Chapter VIII (2)

_Man._ I left off to watch and pray; I sinned against light and love; I grieved the Spirit, ♦and he is gone from me; I tempted the devil, and he is come into me; I defied God, and he hath forsaken me.

♦ duplicate word “and” removed

_Christian._ But have you no hope? The Son of the Blessed is of tender mercy.

_Man._ But I have crucified him to myself afresh, I have counted his blood an unholy thing, I have done despite to the spirit of grace: and _there remaineth no more sacrifice for sin; but a certain fearful looking for of fiery indignation, which shall devour me as an adversary_.

_Christian._ But can’st thou not repent?

_Man._ No, never; for I have quenched the Spirit. O eternity, eternity! Who can tell the length of eternity?

_Christian._ Well, God help me to watch and pray.――Sir, is it not time for me to go on my way?

_Interpreter._ I will shew thee one thing more, and thou shalt go. So he led him into a chamber where was one rising out of bed, who shook and trembled exceedingly: then said _Christian_, “Why dost thou tremble thus?” This night, said he, as I was in my sleep, I dreamed, and behold the heavens were exceeding black: also it thundered and lightened on every side. So I looked up and saw the skies divide: and I heard a great sound of a trumpet: and I saw one descend, sitting on a cloud, attended with the thousands of heaven; they were all arrayed with flaming fire: also the heavens were in a burning flame. I then heard a voice out of the fire saying, “Arise ye dead and come to judgment;” and behold the rocks rent, the graves were opened, and the dead that were therein came forth: some of those looked up, and were exceeding glad, and some sought to hide themselves under the mountains. Then I saw him who sat upon the cloud open a book, and bid the world draw near; yet was there a distance, by reason of a fierce flame which issued out, and came before him. I heard it also proclaimed to them that attended on him who sat upon the cloud, “Gather together the tares and chaff, and cast them into the lake that burneth with brimstone;” and the bottomless pit opened her mouth, and there came forth smoak and coals of fire. It was also proclaimed, “Gather the wheat into my garner;” and I saw many caught up in the clouds, but I was left. I then called to the mountains to fall upon me, and the rocks to cover me, but in vain: for the man that sat upon the cloud still kept his eye upon me. Then came all my sins to my remembrance, and fear was on every side; so I awoke.

Then said the _Interpreter_ to _Christian_, “Keep these things in thy mind, that they may be as a goad in thy side wherever thou goest; and the comforter be always with thee, and guide thee in the way that leads to the city.”

Now I saw in my dream, that the highway up which I was to go, was fenced on every side with a wall, called _salvation_. Up this way he ran, till he came at a place where stood a cross, and somewhat below, a sepulchre. Just as _Christian_ came to the cross, his burthen loosed, fell off, and rolled down, till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where it fell in; and I saw it no more.

Then was _Christian_ glad, and said with a merry heart, _The life that I now ♦live, I live by faith in the Son of God; who loved me, and gave himself for me_.

♦ “life” replaced with “live”

Then he stood awhile to look and wonder, even till the tears ran down his cheeks; and as he stood, three shining ones came and saluted him with, _Peace be unto thee_. Then the first said unto him, _thy sins are forgiven thee_; the second striped him of _his rags, and cloathed_ him with change of raiment; and the third _set a mark on his forehead_, and gave him a roll, with a seal upon it, which he bid him look on as he ran, and give it at the gate of the city.

I beheld then that he went on rejoicing, till he came to the foot of the hill _difficulty_. At the bottom of this was a spring, of which he drank, and was refreshed, and then he began to go up the hill. Sometimes he ran; then walked; then climbed on his hands and knees, because of the steepness of the place. Now, about the midway to the top of the hill, was a pleasant arbour, planted by the Lord of the hill, for the relief of weary travellers. Here therefore he sat down to rest, and pulled his roll out of his bosom, to read therein, and comfort himself. He also began to survey his new raiment, till he fell into a slumber, and thence into a fast sleep, which held him till it was almost night: and, in his sleep, his roll fell out of his hand. Then came one to him and said, _Go to the Ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise_. On this he started up, and went apace till he came to the top of the hill.

He now felt in his bosom for his roll, that he might read therein, and be comforted: but he found it not. Then was he much perplexed, and knew not what to do. At last he bethought himself, that he had slept in the arbour on the side of the hill; and falling down, he asked God forgiveness for his folly, and then went back to look for his roll. But all the way he went, who can tell the sorrow of his heart? Sometimes he sighed, sometimes he wept; mean while, looking carefully on each side, if in any wise he might find it. He went thus till he came in sight of the arbour, where he had sat and slept. But that sight renewed his grief, till he broke out, “O wretched man that I am! That I should sleep in the midst of difficulty! That I should use that rest for ease to my flesh, which was intended only for the relief of the spirits of weary pilgrims! How far might I have been on my way by this! And now also the day is far spent.” By this time he was come to the arbour again; where, looking under the seat he espied his roll; with trembling and haste he caught it up. But who can tell how joyful he was? For this roll was _the assurance_ of his life and acceptance at the desired haven. He laid it up in his bosom, gave God thanks, and with tears of joy betook himself again to his journey. He got up the hill just as the sun went down; when, lifting up his eyes, he beheld a stately palace before him, which stood by the high-way side.

So he made haste and went forward, that if possible he might get lodging there. But before he had gone far, he entered into a narrow passage, about a furlong from the porter’s lodge: when, looking carefully before him as he went, he espied two lions in the way. Then he was afraid, and thought to go back; but the porter perceiving him to make a halt, cried out, “Is thy strength so small? Fear them not. They are chained; and are placed there for the trial of thy faith, keep in the midst of the path, and no hurt shall come unto thee.”

Then I saw that he went on, though trembling, till he came to the gate, and asked, if he might lodge there?

_Porter._ I will call one of the house. So he rung a bell, and there came out a damsel, named _Discretion_; who, after asking him several questions, said, “I will call out one or two more of the family;” so she ran to the door, and called _Piety_, and _Charity_; who, after a little more discourse with him, brought him in; and many meeting him at the entrance, said, “Come in thou blessed of the Lord; this house was built to entertain travellers to _Zion_.”

They sat talking together till supper was ready. And at the table also, all their talk was about the Lord of the hill, what he had done; how great a warrior he was; and how he had fought with and slain him that had the power of death; though not without great danger to himself, and the loss of much blood.

Thus they discoursed till late at night; and then _Christian_ was laid in a large upper chamber, the name of which was _Peace_. In the morning they shewed him the records of the greatest antiquity: in which was the pedigree of the Lord of the hill, the son of the Ancient of days. Here also were fully shewn the acts he had done, and the worthy deeds of many of his servants, who had _subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, stopt the mouths of lions, quenched the violence of fire; escaped the edge of the sword, waxed valiant in fight, and turned to flight the armies of the aliens_.

The next day they took him into the armory, where they shewed him all manner of furniture, provided for pilgrims; swords, shields, helmets, breast-plates, and shoes that would never wear out. And there was here enough of these to arm as many men as there are stars in heaven for multitude.

They then armed him from head to foot, lest he should meet with assaults by the way. And when he set out, _Piety_, _Charity_, and _Discretion_ accompanied him to the foot of the hill. Then said _Christian_, “As it was difficult coming up this hill, so I see it is dangerous going down.” “It is so,” said _Charity_, “for it is a hard thing for a man to go down into the valley of _humiliation_, and catch no slip by the way.” When they were come to the bottom, they gave him a loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and a cluster of raisins; and then he went on his way.

He had gone but a little way in the valley, before he espied a foul fiend coming to meet him; his name was _Apollyon_. Then did he cast in his mind, whether to go back, or stand his ground. But he considered he had no armour for his back, and therefore resolved to stand. So he went on, and _Apollyon_ met with him. Now the monster was hideous to behold. He was cloathed with scales; he had wings like a dragon; out of his belly came fire and smoak, and his mouth was as the mouth of a lion. He beheld _Christian_ with a disdainful look, and began to question him thus:

_Apollyon._ Whence comest thou? And whether dost thou go?

_Christian._ I came from the city of _Destruction_ and am going to mount _Zion_.

_Apollyon._ Thou art one of my subjects. All that country is mine. I am the prince and god of it. How is it that thou art fled from thy king.

_Christian._ I _was_ your subject; but your service was hard, and I could endure it no longer.

_Apollyon._ Since thou complainest of my service, go back with me; and whatever our country affords, I will give thee.

_Christian._ But I have hired myself to another, even the King of Kings. How then can I go back?

_Apollyon._ It is common for those that have professed themselves his servants, after a while to return to me. Do thou so, and all shall be well.

_Christian._ I have sworn allegiance to him; and how can I go from this, without being a traitor.

_Apollyon._ Thou didst the same to me; and yet I will pass by all, if thou wilt now return.

_Christian._ I tell thee, once for all, I like his service, his wages, his government, his servants, his company, and country, better than thine; and him only will I serve.

_Apollyon._ Yet consider in cool blood, what thou art like to meet with in the way that thou goest. How many of his servants came to ill ends? How many have been put to shameful deaths? And yet, as good a master as he is, he cometh not to deliver them out of my hands.

_Christian._ His delaying to deliver them, is on purpose to try their love. And as for their ill end, as thou callest it, that is their glory. For present deliverance they ask it not; being content to wait for their reward, till their Prince shall come.

_Apollyon._ But what reward shalt thou have, who hast already been unfaithful in thy service to him.

_Christian._ Wherein?

_Apollyon._ Thou didst faint at setting out, in the slough of _Despond_. Thou didst attempt wrong ways to be rid of thy burthen. Thou didst sinfully sleep, and lose thy choice things. Thou wast well nigh frighted back by the lions. And when thou talkest of thy journey, and of what thou hast seen and heard, there is pride in all thou sayest.

_Christian._ All this is true, and much more. But the King I serve is a merciful King; yea, I know, he is merciful to _my_ unrighteousness, and _my_ sins he remembreth no more.

Then _Apollyon_ broke out into a rage, and said, “I am an enemy to thy King. I hate his person, his people, his laws. I am come out on purpose to withstand thee.”

_Christian._ Beware what thou dost. I am in the King’s highway, the way of holiness.

Then did _Apollyon_ stride quite over the way, and said, “I am void of fear in this matter. Prepare thyself to die. For no farther shalt thou go. Here will I spill thy soul.”

With that he threw a flaming dart at his breast: but _Christian_ caught it with his shield, and drew his sword while _Apollyon_ continued throwing darts as thick as hail. This made _Christian_ give a little back; but he soon took courage again: yet the combat lasted for above half a day, he at length began to grow faint and weary.

_Apollyon_ seeing this, came up close to _Christian_, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful fall; and withal _Christian_’s sword flew out of his hand. Then said _Apollyon_, “I am sure of thee now.” But as he was fetching his last blow, _Christian_ nimbly stretched out his hand for his sword, and caught it, saying, _Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy; when I fall, I shall arise_; and with that he gave him a dreadful thrust, which made him draw back. _Christian_ perceiving this, made at him again, saying, _Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loveth us_. But _Apollyon_, spread forth his dragon’s wings, and fled away, that _Christian_ saw him no more.

Then there came to him a hand with some of the leaves of the tree of life, which he applied to his wounds, and they were immediately healed. After this he addressed himself to his journey, but with his sword drawn in his hand. Now at the end of this valley was another called, _The valley of the Shadow of Death_. The prophet _Jeremiah_ describes it thus, _A wilderness, a land of deserts and of pits, a land of drought, a land that no man_ (but a Christian¹) _passeth through, and where no man dwelt_.

¹ _N. B._ I cannot learn, either from scripture or experience,
that every Christian passes through this.

On the right-hand of this valley was a deep ditch, that is it into which the blind have led the blind, in all ages, and have both there miserably perished together. On the left, there was a dangerous quagmire, into which whoever falls, (as _David_ did once) finds no bottom for his foot to stand on.

The path also was exceeding narrow. So that when _Christian_ sought to shun the ditch, he was ready to drop into the mire; and when he sought to shun the mire, to fall into the ditch. Likewise the night was so dark, that often when he lift up his foot, he knew not where he should set it next.

About the midst of the valley was the mouth of hell; and it stood hard by the way side. Now, thought _Christian_, What shall I do? For ever and anon the smoak and flame would come out, with such abundance of sparks and hideous noises, that he found no weapon availed but _prayer_. So he cried aloud, with all his might, _O Lord I beseech thee deliver my soul_. He walked on a great while in the midst of the flames. Also he heard doleful voices, and rushing to and fro; so that sometimes he thought he should be trodden down like mire in the streets. Thus he went on for several miles, till he heard a company of fiends coming forward to meet him. At this he knew not what to do; but at length resolved to go on. They seemed to come nearer and nearer; but when they were just come up, 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.

I took notice, that _Christian_ was now so amazed, he did not know his own voice: for just as he was over-against the mouth of the pit, one of the wicked ones stepped up softly, and whispered many grievous blasphemies to him, which he verily thought had proceeded from his own mind.

When he had travelled thus for some time, he heard the voice of one before him, saying, _Though I walk through the valley of the Shadow of Death, I will fear no evil; for thou art with me_.

Then he was glad, hoping to have company by and by; so he hasted on, and in awhile the day broke. Then said _Christian_, _He hath turned the Shadow of Death, into the morning_.

He now looked back, not out of a desire to return, but to see the dangers he had gone through. He feared them more before; but he saw them now more clearly, because of the light of the day. And about this time the sun arose, which was another mercy. For as dangerous as the first part of the valley was, the second was more dangerous still. The way from the place where he now stood, even to the end, being so full of snares, traps, and nets; and also of pits, deep holes, and shelvings down, that, had it now been dark, he must have perished. Then said he, _His candle shineth on my head, and, by his light, I go through darkness_.

In this light he walked to the end of the valley, and came to a small ascent; from whence looking forward, he saw _Faithful_ a little way before him; to whom _Christian_ cried, “Stay, stay, till I come up.” But _Faithful_ answered, “No; I cannot stay for none; I am upon my life; the avenger of blood is behind me.”

At this _Christian_ was somewhat moved, and putting forth all his strength, he soon got up with _Faithful_, and outwent him. So the last was first. Then did _Christian_ smile, because he had got the start of his brother: but not taking heed to his feet, he suddenly stumbled and fell; nor could he rise again, till _Faithful_ came to help him.

Then I saw in my dream, they went lovingly on together, discoursing of many things.

_Christian._ How long after me did you stay in the city of _Destruction_?

_Faith._ Till I could stay no longer; it being in every one’s mouth, that the city would shortly be destroyed with fire from heaven.

_Christian._ But why then did no more of them come with you?

_Faith._ I do not think they firmly believed it, else they could not have staid there.

_Christian._ Did you hear no talk of neighbour _Pliable_?

_♦Faith._ O yes: he is now despised of all. He is seven times worse than if he had never set out.

♦ “Christian” replaced with “Faith”

_Christian._ But why should they despise him, since they despise the way which he forsook?

_Faith._ They say, “O hang him: he is a turncoat; he was not true to his profession.” God _has stirred up his enemies to hiss at him, and make him a proverb, because he has forsaken the way_.

_Christian._ Did you escape the slough of _Despond_?

_Faith._ Yes, but I met with one, whose name was _Wanton_, that had like to have done me a mischief.

_Christian._ How did you avoid it?

_Faith._ I remembered an old writing, which said, _Her steps take hold of hell_. So I shut my eyes. Then she railed on me, and I went my way.

_Christian._ Did you meet with no other assault?

_Faith._ Yes: at the foot of the hill _Difficulty_, I met with a very aged man, who asked, “If I would be content to live with him?” I asked him his name; he said it was _Adam the First_. I asked what wages he would give? He told me, I should be his heir. Then I asked, how long time he would have me live with him? And he told me, “As long as he lived himself.”

_Christian._ And what conclusion did you come to?

_Faith._ At first I was inclined to go with him; but looking on his forehead, I saw there written, _Put off the old man with his deeds_.

_Christian._ And how then?

_Faith._ Then it came strongly into my mind, that however he flattered me now, when he got me home to his house, he would sell me for a slave. So I bade him say no more, for I would not come near the door of his house. Then he reviled me and said, “He would send such a one after me, as would make my way bitter to my soul.” So I turned away from him; but just as I turned, I felt him take hold of my flesh, and give me such a deadly twitch, that I thought he had pulled part of me after him. This made me cry, _O wretched man!_ So I went on up the hill.

When I was but half-way up, I looked behind me and saw one coming after me, swift as the wind. So soon as he overtook me, down he knocked me, and laid me for dead. When I was come a little to myself I asked him, Why he used me so? He said, for inclining to _Adam the First_. And with that he struck me another blow on the breast, and beat me down backward. When I came to myself again, I cried for mercy. But he said, “I know not to shew mercy;” and knocked me down again. He had doubtless made an end of me; but that one came by, and bade him “forbear.”

_Christian._ Who was he that bid him forbear?

_Faith._ I did not know him at first; but as he went by, I saw the holes in his hands and in his side.

_Christian._ The man that overtook you was _Moses_. He spareth none that transgress his law. But did you not see the house on the top of the hill?

_Faith._ Yes; but it was about noon. So I past by.

_Christian._ Did you meet no one in the valley of _Humiliation_?

_Faith._ Yes, I met with one _Shame_: but I think he bears the wrong name; for I could not get quit of him. He would never have done.

_Christian._ Why, what did he say to you?

_Faith._ He said, it was a low mean thing to mind religion; and that a tender conscience was an unmanly thing: that few of the _mighty_, or _rich_, or _wise_, regarded it; nor any of them, till they became fools; till they were persuaded to venture the loss of all, for no body knows what. He objected also, the base and low estate of most of those who minded religion; likewise their ignorance and want of learning, yea, of natural understanding. He said, It was a shame to sit whining under a sermon, and to come sighing and groaning home: that it was a shame to ask my neighbour forgiveness; to make restitution, if I had taken from any; and, above all, to renounce all the men of credit and reputation, and to consort only with the poor and base.

_Christian._ And what did you say?

_Faith._ I knew not what to say at first, till it came into my mind, _That which is highly esteemed of men, is had in abomination with God_. Then I saw what God says is best, is so, though all the men in the world are against it. Therefore they who are fools for Christ’s sake, are the wisest of men; and the poor man that loveth him, is richer than he who hath thousands of gold and silver. I then said with a loud voice, _Shame_, depart! Thou art an enemy to my salvation. _I am not ashamed of the gospel of Christ_; neither of his ways, nor of his servants. I will confess them all before men. So shall he confess me before my Father which is in heaven.

_Christian._ Did you meet no body else in the valley?

_Faith._ No; for I had sunshine all the rest of the way, and also through the _valley of the Shadow of Death_.

As they went on, _Faithful_ looking on one side, saw one walking at a distance. He was a tall man, and more comely at a distance than at hand. _Faithful_ accosted him in this manner:

_Faith._ Friend, whither away? Are you travelling toward mount _Zion_?

_Man._ To the very same.

_Faith._ I hope then we shall have your good company.

_Man._ With all my heart.

_Faith._ Come then, let us pass the time in discoursing of things profitable.

_Man._ It is very acceptable to me to talk of good things. I am glad I have met those that incline to so good a work. For, to speak the truth, there are but few that care thus to spend their time, but rather to speak of unprofitable things. And this hath been a trouble to me. For what is so pleasant as to talk of the things of God? Who would not delight to talk of miracles, wonders, and signs, which are so sweetly penned in the holy scripture?

_Faith._ But, to be profited by the things we talk of should be our chief design.

_Man._ Without doubt. And what so profitable as to talk of these things? Of the vanity of earthly things, and the excellency of things above? Or more particularly, of the insufficiency of our own, and the need of Christ’s righteousness? Of the necessity of the new birth, repentance, faith, and prayer, and all the graces of the holy Spirit?

_Faith._ I am glad to hear this from you.

_Man._ Alas, for want of this it is that so few understand the nature of faith, and the necessity of an inward change, in order to eternal life: but ignorantly live in the works of the law, by which no flesh can be justified. But indeed a man can receive nothing except it be given him from above. All is of grace, not of works.

_Faith._ Well then, what shall we discourse of now?

_Man._ What you will. I will talk of things heavenly or earthly, things moral or evangelical; things past or to come; provided that all be done to edifying.

Now did _Faithful_ begin to wonder, and stepping to _Christian_, said softly, What a brave companion have we got? At this _Christian_ smiled, and said, “This man’s tongue will beguile twenty of them that know him not.”

_Faith._ Do you know him then?

_Christian._ Yes, better than he knows himself. His name is _Talkative_; he comes from our town; his religion lies in his tongue, but has no place in his heart.

_Faith._ Then I am greatly deceived in him.

_Christian._ So you are. He is one of them that _say and do not_. He talks of faith, of prayer, and of the new birth. But he only talks of them. He is the stain and reproach of religion. It can scarce have a good word where he lives, thro’ him. “A saint abroad, (say his neighbours) and a devil at home.” His life has caused many to stumble and fall, and probably will cause many more.

_Faith._ Well, I see saying and doing are two things.

_Christian._ Indeed they are, but poor _Talkative_ is not aware of this: he thinks hearing and saying will make a good Christian, and so deceives his own soul.

_Faith._ I am not so fond of his company now. But how shall we get rid of him?

_Christian._ Why, begin a serious discourse on the _power of religion_: and when he has _approved of it_, (for that he will) ask him plainly, whether it be set up in his _heart_, in his _house_, and in his _conversation_?

Then _Faithful_ stepped forward again, and said, Come, what cheer? How is it now?

_Talk._ I thank you, I thought we should have had a great deal of talk by this time.

_Faith._ Well then, let us begin; and since you leave me to chuse the question, let it be this? How does the saving grace of God discover itself, when it is in the heart of man?

_Talk._ I perceive then our talk is to be about the power of things. Well, ’tis a very good question. I answer thus; first, where the grace of God is in the heart, it causes a great outcry against sin. Secondly,――

_Faith._ Nay, hold. Let us consider one at once. I think you should rather say, it causeth the soul to abhor sin.

_Talk._ Why, what difference is there between crying out against, and abhorring sin?

_Faith._ O, a great deal. I have heard many cry out against sin, who could abide it well enough in the heart, house, and conversation. Some cry out against sin, as a mother cries out against the child in her lap: when she calls it slut and naughty girl; and then falls to kissing and hugging it.

_Talk._ You lie at the catch, I perceive.

_Faith._ No, not I. I am only for setting matters right. But what is the second thing, which discovers 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 good for nothing. For there may be great knowledge, of the mysteries of the gospel, and yet no work of grace in the heart: yea, though a man have all knowledge, he may yet be nothing; and consequently no child of God. When Christ said, Do ye know all these things? And the disciples answered, yes: he said, _Happy are ye if ye do them_. He doth not lay the blessing in knowing, but in doing them. Therefore this sign also is not true.

_Talk._ You lie at the catch again. This is not for edification.

_Faith._ Well, if you please, mention any other sign how this work of grace is discovered.

_Talk._ Not I; for I see we shall not agree.

_Faith._ Will you give me leave to do it?

_Talk._ You may use your pleasure.

_Faith._ A work of grace in the soul is discovered to him that has it thus: first, He is convinced of sin, especially of the entire corruption of his nature, and of unbelief; for which he is condemned already, and hath the wrath of God abiding on him. Secondly, He receiveth redemption in _Christ_’s blood, the ♦forgiveness of sins. Thirdly, Being justified by faith, he hath that peace of God which passeth all understanding. Fourthly, He rejoiceth in hope of the glory of God; he rejoiceth that he hath now received the atonement, the Spirit of God bearing witness with his spirit, that he is a child of God. Fifthly, The love of God is shed abroad in his heart, by the Holy Ghost which is given unto him. And, lastly, Hereby he knoweth he is of God, because he keepeth his commandments and sinneth not.

♦ “foregiveness” replaced with “forgiveness”

It is discovered to others. 1. By his open confession of this faith, and peace, and joy, and love, and power over sin. 2. By a life answerable thereto; by universal obedience, by holiness in all manner of conversation.

Would you object any thing to this? If not, give me leave to propose a second question.

_Talk._ Nay, propose what you will.

_Faith._ Do you experience these things in your own heart? And doth your life answer thereto? Pray, say no more than your conscience can justify you in, and what you know God will say Amen to. For _not he that commendeth himself is approved, but whom the Lord commendeth_.

_Talk._ This kind of discourse I did not expect, nor am I disposed to answer such questions. I am not bound to take you for my catechizer; and I do not understand why you ask them.

_Faith._ I ask them, because (to tell you the truth) I have heard that your religion lies in talk; that your life gives the lie to your profession; that you are a spot among Christians; and, by your unholy conversation, bring a reproach on that worthy name whereby we are called.

_Talk._ Since you judge so rashly, and are so ready to take up evil reports, you are not company for me; so farewel.

Then came up _Christian_, and said, I told you how it would be. You did well to speak plainly. I wish all men would deal with such men as you have done, and then either they would themselves come to be truly religious, or the company of those that are so would be too hot for them.

While he was yet speaking, they saw _Evangelist_ coming after them, who soon overtook them, and said, “Peace be unto you. How hath it fared with you, my friends, since the time of our last parting?”

Then _Christian_ and _Faithful_ told him of all things that had happened to them on the way.

_Evangelist._ I am glad that in all things ye are more than conquerors. I have sowed, and ye have reaped; and the day is coming, when both he that sowed, and they that reaped, shall rejoice together; that is, if ye endure to the end. For in due time ye shall reap, if ye faint not.

“My sons, you have heard in the words of the truth of the gospel, that ye must, thro’ much tribulation, enter into the kingdom of heaven. Therefore you cannot expect to go long on your pilgrimage, without meeting that whereto ye are called. You have found something of the truth of these testimonies already, and more will soon follow. For you will come to a town by and by, where you will be hard beset with enemies. But be ye faithful unto death, saith the Lord, and I will give you a crown of life.”

Then I saw in my dream, that almost as soon he had left them, they came in sight of a town called _Vanity_, where a great fair is kept all the year long, called _Vanity-fair_.

At this fair are sold houses, lands, trade, places, honours, preferments, titles, countries, kingdoms; delights of all sorts, wives, husbands, children, masters, servants, silver, gold, precious stones, blood, lives, bodies and souls of men.

Moreover, here are at all times to be seen jugglings, cheats, games, plays, fools, knaves, and those of every kind. Here are to be seen too, and that for nothing, extortion, rapine, revenge, thefts, murders, adulterers, false swearers, and that of a blood-red colour.

Now the way to mount _Zion_ lies just thro’ the place where this fair is kept; and he that would not go thro’ this fair, must needs go out of the world. Hither therefore _Christian_ and _Faithful_ came: but no sooner did they appear, than all the people in the fair were moved, and the town itself was in an uproar; and that for several reasons: for, 1. Their raiment was quite different from that of any that traded in the fair. 2. So was their speech; for they spoke the language of _Canaan_, which few there understood: so that from one end of the fair to the other, the men of the fair and they seemed barbarians to each other: and, 3. They set light by all that was sold there; they cared not so much as to look upon it; and if any called to them, they looked up and cried, _Turn away my eyes from beholding vanity_.

To one who mocking, asked them, “What will you buy?” They answered, “We buy the truth.” At that the uproar increased; some taunting, some railing, and some calling upon others to smite them. Now was word brought to the great one of the fair, who sent some of his trusty friends, to enquire what these men were. So they were brought before him and asked, Whence they came? Whither they went, and what they did there in such an unusual garb? The men answered, “That they were strangers and pilgrims in the world; that they were going to their own country; and that they had given no occasion to the men of the town thus to abuse and stop them in their journey.” But the examiners said, “Either they were stark mad, or that they came on purpose to put all things into confusion.” Therefore they took them, and besmeared them with dirt, and then put them into the cage, to be a spectacle to all. But the men being patient, and not rendering railing for railing, but contrarywise blessing, some less prejudiced men began to check the baser sort, for their continual abuses to them. These flew at them again, telling them they were as bad as the men in the cage, and ought to be put with them. The others replied. “That, for ought they could see, the men meant no body any harm; and that there were many in the fair who deserved to be punished more than those they thus abused.” After many words, they fell to blows among themselves. Then were these two examined again, and charged with being the authors of all this mischief. So they beat them, and led them in chains up and down the fair, for a terror to others, least they should again speak in their behalf. But _Christian_ and _Faithful_ behaved yet more wisely, and received all the contempt that was put upon them with such meekness, that it won to their side several of the men in the fair. This put the others into a still greater rage, so that they concluded upon their death. Mean while they remanded them to the cage, and made their feet fast in the stocks.

When a convenient time was come, they were brought forth, and arraigned. The judge’s name was Lord _Hategood_. The substance of their indictment was this “That they were enemies to, and disturbers of their trade; that they had made commotions and divisions in the town, and won over some to their own pestilent opinions.”

The first witness against _Faithful_ was _Envy_, who spoke to this effect. “My Lord, this man is one of the vilest men in our country. He neither regards prince nor people, law nor customs; but is continually turning the world upside down. And I myself heard him affirm, that the customs of our town and Christianity could not be reconciled.”

They then called _Superstition_, who spake thus: “My Lord, I have not much knowledge of this man, neither do I desire it; but this I know, ♦that he is a pestilent fellow, and of very dangerous principles. I heard him say, that our religion was naught, and such as it was impossible to please God by. And your lordship very well knows, what must follow from thence: that we worship in vain, and are still in our sins.”

♦ duplicate word “that” removed

Then was _Pickthank_ called, and deposed as follows:

“My Lord, I have heard this fellow rail on our noble prince _Beelzebub_; yea and speak contemptuously of his most honourable friends: nay, he hath not been afraid to rail on you, my Lord, in the same terms, with which he has bespattered most of the nobility and gentry of our town.”

The judge then said, thou traitor, hast thou heard what these honest gentlemen have witnessed against thee?

_Faith._ May I speak a few words?

_Judge._ Sirrah, thou deservest to be slain immediately upon the place; but that all men may see our gentleness to thee, we will hear what thou hast to say.

_Faith._ I say, that all the customs of this place are flatly opposite to the word of God: that your worship, being void both of faith and love, is an abomination to the Lord; and that your prince with all his attendants, are only fit for that hell which is prepared of old for him and his angels.

_Judge._ Gentlemen of the jury, you have heard this man’s own confession. What think ye?

_Jury._ We are all agreed. He is guilty of death.

Immediately after, sentence was past, they brought him out, to do with him according to their law. And, after they had scourged him, and buffeted him, they tied him to a stake, and then burnt him to ashes.

Now I saw that there stood behind the multitude a chariot and horses waiting for _Faithful_, who (so soon as the earthly tabernacle was dissolved) was straightway carried therein thro’ the clouds. But _Christian_ was remanded to prison, and shortly after discharged; he that hath the hearts of all men in his hand, over-ruling the malice of his enemies.

But he went not forth alone; for one, whose name was _Hopeful_, (having been won by their meekness and patience in suffering) resolved to accompany him wherever he went. He also told _Christian_, that there were many more of the men in the fair, that would take their time and follow after.

So they went on without stopping or looking behind them, till they came to a pleasant plain, called _Ease_; but it was narrow, so that they were quickly over it. On the farther side was a little hill, called _Lucre_, and in that hill a silver mine, which many who went that way, had formerly turned aside to see: but the ground breaking in with them, they miserably perished. A little way off, over against it, stood one, who called to _Christian_ and his fellow, “Ho! turn aside hither, and I will shew you a thing.”

_Christian._ For what thing should we turn out of our way?

_Man._ Here is a mine of silver. Come and see.

_Hopeful._ Let us go and see it.

_Christian._ Not I. I have heard of this place before, and how many have been slain here; that treasure is a snare to them that seek it, and hindreth them in their pilgrimage.

_Man._ Will you not come over and see?

_Christian._ _Demas_, I know thee, who thou art. Thou art an enemy to the right ways of the Lord. Thou hast been already condemned for turning aside from his way. And wouldest thou bring us into the same condemnation? Rather shall thy money perish with thee. So they went their way.

Now I saw that on the other side of the plain, stood an old monument, at the sight of which they were surprised; for it seemed as if it had been a woman transformed into a pillar. For some time they could not tell what to make of it, till they espied a writing upon the head, which was, _Remember Lot’s wife_. Ah, my brother, said _Christian_, this is a seasonable sight. Had we gone over to view the hill _Lucre_, we had, for ought I know, been made like this woman a spectacle to all generations.

_Hopeful._ How justly might I have been as she is! She only looked back; and I desired to go and see. I am ashamed such a thought should be in my heart.

_Christian._ Let us take notice of what we see here, for our help in time to come. This woman escaped one judgment; for she fell not in the destruction of _Sodom_; yet she was destroyed by another. She was turned, as we see, into a pillar of salt.

I saw then that they went on their way to a pleasant river, which David calleth, _The river of God_, but _John_, _the river of the water of life_. Now their way lay on the bank of the river. Here they walked with great delight; they drank also of the water of the river, which was enlivening to their weary spirits. And on the banks on either side, were green trees for all manner of fruit; and _the leaves were for the healing of the nations_. On each side of the river was also a meadow, curiously beautified with flowers; and it was green all the year long. In this they lay down and slept; for here they might lie down safely: but being not yet at their journey’s end, after a short time they departed.

They had not journied far, before the river and the way divided from each other. At this they were not a little sorry; yet they durst not go out of the way. The path now grew more and more rough, and their feet were tender with travelling. So the souls of the pilgrims were much discouraged, by reason of the way. Now a little before them there was a meadow on the left hand, and a stile to go over into it. Then said _Christian_, if this meadow lies along by our way-side let us go into it. He went to see, and a path lay along by the way, on the other side of the fence. “’Tis as I wished, said _Christian_; here is a smooth path; come let us go over.”

_Hopeful._ But how if it should lead us out of the way?

_Christian._ Nay, look, does it not go along by the road-side? So _Hopeful_ went after him over the stile. When they were gone over, they found the path very easy for their feet; and withal, they saw one walking before them. They called and asked him, Whither that way led? He said, to mount _Zion_. Look there, said _Christian_. Did I not tell you so? So they followed, and he went before them; but the night coming on, they soon lost sight of him.

He that went before (_Vain-confidence_ by name) not seeing the way, (for it was very dark) fell into a deep pit, which was dug there on purpose, and was dashed to pieces with his fall.

Now they heard him fall, and called to know what was the matter; but there was none to answer, except with groans. Then said _Hopeful_, Where are we now? But _Christian_ was silent, fearing he had led him out of the way. And now it began to thunder and lighten, and rain; and the waters in the meadow rose amain.

Then _Hopeful_ groaned in himself, and said, O that I had kept on my way!

_Christian._ Who would have thought that this path should have led us out of the way?

_Hopeful._ I was afraid at first, and should have spoke plainer, but that you are older than I.

_Christian._ I am sorry I brought you out of the way. But we must not stand still. Let us go back.

_Hopeful._ Let me go before.

_Christian._ No. I led you out of the way. If there be any danger, let me be first therein.

_Hopeful._ Nay, you shall not go first; for your mind being troubled, may bring you out of the way again. But by this time the waters were greatly risen, so that the way was very dangerous. Yet they resolved to go as far as they could. But it was so dark, and the flood so high, that they could not, with all the skill they had, get again to the stile that night. Wherefore, at last they sat down under a tree till day should break; but being weary, they fell asleep. Now there was not far off a castle called _Doubting-castle_, the owner whereof was giant _Despair_, who rising early in the morning, and walking out, found _Christian_ and _Hopeful_ asleep in his ground. With a surly voice, he bid them awake, and asked, whence they came, and what they did there? They told him they were pilgrims that had lost their way. Then said the giant, you have trespassed upon my ground, and therefore must go along with me. So he drove them before him into his castle, and cast them into a dark and dismal dungeon, where they sunk in the mire and dirt. And here they lay, without bread, or water, or light, or any to care for, or comfort them.

The next morning the giant came to them again, and beat them in such a manner, that they were scarcely able to help themselves, or to turn themselves upon the floor; then he left them to bewail their misery, and to mourn under their distress: so that all that day they spent their time in nothing but sighs and bitter lamentations. The day following he returned, and perceiving them to be sore with the blows they had received, he told them, that since they were never likely to escape, their best way was to put an end to their trouble at once. “For what good,” said he, “will life do you? It is only heaping sorrow upon sorrow.” He then left them to consider what to do; and they began consulting together as follows.

_Christian._ Brother, what shall we do? Is it better to live thus, or to die out of hand? In truth, _my soul chuseth strangling rather than life_, and the grave is easier for me than this dungeon.

_Hopeful._ Why, death would be far more welcome to me, than to abide thus for ever. But yet let us consider, our Lord has said, thou shalt do no murder: and if we are forbidden to kill another, much more to kill ourselves: for he that kills another, kills only his body; but he that kills himself, kills both body and soul. Besides, you talk of ease in the grave: but have you forgot the hell whither murderers go? And let us consider again, that all the law is not in the hand of giant _Despair_. Others, I understand, have been taken by him as well as we; and yet have escaped out of his hands. Who knows but God may strike him with death? Or that sometime he may forget to lock us in? For my part, I am resolved to take heart, and to try the utmost to get from under his hand. However, let us endure awhile. The time of release _may_ come: and if not, whatever God permits, let us not be our own murderers.

Toward evening the giant came again, to see if his prisoners had taken his counsel. But finding them alive, he fell into a grievous rage, and told them, since they would not obey him, it should be far worse with them than if they had never been born.

He went back, and they began to consult again, whether they should take his advice or no? _Christian_ seemed to incline to it again: but _Hopeful_ replied as follows:

“My brother, remembrest thou not, how valiant thou hast been heretofore? _Apollyon_ could not destroy thee, nor all thou didst meet in the _valley of the Shadow of Death_. What hardships hast thou already gone through? And art thou now nothing but fears? Thou seest I am in the dungeon as well as thou: also the giant has wounded me as much as thee. He hath cut off the bread and water from my mouth too; and I too mourn without the light. However, in our patience let us possess our souls. Who knows how soon a change may come?”

The next morning the giant took them into the castle-yard, and shewed them the bones and sculls with which it was strewed. “These, said he, were once pilgrims as you are, and they trespassed on my ground; and, when I saw fit, I tore them in pieces, as within ten days I will do you, get you down till then into your dungeon.” So he drove them back, and shut them in.

That night, about midnight, they began to pray, and continued in prayer till near break of day.