said Christiana to Mr. Skill, how does it 
 caste? It has no ill taste, said the doctor; and with that she touched 
 one of the pills with the tip of her tongue. Oh, Matthew, said she, 
 this potion is sweeter than honey. If thou lovest thy mother, if thou 
 'ovest thy brothers, if thou lovest Mercy, if thou lovest thy life, take 
 it. So with much ado, after a short prayer for the blessing of God 
 upon it, he took it, and it wrought kindly with him. It caused him 
 to purge, it caused him to sleep and rest quietly; it put him into a 
 fine heat and breathing sweat, and did quite rid him of his gripes. 
 So in little time he got up, and walked about with a staff, and would 
 go from room to room, and talk with Prudence, Piety, and Charity of 
 his distemper, and how he was healed. 
 
 So when the boy was healed, Christiana asked Mr Skill, saying, Sir, 
 what will content you for your pains and care to and of my child.'' 
 And he said. You must pay the Master of the College of Physicians, 
 according to rules made in that case and provided. 
 
 CuRis. But, Sir, said she, what is this pill good for else? 
 
 Skill. It is an universal pill; it is good against all the diseases that 
 Pilgrims are incident to; and when it is well prepared, it will keep 
 good, time out of mind. 
 
 Chris. Pray, Sir, make me up twelve boxes of them: for if I can 
 get these, I will never take other physic. 
 
 Skill. These pills are good to prevent, diseases, as well as to cure 
 when one is sick. Yea, I dare say it, and stand to it, that if a man 
 will but use this physic as he should, it will make him live for ever. 
 But, good Christiana, thou must give these pills no other way but as 
 I have prescribed; for, if you do, they will do no good. So he gave unto 
 Christiana physic for herself, and her boys, and for Mercy; and bid 
 Matthew take heed how he eat any more green plums, and kissed them, 
 and went his way. 
 
 It was told yon before, that Prudence bid the boys, that if at any time 
 they would, they should ask her some questions that might be profitable, 
 and she would say something to them. 
 
 Matt. Then Matthew, who had been sick, asked her. Why, for the 
 most part, physic should be bitter to our palates ? 
 
 Phud. To show how unwelcome the Word of God, and the eflects 
 thersof, are to a carnal heart. 
 
 Matt. Why does physic, if it does good, purge, and cause that we 
 vomit ? 
 
 Pkud. To show that the Word, when it works effectually cleanseth
 
 142 THE pilgeim's pkogeess. 
 
 the heart and mind. For look, what the one doth to the body, the other 
 doth to the soul. 
 
 Matt. What should we learn by seeing the flame of our fire go up- 
 wards ? and by seing the beams and sweet influences of the sun strike 
 downwards ? 
 
 Prud. By the going up of the fire we are taught to ascend to heaven 
 by fervent and hot desires; and by the sun sending his heat, beams, 
 and sweet influences downwards, we are taught that the Saviour of the 
 world, though high, reacheth down with his grace and love to us below. 
 
 Matt. Where have the clouds their water? 
 
 Prud. Out of the sea. 
 
 Matt. What may we learn from that? 
 
 Prud. That ministers should fetch their doctrine from God. 
 
 Matt. Why do they empty themselves upon the earth? 
 
 Prud. To show that ministers should give out what they know of 
 God to the world. 
 
 Matt. Why is the rainbow caused by the sun ? 
 
 Prud. To show that the covenant of God's grace is confirmed to us 
 in Christ. 
 
 Matt. Why do the springs come from the sea to us through the 
 eiirth? 
 
 Prud. To show that the grace of God comes to us through the body 
 of Christ. 
 
 Matt. Why do some of the springs rise out of the tops of high hills ? 
 
 Prud. To show that the spirit of grace shall spring up in some thai 
 are great and mighty, as well as in many that are poor and low. 
 
 Matt. Why doth the fire fasten upon the candlewick? 
 
 Prud. To show that unless grace doth kindle upon the heart there 
 will be no true light of life in us. 
 
 Matt. Why is the wick and tallow, and all, spent to maintain th<- 
 light of the candle? 
 
 Pbud. To show that body and soul, and all, should be at the service 
 of, and spend themselves to maintain, in good condition, that grace ol 
 God that is in us. 
 
 Matt. Why doth the pelican pierce her own breast with her biU? 
 
 PfiUD. To nourish her young ones with her blood, and thereby to 
 show that Christ the blessed so loveth his young, his people, as to save 
 them from death by his blood. 
 
 Matt. What may one learn by hearing the cock crow? 
 
 Pkud. Learn to remember Peter's sin, and Peter's repentance. The 
 cock's crowing shows also that day is coming on; let then the crowing 
 of the cock put thee in mind of that last and terrible day of judgment. 
 
 Now, about this time their mouth was out; wherefore they signified to 
 those of the house that it was convenient for them to up and be going. 
 Then said Joseph to his mother. It is convenient that you forget not to 
 send to the house of Mr. Interpreter, to pray him to grant that Mr. 
 Great-heart should be sent unto us, that he may be our conductor the 
 rest of our way. Good boy, said she, I had almost forgot. So she drew
 
 THE PTT-ORTM's PROGRESS. 14i3 
 
 up a petition, and prayed Mr. Watcliful, the Porter, to send it by some 
 fit man, to her good irieud Mr. Interpreter; who, when it was come, 
 and he had seen the contents of the petition, said to the messenger, Go 
 tell them that I will send him. 
 
 When the family, where Christiana was, saw that they had a purpose 
 to go forward, they called the whole house together, to give thanks to 
 their King for sending of them such profitable guests as these. Which 
 done, thoy said to Christiana, And shall we not show thee something, 
 according as our custom is to do to pilgrims, on which thou mayest 
 meditate when thou art upon the way? So they took Christiana, her 
 children, and Mercy into the closet, and showed them one of the apples 
 that Eve did eat of, and that she also did give to her husband, and that 
 for the eating of which they both were turned out of Paradise, and asked 
 her what she thought that was? Then Christiana said, It is food or 
 poison, I know not which. So they opened the matter to her, and she 
 held up her hands and wondered. 
 
 Then they had her to a place, and showed her Jacob's ladder. Now 
 at that time there were some angels ascending upon it. So Christiana 
 looked, and looked, to see the angels go up; and so did the rest of the 
 company. Then they were going into another place, to show them some- 
 thing else; but James said to his mother. Pray bid them stay here a 
 little longer, for this is a curious sight. So they turned again, and stood 
 feeding their eyes with this so pleasant a prospect. After this, they had 
 them into a place where did liang up a golden anchor, so they bid 
 Christiana take it down; for, said they, you shall have it with you, for 
 it is of absolute necessity that you should, that you may lay hold of 
 that within the veil, and stand stedfast, in case you should meet with 
 turbulent weather; so they were glad thereof. Then they took them, 
 and had them to the mount upon which Abraham our lather had offered 
 up Isaac his son, and showed them the altar, the wood, the fire, and the 
 knife, for they remain to be seen to this very day. When they had seen 
 it, they held up their hands and blessed themselves, and said, Oh, what 
 a man for love to his Master, and for denial to himself, was Abraham ! 
 After they had showed them all these things, Prudence took them into 
 the dining-room, where stood a pair of excellent virginals; so she played 
 upon them, and turned what she had showed them into this excellent 
 song, saying— 
 
 "Eye's apple we have showed you. 
 Of that be you aware ; 
 You have seen Jacob's ladder, luo, 
 Upon which angels arc. 
 
 " An anchor you received have, 
 Hut let not these suffice. 
 Until, with Abr'am, you have gave 
 Your best a sacrifice." 
 
 Now, about this time, one knocked at the door; so the Porter opened, 
 and behold Mr. Great-heart was there; but when he was come in, what, 
 joy was there! For it came now fresh again into their minds, how
 
 144i THE pilgrim's PB0G11E«S. 
 
 but a while ago he had slain old Grim Bloody-man the giant, and had 
 delivered them from the lions. 
 
 Then said Mr. Great-heart to Christiana, and to Mercy, My Lord hath 
 sent each of you a bottle of wine, and also some parched corn, together 
 with a couple of pomegranates; he has also sent the boys some figs 
 and raisins, to refresh you in your way. 
 
 Then they addressed themselves to their journey; and Prudence and 
 Piety went along mth them. When they came at the gate, Christiana 
 asked the Porter if any of late went by? He said. No; only one some 
 time since, who also told me, that of late there had been a great rob- 
 bery committed on the King's highway, as you go; but, he said, the 
 thieves are taken, and will shortly be tried for their lives. Then 
 Christiana and Mercy were afraid; but Matthew said. Mother, fear 
 nothing, as long as Mr. Great-heart is to go with us, and to be our 
 conductor. 
 
 Then said Christiana to the Porter, Sir, I am much obliged to you 
 for all the kindnesses that you have showed me since I came hither; 
 and also for that you have been so loving and kind to my children ; 
 I know not how to gratify your kindness. Wherefore, pray, as a token 
 of my respects to you, accept of this small mite; so she put a gold 
 angel in his hand, and he made her a low obeisance, and said. Let 
 thy garments be always white, and let thy head want no ointment. Let 
 Mercy live, and not die, and let not her works be few. And to the 
 boys he said. Do you fly youthful lusts, and follow after godliness with 
 them that are grave and wise; so shall you put gladness into your 
 mother's heart, and obtain praise of all that are sober-minded. So 
 they thanked the Porter, and departed. 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, that they went forward until they were 
 come to the brow of the hill, where Piety, bethinking herself, cried out, 
 Alas ! I have forgot what I intended to bestow upon Christiana and her 
 companions; I will go back and fetch it. So she ran and fetched it. 
 While she was gone, Christiana thought she heard in a grove, a little 
 way ofi", on the right hand, a most curious melodious note, with words 
 much like these — 
 
 "Thioujjh all my life thy favour is 
 So frankly show'd to me, 
 That in thy house for evermore 
 My dwelling--place shall be." 
 
 And, listening still, she thought she heard another answer it, saying, — 
 
 "For why? The Lord our God is good, 
 His mercy is for ever sure, 
 His truth at all times firmly stood, 
 And shall from age to age endure." 
 
 So Christiana asked Prudence what it was that made those curious 
 notes? They are, said she, our country birds; they sing these notes 
 but seldom, except it be at the spring, when the flowers appear, and 
 the sun shines warm, and then you may hear them all day long. I 
 
 I
 
 THE PILGEIM S PROGRESS. 
 
 ofien, said she, go out to hear them; we also oittimes keep them tai 
 in our house. They are very fine company for us when we are melan- 
 choly; also they make the woods, and groves, and solitary places, places 
 desirous to be in. 
 
 By this time Piety was come again; so she said to Christiana, Look 
 here, I have brought thee a scheme of all those things that thou hast 
 seen at our house, upon which thou mayest look when thou findest 
 thyself forgetful, and call those things again to remembrance for thy 
 edification and comfort. 
 
 Now they began to go down the hill into the Valley of Humiliation. 
 It was a steep hill, and the way was slippery; but they were very 
 careful, so they got down pretty well. When they were down in the 
 Valley, Piety said to Christiana, This is the place where Christian your 
 husband met with the foul fiend Apollyon, and where they had that 
 dreadful fight that they had; I know you cannot but have heard 
 thereof. But be of good courage; as long as you have here Mr. 
 Great-heart to be your guide and conductor, we hope you will fare the 
 better. So when these two had committed the Pilgrims unto the con- 
 duct of their guide, he went forward, and they went after. 
 
 Great-heakt. Then said Mr. Great-heart, "We need not to be so 
 afraid of this Valley, for here is nothing to hurt us, unless we procure 
 it to ourselves. It is true, Christian did here meet with Apollyon, 
 with whom he also had a sore combat; but that fray was the fruit of 
 those slips that he got in liis going down the hill; for they that get 
 slips there, must look for combats here. And hence it is that this 
 Valley has got so hard a name; for the common people, when they 
 hear that some frightful thing has befallen such a one in such a place, 
 are of an opinion, that that place is haunted with some foul fiend or 
 evil spirit; when, alas! it is for the fruit of their doing, that such 
 things do befal them there. 
 
 This Valley of Humiliation is of itself as fruitful a place as any the 
 crow flios over; and I am persuaded, if we could hit upon it, we might 
 find somewhere hereabouts, something that might give us an account 
 why Christian was so hardly beset in this place. 
 
 Then James said to his mother, Lo, yonder stands a pillar, and it 
 looks as if something was written thereon; let us go and see what it 
 is. So they went, and found there written, "Let Christian's slips, be- 
 fore he came hither, and the battles that ho met with in this place, be 
 a warning to those that come after." Lo, said their guide, did not I 
 tell you that there was something hereabouts that would give intimation 
 of the reason why Cliristian was so hard beset in this place? Then, 
 turning himself to Christiana, he said, No disparagement to Cliristian, 
 more than to many others whose hap and lot his was; for it is easier 
 going up than down this hill, and that can be said but of few hills in 
 all these parts of the world. But we will leave the good man, he is at 
 rest, he also had a brave victory over his enemy; let Him grant that 
 dwelleth above, that we fare no worse, when we come to be tried, than 
 he. 
 
 L
 
 146 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 But we will come again to this Yalley of Humiliation. It is the best 
 and most useful piece of ground in all those parts. It is fat ground, 
 and, as you see, consisteth much in meadows; and if a man was to 
 come here in the summer-time, as we do now, if he knew not anything 
 before thereof, and if he also delighted himself in the sight of his eyes, 
 he might see that that would be delightful to him. Behold how green 
 this Valley is, also how beautified with lilies. I have also known many 
 labouring men that have got good estates in this Valley of Humiliation 
 ("for God resisteth the proud, but gives more, more grace unto the 
 humble," James iv. 6,) for indeed it is a very fruitful soil, and doth 
 bring forth by handfuls. Some also have wished that the nest way to 
 their Father's house were here, that they might be troubled no more 
 with either hills or mountains to go over, but the way is the way, and 
 there is an end. 
 
 Now, as they were going along, and talking, they espied a boy feeding 
 his father's sheep. The boy was in very mean clothes, but of a very 
 fresh and well-favoured countenance; and as he sat by himself he sang. 
 Hark, said Mr. Great-heart, to what the shepherd's boy saith. So they 
 hearkened, and he said — 
 
 •'He that is down needs fear no fall; 
 He that is low, no pride; 
 He that is humhle, ever shall 
 Have God to be his guide. 
 
 " 1 am content with what I have. 
 Little be it, or much : 
 And, Lord, contentment still I crave. 
 Because thou savest such. 
 
 "Fullness to such, a burden is. 
 That go on pilgrimage; 
 Here liitle, and hereafter bliss. 
 Is best from age to age." 
 
 Then said the guide, Do you hear himP I will dare to say, that this 
 boy lives a merrier life, and wears more of that herb called heart's-ease 
 in his bosom, than he that is clad in silk and velvet; but we will pro- 
 ceed in our discourse. 
 
 In this Valley our Lord formerly had his country-house; he loved 
 much to be here; he loved also to walk these meadows, for he found 
 the air was pleasant. Besides, here a man shall be free from the noise, 
 and from the hurryings of this life. All states are full of noise and con- 
 fusion, only the Valley of Humiliation is that empty and solitary place. 
 Here a man shall not be so let and hindered in his contemplation, as in 
 other places he is apt to be. This is a Valley that nobody walks in but 
 those that love a lailgrim's life. And though Christian had the hard hap 
 to meet here with Apollyon, and to enter with him a brisk encounter, 
 yet I must tell you, that in former times men have met with angels here, 
 have found pearls here, and have in this place found the words of life. 
 
 Did I say. Our Lord had here in former days his country-house, and 
 that he loved here to wallc ^ I will add, in this place, and to the peoj^'le
 
 
 
 :-.^.:..l:^L^^V- V -i;t_,„j^,^ 
 
 Tbe Shepherd Boy in the Valley of Humiliation.
 
 THE pilgrim's progress. 147 
 
 that live, and trace ttese grounds, he has left a yearly revenue, to be 
 faithfully paid them at certain seasons, for their maintenance by the way, 
 and for their further encouragement to go on in their pilgrimage. 
 
 Samuel. Now, as they went on, Samuel said to Mr. Great-heart, Sir, 
 I perceive that in this Valley my father and Apollyon had their battle, 
 but whereabout was the fight ? for I perceive this Valley is large. 
 
 Gkeat-heart. Your father had that battle with Apollyon at a place 
 yonder before us, in a narrow passage just beyond Forgetful Green. And 
 indeed, that place is the most dangerous place in all these parts. For 
 if at any time the pilgrims meet with any brunt, it is when they forget 
 what favours they have received, and how unworthy they are of them. 
 This is the place also where others have been hard put to it; but more 
 of the place when we are come to it; for I persuade myself, that to 
 this day there remains either some sign of the battle, or some monu- 
 ment to testify that such a battle there was fought. 
 
 Mercy. Then said Mercy, I think I am as well in this Valley as I 
 have been anywhere else in all our journey; the place, mechinks, suits 
 v/ith my spirit. I love to be in such places where there is no rattling 
 with coaches, nor rumbling with wheels ; methinks, here one may, with- 
 out much molestation, be thinking what he is, whence he came, what 
 he has done, and to what the King has called him; here one may think, 
 and break at heart, and melt in one's spirit, until one's eyes become 
 like "the fish-pools of Heshbon," (Can. vii. 4.) They that go rightly 
 through this Valley of Baca, make it a well, the rain that God sends 
 down from heaven upon them that are here, also fiUeth the pools. This 
 Valley is that from whence also the King will give to his their vine- 
 yards, and they that go through it shall sing, as Christian did, for all 
 he met with Ai^ollyon. 
 
 Great-heart. It is true, said their guide, I have gone through this 
 Valley many a time, and never was better than when here. 
 
 I have also been a conductor to several pilgrims, and they have con- 
 fessed the same. "To this man will I look (saith the King), even to 
 Mm that is poor and of a contrite spirit, and trembleth at my word." 
 (Isa. Ixvi. 2.) 
 
 Now they were come the place where the afore-mentioned battle was 
 fought. Then said the guide to Christiana, her children, and Mercy, 
 This is the place, on this ground Christian stood, and up there came 
 Apollyon against him. And look, did not I tell you? Here is some 
 of your husband's blood upon these stones to this day; behold, also, 
 how here and there, are yet to be seen upon the place, some of the 
 shivers of Apollyon's broken darts; see also how they did beat the 
 ground with their feet as they fought, to make good their places against 
 each other; how also, with their by-blows, they did split the very stones 
 in pieces. Verily, Christian did here play the man, and sliowed himself 
 as stout, as could, had he been there, even Hercules himself. When 
 Apollyon was beat, he made his retreat to the next valley, that is called 
 the Valley of the Shadow of Death, unto which we shall come anon. 
 
 Lo, yonder also stands a monument, on which is engraven this battle.
 
 148 TTTE PTIGRTM's PI10GR"ESS. 
 
 and Christian's victory, to his fame througliout all ages. So. because 
 it stood just on the wayside before them, they stepped to it, and read 
 the writing, which word for word was this — 
 
 "Hard by, here was a battle fought. 
 
 Most strange, and yet most true; 
 Christian and Apollyoii sought 
 
 Each other to subdue. 
 The man so bravely play'd the man, 
 
 He made the fiend to fly ; 
 Of which a monument I stand. 
 
 The same to testify." 
 
 When they bad passed by this place, they came upon the borders of 
 the Shadow of Death; and this Valley was longer than the other; a 
 place also, most strangely haunted with evil things, as many are able 
 to testify ; but these women and children went the better through it be- 
 cause they had daylight, and because Mr. Great-heart was their conductor. 
 
 "When they were entered upon this Valley, they thought that they 
 heard a groaning, as of dead men, [i.e., dying men], a very great groan- 
 ing. They thought, also, they did hear words of lamentation spoken, 
 as of some in extreme torment. These things made the boys to quake, 
 the women also looked pale and wan; but their guide bid them be of 
 good comfort. 
 
 So they went on a little further, and they thought that they felt the 
 ground begin to shake under them, as if some hollow place was there; 
 they heard also a kind of hissing, as of serpents, but nothing as yet 
 appeared. Then said the boys. Are we not yet at the end of this 
 doleful place? But the guide also bid them be of good courage, and 
 look well to their feet, lest haply, said he, you be taken in some snare. 
 
 ISTow James began to be sick, but I think the cause thereof was fear ; 
 so his mother gave him some of that glass of spirits that she had 
 given her at the Interpreter's house, and three of the pills that Mr. 
 Skill had prepared, and the boy began to revive. Thus they went on 
 till they came to about the middle of the Valley, and then Christiana 
 said, Methinks I see something yonder upon the road before us, a thing 
 of such a shape such as I have not seen. Then said Joseph, Mother, 
 what is it? An ugly thing, child; an ugly thing, said she. But, mother, 
 what is it like? said he. It is like I cannot tell what, said she. And 
 now it was but a little way off; then said she. It is nigh. 
 
 Well, well, said Mr. Great-heart, Let them that are most afraid keep 
 close to me. So the fiend came on, and the conductor met it ; but when 
 it was just come to him, it vanished to all their sights Then remembered 
 they what had been said some time ago, "Resist the devil, and he will 
 flee from you," (James iv. 7.) 
 
 They went therefore on, as being a little refreshed; but they had not 
 gone far before Mercy, looking behind her, saw, as she thought, some- 
 thing most like a lion, and it came a great padding pace after; and it 
 had a hollow voice of roaring; and at every roar that it gave, it made 
 all the Valley echo, and their hearts to ache, save the heart of him that 
 
 J
 
 TFK pilgbtm's ^ROGUESS. 149 
 
 was their guide. So it came up; and Mr. Great-heart went behind, and 
 put the Pilgrims all before him. The lion also came on apace, and Mr. 
 Great-heart addressed himself to give him battle. But when he saw 
 that it was determined that resistance should be made, he also drew 
 back, and came no further. 
 
 Then they went on again, and their conductor did go before them, 
 till they came at a place where was cast up a pit the whole breadth of 
 the way; and before they could be prepared to go over that, a great 
 mist and darkness fell upon them, so that they could not see. Then 
 said the Pilgrims, Alas ! now what shall we do ? But their guide made 
 answer. Fear not, stand still, and see what an end will be put to this 
 also. So they stayed there because their path was marred. They then 
 also thought that they did hear more apparently the noise and rushing 
 of the enemies; the fire also, and the smoke of the pit, was much easier 
 to be discerned. Then said Christiana to Mercy, Now I see what my 
 poor husband went through; I have heard much of this place, but I 
 never was here before now. Poor man, he went here all alone in the 
 night; he had night almost quite through the way; also these fiends 
 were iDusy about him, as if they would have torn him in pieces. Many 
 have spoken of it, but none can tell what the Valley of the Shadow of 
 Death should mean until they come in it themselves. *'The heart 
 knows its own bitterness, and a stranger intermeddlcth not with its 
 joy." To be here is a fearful thing. 
 
 Gkeat-heart. This is like doing business in great waters, or like 
 going down into the deep; this is like being in the heart of the sea, 
 and like going down to the bottoms of the mountains; now it seems 
 as if the earth, with its bars, were about us for ever. But let them 
 that walk in darkness, and have no light, trust in the name of the 
 Lord, and stay upon their God. For my part, as I have told you already, 
 I have gone often through this Valley, and have been much harder 
 put to it than now I am, and yet you see I am alive. I would not 
 boast, for that I am not mine own saviour; but I trust we shall have 
 a good deliverance. Come, let us pray for light to him that can lighten 
 our darkness, and that can rebuke not only these, but all the Sataus 
 in hell. 
 
 So they cried and prayed, and God sent light and deliverance, for 
 there was now no let in their way; no not there, where but now they 
 were stopped with a pit. Yet they were not got through the Valley: 
 so they went on still, and behold great stinks and loathsome smells, to 
 the great annoyance of them. Then said Mercy to Christiana, There 
 is not such pleasant being here as at the gate, or at tlie Interpreter's, 
 or at the house where we lay last. 
 
 Oh, but, said one of the hojH, it is not so bad to go through here 
 as it is to abide here always; and for aught I know, one reason why 
 we must go this way to the house prepared for us is, that our home 
 might be made the sweeter to us. 
 
 Well said. Samuel, quoth the guide, thou hast now spoke like a man. 
 Why, if ever I get out here again, said the boj', I think I shall prize
 
 150 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 iiglit and good way better than ever I did in all my life. Then said 
 the guide, "We shall be out by-and-by. 
 
 So on they went, and Joseph said, Cannot we see to the end of this 
 Valley as yet? Then said the guide, Look to your feet, for you shall 
 presently be among the snares. So they looked to their feet, and went 
 on; but they were troubled much with the snares. Now, when they 
 were come among the snares, they espied a man cast into the ditch on 
 the left hand, with his flesh all rent and torn. Then said the guide, 
 That is one Heedless, that was agoing this way; he has lain there a 
 great while. There was one Takeheed with him, when he was taken 
 and slain; but he escaped their hands. You cannot imagine how many 
 are killed hereabout, and yet men are so foolishly venturous as to set 
 out lightly on pilgrimage, and to come without a guide. Poor Christian ! 
 it was a wonder that he here escaped; but he was beloved of his God: 
 also, he had a good heart of his own, or else he could never have 
 done it. Now they drew towards the end of the way; and just there 
 where Christian had seen the cave when he went by, out thence came 
 forth Maul, a giant. This Maul did use to spoil young pilgrims with 
 sophistry; and he called Great-heart by his name, and said unto him, 
 How many times have you been forbidden to do these things? Then 
 said Mr. Great-heart, What things? What things? quoth the giant; 
 you know what things; but I will put an end to your trade. But 
 pray, said Mr. Great-heart, before we fall to it, let us understand 
 wherefore we must fight. Now the women and children stood trembling, 
 and knew not what to do. Quoth the giant, you rob the country, and 
 rob it with the worst of thefts. These are but generals, said Mr. 
 Great-heart; come to particulars, man. 
 
 Then said the giant, Thou practisest the craft of a kidnapper; thou 
 gatherest up women and children, and carriest them into a strange 
 country, to the weakening of my master's kingdom. But now Great- 
 heart replied, I am a servant of the God of heaven; my business is to 
 persuade sinners to repentance; I am commanded to do my endeavour 
 to turn men, women, and children "from darkness to light, and from 
 the power of Satan unto God;" and if this be indeed the ground of thy 
 quarrel, let us fall to it as soon as thou wilt. 
 
 Then the giant came up, and Mr. Great-heart went to meet him; 
 and as he went, he drew his sword, but the giant had a club. So without 
 more ado, they fell to it, and at the first blow the giant struck Mr. 
 Great-heart down upon one of his knees; with that the women and 
 children cried out; so Mr. Great-heart recovering himself, laid about 
 him in full lusty manner, and gave the giant a wound in his arm; 
 thus he fought for the space of an hour, to that height of heat, that 
 the breath came out of the giant's nostrils, as the heat doth out of a 
 boiling caldron. 
 
 Then they sat down to rest them, but Mr. Great-heart betook him to 
 prayer; also the women and children did nothing but sigh and cry all 
 the time that the battle did last. 
 
 When they had rested them, and taken breath, they both fell to it
 
 THE pilgrim's PKOaUESS. 151 
 
 again, and Mr. Great-heart, with a full blow, fetched the giant down to 
 the ground. Nay, hold, and let me recover, quoth he; so Mr. Great- 
 heart fairly let him get up. So to it they went again, and the giant 
 missed but little of all-to-breaking Mr. Great-heart's skull with his 
 club. 
 
 Mr. Great-heart seeing that, runs to him in the full heat of his spirit, 
 and pierceth him under the fifth rib; with that the giant began to 
 faint, and could hold up his club no longer. Then Mr. Great-heart 
 seconded his blow, and smote the head of the giant from his shoulders. 
 Then the women and children rejoiced, and Mr. Great-heart also praised 
 God for the deliverance he had wrought. 
 
 When this was done, they among them erected a pillar, and fastened 
 the giant's head thereon, and wrote underneath in letters, that passengers 
 might rear! — 
 
 "He that did wear this head, was one 
 
 That pilgvims did misuse; 
 He stopp'd their way, he spared none, 
 
 But did them all abuse; 
 Until that I, Great-heart, arose, 
 
 The pilgrim's guide to be; 
 Until that I did him oppose, 
 
 That was their enemy." 
 
 Now I saw, that they went to the ascent that was a little way off, 
 cast up to be a prospect for pilgrims, (that was the place trom whence 
 Christian had the first sight of Faithful his brother;) wherefore here 
 they sat down, and rested; they also here did eat and drink, and make 
 merry, for that they had gotten deliverance froin this so dangerous an 
 enemy. As they sat thus, and did eat, Christiana asked the guide if 
 he had caught no hurt in the battle. Then said Mr. Great-heart, No, 
 save a little on my flesh; yet that also shall be so fur from being to 
 my detriment, that it is at present a proof of my love to my Master 
 and you, and shall be a means, by grace, to increase my reward at 
 last. 
 
 Cuius. But was you not afraid, good Sir, when you saw him come 
 out with his club? 
 
 Gkeat-iieart. It is my duty, said he, to distrust my own ability, 
 that I may have reliance on liim that is stronger than all. 
 
 Chris. But what did you think when ho fetched you do^vn to the 
 ground at the first blow? 
 
 Grkat-ueaut. Why, I thought, quoth he, tliat so my Master himself 
 was served, and yet he it was that conquered at the last. 
 
 Matt. When you all have thought what you please, I think God has 
 been wonderful good unto us, both in bringing us out of this valley, 
 and in delivering us out of the band of this enemy; for my part, I see 
 no reason why we should distrust our God any more, since He has 
 cow, and in such a place as this, given us such testimony of His love 
 ns this. 
 
 Then they got up and went forward. Now a little before them stood 
 au oak; and under it, when they came to it, they found an old pilgrim
 
 152 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 fast asleep; they knew that he was a pilgrim by his clothes, and his 
 
 staff, and his girdle. 
 
 So the guide, Mr. Great-heart, awaked him, and the old gentleman, 
 as he lift up his eyes, cried out, What's the matter? Who are you? 
 and what is your business here? 
 
 Great-heart. Come, man, be not so hot, here are none but friends: 
 yet the old man gets up, and stands upon his guard, and will know of 
 them what they were. Then said the guide. My name is Great-heart; 
 I am the guide of these pilgrims, which are going to the Celestial 
 Country. 
 
 Honest. Then said Mr. Honest, I cry you mercy; I feared that you 
 had been of the company of those that some time ago did rob Little- 
 faith of his money; but now I look better about me, I perceive you 
 are honester people. 
 
 Great-heart. Why, what would, or could you have done, to have 
 helped yourself, if we indeed had been of that company? 
 
 Hon. Done ! why I would have fought as long as breath had been in 
 me; and had I so done, I am sure you could never have given me the 
 worst on it; for a Christian can never be overcome, unless he should 
 yield of himself. 
 
 Great-heart. Well said, father Honest, quoth the guide; for by this 
 I know thou art a cock of the right kind, for thou hast said the truth. 
 
 Hon. And by this also I know that thou knowest what true pilgrimage 
 is; for all others do think that we are the soonest overcome of any. 
 
 Great-heart. Well, now we are so happily met, pray let me crave 
 your name, and the name of the place you came from. 
 
 Hon. My name I cannot; but I came from the town of Stupidity; 
 it lieth about four degrees beyond the City of Destruction. 
 
 Great-heart. Oh! are you that countryman, then? I deem I have 
 half a guess of you: your name is Old Honesty, is it not? So the old 
 gentleman blushed, and said. Not Honesty in the abstract, but Honest 
 is my name; and I wish that my nature shall agree to what I am 
 called. 
 
 Hon. But, Sir, said the old gentleman, how could you guess that I 
 am such a man, since I came from such a place? 
 
 Great-heart. I had heard of you before, by my master; for he knows 
 all things that are done on the earth; but I have often wondered that 
 any should come from your place, for your town is worse than is the 
 City of Destruction itself 
 
 Hon. Yes, we lie more off from the sun, and so are more cold and 
 senseless; but was a man in a mountain of ice, yet if the Sun of 
 Righteousness will arise upon him, his frozen heart shall feel a thaw; 
 and thus it bath been with me. 
 
 Great-heart. I believe it, father Honest, I believe it; for I know the 
 thing is true. 
 
 Then the old gentleman saluted all the Pilgrims with a holy kiss of 
 charity; and asked them of their names, and how they had fared since 
 they set out on their pilgrimage.
 
 THE pilgrim's PEOaEESS. 153 
 
 Chkis. Then said Christiana, My name, I suppose, you have heard of; 
 good Christian was my husband, and these four were his children. But 
 can you think how the old gentleman was taken, when she told him who 
 she was ! He skipped, he smiled, and blessed them with a thousand 
 good wishes, saying: 
 
 Hon. I have heard much of your husband, and of his travels and 
 wars, which he underwent in his days. Be it spoken to your comfort, 
 the name of your husband rings over all these parts of the world: his 
 faith, his courage, his enduring, and his sincerity under all, has made 
 his name famous. Then he turned him to the boys, and asked them of 
 their names, which they told him. And then said he unto them : Matthew, 
 be thou like Matthew the publican, not in vice, but in virtue. Samuel, 
 said he, be thou like Samuel the prophet, a man of faith and prayer. 
 Joseph, said he, be thou like Joseph in Potiphar's house, chaste, and one 
 that flies from temptation. And James, be thou like James the Just, 
 and like James the brother of our Lord. Then they told him of Mercy, 
 and how she had left her town and her kindred to come along with 
 Christiana and with her sons. At that the old honest man said, Mercy 
 is thy name ; by Mercy shall thou be sustained, and carried through ali 
 those difficulties that shall assault thee in thy way, till thou shalt come 
 thither, where thou shalt look the Fountain of Mercy in the face with 
 comfort. 
 
 All this while the guide, Mr. Great-heart, was very much pleased, and 
 smiled upon his companion. 
 
 Now, as they walked along together, the guide asked the old gentleman, 
 if he did not know one Mr. Fearing, that came on pilgrimage out of his 
 parts ? 
 
 Hon. Yes, very well, said he. He was a man that had the root of 
 the matter in him; but he was one of the most troublesome pilgrim? 
 that ever I met with in all my days. 
 
 Great-heart. I perceive you knew him; for you have given a very 
 right character of him. 
 
 Hon. Knew him! I was a great companion of his; I was with him 
 most an end; when he first began to think of what would come upon 
 us hereafter, I was with him. 
 
 Grbat-iieart. I was his guide from my Master's house to the gate.' 
 of the Celestial City. 
 
 Hon. Then you knew him to bo a troublesome one. 
 
 Gr1':at-iieart. I did so, but I could very well bear it; for men of my 
 calling arc oftentimes intrusted with the conduct of such as ho was. 
 
 Hon. Well then, pray let us hear a little of him, and how he managed 
 himself under your conduct. 
 
 Grkat-iikart. Wliy, he was always afraid that he should come 
 short of wliitlvcr he had a desire to go. Everything frightened him 
 that he heard anybody speak of, that had bu*" ohe least a]5pearancc 
 of opposition in it. I hear that he lay roaring at the Slough of 
 Despond for about a month togethor; nor durst he, for all he saw 
 jjoveral go over bel'oro him, venture, though they, many of them. otl"ercU
 
 151 THE PILGT71M S PROGRESS. 
 
 to lend him their hand. He would not go back again neither. The 
 Celestial City, he said, he should die if he came not to it; and yet was 
 dejected at every difficulty, and stumbled at every straw that anybody 
 cast in his way. Well, after he had lain at the Slough of Despond a 
 great while, as I have told you, one sunshine morning, I do not know 
 how, he ventured, and so got over; but when he was over, he would 
 scarce believe it. He had, I think, a Slough of Despond in his mind; 
 a slough that he carried everywhere with him, or else he could never 
 have been as he was. So he came up to the gate, you know what I 
 mean, that stands at the head of this way ; and there also he stood a 
 good while before he would adventure to knock. When the gare was 
 opened, he would give back, and give place to others, and say that he 
 was not worthy. For, for all he got before some to the gate, yet many 
 of them went in before him. There the poor man would stand, shaking 
 and shrinking. I dare say it would ha^'P pitied one's heart to have 
 seen him; nor would ho go back again. At last he took the hammer 
 that hanged on the gate in his hand, and gave a small rap or two; 
 then one opened to him, but he shrank back as before. He that opened 
 stepped out after him, and said, Thou trembling one, what wantest 
 thou? With that he fell down to the ground. He that spoke to him 
 wondered to see him so faint. So he said to him. Peace be to thee_; 
 up, for I have set open the door to thee. Come in, for thou art blessed. 
 With that he got up, and went in trembling; and when he was in, he 
 was ashamed to show his face. Well, after he had been entertained 
 there awhile, as you know how the manner is, he was bid go on his 
 way, and also told the way he should take. So he went on till he came 
 to our house. But as he behaved himself at the gate, so he did at my 
 master the Interpreter's door. He lay there about in the cold a good 
 while, before he would adventure to call; yet he would not go back, 
 and the nights were long and cold then. Nay, he had a note of necessity 
 in his bosom to my master, to receive him and grant him the comfort 
 of his house, and also to allow him a stout and valiant conductor, because 
 he was himself so chicken-hearted a man; and yet, for all that, he was 
 afraid to call at the door. So he lay up and doAvn thereabouts till, 
 poor man ! he was almost stai^ved Yea, so great wus his dejection, that 
 though he saw several others, for knocking, get in, yet he was afraid 
 to venture At last, I think, I looked out of the window, and perceiving 
 a man to be up and down about the door, I went out to him, and 
 asked what he was; but, poor man! the water stood in his eyes; so I 
 perceived what he wanted. I went therefore in and told it in the 
 house, and we showed the thing to our Lord. So he sent me out again, 
 to entreat him to come ; but I dare say I had hard work to do it. At 
 last he came in; and I will say that for my Lord, he carried it won- 
 derfully lovingly to him. There were but few good bits at the table, 
 but some of it Avas laid upon his trencher. Then he presented the note, 
 and my Lord looked thereon, and said his desire should be granted. 
 So when he had been there a good while, he seemed to get some heart, 
 and to be a little more comfortable; for my master, you must know, is
 
 THE PrLGBISr's PROGRESS. 155 
 
 one of very tender bowels, especially to them that are afraid ; wherefore 
 he carried it so towards him as mij^ht tend most to his encouragement. 
 Well, when he had had a sight of the things of the place, and was 
 ready to take his jourucy to go to the city, my Lord, as he did to 
 Christian before, gave him a bottle of spirits, and some comfortable 
 things to eat. Thus we set forward, and I went before him; but the 
 man was but of few words, only he would sigh aloud. 
 
 When we were come to where the three fellows were hanged, he said 
 that he doubted that that would be his end also. Only he seemed 
 glad when he saw the Cross and the Sepulchre. There, I confess, he 
 desired to stay a little to look, and he seemed for a while after to be 
 a little cheery. When we came at the Hill Difficulty, he made no stick 
 at that, nor did he much fear the lions; for you must know that his 
 trouble was not about such things as those; his fear was about his 
 acceptance at last. 
 
 I got him in at the House Beautiful, I think, before he was willing. 
 Also, when he was in, I brought him acquainted with the damsels that 
 were of the place; but he was ashamed to make himself much for com- 
 pany. He desired much to be alone, yet he always loved good talk, 
 and often would get behind the screen to hear it. He also loved much 
 to see ancient things, and to be pondering them in his mind. He told 
 me afterwards that he loved to be in those tv/o houses from which he 
 came last, to wit, at the gate, and that of the Interpreter, but that he 
 durst not be so bold to ask. 
 
 When we went also from the House Beautiful, down the hill, into the 
 Valley of Humiliation, he went down as well as ever I saw man in my 
 life; for he cared not how mean he was, so he might be happy at last. 
 Yea, I think there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that valley and him ; 
 for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage that when he was in 
 that valley. 
 
 Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss the very 
 flowers that grew in this valley. He would now be up every morning 
 by break of day, tracing and walking to and fro in this valley. 
 
 But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley of the Shadow 
 of Death, I thought I should have lost my man; not for that he had 
 any inclination to go back; that he always abhorred; but he was ready 
 to die for fear. Oh! the hobgoblins will have me! the hobgoblins will 
 have me ! cried he, and I could not boat him out on it. He made such 
 a noise and such an outcry here, that, had they but heard him, it was 
 enough to encourage them to come and fall upon us. 
 
 But this I took very great notice of, that this valley was as quiet 
 while he went through it, as ever I knew it before or since. I suppose 
 these enemies here had now a special check from our Lord, and a command 
 r.ot to meddle until Mr. Fearing was passed over it. 
 
 It would be too tedious to teU you of all. We will, therefore, only 
 mention a passage or two more. When he was come at Vanity Fair, 
 I thought he would have fought with all the men at the fair. I feared there 
 we should both have been knocked ou the head, so hot was he against
 
 156 THE PILaMM's PROGRESS. 
 
 their fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he was also very wakeful. 
 But when he was come at the river, where was no bridge, there again 
 he was in a heavy case. Now, now, he said, he should be drowned for 
 ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he had come so many 
 miles to behold. 
 
 And here, also, I took notice of what was very remarkable; the water 
 of that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life. 
 So he went over at last, not much above wet-shod. When he was going 
 up to the gate, Mr. Great-heart began to take his leave of him, and to 
 wish him a good reception above. So he said, I shall, I shall. Then 
 parted we asunder, and I saw him no more. 
 
 Hon. Then, it seems, he was well at last. 
 
 Great-heart. Yes, yes ; I never had doubt about him; he was a man 
 of a choice spirit, only he was always kept very low, and that made 
 his life so burdensome to himself, and so troublesome to others. He 
 was, above many, tender of sin. He was so afraid of doing injuries to 
 others, that he often would deny himself of that which was lawful, 
 because he would not offend. 
 
 Hon. But what should be the reason that such a good man should 
 be all his days so much in the dark ? 
 
 Great-heart. There are two sorts of reasons for it : One is, the wise 
 God will have it so; some must pipe and some must weep. Now Mr. 
 Fearing was one that played upon this bass; he and his fellows sound 
 the sackbut, whose notes are more doleful than the notes of other music 
 are; though, indeed, some say the bass is the ground of music. And, 
 for my part, I care not at all for that profession that begins not in 
 heaviness of mind. The first string that the musician usually touches 
 is the bass, when he intends to put all in tune. God also plays upon 
 this string first, when he sets the soul in tune for himself Only here 
 was the imperfection of Mr. Fearing, he could play upon no other music 
 but this, till towards his latter end. 
 
 I make bold to talk thus metaphorically, for the ripening of the wits 
 of young readers; and because in the book of the Revelation, the saved 
 are compared to a company of musicians that play upon their trumpets 
 and harps, and sing their songs before the throne. 
 
 Hon. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by what relation 
 you have given of him; difficulties, lions, or Vanity Fair, he feared 
 not at all. It was only sin, death, and hell that was to him a terror, 
 because he had some doubts about his interest in that celestial country. 
 
 Great- HEART. You say right. Those were the things that were his 
 troublers, and they, as you have well observed, arose from the weakness 
 of his mind thereabout, not from weakness of spirit as to the practical 
 part of a pilgrim's life. I dare believe that, as the proverb is, "he 
 could have bit a firebrand, had it stood in his way;" but the things 
 with which he was oppressed, no man ever yet could shake off with ease. 
 
 Chris. Then said Christiana, This relation of Mr. Fearing has done 
 me good. I thought nobody had been like me; but I see there was 
 some semblance bctwist this good man and I; only we differed in two
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 157 
 
 things: his troubles were so great, they brake out; but mine I kept 
 within. His also lay so hard upon him, they made him that he could 
 not knock at the houses provided for entertainment; but my trouble 
 was always such as made me knock the louder. 
 
 Mercy. If I might also speak my heart, I must say, that something 
 of him has also dwelt in me; for I have ever been more afraid of the 
 lake, and the loss of a place in Paradise, than I have been of the loss 
 of other things. Oh, thought I, may I have the happiness to have a 
 habitation there, it is enough, though I part with all the world to win it ? 
 
 Matt. Then said Matthew, Fear was one thing that made me think 
 thcib I was far from having that within me that accompanies salvation; 
 but if it was so with such a good man as he, why may it not also go 
 well with me ? 
 
 James. No fears, no grace, said James. Though there is not always 
 grace where there is the fear of hell, yet, to be sure, there is no grace 
 where there is no fear of God. 
 
 Great-tteart. Well said, James, thou hast hit the mark; for the 
 <'ear of God is the beginning of wisdom : and, to be sure, they that 
 want the beginning have neither middle nor end. But we will here 
 conclude our discourse of Mr. Fearing, after we have sent after him this 
 farewell. 
 
 "'Well, Master Feariiitr, thou didst fear 
 
 Thy God, and wast afraid 
 Of doinp anythins, while here, 
 
 That would have thee hetray'd. 
 And didst thou fear tlie lake and pit 
 
 Would others did so too ! 
 For, as for them that want thy wit. 
 
 They do themselves undo." 
 
 Now I saw that they still went on in their talk; for after Mr. 
 Great-heart had made an end with Mr. Fearing, Mr. Honest began to 
 tell them of another, but his name was Mr. Self-will. He pretended 
 himself to be a pilgrim, said Mr. Honest; but I persuade myself he 
 never came in at the gate that stands at the head of the way. 
 
 Great-heart. Had you ever any talk with him about it ? 
 
 Hon. Yes, more than once or twice; but he would always be like 
 himself, self-willed. He neither cared for man, nor argument, nor yet 
 example; what his mind prompted him to do, that he would do, and 
 nothing else could he be got to. 
 
 Great-heart. Pray what principles did he hold? for I suppose you 
 can tell. 
 
 Hon. He held, that a man might follow the vices as well as the virtues 
 of the pilgrims; and that if he did both, he should be certainly saved. 
 
 Great-heart. How! if he had said, It is possible for the best to be 
 guilty of the vices, as well as to partake of the virtues of pilgrims, he 
 could not much have been blamed; for indeed we arc exempted from 
 no vice absolutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. But 
 this. I perceive, is not the thing; but if I understand you right, your
 
 158 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 meaning is, that he was of that opinion, that it was allowable so to 
 be. 
 
 Hon. Ay, ay, so I mean; and so he believed and practised. 
 
 Great-heaht. But what ground had he for his so saying? 
 
 Hon. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his warrant. 
 
 Great-heart. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few particulars. 
 
 Hon. So I will. He said, To have to do with other men's wives 
 had been practised by David, God's beloved; and therefore he could do 
 it. He said, To have more women than one, was a thing that Solomon 
 practised; and therefore he could do it. He said, that Sarah and the 
 godly midwives of Egypt lied, and so did Kahab ; and therefore he could 
 do it. He said. That the disciples went at the bidding of their Master, 
 and took away the owner's ass; and therefore he could do so too. He 
 said. That Jacob got the inheritance of his father in the way of guile 
 and dissimulation; and therefore he could do so too. 
 
 Great-heart. Highly base, indeed! And you are sure he was o)' 
 this opinion? 
 
 Hon. I have heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for it, bring 
 argument for it, &c. 
 
 Geeat-heart. An opinion that is not fit to be with any allowance 
 in the world. 
 
 Hon. You must understand me rightly. He did not say that any 
 man might do this ; but that those that had the virtues of those that 
 did such things, might also do the same. 
 
 Great-heart. But what more false than such a conclusion.'' for this 
 is as much as to say, that because good men heretofore have sinned of 
 infirmity, therefore he had allowance to do it of a presumptuous mind; 
 or if, because a child by the blast of the wind, or for that it stumbled 
 at a stone, fell down, and defiled itself in mire, therefore he might 
 wilfully lie down and wallow like a boar therein. Who could have thought 
 that any one could so far have been blinded by the povrer of lust? 
 But what is written must be true : They " stumble at the word, being 
 disobedient; whereunto also they were appointed," (1 Peter, ii. 8.) 
 
 His supposing that such may have the godly men's virtues, who 
 addict themselves to their vices, is also a delusion as strong as the 
 other. It is just as if the dog would say, I have, or may have, the 
 qualities of the child, because I lick up its stinking excrements. To eat 
 up the sin of God's jaeople, is no sign of one that is possessed with 
 their virtues. Nor can I believe, that one that is of this opinion can 
 at present have faith or love in him. But I know you have made 
 strong objections against him; prithee, what can he say for himself? 
 
 Hon. Why, he says, To do this by way of opinion, seems abundantly 
 more honest than to do it, and yet hold contrary to it in opinion. 
 
 Great-heart. A very wicked answer; for though to let loose the 
 bridle to lusts, while our opinions are against such things, is bad; yet 
 to sin, and plead a toleration so to do, is worse. The one stumbles 
 lieholders accidentally, the other pleads them into the snare. 
 
 Hon. There are many of this man's mind, that have not this man's
 
 The Pilgrims arriving at; the Inn.
 
 THE ptlgrtm's pkogt^ess. 159 
 
 mouth: and that make going on piii^rimac:e of so little esteem as it is. 
 Great-iikart. You iiave said the iruth, and it is to be lamented; but 
 he that feareth the King of Paradise, shall come out of them all. 
 
 Chris. There are strange opinions in the world; I know one that said, 
 It was time enough to repent when they come to die. 
 
 GrREAT-HKAKT. Such are not over wise. That man would have been 
 loth, might he have liad a week to run twenty miles in for his life, to 
 have deffrrcd that journey to the last hour of that week. 
 
 Hon. You say right; and yet the generality of them, that count them- 
 selves pilgrims, do indeed do thus. I am, as you see, an old man, and 
 have been a traveller in this road many a day; and I have taken notice 
 of many things. 
 
 I have seen some that have set out as if they would drive all the world 
 afore them, who yet have, in few days, died as they in the wilderness, 
 and so never got sight of the promised land. 
 
 I have seen some that have promised nothing at first setting out to be 
 pilgrims, and that one would have thought could not have lived a day, 
 that have yet proved very good pilgrim.s. 
 
 I have seen some who have run hastily forwai-d, that again have, after 
 a little time, run as fast just back again. 
 
 I have seen some who have spoken very well of a jnlgrim's life at first, 
 that, after a while, have spoken as much against it. 
 
 I have heard some, when they first set out for Paradise, say positively 
 there is such a plac:e; who, when they have been almost there, have come 
 back again and said there is none. 
 
 I have heard some vaunt what they would do, in case they should be 
 opposed, that have, even at a false alarm, fled faith, the pilgrim's way, 
 and all. 
 
 Now, as they were thus in their way, there came one running to meet 
 them, and said, Gentlemen, and you of the weaker sort, if you love life, 
 shift for yourselves, for the robbers ai-e before you. 
 
 Great-heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, Tliey be the three that set 
 upon Little-faith heretofore. Well, said he, we are ready for them; so 
 they went on their way. Now they looked at every turning, when they 
 should have met with the villains; but whether they heard of Mr. Great- 
 heart, or whether they had some other game, they came not up to the 
 Pilgrims. 
 
 Christiana then wished for an inn for herself and her children, because 
 they were weary. Then said IMr. Honest, There is one a little before us, 
 where a very honourable disciple, one Gains, dwells. So they all concluded 
 to turn in thither, and the rather, because the old gentleman gave him 
 so good a report. So when they came to the dooi', they went in, not 
 knocking, for folks used not to knock at the door of an inn. Then they 
 oalicd for the master of the house, and he came to them. So they asked 
 if they might lie there that night. 
 
 Gaius. Yes, gentleman, if ye be true men, for my house is for none 
 but pilgrims. Then was Christiana, Mercy, and the boys the more glad, 
 for that the innkeeper wa^ a lover of pilgrims. So they called for rooms,
 
 160 THE PILGEIM's PROGRESS. 
 
 and he showed them one for Christiana and her children, and Mercy, and 
 another for Mr. Great-heart and the old gentleman. 
 
 Great-heart. Then said Mr. Great-heart, Good Gains, what hast thou 
 for supper? for these pilgrims have come far to-day, and are weary. 
 
 Gaius. It is late, said Gaius, so we cannot conveniently go out to seek 
 food ; but such as we have, you shall be welcome to, if that will content. 
 
 GiiEAT-HEAET. We will be content with what thou hast in the house ; 
 forasmuch as I have proved thee, thou art never destitute of that which 
 is convenient. 
 
 Then he went down and spake to the cook, whose name was Taste- 
 that-which-is-good, to get ready supper for so many pilgrims. This done, 
 he comes up again, saying. Come, my good friends, you are welcome to 
 me, and I am glad that I have a house to entertain you; and while 
 supper is making ready, if you please, let us entertain one another with 
 some good discourse. So they all said. Content. 
 
 Gaius. Then said Gaius, Whose wife is this aged matron? and whose 
 daughter is this young damsel? 
 
 Great-heart. The woman is the wife of one Christian, a Pilgrim of 
 former times; and these are his four children. The maid is one of her 
 acquaintance; one that she Lath persuaded to come with her on 
 pilgrimage. The boys take all after their father, and covet to tread in 
 his steps ; yea, if they do but see any place where the old pilgrim hath 
 lain, or any print of his foot, it ministereth joy to their hearts, and they 
 covet to lie or tread in the same. 
 
 Gaitjs. Then said Gaius, Is this Christian's wife? and are these 
 Christian's children; I knew your husband's father, yea, also his father's 
 father. Many have been good of this stock ; their ancestors dwelt first 
 at Antioch. Christian's progenitors (I suppose you have heard your 
 husband talk of them) were very worthy men. They have, above any 
 that I know, showed themselves men of great virtue and courage, for the 
 Lord of the Pilgrims, his ways, and them that loved him. I have heard 
 of many of your husband's relations, that have stood all trials for the 
 sake of the truth. Stephen, that was one of the first of the family from 
 whence your husband sprang, was knocked on the head with stones. 
 James, another of this generation, was slain with the edge of the sword. 
 To say nothing of Paul and Peter, men anciently of the family from 
 whence your husband came, there was Ignatius, who was cast to the 
 lions; Romanus, whose flesh was cut by pieces from his bones, and 
 Polycarp, that played the man in the fire. There was he that was hanged 
 up in a basket in the sun, for the wasps to eat; and he who they put 
 into a sack, and cast him into the sea to be drowned. It would be utterly 
 impossible to count up all of that family that have suffered injuries and 
 death, for the love of a pilgrim's life. Nor can I but be glad to see that 
 thy husband has left behind him four such boys as these. I hope they 
 will bear up their father's name, and tread in their father's steps, and 
 come to their father's end. 
 
 Great-heart. Indeed, Sir, they are likely lads; they seem to choose 
 heartily their father's ways.
 
 THE PILGBIM's PEOGEESS. 161 
 
 Gaii;s. That is it that I said; wherefore Christian's family is like 
 Btill to spread abroad upon the face of the ground, and yet to be numerous 
 upon the face of the earth; wherefore let Christiana look out some 
 damsels for her sons, to whom they may be betrothed, &c., that the 
 name of their father and the house of his progenitors may never be 
 forgotten in the world. 
 
 Hon. It is pity this family should fall and be extinct. 
 
 Gaius. Fall it cannot, but be diminished it may; but let Christiana 
 take my advice, and that is the way to uphold it. 
 
 And, Christiana, said this Innkeeper, I am glad to see thee and thy 
 friend Mercy together here, a. lovely couple. And may I advise, take 
 Mercy into a nearer relation to thee; if she will, let her be given to 
 Matthew, thy eldest son; it is the way to preserve you a posterity in 
 the earth. So this match was concluded, and in process of time they 
 were married; but more of that hereafter. 
 
 Gaius also proceeded, and said, I will now speak on the behalf of 
 women, to take away their reproach. For as death and the curse came 
 into the world by a woman, so also did life and health; "God sent forth 
 his Son, made of a woman." (Gal. iv. 4.) Yea, to show how much those 
 that came after did abhor the act of the mother, this sex, in the Old 
 Testament, coveted children, if happily this or that woman might be 
 the mother of the Saviour of the world. 
 
 I will say again, that when the Saviour was come, women rejoiced 
 in him before either man or angel. I read not, that ever any man did 
 give unto Christ so much as one groat; but the women followed him, 
 and ministered to him of their substance. It was a woman that washed 
 his feet with tears, and a woman that anointed his body to the burial. 
 They were women that wept, when he was going to the cross, and 
 women that followed him from the cross, and that sat by his sepulchre, 
 when he was buried. They were women that were first with him at his 
 resurrection-morn ; and women that brought tidings first to his disciples, 
 that he was risen from the dead. Women, therefore, are highly favoured, 
 and show by these things that they are sharers with us in the grace 
 of life. 
 
 Now the cook sent up to signify that supper was almost ready, and 
 sent one to lay the cloth, the trenchers, and to set the salt and bread 
 in order. 
 
 Then said Matthew, The sight of this cloth, and of this fore-runner 
 of the supper, begetteth in me a greater appetite to my food than I 
 had before. 
 
 Gaius. So let all ministering doctrines to thee, in this life, beget in 
 thee a greater desire to sit at the supper of the great King in his 
 kingdom; for all preaching, books, and ordinances here, arc but as the 
 laying of the trenchers, and as setting of salt upon the board, when 
 compared with the feast that our Lord will make for us when we come 
 to his house. 
 
 So supper came up; and first, a heave-shoulder, and a wave-breasi. 
 were set on the table before thorn, to show that they must begin their
 
 162 THE pilgrim's peogeess. 
 
 meal with orayer and praise to God. The heave-shoulder David lifted 
 his heart u^ to God vrith: and with the wave-breast, where his heart 
 lay, with that he used to lean upon his harp when he played. These 
 two dishes were very fresh and good, and they all eat heartily well 
 thereof. 
 
 The next they brought up was a bottle of wine, red as blood. So 
 Gains said to them, Drink freely; this is the juice of the true vine, 
 that makes glad the heart of God and man. So they drank and were 
 merry. 
 
 The next was a dish of milk well crumbed; but Gains said, Let the 
 boys have that, that they may grow thereby. 
 
 Then they brought up in course a dish of butter and honey. Then 
 said Gains, Eat freely of this ; for this is good to cheer up, and strengthen 
 your judgments and understandings. This was our Lord's dish when 
 he was a child; "Butter and honey shall he eat, that he may know 
 to refuse the evil and choose the good," (Isa. vii. 15.) 
 
 Then they brought them up a dish of apples, and they were very 
 good tasted fruit. Then said Matthew, May we eat apples, since they 
 were such, by and with which the serpent beguiled our first mother? 
 
 Then said Gaius — 
 
 "Apple.s were they with which we were beguiled; 
 Yet sill, not apples, hath our souls defiled. 
 Apples forbid, if eat, corrupt the blood; 
 To eat such, when commanded, does us good. 
 Drink of his flagons, then, thou church, his dove. 
 And eat his apples, who are sick of love." 
 
 Then said Matthew, I made the scruple, because I a while since was 
 sick with eating of fruit. 
 
 Gaius. Forbidden fruit will make you sick, but not what our Lord 
 has tolerated. 
 
 While they were thus talking, they were presented with another dish, 
 
 and it was a dish of nuts. Then said some at the table, Nuts spoil 
 
 tender teeth, especially the teeth of children; which when Gaius heard, 
 
 he said — 
 
 "Hard texts are nuts, (I will not call them cheaters,) 
 Whose shells do keep their kernels from the eaters. 
 Ope then the shells, and you s all have the meat; 
 They here are brought for you to crack and eat." 
 
 Then were they very merry, and sat at the table a long time, talking 
 of many things. Then said the old gentleman. My good landlord, while 
 WG are cracking your nuts, if you please, do you open tbis riddle: 
 
 "A man faore was, though some did count him mad. 
 The more he cast away, the more he had." 
 
 Then they all gave good heed, wondering what good Gams would 
 eay : so he sat still a while, and then thus replied : — 
 
 "He that bestows his goods upon the poor. 
 Shall have as much again, and ten times more."
 
 THE pilgrim's prooeess. 103 
 
 Then said Joseph, I dare say, Sir, I did not think you could have 
 found it out. 
 
 Oh ! said Gains, I have been trained up in this way a great while ; 
 nothing teaches like experience; I have learned of my Lord to be kind: 
 and have found by experience, that I have gained thereby. "There is 
 tliat scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more 
 than is meet; but it tendeth to poverty," (Prov. xi.) "There is that 
 maketh himself rich, yet hath nothing; there is that maketh himself 
 poor, yet hath great riches," (Prov. xiii. 7.) 
 
 Then Samuel whispered to Christiana, his mother, and said, Mother, 
 this is a ^ery good man's house, let us stay here a good while, and 
 let my brother Matthew be married here to Mercy before we go any 
 further. 
 
 The which Gains the host overhearing said, "With a very good will, 
 my child. 
 
 So they staid there more than a month, and Mercy was given to 
 Matthew to wife. 
 
 While they staid here, Morcj, as her custom was, would be making 
 coats and garments to give to the poor, by which she brought up a 
 very good report upon the Pilgrims. 
 
 But to return again to our story. After supjjer the lads desired a 
 bed; for that they were weary ^vith travelling: then Gains called to 
 show them their chamber; but said Mercy, I will have them to bed. 
 So she had them to bed, and they slept well; but the rest sat up all 
 night; for Gains and they were such suitable company, that they could 
 not tell how to part. Then after much talk of their Lord, themselves, 
 and their journey, old Mr. Honest, he that put forth the riddle to Gaius, 
 began to nod. Then said Great-heart, What, Sir, you begin to be 
 drowsy; come, rub up; now here is a riddle for you. Then said Mr. 
 Honest, Let us hear it 
 
 Then said Mr. Great-heart — 
 
 He that ■nrill kill, must first be overcome. 
 
 Who live abro;id would, first must die at home." 
 
 Ha! said Mr. Honest, it is a hard one, hard to expound, and harder 
 to practise. But come, landlord, said he, I will, if you please, leave my 
 ])art to you; do you expound it, and I will hear what you say. 
 
 No, said Gaius, it was put to you, and it is expected that you should 
 answer it. 
 
 Then said the old gentleman — 
 
 "He first by pracc must conquered be, 
 That sin would morlifj'; 
 .And who, that lives, would convince me, 
 Unto himsell' must die." 
 
 It is right, said Gaius; good doctrine and experience teaches this. 
 For, first, until grace displays itself, and overcomes the soul with its 
 glory, it is altogether without heart to oppose sin; besides, if sin ia
 
 164 THE pilgrim's progress. 
 
 Satan's cords, by which the soul lies bound, how should it make resis- 
 tance before it is loosed from that infirmity? 
 
 Secondly, nor will any, that knows either reason or grace, believe that 
 such a man can be a living monument of grace that is a slave to his 
 own corruptions. 
 
 And now it comes in my mind, I will tell you a story worth the hearing. 
 There were two men that went on pilgrimage: the one began when he 
 was young, the other when he was old. The young man had strong 
 corruptions to grapple with : the old man's were decayed with the decays 
 of nature. The young man trod his steps as even as did the old one, 
 and was every way as light as he. Who now, or which of them, had 
 their graces shining clearest, since both seemed to be alike? 
 
 Hon. The young man's, doubtless. For that which heads it against 
 the greatest opposition, gives best demonstration that it is strongest; 
 especially when it also holdeth pace with that that meets not with half 
 so much; as, to be sure, old age does not. 
 
 Besides, I have observed that old men have blessed themselves with 
 this mistake, namely, taking the decays of nature for a gracious conquest 
 over corruptions, and so have been apt to beguile themselves. Indeed, 
 old men that are gracious, are best able to give advice to them that 
 are young, because they have seen most of the emptiness of things. 
 But yet, for an old and a young man to set out both together, the 
 young one has the advantage of the fairest discovery of a work of grace 
 within him, though the old man's corruptions are naturally the weakest. 
 
 Thus they sat talking till break of day. Now, when the family was 
 up, Christiana bid her son James that he should read a chapter; so he 
 read the fifty-third of Isaiah. When he had done, Mr. Honest asked, 
 why it was said that the Saviour is said to come "out of a dry ground;" 
 and also, that "he had no form or comeliness in him?" 
 
 Geeat-heaet. Then said Mr. Great-heart, To the first, I answer. 
 Because the church of the Jews, of which Christ came, had then lost 
 almost all the sap and spirit of religion. To the second, I say. The 
 words are spoken in the person of the unbelievers, who, because they 
 want that eye that can see into our Prince's heart, therefore they judge 
 of him by the meanness of his outside. Just like those that know not 
 that precious stones are covered over with a homely crust; who, when 
 they have found one, because they know not what they have found, cast 
 it again away, as men do a common stone. 
 
 Well, said Gains, now you are here, and since, as I know, Mr. Great- 
 heart is good at his weapons, if you please, after we have refreshed 
 ourselves, we wiU walk into the fields, to see if we can do any good. 
 About a mile from hence, there is one Slay-good, a giant that does much 
 annoy the King's highway in these parts; and I know whereabout his 
 haunt is. He is master of a number of thieves. It would be well if we 
 could clear these parts of him. 
 
 So they consented, and went, Mr. Great-heart with his sword, helmet, 
 and shield, and the rest with spears and staves. 
 
 When they came to the place where he was, they found him with ono 
 
 « 
 
 1
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGRESS. 165 
 
 Feeble-mind in his hands, whom his servants had brought unto him, 
 having taken him in the way. Now the giant was rifling him, with a 
 purpose, after that, to pick his bones, for he was of the nature of flesh- 
 eaters. 
 
 Well, so soon as he saw Mr. Great-heart and his friends at the mouth 
 of his cave, with their weapons, he demanded what they wanted. 
 
 Great-heakt. We want thee; for we are come to revenge the quarrel 
 of the many that thou hast slain of the pilgrims, when thou hast 
 dragged them out of the King's highway; wherefore, come out of thy 
 cave. So he armed himself and came out; and to a battle they went, 
 and fought for above an hour, and then stood still to take wind. 
 
 Slat. Then said the giant. Why are you here on my ground? 
 
 Great-heart. To revenge the blood of pilgrims, as I also told thee 
 before. So they went to it again, and the giant made Mr. Great-heart 
 give back; but he came up again, and, in the greatness of his mind, 
 he let fly with such stoutness at the giant's head and sides, that he made 
 him let his weapon fall out of his hand; so he smote him, and slew him, 
 and cut off his head, and brought' it away to the inn. He also took 
 Feeble-mind, the pilgrim, and brought him with him to his lodgings. 
 When they were come home, they showed his head to the family, and 
 then set it up, as they had done others before, for a terror to those that 
 shall attempt to do as he hereafter. 
 
 Then they asked Mr. Feeble-mind how he fell into his hands ? 
 
 Feeble-mind. Then said the poor man, I am a sickly man, as you see; 
 and, because death did usually once a-day knock at my door, I thought 
 I should never be well at home; so I betook myself to a pilgrim's life, 
 and have travelled hither from the town of Uncertain, where I and my 
 father were born. I am a man of no strength at all of body, nor yet 
 of mind: but would, if I could, though I can but crawl, spend my life 
 in the pilgrim's way. When I came at the gate that is at the head of 
 the way, the Lord of that place did entertain me freely; neither objected 
 he against my weakly looks, nor against my feeble mind; but gave me 
 such things that were necessary for my journey, and bid me hope to the 
 end. When I came to the house of the Interpreter, I received much 
 kindness there; and because the Hill Difficulty was judged too hard for 
 mo, I was carried up that by one of his servants. Indeed, I have found 
 much relief from pilgrims, though none were willing to go so softly as 
 I am forced to do; yet still, as they came on, they bid me bo of good 
 cheer, and said that it was the will of tlicir Lord that comfort should 
 be given to the feeble-minded, and so went on their own pace. When I 
 was come up to Assault Lane, then this giant met with me, and bid me 
 prepare for an encounter; but, alas! feeble one that I was, I had more 
 need of a cordial. So he came up and took me. I conceited he should 
 not kill me. Also, when he had got mo into bis den, since I went not 
 with him willingly, I believed I should como out alive again; fori have 
 heard, that not any pilgrim that is taken captive by violent hands, if he 
 keeps heart-whole towards his Master, is, by the laws of Providence, to 
 die by the hand of the enemy. Robbed I looked to be, and robbed to
 
 166 THE pilgrim's pbogebss. 
 
 be sure I am ; but I am, as you see, escaped with life ; for the which I 
 thank my King as author, and you as the means. Other brunts I also 
 look for; but this I have resolved on, to wit, to run when I can, to go 
 when I cannot run, and to creep when I cannot go. As to the main, I 
 thank him that loves me, I am fixed. My way is before me, my mind 
 is beyond the river that has no bridge, though I am, as you see, but of 
 a feeble mind. 
 
 Hon. Then said old Mr. Honest, Have you not, some time ago, been 
 acquainted with one Mr. Fearing, a pilgrim ? 
 
 Feeble. Acquainted with him! Yes; he came from the town of 
 Stupidity, which lieth four degrees to the northward of the City of 
 Destruction, and as many off of where I was born; yet we were well 
 acquainted, for, indeed, he was my uncle, my father's brother. He and 
 I have been much of a temper. He was a little shorter than I, but 
 yet we were much of a complexion. 
 
 Hon. I perceive you know him; and I am apt to believe also that 
 you were related one to another; for you have his whitely look, a cast 
 like his with your eye, and your speech is much alike. 
 
 Feeble. Most have said so that have known us both; and besides, 
 what I have read in him, I have, for the most part, found in myself. 
 
 Gaius. Come, Sir, said good Gains, be of good cheer, you are welcome 
 to me, and to my house, and what thou hast a mind to, call for freely; 
 and what thou wouldest have my servants do for thee, they will do it 
 with a ready mind. 
 
 Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, This is unexpected favour, and as the 
 sun shining out of a very dark cloud. Did Giant Slay-good intend me 
 this favour when he stopped me, and resolved to let me go no further? 
 Did he intend, that after he had rifled my pockets, I should go to 
 Gains, mine host? Yet so it is. 
 
 Xow, just as Mr. Feeble-mind and Gaius were thus in talk, there 
 comes one running, and called at the door, and told that, about a mile 
 and a half off, there was one Mr. Not-right, a pilgrim, struck dead upon 
 the place where he was with a thunderbolt. 
 
 Feeble. Alas! said Mr. Feeble-mind, is he slain? He overtook me 
 some days before I came so far as hither, and would be my company- 
 keeper. He also was with me when Slay-good, the giant, took me; 
 but he was nimble of his heels, and escaped. But, it seems, he escaped 
 to die, and I was took to live. 
 
 " What, one wor.ld think, doth spek to slay outright, 
 Ofttimes delivers from the saddest plis^ht. 
 That very providence, whose face is death. 
 Doth ofttimes to the lowly, life bequeath. 
 I taken was, he did escape and flee; 
 Hands cross'd gives death to him, and life to me." 
 
 Now, about this time, Matthew and Mercy were married. Also Gaius 
 gave his daughter Phebe to James, Matthew's brother, to wife; after 
 which time they yet staid above ten days at Gaius' house, spendinor 
 their time, and the seasons, like as pilgrims used to do.
 
 THE ptlgeim's phogt^ess. 167 
 
 When they were to depart, Gaius made them a feast, and they did 
 eat and drink, and were merry. Now the hour was come that they 
 must be gone; wherefore Mr. Great-heart called for a reckoning; but 
 Gaius told him, that at his house it was not the custom for pilgrims 
 to pay for their entertainment. He boarded them by the year, but 
 looked for his pay from the good Samaritan, who had promised him, 
 at his return, whatsoever charge he was at with them, faithfully to repay 
 him. Then said Mr. Great-heart to him, 
 
 Great-heakt. "Beloved, thou dost faithfully whatsoever thou dost to 
 the brethren, and to strangers ; which have borne witness of thy charity 
 before the church; whom if thou (yet) bring forward on their journey 
 after a godly sort, thou shalt do well," (3 John, 5, 6.) 
 
 Then Gaius took his leave of them all, and of his children, and par- 
 ticularly of Mr. Feeble-mind. He also gave him something to drink by 
 the way. 
 
 Now Mr. Feeble-mind, when they were going out of the door, made 
 as if he intended to linger; the which when Mr. Great-heart espied, he 
 said. Come, Mr. Feeble-mind, pray do you go along with us, I will be 
 your conductor, and you shall fare as the rest. 
 
 Feeble. Alas! I want a suitable companion; you are all lusty and 
 strong; but I, as you see, am weak; I choose, therefore, rather to come 
 behind, lest, by reason of my many infirmities, I should be both a 
 burden to myself and to you. I am, as I said, a man of a weak and 
 feeble mind, and shall be offended and made weak at that which others 
 can bear. I shall like no laughing; I shall like no gay attire; I shall 
 like no unprofitable questions. Nay, I am so weak a man, as to be 
 offended with that which others have liberty to do. I do not yet know 
 all the truth. I am a very ignorant Christian man; sometimes if I 
 hear some rejoice in the Lord, it troubles me, because I cannot do so 
 too. It is with me, as it is with a weak man among the strong, or as 
 with a sick man among the healthy, or as a lamp despised; ("He that 
 is ready to slip with his feet is as a lamp despised in the thought of 
 him that is at ease," Job xii. 5;) so that I know not what to do. 
 
 Great-ueart. But, brother, said Mr. Great-heart, I have it in com- 
 mission to "comfort the feeble-minded," and to "support the weak," 
 (1 Thes V. 14.) You must needs go along with us; we will wait for 
 you; we will lend you our help, we will deny ourselves of some things, 
 both opinionative and practical, for your sake, we will not enter into 
 doubtful disputation before you; we will be made all things to you, 
 rather than you shall be left behind. 
 
 Now all this while they were at Gaius's door; and Ijohold, as they 
 were thus in the heat of their discourse, Mr. Ready-to-halt came by, 
 with his crutches in his hand, and he also was going on pilgrimage. 
 
 Feeble. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind to liim, Man, how earnest tliou 
 hither? I was but just now complaining, that I bad not a suitable 
 ^ompanion, but thou art according to my wish. Welcome, come, good 
 Mr. Ready-to-halt, I hope thee and I may be some help. 
 
 Eeady-xo-halt. I shall be glad of thy company, said the other; and
 
 168 THE PILGEIM 8 PEOGRESS. 
 
 good Mr. Feeble-mind, rather than we will part, since we are thus happily 
 met, I will lend thee one of my crutches. 
 
 Feeble. ISTay, said he, though I thank thee for thy goodwill, I am 
 not inclined to halt before I am lame. Howbeit, I think when occasion 
 is, it may help me against a dog. 
 
 Eeady. If either myself or my crutches can do thee a pleasure, we 
 are both at thy command, good Mr. Feeble-mind. 
 
 Thus therefore they went on; Mr. Great-heart and Mr. Honest went 
 before, Christiana and her children went next, and Mr. Feeble-mind 
 and Mr. Eeady-to-halt came behind with his crutches. Then said Mr. 
 Honest, 
 
 Hon. Pray, Sir, now we are upon the road, tell us some profitable 
 things of some that have gone on pilgrimage before us. 
 
 Great-heakt. "With a good will. I suppose you have heard how 
 Christian of old did meet with ApoUyon in the valley of Humiliation; 
 and also what hard work he had, to go through the Yalley of the 
 Shadow of Death. Also I think you cannot but have heard how Faithful 
 was put to it with Madam Wanton, with Adam the First, with one 
 Discontent and Shame, four as deceitful villains as a man can meet 
 with upon the road. 
 
 Hon. Yes, I have heard of all this; but indeed, good Faithful was 
 hardest put to it with Shame; he was an unwearied one. 
 
 Gkeat-heakt. Aye; for, as the Pilgrim well said, he of all men had 
 the wrong name. 
 
 Hon. But pray. Sir, where was it that Christian and Faithful met 
 Talkative? That same was also a notable one. 
 
 Great-heart. He was a confident fool, yet many follow his ways. 
 
 Hon. He had liked to have beguiled Faithful. 
 
 Great-heart. Aye, but Christian put him into a way quickly to find 
 him out. Thus they went on till they came at the place where Evangelist 
 met with Christian and Faithful, and prophesied to them of what should 
 befall them at Yanity Fair. 
 
 Great-heart. Then said their guide, Hereabouts did Christian and 
 Faithful meet with Evangelist, who prophesied to them of what troubles 
 they should meet with at Vanity Fair. 
 
 Hon. Say you so? I dare say it was a hard chapter that then he 
 did read unto them. 
 
 Great-heart. It was so; but he gave them encouragement withal. 
 But what do we talk of them; they were a couple of lion-like men; 
 they had set their faces like flint. Don't you remember how undaunted 
 they were when they stood before the judge. 
 
 Hon. Well, Faithful bravely suffered. 
 
 Great-heart. So he did, aiid as brave things came on it; for Hopeful 
 and some others, as the story relates it, were converted by his death. 
 
 Hon. Well, but pray go on ; for you are well acquainted with things. 
 
 Great-heart. Above all that Christian met with after 1»p had passed 
 through Vanity Fair, one By-ends was the arch one 
 
 Hon. By-ends! What was he?
 
 THE PILGBIM's PE0GEES9. 169 
 
 Geeat-heart. a very arch fellow; a downright hypocrite. One that 
 would be religious which way ever the world went; but so cunning that 
 he would be sure neither to lose nor suffer for it. He had his raode 
 of religion for every fresh occasion; and his wife was as good at it as 
 he. He would turn and change from opinion to opinion; yea, and 
 plead for so doing too. But, so far as I could learn, he came to an ill 
 end with his by-ends ; nor did I ever hear that any of his children were 
 ever of any esteem with any that truly feared God. 
 
 Now, by this time, they were come within sight of the town of 
 Vanity, where Vanity Fair is kept. So when they saw that they were 
 BO near the town, they consulted with one another, how they should pass 
 through the town ; and some said one thing, and some another. At last 
 Mr. Great-heart said, I have, as you may understand, often been a con- 
 ductor of pilgrims through this town; now I am acquainted with one 
 Mr. Mnason, a Cyprusian by nation, an old disciple, at whose house we 
 may lodge. If you think good, said he, we will turn in there. 
 
 Content, said old Honest; Content, said Christiana; Content, said Mr. 
 Feeble-mind; and so they said all. Now, you must think, it was even- 
 tide by that they got to the outside of the town; but Mr. Great-heart 
 knew the way to the old man's house. So thither they came; and he 
 called at the door, and the old man within knew his tongue so soon as 
 ever he heard it ; so he opened, and they all came in. Then said Mnason 
 their host, How far have ye come to-day ? so they said, From the house 
 of Gains our friend. I promise you, said he, you have gone a good 
 stitch, you may well be a weary; sit down. So they sat down. 
 
 Great-heart. Then said their guide. Come, what cheer, Sirs ? I dare 
 say you are welcome to my friend. 
 
 Mnason. I also, said Mr. Mnason, do bid you welcome, and, whatever 
 you want, do but say, and we will do what we can to get it for you. 
 
 Hon. Our great want, a while since, was harbour and good company, 
 and now I hope we have both. 
 
 Mnason. For harbour, you see what it is; but for good company, 
 that will appear in the trial. 
 
 Great-heart. Well, said Mr. Great-heart, will you have the Pilgrims 
 np into their lodging? 
 
 Mnason. I will, said Mr. Mnason. So he had them to their respective 
 places; and also showed them a very fair dining-room, where they might 
 be, and sup together, until time was come to go to rest. 
 
 Now, when thoy were set in their places, and were a little cheery after 
 their journey, Mr. Honest asked his landlord, if there were any store of 
 good people in the town? 
 
 Mnason. We have a few, for indeed they are but a few, when com- 
 pared with them on the other side. 
 
 Hon. But how shall we do to see some of them? for the sight of 
 good men to them that are going on pilgrimage, is like to the appearing 
 of the moon and the stars to them that are sailing upon the seas. 
 
 Then Mr. Mnason stamped with his foot, and his daughter Grace came 
 up; 80 he said unto her, Grace, go you, tell my friends, Mr. Contrite,
 
 170 THE pilgrim's progkess. 
 
 Mr. Holyman, Mr. Love-saint, Mr. Dare-not-lie, and Mr. Penitent, that I 
 have a friend or two at my house that have a mind this evening to see 
 them. 
 
 So Grace went to call them, and they came; and, after salutation 
 made, they sat down together at the table. 
 
 Then said Mr. Mnason, their landlord. My neighbours, I have, as you 
 see, a company of strangers come to my house; they are Pilgrims; they 
 come from afar, and are going to Mount Zion. But who, quoth he, do 
 you think this is? pointing with his finger to Christiana; it is Christiana, 
 the wife of Christian, that famous Pilgrim, who, with Faithful his 
 brother, were so shamefully handled in our town. At that they stood 
 amazed, saying, We little thought to see Christiana, when Grace came 
 to call us; wherefore this is a very comfortable surprise. Then they 
 asked her of her welfare, and if these young men were her husband's 
 sons? And when she had told them they were, they said. The King 
 whom you love and serve, make you as your father, and bring you 
 where he is in peace! 
 
 Hon. Then Mr. Honest (when they were all sat down) asked Mr. 
 Contrite and the rest, in what posture their town was at present? 
 
 Contrite. You may be sui'e we are full of hurry in fair-time. It is 
 hard keeping our hearts and spirits in any good order, when we are in 
 a cumbered condition. He that lives in such a place as this is, and 
 that has to do with such as we have, has need of an item, to caution 
 him to take heed, every moment of the day. 
 
 Hon. But how are your neighbours for quietness ? 
 
 Contrite. They are much more moderate now than formerly. You 
 know how Christian and Faithful were used at our town; but of late, 
 I say, they have been far more moderate. I think the blood of Faithful 
 lieth with load upon them till now; for since they burned him, they 
 liave been ashamed to burn any more. In those days we were afraid 
 to walk the streets, but now we can show our heads. Then the name 
 of a professor was odious; now, especially in some parts of our town 
 (for you know our town is large) religion is counted honourable. 
 
 Then said Mr. Contrite to them. Pray, how fareth it with you in your 
 pilgrimage? How stands the country affected towards you? 
 
 Hon. It happens to us as it happeneth to wayfaring men; sometimes 
 our way is clean, sometimes foul, sometimes up hill, sometimes down 
 hill; we are seldom at a certainty; the wmd is not always on our backs, 
 nor is every one a friend that we meet with in the way. We have 
 met with some notable rubs already; and what are yet behind we know 
 not; but for the most part, we find it true, that has been talked of, 
 of old, A good man must suffer trouble. 
 
 Contrite. You talk of rubs; what rubs have you met withal? 
 
 Hon. Nay, ask Mr. Great-heart, our guide, for he can give the best 
 account of that. 
 
 Great-heart. We have been beset three or four times already. First, 
 Christiana and her children were beset with two ruffians, that they 
 feared would a took away their lives. We were beset with Giant 
 
 i
 
 THE pilgrim's PKOGEESS. 171 
 
 Bloody-man, Giant Maul, and Giant Slay-good. Indeed we did rather 
 beset the last, than were beset of him. And thus it was : After we had 
 been some time at the house of " Gains, mine host, and of the whole 
 church," (Rom. xvi. 23,) we were minded upon a time to take our weapons 
 with us, and so go see if we could light upon any of those that were 
 enemies to pilgrims, (for we heard that there was a notable one there- 
 abouts.) Now Gains knew his haunt better than I, because he dwelt 
 thereabout; so we looked, and looked, till at last we discerned the 
 mouth of his cave; then we were glad, and plucked up our spirits. So 
 we approached up to his den, and lo, when we came there, he had 
 dragged, by mere force, into his net, this poor man, Mr. Feeble-mind, 
 and was about to bring him to his end. But when he saw us, sup- 
 posing, as we thought, he had had another prey, he left the poor man 
 in bis hole, and came out. So we fell to it full sore, and he lustily 
 laid about him; but in conclusion, he was brought down to the ground. 
 and his head cut off, and set up by the way-side, for a terror to such 
 as should after practise such ungodliness. That I tell you the truth, 
 here is the man himself to affirm it, who was as a lamb taken out oi 
 the mouth of the lion. 
 
 Feeble-mind. Then said Mr. Feeble-mind, I found this true, to my 
 cost and comfort; to my cost, when he threatened to pick my bones 
 every moment; and to my comfort, when I saw Mr. Great-heart and his 
 friends with their weapons, approach so near for my deliverance. 
 
 Holy-man. Then said Mr. Holy-man, There are two things that they 
 have need to be possessed with, that go on pilgrimage: courage, and 
 an unspotted life. If they have not courage, they can never hold on 
 their way; and if their lives be loose, they will make the very name 
 of a Pilgrim stink. 
 
 Love-saint. Then said Mr. Love-saint, I hope this caution is not 
 needful amongst you. But truly, there are many that go upon the 
 road, that rather declare themselves strangers to pilgrimage, than strangers 
 and pilgrims in the earth. 
 
 Dare-not-lie. Then said Mv. Dai*c-not-lic, It is true, they neither have 
 the pilgrim's weed, nor the pilgrim's courage; they go not uprightly, 
 but all awry with their fcot; one shoe goes inward, another outward, 
 and their hosen out behind; there a rag, and there a rent, to the dis- 
 paragement of their Lord. 
 
 Penitent. These things, said Mr. Penitent, they ought to be troubled 
 for; nor are the pilgrims like to have that grace put upon them and 
 their pilgrim's progress as they desire, until the way is cleared of such 
 spots and blemishes. 
 
 Thus they sat talking and spending the time, until supper was set 
 upon the table; unto which they went and refreshed their weary bodies; 
 so they went to rest. Now the^y stayed in this fair a great while, at 
 the house of this Mr. Mnason, who, in process of time, gave his daughter 
 Grace unto Samuel, Christiana's son, to wife, and his daughter Martlia 
 to Joseph.
 
 172 THE pilgeim's peogress. 
 
 The time, as I said, that they lay here, was long, (for it was not now 
 as in former times.) Wherefore the Pilgrims grew acquainted with 
 many of the good people of the town, and did them what service they 
 could. Mercy, as she was wont, laboured much for the poor; wherefore 
 their bellies and backs blessed her, and she was there an ornament to 
 her profession. And, to say the truth for Grace, Phebe, and Martha, 
 they were all of a very good nature, and did much good in their place. 
 They were also all of them very fruitful; so that Christian's name, as 
 was said before, was like to live in the world. 
 
 While they lay here, there came a monster out of the woods, and 
 slew many of the people of the town. It would also carry away their 
 children, and teach them to suck its whelps. Now no man in the 
 town durst so much as face this monster; but all men fled when they 
 heard of the noise of his coming. 
 
 The monster was like unto no one beast upon the earth; its body was 
 like a dragon, and it had seven heads and ten horns. It made great 
 havoc of children, and yet it was governed by a woman. This monster 
 propounded conditions to men, and such men as loved their lives more 
 than their souls, accepted of those conditions. So they came under. 
 
 Now, this Mr. Great-heart, together with these that came to visit the 
 pilgrims at Mr. Mnason's house, entered into a covenant to go and 
 engage this beast, if perhaps they might deliver the people of this town 
 from the paws and mouth of this so devouring a serpent. 
 
 Then did Mr. Great-heart, Mr. Contrite, Mr. Holy-man, Mr. Dare-not-lie, 
 and Mr. Penitent, with their weapons go forth to meet him. Now the 
 monster, at first, was very rampant, and looked upon these enemies 
 with great disdain; but they so belaboured him, being sturdy men at 
 arms, that they made him make a retreat: so they came home to Mr. 
 Mnason's house again. 
 
 The monster, you must know, had his certain seasons to come out 
 in, and to make his attempts upon the children of the people of the 
 town; also these seasons did these valiant worthies watch him in, and 
 did still continually assault him; insomuch that in process of time he 
 became not only wounded, but lame; also he has not made that havoc 
 of the townsmen's children, as formerly he has done. And it is verily 
 believed by some, that this beast will die of his wounds. 
 
 This, therefore, made Mr. Great-heart and his fellows of great fame 
 in this town; so that many of the people that wanted their taste of 
 things, yet had a reverend esteem and respect for them. Upon this 
 account therefore it was, that these pilgrims got not much hurt here. 
 True, there were some of the baser sort; that could see no more than 
 a mole, nor understand more than a beast; these had no reverence for 
 these men, nor took they notice of their valour or adventures. 
 
 "Well, the time grew on that the Pilgrims must go on their way, 
 wherefore they prepared for their journey. They sent for their friends ; 
 they conferred with them; they had some time set apart, therein to 
 commit each other to the protection of their Prince. There were again,
 
 THE pilgrim's progbess. 173 
 
 that brought them of such things as they had, that were tit for the 
 weak and the strong, for the women and the men, and so laded them 
 with such things as were necessary. 
 
 Then they set forward on their way; and their friends accompanying 
 them so far as was convenient, they again committed each other to the 
 protection of their King, and parted. 
 
 They, therefore, that were of the Pilgrim's company went on, and 
 Mr. Great-heart went before them. Now the women and children being 
 weakly, they were forced to go as they could bear; by this means Mr. 
 Eeady-to-halt and Mr. Feeble-mind had more to sympathize with their 
 condition. 
 
 When they were gone from the townsmen, and when their friends 
 had bid them farewell, they quickly came to the place where Faithful 
 was put to death; there therefore they made a stand, and thanked Him 
 that had enabled him to bear his cross so well; and the rather because 
 they now found that they had a benefit by such a manly suffering as 
 his was. 
 
 They went on, therefore, after this, a good way further, talking of 
 Christian and Faithful; and how Hopeful joined himself to Christian 
 after that Faithful was dead. 
 
 Now they were come up with the Hill Lucre, where the silver mine 
 was, which took Demas off from his pilgrimage, and into which, as 
 some think. By-ends fell and perished; wherefore they considered that. 
 But when they were come to the old monument that stood over against 
 the Hill Lucre, to wit, to the pillar of salt that stood also within view 
 of Sodom and its stinking lake; they marvelled, as did Christian before, 
 that men of that knowledge and ripeness of wit, as they were, should 
 be so blinded as to turn aside here. Only they considered again, that 
 nature is not aflc'cted with the harms that others have met with, especially 
 if that thing upon which they look has an attracting virtue upon the 
 foolish eye. 
 
 I saw now that they went on, till they came at the river that was 
 on this side of the Delectable Mountains. To the river wliere the fine 
 trees grow on both sides ; and whose leaves, if taken inwardly, are good 
 against surfeits, where the meadows are green all the year long, and 
 where they might lie down safely. 
 
 By this river side, in the meadow, there were cotes and folds for 
 sheep, a house built for the nourishing and bringing up of those lambs, 
 the b.ibcs of those women that go on pili!;rimage. Also there was here 
 one that was intrusted with them, who could have compassion, and that 
 could gather these lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, 
 and that could gently lead those that were with young. Now to the 
 care of this man, Christiana admonished her four daugliters to commit 
 their little ones, that by these waters they might be housed, harboured, 
 succoured, and nourished, and that none of them might be lacking in 
 time to come. This Man, if any of them go astray, or be lost, he will 
 bring them again : he will also bind up that which was broken, and will 
 strengthen them that are sick Here they will never want meat, and
 
 174 THE PTLGHfTM's PEOGTOESS. 
 
 drink, and clofhing; here they will be kept from thieves and Tobbers; 
 for this man will die before one of those committed to his trust shall 
 be lost. Besides, here they shall be sure to have good nurture and ad- 
 monition, and shall be taught to walk in right paths, and that you know 
 is a favour of no small account. Also here, as you see, are delicate 
 waters, pleasant meadows, dainty flowers, variety of trees, and such as 
 bear wholesome fruit; fruit not like that that Matthew ate of that fell 
 over the wall out of Beelzebub's garden ; but fruit that procureth health 
 where there is none, and that continueth and increaseth it where it is. 
 
 So they were content to commit their little ones to him; and that 
 which was also an encouragenent to them so to do, was, for that all 
 this was to be at the charge of the King, and so was as an hospital 
 for young children and orphans. 
 
 Now they went on ; and when they were come to By-path Meadow, to 
 the stile over which Christian went with his fellow Hopelul, when they 
 were taken by Giant Despair, and put into Doubting Castle, they sat 
 doAvn and consulted what was best to be done; to wit, now they were 
 so strong, and had got such a man as Mr. Great-heart for their con- 
 ductor, whether they had not best to make an attempt upon the Giant, 
 demolish his castle, and, if there were any pilgrims in it, to set them 
 at liberty, before thf y went any further. So one said one thing, and 
 another said the contrary. One questioned if it was lawful to go upon 
 unconsecrated ground; another said they might, provided their end was 
 good; but Mr Great-heart said. Though that assertion offered last cannot 
 be universally true, yet I have a commandment to resist sin, to over- 
 come evil, to fight the good fight of faith; and, I pray, with whom 
 should I fight this good fight, if not with Giant Despair? I will, 
 therefore, attempt the taking away of his life, and the demolishing of 
 Doubting Castle. Then said he, who will go with me? Then said old 
 Honest, 1 will. And so will we too, said Christiana's four sons, Matthew, 
 Samuel, James, and Joseph; for they were young men and strong. So 
 they left the women in the road, and with them Mr. Feeble-mind and 
 Mr. Ready-to-halt with his crutches, to be their guard, until they came 
 back ; for in that place, though Giant Despair dwelt so near, they keeping 
 in the road, a little child might lead them. 
 
 So Mr. Great-heart, old Honest, and the four young men, went to go 
 up to Doubting Castle, to look for Giant Despair. When they come at 
 the Castle-gate, they knocked for entrance with an unusual noise. At 
 that the old Giant comes to the gate, and Diffidence, his wife, follows 
 Then said he, Who and what is he that is so hardy, as after this 
 manner to molest the Giant Despair? Mr. Great-heart replied. It is I, 
 Great-heart, one of the King of the Celestial Country's conductors of 
 pilgrims to their place; and I demand of thee that thou open thy gates 
 for my entrance. Prepare thyself also to fight, for I am come to take 
 away thy head, and to demolish Doubting Castle. 
 
 Now Giant Despair, because he was a giant, thought no man could 
 overcome him; and, again, thought he, since heretofore I have made a 
 conquest of angels, shall Great-heart make me afraid! So he harnessed
 
 THE pilgrim's PBOOTIESS. 175 
 
 himself, and went out. He had a cap of steel upon his head, a breast- 
 plate of fire girded to him, and be came out in iron shoes, with a 
 great club in his hand. Then these six men made up to him, and 
 beset him behind and before. Also when Diffidence, the giantess, came 
 up to help him, old Mr. Honest cut her down at one blow. Then they 
 fought for their lives, and Giant Despair was brought down to the 
 ground, but was very loath to die. He struggled hard, and had, as 
 they say, as many lives as a cat; but Great-heart was his death, for he 
 left him not till he had severed his head from his shoulders. 
 
 Then they fell to demolishing Doubting Castle, that you know might 
 with ease be done, since Giant Despair was dead. They were seven 
 days in destroying of that; and in it of pilgrims they found one Mr. 
 Despondency, almost starved to death, and one Much-afraid, his daughter ; 
 these two they saved alive. But it would have made you a-wondered 
 to have seen the dead bodies that lay here and there in the castle-yard, 
 and how full of dead men's bones the dungeon was. 
 
 When Mr. Great-heart and his companions had performed this exploit, 
 they took Mr. Despondency, and his daughter Much-afraid, into their 
 protection; for they were honest people, though they were prisoners in 
 Doubting Castle, to that tyrant Giant Despair. They, therefore, I say, 
 took with them the head of the giant, for his body they had buried 
 under a heap of stones, and down to the road and to their companions 
 they came, and showed them what they had done. Now when Feeble- 
 mind and Ready-to-halt saw that it was the head of Giant Despair 
 indeed, they were very jocund and merry. Now Christiana, if need was, 
 could play upon the viol, and her daughter Mercy upon the lute; so 
 since they were so merry disposed, she played them a lesson, and 
 Ready-to-halt would dance. So he took Despondency's daughter, named 
 Much-afraid, by the hand, and to dancing they went in the road. True, 
 he could not dance without one crutch in his hand; but, I promise you, 
 he footed it well. Also the girl was to be commended, for she answered 
 the music handsomely. 
 
 As for Mr. Despondency, the music was not much to him; he was 
 for feeding rather than dancing, for that he was almost starved. So 
 Christiana gave him some of her bottle of spirits, for present relief, and 
 then prepared him something to eat; and, in a little time, the old 
 gentleman came to himself, and began to be finely revived. 
 
 Now I saw in my dream, when all these things were finished, Mr. 
 Great-heart took the head of Giant Despair, and set it upon a pole by 
 the highway side, right over against the pillar that Christian erected 
 for a can Lion to pilgrims that came after, to take heed of entering into 
 his grounds. 
 
 to*- 
 
 "Thouph Doubting Castle be demn'.isb'd, 
 And the (iiaiit l)csi):i!r hiith lost his hc.id, 
 Sin can rcbmlil the Custli", make 't remain. 
 And make Despair the Giant live again." 
 
 Then ho writ under it, upon a marble stone, these verses following:—
 
 176 THE pilgrim's peogeess. 
 
 "This is the head of him, whose name only 
 In former times did pilgrims terrify. 
 His Castle 's down ; and Diffidence, his wife, 
 Brave Master Great-heart has bereft of life. 
 Despondency, his daughter Much-afraid, 
 Great-heart for them also the man has play'd; 
 Who hereof doubts, if he '11 bat cast his eye 
 Up hither, may his scruples sitisfy: 
 This head also, when doubting cripples dance. 
 Doth show from fears they have deliverance." 
 
 When these men had thus bravely showed themselves against 
 Doubting Castle, and had slain Giant Despair, they went forward; and 
 went on till they came to the Delectable Mountains, where Christian 
 and Hopeful refreshed themselves with the varieties of the place. They 
 also acquainted themselves with the Shepherds there, who welcomed 
 them, as they had done Christian before, unto the Delectable Mountains. 
 
 Now the Shepherds, seeing so great a train follow Mr. Great-heart, 
 for with him they were well acquainted, they said unto him, Good Sir, 
 you have got a goodly company here. Pray where did you find all 
 cbese? 
 
 Then Mr. Great-heart rephed — 
 
 "First, here is Christiana and her train. 
 Her sons, and her sons' wives, who like the wain, 
 Keep by the pole, and do by compass steer, 
 From sin to grace, else they had not been here; 
 Next, here 's old Honest come on pilgrimage, 
 Ready-to-halt, too, who, I dare engage 
 True-hearted i>, and so is Feeble-mind, 
 Who willing was not to be left behind; 
 Despondency, good man, is coming after. 
 And so also is Much-afraid, his daughter. 
 May we have entertainment here, or must 
 We further go? Let's know whereon to trust." 
 
 Then said the Shepherds, This is a comfortable company. You are 
 welcome to us, for we have comfort for the feeble as for the strong. 
 Our Prince has an eye to what is done to the least of these; therefore 
 infirmity must not be a block to our entertainment. So they had them 
 to the palace door, and then said unto them. Come in, Mr. Feeble-mind; 
 Come in, Mr. Eeady-to-halt ; Come in, Mr. Despondency, and Mrs. 
 Much-afraid, his daughter. These, Mr. Great-heart, said the Shepherds 
 to the guide, we call in by name, for that they are most subject to 
 draw back; but as for you, and the rest that are strong, we leave you 
 to your wonted liberty. Then said Mr. Great-heart, This day I see that 
 grace doth sbine in your faces, and that you are my Lord's shepherds 
 indeed; for that you have not pushed these diseased neither with side 
 nor shoulder, but have rather strewed their way into the palace with 
 flowers, as you should. 
 
 So the feeble and weak went in, and Mr. Great-heart and the rest 
 did follow. When they were also set down, the Shepherds said to those 
 of the weaker sort, What is it that you would haveP for, said they, all
 
 THE PILGEIM's PROGBESS. 177 
 
 things must be managed here to the supporting of the weak, as well as 
 the warning of the unruly. 
 
 So they made them a feast of things easy of digestion, and that 
 were pleasant to the palate, and nourishing; the which, when they had 
 received, they went to their rest, each one respectively unto his proper 
 place. When morning was come, because the mountains were high, 
 and the day clear, and because it was the custom of the Shepherds to 
 show to the Pilgrims, before their departure, some rarities; therefore, 
 after they were ready, and had refreshed themselves, the Shepherds took 
 them out into the fields, and showed them first what they had showed 
 to Christian before. 
 
 Then they had them to some new places. The first was to Mount 
 Marvel, where they looked, and beheld a man at a distance, that tumbled 
 the hills about with words. Then they asked the Shepherds what that 
 should mean? So they told them, that that man was the son of one 
 Great-grace, of whom you read in the First Part of the Records of the 
 Pilgrim's Progress. And he is set there to teach pilgrims how to 
 believe down, or to tumble out of their way, what diflBculties they shall 
 meet with, by faith. Then said Mr. Great-heart, I know him. He is a 
 man above many. 
 
 Then they had them to another place, called Mount Innocent; and 
 there they saw a man clothed all in white, and two men, Prejudice and 
 Ill-will, continually casting dirt upon him. Now, behold, the dirt, 
 whatsoever they cast at him, would in little time fall oCT again, and 
 his garments would look as clear as if no dirt had been cast thereat. 
 
 Then said the Pilgrims, What means this ? The Shepherds answered, 
 This man is named Godly-man, and this garment is to show the inno- 
 cency of his life. Now, those that throw dirt at him, are such as hate 
 his well-doing; but, as you see the dirt will not stick upon his clothes, 
 so it shall be with him that liveth truly innocently in the world. 
 Whoever they be that would make such men dirty, they labour all in 
 vain; for God, by that a little time is spent, will cause that their in- 
 nocence shall break forth as the light, and their righteousness as the 
 noon-day. 
 
 Then they took them, and had them to Mount Charity, whore they 
 showed them a man that had a bundle of cloth lying before him, out 
 of which he cut coats and garments for the poor that stood about him; 
 yet his bundle or roll of cloth was never the less. 
 
 Then said they, What should this be? This is, said the Shepherds, 
 to show you, that he that has a heart to give of his labour to the 
 poor, shall never want wherewithal. He that watcreth shall be watered 
 himself. And the cake that the widow gave to the prophet did not 
 cause that she had ever the less in her barrel. 
 
 They had them also to a place where they so one Fool, and one 
 Want-wit, washing of an Ethiopian, with intention to make him white; 
 but the more they washed him the blacker he was. They then asked 
 the Shepherds what that should mean. So they told them, saying, Thus 
 shall it be with the vile person. All means used to get such a on*? a
 
 17^ THE PILGEIM's PBOGEESS. 
 
 Efood name stall, in conclusion, tend but to make him more abominable: 
 Tuus it was witb the Pharisees, and so shall it be with all hypocriies. 
 
 Then said Mercy, the wife of Matthew, to Christiana, her mother, 
 Mother, I would, if it might be, see the hole in the hill, or that commonly 
 •sailed the by-way to hell. So her mother brake her mind to the Shepherds 
 Then they went to the door. It was in the side of a hill, and they 
 opened it, and bid Mercy hearken awhile. So she hearkened, and heard 
 one saying, Cursed be my father, for holding of my feet back from 
 the way of peace and life; and another said, that I had been torn 
 in pieces, before I had, to save my life, lost my soul ! and another said. 
 If I were to live again, how would I deny myself, rather than come to 
 this place! Then there was as if the very earth had groaned and quaked 
 under the feet of this young woman for fear. So she looked white, and 
 came trembling away, saying, Blessed be he and she that are delivered 
 from this place. 
 
 Now when the Shepherds had shown them all these things, then they 
 had them back to the palace, and entertained them with what the house 
 would afford. But Mercy being a young and breeding woman, longed 
 for something that she saw there, but was ashamed to ask. Her mother- 
 in-law then asked her what she ailed; for she looked as one not well. 
 Then said Mercy, There is a looking-glass hangs up in the dining-room, 
 off which I cannot take my mind: if, therefore, I have it not, I think 
 I shall miscarry. Then said her mother I will mention thy wants to 
 the Shepherds, and they will not deny it thee. But she said, I am 
 ashamed that these men should know that I longed. Nay, my daughter, 
 said she, it is no shame but a virtue, to long for such a thing as that. 
 
 So Mercy said, Then, mother, if you please, ask the Shepherds if th«y 
 are willing to sell it. 
 
 Now the glass was one of a thousand. It would present a man, one 
 way, with his own features exactly; and, turn it but another way. and 
 it would show one the very face and similitude of the Prince of Pilgrims 
 himself. Yea, I have talked with them that can tell, and they have 
 said that they have seen the very crown of thorns upon his head., by 
 looking in that glass; they have therein also seen the holes in his hands, 
 in his feet, and his side. Tea, such an excellency is there in that glas^ 
 that it will show him to one where they have a mind to see him ; whether 
 living or dead; whether in earth or in heaven; whether in a state of 
 humiliation, or in his exaltation; whether coming to suffer, or coming 
 to reign. 
 
 Christiana, therefore, went to the Shepherds apart — now the names 
 of the Shepherds ai'e Knowledge, Experience^ Watchful, and Sincere — 
 and said unto them. There is one of my daughters, a breeding woman, 
 that I think doth long for something that she hath seen in this house; 
 and she thinks she shall miscarry, if she shall by you be denied. 
 
 ExPEKiENCE. Call her, call her; she shall assuredly have what we can 
 help her to. So they called her, and said to her, Mercy, what is that 
 thing thou wouldst have? Then she blushed, and said, The great glass 
 that hangs up in the dining-room. So Sincere ran and fetched it, and.
 
 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 179 
 
 with a joyful consent, it was given her. Then she bowed her head, 
 and gave thanks, and said. By this I know that I have obtained favour 
 in your eyes. 
 
 They also gave to the other young women such things as they de- 
 sired, and to their husbands great commendations, for that they had 
 joined with Mr. Great-heart, to the slaying of Giant Despair, and the 
 demolishing of Doubting Castle. 
 
 About Christiana's neck the Shepherds put a bracelet, and so they 
 did about the necks of her four daughters; also they put ear-rings in 
 their ears, and jewels on their foreheads. 
 
 When they were minded to go hence, they let them go in peace, but 
 gave not to them those certain cautions which before were given to 
 Christian and his companion. The reason was for that these had Great- 
 heart to be their guide, who was one that was well acquainted with 
 things, and so could give them their cautions more seasonably; to wit, 
 even then when the danger was nigh the approaching. 
 
 What cautions Christian and his companion had received of the Shep- 
 herds, they had also lost, by that the time was come that tbcy had 
 need to put them in practice. Wherefore, here was the advantage that 
 this company had over the other. 
 
 From hence tbey went on singing, and they said — 
 
 ^Behold, how fitly are the stages set 
 For their relief that pilgrims are become! 
 And how they us receive without one let, 
 That makes the other lite our mark and home! 
 
 •' What novelties they have to us they give, 
 That we, though I'ilgrims, joylul lives may liv«; 
 They do upon us, too, such things bestow, 
 That show we Pilgrims are, where'er we go." 
 
 When they were gone from the Shepherds, they quickly came to the 
 place where Christian met with one Turn-away, that dwelt in the town 
 of Apostasy. Wherefore of liim Mr. Great-heart, their guide, did now 
 put them in mind, saying, Tliis is the place Avhcre Christian met with 
 one Turn-away, who carried with him the character of his rebellion afc 
 his back. And this I have to say concerning this man; he would 
 hearken to no counsel; but, once falling, persuasion could not stop him. 
 
 When he came to the place whore the Cross and the Sepulchre were, 
 he did meet with one that did bid him look there, but ho gnashed with 
 his teeth, and stamped, and said, he was resolved to go back to his 
 own town. Before he came to the gate, he met with Evangelist, who 
 olTcrcd to lay liaiuls on him, to turn Iiim into the way again. But this 
 Turn-away resisted him, and having done much despite unto him, ho 
 got away over the wall, and so escaped his hand. 
 
 Then they went on; and just at the place where Little-faith formerly 
 was robbed, there stood a man with lii.s sword drawn, and his face all 
 bloody. Then said Mr. Great-heart, What art thou? The man made 
 answer, saying, I am one whose name is Valiaut-for-truth. I am a
 
 180 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 pilgrim, and am going to the Celestial City. Now, as I was in m^- 
 way, there were three men did beset me, and propounded unto me these 
 three things: — 1. Whether I would become one of them. 2. Or go back 
 from whence I came. 3. Or die upon the place. To the first I answered, 
 I had been a true man a long season, and therefore it could not be ex- 
 pected that I now should cast in my lot with thieves. Then they demanded 
 what I would say to the second. So I told them that the place from 
 whence I came, had I not found incommodity there, I had not forsaken 
 it at all ; but finding it altogether unsuitable to me, and very unprofitable 
 for me, I forsook it for this way. Then they asked me what I said to 
 the third. And I told them. My life cost more dear far, than that I 
 should lightly give it away. Besides, you have nothing to do thus to 
 put things to my choice; wherefore at your peril be it if you meddle. 
 Then these three, to wit, Wild-head, Inconsiderate, and Pragmatic, drew 
 upon me, and I also drew upon them. 
 
 So we fell to it, one against three, for the space of above three hours. 
 They have left upon me, as you see, some of the marks of their valour, 
 and have also carried away with them some of mine. They are but just 
 now gone. I suppose they might, as the saying is, hear your horse 
 dash, and so they betook them to flight. 
 
 Great-heart. But here was great odds, three against one. 
 
 Valiant. It is true; but little or more are nothing to him that has 
 the truth on his side. "Though an host should encamp against me," 
 said one, "my heart shall not fear; though war should rise against 
 me, in this will I be confident," (Psalm xxvii. 3.) Besides, saith he, I 
 have read in some records, that one man has fought an army. And 
 bow many did Samson slay with the jaw-bone of an ass. 
 
 Great-heart. Then said the guide. Why did you not cry out, that 
 some might have come in for your succour? 
 
 Valiant. So I did, to my King, who, I knew, could hear, and afibrd 
 invisible help, and that was sufiicient for me. 
 
 Great-heart. Then said Great-heart to Mr. Valiant-for-truth, Thou 
 hast worthily behaved thyself. Let me see thy sword. So he showed 
 it him. When he had taken it in his hand, and looked thereon a 
 while, he said, Ha! it is a right Jerusalem blade. 
 
 Valiant. It is so. Let a man have one of these blades, with a hand 
 to wield it and skill to use it, and he may venture upon an angel with 
 it. He need not fear its holding, if he can but tell how to lay on. Its 
 edges will never blunt. It will cut flesh and bones, and soul and spirit, 
 and all. 
 
 Great-heart. But you fought a great while; I wonder you was not 
 weary. 
 
 Valiant. I fought till my sword did cleave to my hand; and when 
 they were joined together, as if a sword grew out of my arm, and when 
 the blood ran through my fingers, then I fought with most courage. 
 
 Great-heart. Thou hast done well. Thou hast " resisted unto blood, 
 striving against sin." Thou shalt abide by us, come in and go out with 
 us, for we are thy companions.
 
 THE pilgrim's PROGKESS. 181 
 
 Then they took him, and washed his wounds, and gave him of what 
 they had to refresh him; and so they went on together. Now, as they 
 went on, because Mr. Great-heart was delighted in him, for he loved 
 one greatly that he found to be a man of his hands, and because there 
 were with his company them that were feeble and weak, therefore he 
 questioned with him about many things; as, first, what countryman he 
 was? 
 
 Valiant. I am of Dark-land; for there I was bom, and there my 
 father and mother are still. 
 
 Great-heart. Dark-land, said the guide; doth not that lie upon the 
 same coast with the City of Destruction? 
 
 Valiant. Yes, it doth. Now that which caused me to come on 
 pilgrimage was this : we had one Mr. Tell-true came into our parts, and 
 he told it about what Christian had done, that went from the City of 
 Destruction; namely, how he had forsaken his wife and children, and 
 had betaken himself to a pilgrim's life. It was also confidently reported, 
 how he had killed a serpent that did come out to resist him in his 
 journey, and how he got through to whither he intended. It was also 
 told, what welcome he had at all his Lord's lodgings, especially when 
 he came to the gates of the Celestial City; for there, said the man, 
 he was received, with sound of trumpet, by a company of Shining Ones. 
 He told it also, how all the bells in the city did ring for joy at his 
 reception, and what golden garments he was clothed with, with many 
 other things that now I shall forbear to relate. In a word, that man 
 so told the story of Christian and his travels, that my heart fell into a 
 burning haste to be gone after him, nor could father or mother stay 
 me! So I got from them, and came thus far on my way. 
 
 Great-heart. You came in at the gate, did you not? 
 
 Valiant. Yes, yes; for the same man also told us that all would be 
 nothing, if we did not begin to enter this way at the gate. 
 
 Great-heart. Look you, said the guide to Christiana, the pilgrimage 
 of your husband, and what he has gotten thereby, is spread abroad far 
 and near. 
 
 Valiant. Why, is this Christian's wife? 
 
 Great-heart. Yes, that it is; and these are also her four sons. 
 
 Valiant. "What! and going on pilgrimage too? 
 
 Great-heart. Yes, verily, they are following after. 
 
 Valiant. It gladdens me at heart. Good man ! how joyful will he 
 be when he shall see them that would not go with him, yet to enter 
 after him in at the gates into the city. 
 
 Great-heart. Without doubt it will be a comfort to him; for, next 
 to the joy of seeing himself there, it will be a joy to meet there his 
 wife and children. 
 
 Valtant. But, now you are upon that, pray let me hear your opinion 
 about it. Some make a question, Whether we shall know one another 
 when we are there. 
 
 Great-heart. Do they think they shall know themselves then, or 
 that they shall rejoice to see themselves in that bliss? and if they
 
 182 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 think they shall know and do these, why not know others, and rejoice 
 in their welfare also? 
 
 Again, since relations are our second self, though that state will 
 be dissolved there; yet why may it not be rationally concluded that 
 we shall be more glad to see them there, than to see they are wanting ? 
 
 Valiant. Well, I perceive whereabouts you are as to this. Have you 
 any more things to ask me about my beginning to come on pilgrimage ? 
 
 Great-heakt. Yes. Was your father and mother willing that you 
 should become a pilgrim? 
 
 Valiant. Oh no! They used all means imaginable to persuade me 
 to stay at home. 
 
 Great-heart. What could they say against it? 
 
 Valiant. They said it was an idle Ufe; and if I myself were not 
 inclined to sloth and laziness, I would never countenance a pilgrim's 
 condition. 
 
 Great-heart. And what did they say else? 
 
 Valiant. Why, they told me that it was a dangerous way; yea, the 
 most dangerous way in the world, said they, is that which the pil- 
 grims go. 
 
 Great-heart. Did they show wherein this way is ^uo dangerous ? 
 
 Valiant. Yes; and that in many particulars. 
 
 Great-heart. Name some of them. 
 
 Valiant. They told me of the Slough of Despit.d, where Christian 
 was well nigh smothered. They told me that there were archers 
 standing ready in Beelzebub's Castle, to shoot them that should knock 
 at the wicket-gate for entrance. They told me also of the wood, and 
 dark mountains; of the Hill Difficulty; of the lions; and also of the 
 three giants, Bloody-man, Maul, and Slay-good. They said, moreover, 
 that there was a foul fiend haunted the Valley of Humiliation, and 
 that Christian was by him almost bereft of life. Besides, said they, 
 you must go over the Valley of the Shadow of Death, where the hob- 
 goblins are; where the light is darkness; where the way is full of 
 snares, pits, traps, and gins. They told me also of Giant Despair, ol 
 Doubting Castle, and of the ruin that the Pilgrims met with there. 
 Further, they said I must go over the Enchanted Ground, which was 
 dangerous. And that, after all this, I should find a river, over which 
 I should find no bridge, and that that river did lie betwixt me and 
 the Celestial Country. 
 
 Great-heart. And was this all? 
 
 Valiant. No. They also told me that this way was full of deceivers, 
 and of persons that laid in wait there, to turn good men out of the path. 
 
 Great-heart. But how did they make that out? 
 
 Valiant. They told me that Mr. Worldly-Wise-Man did there lie in 
 wait to deceive. They also said, that there was Formality and Hypocrisy 
 continually on the road. They said, also, that By-ends, Talkative, or 
 Demas would go near to gather me up; that the Flatterer would catch 
 me in his net; or that, with green-headed Ignorance, I would presume 
 to go on to the gate, from whence he always was sent back to the
 
 THE ptlgbtm's progeess. 183 
 
 hole that was in the side of the hill, and made to go the by-way to hell. 
 Great-heakt. I promise you this was enough to discourage; but did 
 they make an end here? 
 
 Yaltant. No: stay. They told me also of many that had tried that 
 wshj of old, and that had gone a great way therein, to see if they could 
 find something of the glory there, that so many had so much talked 
 of from time to time; and how they came back again, and befooled 
 themselves for setting a foot out of doors in that path, to the satisfaction 
 of all the country. And they named several that did so; as Obstinate 
 and Pliable, Mistrust and Timorous, Turn-away and old Atheist, with 
 several more, who, they said, had some of them gone far, to see if they 
 could find; but not one of them found so much advantage by going as 
 amounted to the weight of a feather. 
 
 Great-heart. Said they anything more to discourage you ? 
 
 Yaliant. Yes. They told me of one Mr. Fearing, who was a pilgrim ; 
 and how he found this Avay so solitary, that he never had a comfortable 
 hour therein. Also, that Mr. Despondency had like to have been starved 
 therein; yea, and also, which I had almost forgot, that Christian himself, 
 about whom there has been such a noise, after all his ventures for a 
 celestial crown, was certainly drowned in the Black River, and never 
 went foot further, however it was smothered up. 
 
 Great-heart. And did none of these things discourage you? 
 
 Yaliant. ISTo; they seemed but as so many nothings to me. 
 
 Great-heart. How came that about? 
 
 Yaliant. Why, I still believed what Mr. Tell-true had said, and that 
 carried me beyond them all. 
 
 Great-heart. Then this was your victory, even your faith. 
 
 Yaliant. It was so. I believed, and therefore came out, got into the 
 way, fought all that set themselves against me. and, by believing, am 
 rome to tliis place. 
 
 •'Who would true valour seo, 
 liCt him come hither; 
 One here will constant be. 
 Come wind, come weather. 
 
 "There's no discouragement 
 Shall make him once relent 
 His first avowed intent 
 To be a pilgrim. 
 
 "Who so beset him round 
 With dismal stories, 
 Do but themselves confound, — 
 His strength the more is; 
 
 "No lion can him fright, 
 He'll with a giant light; 
 but he will have a right 
 To be a pilirrim. 
 
 "Hobgoblin nor foul fiend 
 Can daunt his spirit; 
 He knows he at the end 
 Shall life inherit.
 
 184 THE pilgeim's peogeess. 
 
 "Then fancies fly away, 
 He'll fear not what men say; 
 He'll labour night and day 
 To be a pilgrrim." 
 
 By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, where the air 
 naturally tended to make one drowsy; and that place was all grown 
 over with briars and thorns, excepting here and there, where was an 
 Enchanted Arbour, upon which, if a man sits, or in which, if a man 
 sleeps, it is a question, say some, whether ever he shall rise or wake 
 again in this world. Over this forest, therefore, they went, both one aiid 
 the other, and Mr. Great-heart went before, for that he was the guide; 
 and Mr. Valiant-for-truth, he came behind, being there a guard, for fear, 
 lest peradventure some fiend, or dragon, or giant, or thief, should fall 
 upon their rear, and so do mischief. They went on here, each man with 
 his sword drawn in his hand, for they knew it was a dangerous place. 
 Also they cheered up one another as well as they could; Feeble-mind, 
 Mr. Great-heart commanded, should come up after him, and Mr. Des- 
 pondency was under the eye of Mr. Valiant. 
 
 ITow they had not gone far, but a great mist and darkness fell upon 
 them all, so that they could scarce, for a great while, see the one the 
 other; wherefore they were forced, for some time, to feel for one another 
 by words; for they walked not by sight. 
 
 But any one must think that here was but sorry going for the best 
 of them all; but how much worse for the women and children, who 
 both of feet and heart were but tender. Yet so it was, that through 
 the encouraging words of him that led in the front, and of him that 
 brought them up behind, they made a pretty good shift to wag along. 
 
 The way also was here very wearisome, through dirt and slabbiness. 
 Nor was there on all this ground so much as one inn or victualling- 
 house, therein to refresh the feebler sort. Here, therefore, was grunting, 
 and pufRng, and sighing. While one tumbleth over a bush, another 
 sticks fast in the dirt ; and the children, some of them, lost their shoes 
 in the mire. While one cries out, I am down ; and another, Ho ! where 
 are you? and a third. The bushes have got such fast hold on me, I 
 think I cannot get away from them. 
 
 Then they come at an arbour, warm, and promising much refreshing 
 to the Pilgrims; for it was finely wrought above head, beautified with 
 greens, furnished with benches and settles. It also had in it a soft 
 couch, whereon the weary might lean. This, you must think, all things 
 considered, was tempting; for the POgrims already began to be foiled 
 with the badness of the way; but there was not one of them that made 
 so much as a motion to stop there. Tea, for aught I could perceive, 
 they continually gave so good heed to the advice of their guide, and 
 he did so faithfully tell them of dangers, and of the nature of dangers, 
 when they were at them, that usually, when they were nearest to them, 
 they did most pluck up their spirits, and hearten one another to deny 
 the flesh. This arbour was called The Slothful's Friend, on purpose to
 
 THE pilgbtm's progbess. 185 
 
 allure, if it miglib be, some of the Pilgrima there to take up their rest 
 when weary. 
 
 I Baw then in my dream, that they went on in this their solitary 
 ground, till they came to a place at which a man is apt to lose his 
 way. Now, though when it was light, their guide could well enough 
 tell how to miss those ways that led wrong, yet in the dark he was 
 put to a stand; but he had in his pocket a map of all ways leading to 
 or from the Celestial City; wherefore he struck a light, for he never 
 goes, also, without his tinder-box, and takes a view of his book or map, 
 which bids him be careful, in that place, to turn to the right-band way. 
 And had he not here been careful to look in his map, they had all, 
 in probability, been smothered in the mud; for just a little before 
 them, and that at the end of the cleanest way, too, was a pit, none 
 knows how deep, full of nothing but mud, there made on purpose to 
 destroy the Pilgrims in. 
 
 Then thought I with myself, who that goeth on pilgrimage, but 
 would have one of these maps about him, that he may look when he 
 is at a stand, which is the way he must take. 
 
 They went on, then, in this Enchanted Ground, till they came to 
 where there was another arbour, and it was built by the highway side. 
 And in that arbour there lay two men, whose names were Heedless 
 and Too-bold. These two went thus far on pilgrimage; but here, being 
 wearied with their journey, they sat down to rest themselves, and so fell 
 fast asleep. When the Pilgrims saw them, they stood still, and shook 
 their heads; for they knew that the sleepers were in a pitiful case. 
 Then they consulted what to do, whether to go on and leave them in 
 their sleep, or to step to them, and try to awake them. So they con- 
 cluded to go to them, and awake them; that is, if they could; but with 
 this caution, namely, to take heed that themselves did not sit down 
 nor embrace the oftered benefit of that arbour. 
 
 So they went in, and spake to the men, and called each by his name, 
 for the guide, it seems, did know them; but there was no voice nor 
 answer. Then the guide did shake them, and do what he could to disturb 
 them. Then said one of them, I will pay yon when I take my money. 
 At which the guide shook his head. I will fight so long as I can hold 
 my sword in my hand, said the other. At that one of the children 
 laughed. 
 
 Then said Christiana, What is the meaning of this? The guide said. 
 They talk in their sleep. If you strike them, beat them, or whatever 
 else you do to them, they will answer you after this fashion: or, as 
 one of them said in old time, when the waves of the sea did beat upon 
 him, and he slept as one upon the mast of a ship, "When shall I awake; 
 I will seek it yet again," (Prov. xxiii. 3t, 35.) You know when men talk 
 in their sleep they say anything, but their words arc not governed either 
 by faith or reason. There is an incoherency in their words now, as 
 there was before, betwixt their going on pilgrimage, and sitting down 
 here. This, then, is the mischief of it, when heedless ones go on pil- 
 grimage, it is twenty to one but they are served thus; for this Enchanted 
 Groimd is one of the last refuges that the enemy to pilgrims has.
 
 186 THE PrLGRIM's PROGRESS. 
 
 Wherefore it is, as you see, placed almost at the end of the way, and 
 so it standeth against us with the more advantage. For when thinks 
 the enemy, will these fools be so desirous to sit down as when they 
 are weary; and when so like to be weary, as when almost at their 
 journey's end? Therefore it is, I say, that the Enchanted Ground is 
 placed so nigh to the Land Beulah, and so near the end of their race. 
 Wherefore, let pilgrims look to themselves, lest it happen to them as 
 it has done to these, that, as you see, are fallen asleep, and none can 
 wake them. 
 
 Then the Pilgrims desired, with trembling, to go forward; only they 
 prayed their guide to strike a light, that they might go the rest of 
 their way by the help of the light of a lantern. So he struck a light, 
 and they went by the help of that through the rest of this way, though 
 the darkness was very great. 
 
 But the children began to be sorely weary; and they cried out unto 
 Him that loveth pilgrims, to make their way more comefortable. So 
 by that they had gone a little further, a wind arose that drove away 
 the fog; so the air became more clear. 
 
 Yet they were not off, by much, of the Enchanted Ground, only now 
 they could see one another better, and the way wherein they should walk. 
 
 Now, when they were almost at the end of this ground, they perceived 
 that, a little before them, was a solemn noise of one that was much 
 concerned. So they went on and looked before them; and behold they 
 saw, as they thought, a man upon his knees, with hands and eyes lift 
 up, and speaking, as they thought, earnestly to one that was above. 
 They drew nigh, but could not tell what he said. So they went softly 
 till he had done. When he had done, he got up, and began to run 
 towards the Celestial City. Then Mr. Great-heart called after him, saying, 
 Soho! friend, let us have your company, if you go, as I suppose you 
 do, to the Celestial City. So the man stopped, and they came up to 
 him. But so soon as Mr. Honest saw him, he said, I know this man. 
 Then said Mr. Valiant-for-truth, Prithee, who is it ? It is one, said he, 
 who comes from whereabouts I dwelt. His name is Stand- fast; he is 
 certainly a right good Pilgrim. 
 
 So they came up one to another; and presently Stand-fast said to old 
 Honest, Ho! father Honest, are you there? Ay, said he, that I am, 
 as sure as you are there. Right glad am I, said Mr. Stand-fast, that I 
 have found you on this road. And as glad am I, said the other, that 
 I espied you upon your knees. Then Mr. Stand-fast blushed, and said. 
 But why, did you see me? Yes, that I did, quoth the other, and with 
 my heart was glad at the sight. Why, what did you think? said Stand- 
 fast. Think! said old Honest, what should I think? I thought we 
 had an honest man upon the road, and therefore should have his company 
 by-and-by. If you thought not amiss, said Stand-fast, how happy am I ; 
 but if I be not as I should, I alone must bear it. That is true, said 
 the other; but your fear doth further confirm me, that things are right 
 betwixt the Prince of Pilgrims and your soul; for, saith he, "Blessed 
 is the man that feareth always " 
 
 Valiant. Well, but brother, I pray the© tell us what was it that
 
 THE pilgetm's peogeess. 187 
 
 pyras the cause of thy being upon thy knees even now ? Was it for that 
 some special mercies laid obligations upon thee, or how? 
 
 Stand-fast. Why, we are, as you see, upon the Enchanted Ground; 
 and as I was coming along, I was musing with myself of what a 
 dangerous road the road in this place was, and how many that had 
 come even thus far on pilgrimage had here been stopped and been des- 
 troyed. I thought also of the manner of the deatb with which this place 
 destroyeth men. Those that die here die of no violent distemper. The 
 death which such die is not grievous to them; for he that goeth away 
 in a sleep, begins that journey with desire and pleasure; yea, such 
 acquiesce in the will of that disease. 
 
 Hon. Then Mr. Honest, interrupting of him, said, did you see the 
 two men asleep in the arbour? 
 
 Stand-fast. Ay, ay, I saw Heedless and Too-bold there; and, for 
 aught I know, there they will lie till they rot. But let me go on in 
 my tale. As I was thus musing, as I said, there was one in very 
 pleasant attire, but old, who presented herself unto me, and offered me 
 three things; to wit, her body, her purse, and her bed. Now, the truth 
 is, I was both a-weary and sleepy; I am also as poor as an owlet, and 
 that, perhaps, the witch knew. Well, I repulsed her once and twice, 
 but she put by my repulses and smiled. Then I began to be angry ; 
 but she mattered that nothing at all. Then she made offers again, and 
 said. If I would be ruled by her, she would make me great and happy; 
 for, said she, I am the mistress of the world, and men are made happy 
 by me. Then I asked her name, and she told me it was Madam Bubble. 
 This set me further from her : but she still followed me with enticements. 
 Then I betook me, as you saw, to my knees; and with hands lift up, 
 and cries, I prayed to Him that had said He would help. So, just as 
 you came up, the gentlewoman went her way. Then I continued to give 
 thanks for this my great deliverance; for I verily believe she intended 
 no good, but rather sought to make stop of me in my journey, 
 
 lioN. Without doubt her designs were bad. But stay, now you talk 
 of her, mothinks I either have seen her, or have read some story of her 
 
 Stand-fast. Perhaps you have done both. 
 
 Hon. Madam Bubble! is she not a tall, comely dame, something of 
 a swarthy complexion? 
 
 Stand-fast. Eight, you hit it, she is just such a one. 
 
 Hon. Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give you a smile at 
 the end of a sentence? 
 
 Stand-fast. You fall right upon it again, for these are her very 
 actions. 
 
 Hon. Doth she not wear a great purse by her side; and is not her 
 hand often in it, fingering her money, as if that was her heart's delight ? 
 
 Stand-fast. It is just so; had she stood by all this while, you could 
 not more amply have set her forth before me, nor have better described 
 her features. 
 
 Hon. Then he that drew her picture was a good limner, and he thnt 
 wrote of her said true.
 
 188 THE pil&eim's progbess. 
 
 Great-heart. This woman is a witch, and it is by virtue of hei 
 sorceries that this ground is enchanted. Whoever doth lay their head 
 down in her lap, had as good lay it down upon that block over which 
 the axe doth hang; and whoever lay their eyes upon her beauty, are 
 counted the enemies of God. This is she that maintaineth in their 
 splendour all those that are the enemies of pilgrims. Yea, this is she 
 that hath bought ofi" many a man from a pilgrim's life. She is a great 
 gossiper; she is always, both she and her daughters, at one pilgrim's 
 heeJs or another, now commending and then preferring the excellences 
 of this life. She is a bold and impudent slut; she will talk with any 
 man. She always laugheth poor pilgrims to scorn; but highly com- 
 mends the rich. If there be one cunning to get money in a place, she 
 will speak well of him from house to house; she loveth banqueting and 
 feasting mainly well; she is always at one full table or another. She 
 has given it out in some places, that she is a goddess, and therefore 
 some do worship her. She has her times and open places of cheating; 
 and she will say and avow it, that none can show a good comparable 
 to hers. She promiseth to dwell with children's children, if they will 
 but love and make much of her. She will cast out of her purse gold 
 like dust in some places and to some persons. She loves to be sought 
 after, spoken well of and to lie in the bosoms of men. She is never 
 weary of commending her commodities, and she loves them most that 
 think best of her. She will promise to some crowns and kingdoms, if 
 they will but take her advice; yet many hath she brought to the halter, 
 and ten thousand times more to hell. 
 
 Stand-fast. Oh, said. Stand-fast, what a mercy is it that I did resist; 
 for whither might she have drawn me! 
 
 Gkeat-heakt. Whither! nay, none but God knows whither. But, in 
 general, to be sure, she would have drawn thee into "many foolish and 
 hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition," (1 Tim. vi. 9.) 
 
 It was she that set Absalom against his father, and Jeroboam against 
 his master. It was she that persuaded Judas to sell his Lord, and 
 that prevailed with Demas to forsake the godly pilgrims' life; none can 
 tell of the mischief that she doth. She makes variance betwixt rulers 
 and subjects, betwixt parents and children, betwixt neighbour and 
 neighbour, betwixt a man and his wife, betwixt a man and himself, 
 betwixt the flesh and the heart. 
 
 Wherefore, good Master Stand-fast, be as your name is, and "when 
 you have done all, Stand." 
 
 At this discourse there was, among the Pilgrims, a mixture of joy 
 and trembling; but at length they brake out, and sang — 
 
 "What danger is the pilgrim in, 
 
 How many are his foes! 
 How many ways there are to sin 
 
 No living mortal knows. 
 
 " Some of the ditch shy are, yet can 
 
 Lie tumbling in the mire; 
 Some, though they shun the frying-pan, 
 
 Do leap into the fire."
 
 THE PILGBIM's PE0GBE8S. 189 
 
 After this, I beheld until they were come unto the Land of Beulah, 
 where the sun shineth night and day. Here, because they were weary, 
 they betook themselves awhile to rest; and, because this country was 
 common for pilgrims, and because the orchards and vineyards that were 
 here belonged to the King of the Celestial Country, therefore they were 
 licensed to make bold with any of his things. But a little while soon 
 refreshed them here; for the bells did so ring, and the trumpets con- 
 tinually sound so melodiously, that they could not sleep; and yet they 
 received as much refreshing as if they had slept their sleep ever so 
 soundly. Here also all the noise of them that walked in the streets 
 was. More pilgrims are come to town. And another would answer, saying, 
 And so many went over the water, and were let in at the golden gates 
 to-day. They would cry again. There is now a legion of Shining Ones 
 just come to town, by which we know that there are more pilgrims 
 upon the road; for here they come to wait for them, and to comfort 
 them after all their sorrow. Then the Pilgrims got up, and walked to 
 and fro; but how were their ears now filled with heavenly noises, and 
 their eyes delighted with celestial visions! In this land they heard 
 nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing, smclled nothing, tasted nothing, that 
 was ofiensive to their stomach or mind; only when they tasted of the 
 water of the river over which they were to go, they thought that tasted 
 a little bitterish to the palate, but it proved sweeter when it was down. 
 
 In this place there was a record kept of the names of them that had 
 been pilgrims of old, and a history of all the famous acts that they 
 had done. It was here also much discoursed, how the river to some 
 had had its Sowings, and what ebbings it has had while others have 
 gone over. It has been in a manner dry for some, while it has over- 
 flowed its banks for others. 
 
 In this place the children of the town would go into the King's 
 gardens, and gather nosegays for the Pilgrims, and bring them to them 
 with much affection. Here also grew camphire, with spikenard and 
 saffron, calamus and cinnamon, with all its trees of frankincense, myrrh, 
 and aloes, with all chief spices. With these the Pilgrims' chambers were 
 perfumed, while they staid here; and with these were their bodies 
 anointed, to prepare them to go over the river when the time appointed 
 was come. 
 
 Now, while they lay here, and waited for the good hour, there was a 
 noise in the town that there was a post come from the Celestial City 
 with matter of great importance to one Christiana, the wife of Christian 
 the Pilgrim. So inquiry was made for her, and the house was found 
 out where she was; so the post presented her with a letter, the contents 
 whereof were, " Hail, good woman ! I bring thee tidings that the Master 
 calleth for thee, and cxpecteth that thou shouldcst stand in his presence, 
 in clothes of immortality, within these ten days." 
 
 When he had read this letter to her. he gave her therewith a sure 
 token that he was a true messenger, and was come to bid her make 
 haste to be gone. The token was an arrow with a point sharpened
 
 190 THE pilgrim's PE0QEES8. 
 
 witli love, let easily into her heart, which by degrees wronglit so effec- 
 tually with her, that at the time appointed she must be gone. 
 
 When Christiana saw that her time was come, and that she was the 
 first of this company that was to go over, she called for Mr. Great-heart 
 her guide, and told him how matters were. So he told her he was 
 heartily glad of the news, and could have been glad had the post come 
 for him. Then she bid that he should give advice how all things should 
 be prepared for her journey. So he told her, saying, thus and thus it 
 must be; and we that survive will accompany you to the river side. 
 
 Then she called for her children, and gave them her blessing, and 
 told them, that she yet read with comfort the mark that was set in 
 their foreheads, and was glad to see them with her there, and that they 
 had kept their garments so white. Lastly, she bequeathed to the poor 
 that little she had, and commanded her sons and her daughters to be 
 ready against the messenger should come for them. 
 
 When she had spoken these words to her guide and to her children, 
 she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and said unto him, Sir, you have 
 in all places showed yourself true-hearted ; "be faithful unto death," and 
 my King will give you " a crown of life." I would also entreat you to 
 have an eye to my children; and if at any time you see them faint, 
 speak comfortably to them. For my daughters, my sons' wives, they 
 have been faithful, and a fulfilling of the promise upon them will be 
 their end. But she gave Mr. Stand-fast a ring. 
 
 Then she called for old Mr. Honest, and said of him, "Behold an 
 Israelite indeed, in whom there is no guile." Then said he, I wish you 
 a fair day when you set out for Mount Zion, and shall be glad to see 
 that you go over the river dry-shod. But she answered. Come wet, 
 come dry, I long to be gone; for, however the weather is in my journey, 
 I shall have time enough when I come there to sit down and rest me 
 and dry me. 
 
 Then came in that good man Mr. Ready-to-halt to see her. So she 
 said to him. Thy travel hither has been with difficulty; but that will 
 make thy rest the sweeter. But watch and be ready; for at an hour 
 when you think not the messenger may come. 
 
 After him came in Mr. Despondency, and his daughter Much-afraid, 
 to whom she said, Tou ought with thankfulness for ever to remember 
 your deliverance from the hands of Giant Despair, and out of Doubting 
 Castle. The effect of that mercy is, that you are brought with safety 
 hither. Be ye watchful, and cast away fear; "be sober and hope to the 
 end." 
 
 Then she said to Mr. Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered from the mouth 
 of Giant Slay-good, that thou mightest live in the light of the living 
 for ever, and see thy King with comfort; only I advise thee to repent 
 thee of thine aptness to fear and doubt of his goodness, before he sends 
 for thee; lest thou shouldest, when he comes, be forced to stand before 
 him, for that fault, with blushing. 
 
 Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. So the road
 
 
 
 ■^•x \^ 
 
 Christiana crossing' the River.
 
 THE PIIGEIM's PROOEE88. 191 
 
 was full of people to see her fake her journey. But, behold, ail the 
 banks beyond the river were full of horses and chariots, which were 
 come down from above to accompany her to the city gate. So she came 
 forth, and entered the river, with a beckon of farewell to those that 
 followed her to the river side. The last words that she was heard to 
 say here was, I come, Lord, to be with thee, and bless thee. 
 
 So her children and friends returned to their place, for that those 
 that waited for Christiana had carried her out of their sight So she 
 went and called, and entered in at the gate with all the ceremonies oi' 
 joy that her husband Christian had done before her. 
 
 At her departure her children wept; but Mr Great-heart and Mr 
 Valiant played upon the well-tuned cymbal and harp for joy. So all 
 departed to their respective places. 
 
 In process of time there came a post to the town again, and his 
 business was with Mr. Eeady-to-halt. So he inquired him out, and said 
 to him, I am come to thee in the name of Him whom thou hast loved 
 and followed, though upon crutches; and my message is to tell thee, 
 that He expects thee at his table to sup with him, in his kingdom, the 
 next day after Easter, wherefore prepare thyself for this journey. 
 
 Then he also gave him a token that he was a true messenger, saying, 
 I have broken thy golden bowl, and loosed thy silver cord. 
 
 After this, Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow-pilgrims, and told 
 them, saying, I am sent for, and God shall surely visit you also. So 
 he desired Mr. Valiant to make his will; and because he had nothing 
 to bequeath to them that should survive him but his crutches and his 
 good wishes, therefore thus he said. These crutches I bequeath to my 
 son that shall tread in my steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he 
 may prove better than I have done. 
 
 Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his conduct and kindness, and 
 so addressed himself to his journey. When he came at the brink of 
 the river, he said. Now I shall have no more need of these crutches, 
 since yonder are chariots and horses for me to ride on. The last words 
 he was heard to say was, Welcome life! So he went his way 
 
 After this, Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought him, that the post 
 sounded his horn at his chamber-door Then he came in, and told him. 
 saying, I am come to tell thee that thy master hath need of thee; and 
 that in very little time thou must behold his face in brightness. And 
 take this as a token of the truth of my message, "Those that look out 
 of the windows shall be darkened," (Eccles xii 3 ) 
 
 Then Mr Feeble-mind called for his friends, and told them what 
 errand had been brought unto him, and what token he had received of 
 the truth of the message. Then he said. Since I have nothing to be- 
 queath to any, to what purpose should I make a will ? As ft)r my 
 feeble mind, that I will leave behind me, for that, I have need of that 
 in the place whither I go. Nor is it worth bestowing upon thir iiooiMt. 
 pilgrim; wherefore, when I am goJi&, 1 tlesiro lilrit you, 'Jr. T vli«fl4 
 would bury it in a diinghill This done, and the day bt'iug Aome lu 
 which he was to depart, he entered the river as the rest. His last words
 
 192 THE PILGEIM's PE0GEES8. 
 
 were, Hold out, faith and patience. So he went over to the other side. 
 
 When days had many of them passed away Mr. Despondency was sent 
 for; for a post was come, and brought this message to him: Trembling 
 man, these are to summon thee to be ready with thy Bang by the D«jxt 
 Lord's day, to shout for joy for thy deliverance from all thy doubtings. 
 
 And, said the messenger, that my message is true, take this for a 
 proof; so he gave him the grasshopper to be a burden unto him. Now, 
 Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose name was Much-afraid, said, when 
 she heard what was done, that she would go with her father. Then 
 Mr. Despondency said to his friends. Myself and my daughter, you know 
 what we have been, and how troublesomely we have behaved ourselves 
 in every company. My will and my daughter's is, that our desponds 
 and slavish fears be by no man ever received, from the day of our 
 departure, for ever; for I know that after my death they will ofiFer 
 themselves to others. For, to be plain with you, they are ghosts the 
 which we entertained when we first began to be pilgrims, and could 
 never shake them off after; and they will walk about and seek enter- 
 tainment of the pilgrims; but, for our sakes, shut ye the doors upon 
 them. 
 
 When the time was come for them to depart, they went to the brink 
 of the river. The last words of Mr. Despondency were. Farewell night, 
 welcome day. His daughter went through the river singing, but none 
 could understand what she said. 
 
 Then it came to pass, a while after, there was a post in the town that 
 inquired for Mr. Honest. So he came to his house where he was, and 
 delivered to his hand these lines: Thou art commanded to be ready 
 against this day seven-night, to present thyself before thy Lord, at his 
 Father's house. And for a token that my message is true, "All thy 
 daughters of music shall be brought low," (Eccles. xii. 4.) Then Mr. 
 Honest called for his friends, and said unto them, I die, but shall make 
 no will. As for my honesty, it shall go with me; let him that comes 
 after be told of this. When the day that he was to be gone was come, 
 he addressed himself to go over the river. Now the river at that time 
 overflowed the banks in some places; but Mr. Honest in his lifetime 
 had spoken to one Good-conscience to meet him there, the which he 
 also did, and lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The last 
 words of Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns. So he left the world. 
 
 After this it was noised abroad, that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was taken 
 with a summons by the same post as the other; and had this for a 
 token that the summons was true, " That his pitcher was broken at the 
 fountain," (Eccles. xii. 6.) When he understood it, he called for his 
 friends, and told them of it. Then, said he, I am going to my Father's ; 
 and though with great difficulty I am got hither, yet now I do not 
 rejaent me of all the trouble I have been at to arrive where I am. My 
 sword I give to him that shall succeed me in my pilgrimage, and my 
 courage and skill to him that can get it. My marks and scars I carry 
 v/ith uio, to be a wi/jncsa for me, that I have fought his battles who 
 i.,ow iwill \ui my rewardei'. "Wlien <iho day that he must go hence was
 
 THE Pir.GBTM's PROGRESS 193 
 
 come, many accompanied him to the river side, into which as he went 
 he said, •'Death, where is thy sting?" And as he went down deeper, 
 he said, '"Grave, where is thy victory?" So he passed over, and all the 
 trumpets sounded for him on the other side. 
 
 Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Stand-fast — this Mr. Stand- 
 fast was he that the rest of the Pilgrims found upon his knees in the 
 Enchanted Ground — for the post brought it him open in his hands. 
 The contents whereof were, that he must prepare for a change of life, 
 for his Master was not willing that he should be so far from him anv 
 longer. At this Mr. Standfast was put into a muse. Nay, said the 
 messenger, you need not doubt the truth of my message, for here is a 
 token of the truth thereof: "Thy wheel is broken at the cistern," 
 (Eccles. xii. 6.) Then he called unto him Mr. Great-heart, who was their 
 guide, and said unto him, Sir, although it was not my hap to be much 
 in your good company in the days of my pilgrimage : yet, since the time 
 I knew you, you have been pi'ofitable to me. When I came from home, 
 I left behind me a wife and five small children; let me entreat you, at 
 your return, (for I know that you will go and return to your Master's 
 house, in hopes that you may yet be a conductor to more of the holy 
 pilgrims,) that you send to my family, and let them be acquainted with 
 all that hath or shall happen unto me. Tell them, moreover, of my 
 happy arrival to this place, and of the present and late blessed condition 
 that I am in. Tell them also of Christian, and Christiana his wife, and 
 how she and her children came after her husband. Tell them also of 
 what a happy end she made, and whither she has gone. I have little 
 or nothing to send to my family, except it be prayers and tears for 
 them; of which it will suffice if thou acquaint them, if peradventure 
 they may prevail. 
 
 When Mr. Stand-fast had thus set things in order, and the time being 
 come for him to haste him away, he also went down to the river. Now 
 there was a great calm at that time in the river; wherefore Mr. Stand- 
 fast, when he was about half-way in, stood awhile, and talked to his 
 companions that had waited upon him thither; and he said. This river 
 has been a terror to many; yea, the thoughts of it also liave often 
 frightened mo. Now, methinks, I stand easy, my foot is fixed upon 
 that upon which the feet of the priests that bare the ark of the covenant 
 stood, while Israel went over this Jordan. The waters, indeed, are to 
 the palate bitter, and to the stomach cold; yet the thoughts of what I 
 am going to, and of the conduct that waits for me on the other side, 
 doth lie as a glowing coal at my heart. 
 
 I see myself now at the end of my journey, my toilsome days are 
 ended. I am going now to see that head that was crowned with thorns, 
 and that face that was spit upon for me. 
 
 T have formerly lived by hearsay and faith ; but now I go where I 
 shall live by sight, and shall be with Him in whose company I delight 
 myself 
 
 I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of; and wherever 1 have seen 
 
 o
 
 194 THE ptlgeim's peogeess. 
 
 the print of His shoe in the earth, there I have coveted to sot my foot 
 too. 
 
 His name has been to me as a civet-box; yea, sweeter than all per- 
 fumes. His voice to me has been most sweet; and His countenance I 
 have more desired than they that have most desired the light of the 
 sun. His word I did use to gather for my food, and for antidotes against 
 my faintings. "He has held me, and hath kept me from mine iniquities; 
 yea, my steps hath he strengthened in his way." 
 
 Now, while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed, his 
 strong man bowed under him; and after he had said. Take me, for I 
 fiorae unto Thee, he ceased to be seen of them. 
 
 But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled with horses 
 and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with singers and players on 
 stringed instruments, to welcome the Pilgrims as they went up, and 
 followed one another in at the beautiful gate of the city. 
 
 As for Christian's children, the four boys that Christiana brought with 
 her, with their wives and children, I did not stay where I was till they 
 were gone over. Also, since I came away, I heard one say that they 
 were yet alive, and so would be for the increase of the Church in that 
 place where they were, for a time. 
 
 Shall it be my lot to go that way again, I may give those that desire 
 it an account of what I here am silent about. Meantime, I bid my 
 reader 
 
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