John Bunyan's Dream Story/Part I/Section 1
FOREWORD
OF the great books which have been composed or partly written in prison, the Pilgrim's Progress, by John Bunyan, is the best known and the most remarkable. Its author was a young man of thirty-two when he was thrown into the common jail at Bedford, England; he was past forty-four and middle-aged when he was released. His only offense against the law was preaching that which he believed to be true.
The dungeon in which he was immured was so vile that the worst prisons in our country are delightful places when compared with it. But here John Bunyan had ample time to think and to put his thoughts together. His education was of the poorest sort, and during his imprisonment he had access to but two volumes—the Bible and Fox's "Book of Martyrs." As he thought upon the great problems of existence, the idea of a story came, little by little, into his mind—a story in the form of a dream, a story of man's life regarded as a journey or pilgrimage.
By and by, he began to write such a story. He wrote it in the easy, simple language of the common people, and, without knowing it, produced one of the most beautiful prose poems ever written. After his release from prison his work was submitted to a printer who corrected its bad spelling and most of its faulty grammar, and in 1677 it was published.
The Pilgrim's Progress came into the world very modestly; but the charm of the story was such that, without advertisement, it soon grew into fame. Edition after edition was called for, and wherever the English language was known it became the subject of daily talk among the common people. For two hundred years or more no other English book was so generally known and read.
No other book of modern times has had a history so remarkable as this simple story "in the similitude of a dream." It has been translated into eighty languages. It has been turned into verse. It has been rewritten in scholarly English. It has been imitated a score of times in short-lived books whose very titles are forgotten. It has been remodeled and adapted to serve the most remarkable and diverse purposes. It has been dramatized and presented upon the stage as a beautiful and most impressive play. Notwithstanding all this, however, the original work, as first written in the dialect of the humble people of Bunyan's own time and station, remains unequaled and unharmed.
With the changed conditions of life in our own times the popularity of the Pilgrim's Progress has greatly waned. While it was formerly the first and perhaps the only story book read by thousands of children of all ages, it is now known to but few young people except by name. Its distinctively religious character has excluded it from the public schools and caused it to remain a closed book to the majority of twentieth-century readers. Tastes have changed, and long dialogues and disquisitions on faith and justification are no longer interesting or agreeable.
But suppose we divest the story of some of those qualities which may be described as old-fashioned and out of date—suppose that, retaining its essential peculiarities of style and diction, we repeat it without apparent didactic intent, simply as a pleasing narrative—and John Bunyan's dream story becomes a delightful fairy tale, poetic in form and surpassingly interesting.
Such was the intent with which the preparation of the present little book was undertaken. In pursuing this intent, an effort has been made to relate the story in a manner that will appeal to present-day readers simply because of its inherent interest. Wherever it has been possible within the limits of this plan, the words of Bunyan have been retained, and much care has been taken to preserve as far as possible the quaint and beautiful style of the original. Of course much abridgment has been necessary; and, in general, whatever the modern reader would be tempted to skip has been left out or rewritten.
Thus John Bunyan's dream story is presented to the school children of the twentieth century. May it prove to be as acceptable to them as, in its complete form, the Pilgrim's Progress was pleasing to the simple-hearted but adult readers of Bunyan's own time. PROLOGUE
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 drownéd in thy contemplation?
Dost thou love picking meat? Or, wouldst thou see
A man i' the clouds, and hear him speak to thee?
Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Wouldst 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 PROGRESS
FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT WHICH IS TO COME
In the Similitude of a Dream
THE FIRST PART
FROM THE AUTHOR'S APOLOGY FOR HIS BOOK
WHEN at 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: I, writing of the way
And race of saints in this our gospel day,
Fell suddenly into an allegory
About their journey, and the way to glory,
In more than twenty things which I set down.
This done, I twenty more had in my crown;
And they again began to multiply
Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly.
... 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 undertake
Thereby to please my neighbor—no, not I;
I did it my own self to gratify.
... Thus, I set pen to paper with delight,
And quickly had my thoughts in black and white;
For having now my method by the end,
Still as I pulled, it came; and so I penned
It down until it came at last to be,
For length and breadth, the bigness which you see.
Well, when I had thus put mine ends together,
I showed them other, that I might see whether
They would condemn them, or them justify.
And some said, "Let them live"; some, "Let them die."
Some said, "John, print it"; others said, "Not so."
Some said, "It might do good"; others said, "No."
Now was I in a strait, and did not see
Which was the best thing to be done by me.
At last I thought, "Since you are thus divided,
I print it will"; and so the case decided.
—John Bunyan
As I walked through a great wilderness I came to a certain place where there was a Den, and I laid myself down in that place to sleep: and as I slept I dreamed a dream.
The Man with the Burden
THE MAN WITH THE BURDEN
I DREAMED; and I thought that I saw in my dream a man standing with his face turned away from his own house. He was clothed in rags, a book was in his hand, and a great burden was on his back.
Then I saw him open the book and read; and as he read, he wept and cried out, "What shall I do?"
By and by he turned and went into his house. His wife and children saw that he was in trouble, and they wondered; but he kept silent for a long time, and said not a word.
At last, when he could hold in no longer, he said, "Dear ones, do you see this great burden that is on my back? It is so heavy that I can hardly bear its weight."
But they could not see the burden, and they wondered at his words. "Dear father," they said, "you are very tired. When you have slept and are rested you will feel much better."
"Ah, no," he answered; "it is not sleep that will relieve me. For this book says that the city in which we live will surely be burned with fire; and unless we escape from it soon, we shall all perish. Do you wonder that I am distressed?"
They looked at him sorrowfully; for they feared that he had lost his mind. Then they persuaded him to lie down. But he could not sleep. All night long he tossed upon his bed groaning and weeping.
Very early in the morning he arose. His children came to him and said, "Dear father, how do you feel after your night's rest?"
"Worse and worse," he answered. "There is no rest for me while this heavy burden is on my back."
"We cannot see any burden," said his wife. "You are surely losing your mind."
The man looked at her sadly and then went out into the fields. There he walked back and forth all day, sometimes reading from his book and sometimes weeping most bitterly.
"What shall I do to be saved?" he cried; and he looked this way and that as if he would run. But he did not know which way to go.
At length an old man, with long white beard and a gentle face, came that way and saw him weeping.
"What is the matter?" asked the stranger, whose name was Evangelist. "Why are you crying?"
"Oh, sir," answered the man, "this book which I have in my hand tells me that unless I get rid of this heavy burden I shall surely die."
"Then why do you stand here?" asked Evangelist. "Why don't you go and get rid of it?"
"Because I don't know which way to go," said the man, still weeping.
Then Evangelist pointed with his finger towards the blue hills far, far away.
"Look!" he said. "Do you see that wicket gate?"
"No."
"Then do you see a shining light yonder in the distance?"
"Yes, I think I do."
"Well, then, keep that light always in view. Go straight towards it, and by and by you can see the wicket gate. When you have come to the gate, knock, and the one who keeps it will tell you what to do."
THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND
THEN I saw in my dream that the man thanked Evangelist and began to run.
His wife and children, who were watching him, cried out to him to stop. "Come back, father," they called, "Come back and stay with us."
But he would not listen. He ran on, keeping his face towards the far-away hills and never losing sight of the shining light.
His neighbors saw him running, and they wondered what could ail him. Some pitied, and said, "He is mad." Some laughed, and said, "He is a fool." Others called out loudly, "Come back! Come back!"
Two of his friends, whose names were Obstinate and Pliable, ran after him. And, as they were light of foot, they soon overtook him.
"My friends," he said, "why do you run after me?"
"Oh," said the one whose name was Obstinate, "we are going to take you back home."
"No you will not," answered the runner. "I will not go back to that City of Destruction. I have started to a far better place, and I would like to persuade you to go with me."
"And leave all our friends and comforts behind us?" said Obstinate.
"Certainly," answered Graceless, for that was the man's name. "For my book tells me that in the glorious city which lies beyond those far-away mountains I shall find treasures much richer than those I am leaving behind."
"Oh, nonsense!" said Obstinate. "Who has ever seen that city? Will you go back with us? Or will you still behave like a fool?"
"Have a care, neighbor," said the other man, whose name was Pliable. "Perhaps he is right; and if so, he is wiser than we. I have heard of that Celestial City, and I have half a mind to go with him."
"Then go, if you wish," answered Obstinate. "I shall return to my own place. I'll have nothing to do with such foolish fellows."
So he turned and went back; and Graceless and Pliable ran on together across the plain.
"I am glad you are going with me," said Graceless.
"And I am glad to be your companion," said Pliable.
Then they talked as they ran; and Graceless told Pliable many wonderful things about the Celestial City towards which they were going. But the burden that was on his back bore heavily upon him, and he soon became weary. "Dear Pliable," he said, "I cannot go so fast. The way grows rougher, and this burden is hard to carry."
So they went on more slowly, but they kept their faces turned always towards the shining light and the distant mountains.
Soon they came to a great bog that seemed to fill the whole plain before them. It was called the Slough of Despond, and it was so deep with mire that no one had ever been able to build a road across it. But it looked so much like the solid ground that Graceless and Pliable fell into it before they were aware, and were soon waist deep in the mud.
"Dear Pliable, I am sinking still deeper," cried Graceless. "This burden is pressing me down."
"That proves that all you have been telling me is a mistake," said Pliable. "If the road to the Celestial City is like this, I want no more of it."
Then with a desperate struggle he managed to climb out of the bog at the place where he had fallen in. He was covered with mire, and very, very angry; and without trying to help his companion, or stopping to tell him good-by, he strode hastily back toward his home.
Graceless was left to struggle alone in the Slough of Despond. But he kept his face turned toward the distant hills, and even while floundering in the mire he now and then caught glimpses of the shining light.
By and by, he reached the farther side; but there the mire was deep, and his burden was so heavy that he could not climb out. For a long time he struggled there, but scarcely was he able to keep himself from sinking entirely in the dreadful mire.
At length, when his strength was almost gone, a man who heard his cries came down to the edge of the bog to look at him. This man's face was pleasant to see, and his arms were strong. His name was Help.
"How did you get into this bog?" he asked.
"I was on my way to yonder wicket gate," answered Graceless; "and before I saw my danger, I fell in."
"Give me your hand," said Help.
Graceless did so, and Help lifted him out of the mire and set his feet on solid ground.
"Now take courage," he said, "and go straight onward to the wicket gate."
"I thank you," said Graceless. "Now I feel stronger than before; and although this burden is still heavy, I will persevere."
And with that, he went on, keeping his face turned always toward the shining light.
WORLDLY WISEMAN
THEN I saw in my dream that Pliable went with all speed back to his own house. When his neighbors heard that he had returned, they went to visit him. They asked him all sorts of questions about his little journey, and he answered them truly.
"Well, I think you were very wise to come back home so quickly," said the first neighbor.
"You are not to be pitied. You were a fool for having anything to do with that man Graceless," said the second neighbor.
"But you showed yourself a great coward," said the third neighbor. "A man who undertakes a journey and then gives it up as soon as the road becomes rough is not to be depended upon in time of need."
Poor Pliable at first hung his head in shame. But when they began to tell stories about Graceless, and to laugh at what they called his folly, he joined them and laughed as loudly as the rest.
And there let us leave him.
For Graceless was still walking onward, and now and then he caught glimpses of the wicket gate, standing, white and bright, at the entrance to a mountain pass. But his burden was now so heavy that his going was very slow, and at every step he groaned with weariness.
By and by he came to a crossroad, and there a stranger met him. The man smiled when he saw Graceless, and spoke to him in a very pleasant manner.
"How now, my good fellow, where are you going?" he said. "And what are you doing with that big burden on your back?"
Graceless told him that he was on his way to the wicket gate, and that he hoped when he reached it to be shown how to get rid of his burden.
"Well," said the stranger, "I have spent many years in study, and my neighbors call me Worldly Wiseman because of my wisdom. Will you listen to me if I give you some advice?"
"Certainly," said Graceless; "for I need good counsel."
"Well, then, I advise you to get rid of that burden as soon as possible," said Wiseman.
"That is just what I wish to do," answered Graceless. "But I cannot take it off myself, and there is no man in our country who can remove it. And that is why I am going to the wicket gate."
"Who told you to go there?"
"A good man who seemed to me very gentle and loving. His name is Evangelist."
Worldly Wiseman laughed. "He is a fine fellow, indeed, to be giving advice to others," he said. "Why, he knows nothing at all, and yet he pretends to know everything."
"Well, I felt sure that he knew how I might get rid of this burden," answered Graceless. "He showed me this road."
"And a pretty road it is," sneered Mr. Wiseman. "There is not a more dangerous way in all the world. You have already met with some of its difficulties; for I see that the mud of the Slough of Despond is upon you."
"Yes, and I came near being buried in its mire," said Graceless.
"Well, if you keep on in that same road, you will meet with many worse things: hunger and cold, lions, dragons, darkness, and death. Take my advice, and don't cast your life away so foolishly," said Mr. Wiseman.
"Sir," answered Graceless, "this burden is so terrible to me that I am willing to face all sorts of dangers if only I can be delivered from it."
"How came you to get the burden in the first place?"
"By reading this book that I have in my hand."
"I thought so. That book has filled many a man's mind with foolish notions about things of which we know nothing."
"Well, I know one thing. I know that I would like to be eased from this burden."
Worldly Wiseman took Graceless by the hand, and spoke to him very gently.
"Do you see yonder village at the farther end of this broad road?" he asked.
"Yes, I see it," answered Graceless.
"Well, the name of that village is Morality," said Mr. Wiseman. "I have lived there for many years, and it is a very pleasant place, indeed. There is a lawyer there, a near neighbor of mine, who knows all about burdens of every kind. His name is Legality, and I would advise you to go and see him at once."
"Are you sure that he can remove this burden of mine?" asked Graceless.
"Most certainly he can," answered Mr. Wiseman; "and he will do much more. He will put you in the way of getting a home for yourself in our village. Then you may send for your wife and children, and live happily among honest neighbors all the rest of your life."
"Oh, how delightful that would be!" cried Graceless.
"It would certainly be better than trying to reach that wicket gate," said Mr. Wiseman.
"I think so, too," said Graceless. "Please show me the way to that honest lawyer's house."
"Do you see yonder high hill?" asked Mr. Wiseman.
"Yes, I see it very well."
"Then follow the road which leads by that hill. The first house you come to is the house of Mr. Legality."
Graceless thanked him and bade him good-by. Then he turned into the broad road on his left, and walked as fast as his burden would let him towards the hill which had been pointed out to him. It was not more than a mile away, and he soon found himself at its foot.
But what a fearful hill it was! It was now a great mountain, and it seemed to hang right over the road, and Graceless feared every moment that it would topple over upon him. He stood still and trembled. There was no house in sight, no shelter of any kind. The earth shook; flashes of fire came out of the mountain; he knew not which way to go.
"Oh, that I had not listened to the words of Worldly Wiseman!" he cried.
Then, as he lifted his eyes, whom did he see but Evangelist coming to meet him.
"What are you doing here, my friend?" asked the good man.
Graceless could not say a word.
"Are you not the man whom I found crying in the field by the City of Destruction? And didn't I show you the way to the wicket gate?" asked Evangelist.
"Yes, dear sir, you showed me the way," answered the poor man.
"Then how is it that I find you here?" asked Evangelist.
Graceless told him how he had met Mr. Worldly Wiseman at the crossing of the roads, and how he had been persuaded to seek the house of the lawyer Legality. And when he had finished, he cried, "Woe is me now, for I am undone!"
But Evangelist took him by the hand and said, "This Worldly Wiseman, who pretended to be so friendly to you, had no desire to help you. On the contrary, he wished only to turn you out of the way and send you to destruction. For that reason he advised you to go to Mr. Legality, who has no power whatever to remove your burden."
"Alas! Alas!" cried Graceless, "I see now my error. I ought not to have listened to that man. I ought not to have turned off from the straight way which leads toward the shining light."
"Surely you did very wrong," answered Evangelist, "and you deserve to suffer for your folly."
Then there was a great rumbling in the earth, as though words were coming from it; fire flashed from the crevices in the rocks; and the mountain shook from top to bottom.
Graceless expected nothing but death. But seeing the gentle face of Evangelist, he took courage.
"Sir," he asked, "is there no hope? Is there no way of escape? May I not be forgiven? And may I not return and go up to the wicket gate?"
Evangelist answered him very kindly, "Yes, if you are truly sorry for your error, you may again seek the true way. The man at the gate will receive you, for he has good will for all men."
"Then I will go back," said Graceless.
Evangelist kissed him, gave him one smile, and bade him Godspeed.
And Graceless went on with haste, and spoke to no man by the way.
THE WICKET GATE
THEN I saw in my dream that the man Graceless came, by and by, to the wicket gate. Now, over the gate there was written,
KNOCK, AND IT SHALL BE OPENED UNTO YOU
So he knocked, more than once or twice. And as he knocked he kept saying to himself, "May I now enter? Will he that is within open to sorry me?"
By and by there came to the gate a man with a grave but kindly face, whose name was Good-will. He looked out, and when he saw a stranger standing there, he asked, "Who are you? And what do you wish?"
"I am a man with a burden," answered Graceless. "I have come from the City of Destruction, and am going on towards the mountains and the shining light, where I hope to be delivered. I have been told that the way lies through this gate; therefore, I ask if you are willing to let me in."
"I am willing with all my heart," said Good-will; and with that he opened the gate.
Graceless stepped in, but not fast enough for Good-will, who took him by the arm and pulled him quickly.
"Why did you do that?" asked the man.
Then Good-will told him that there was a castle full of wicked giants on the hillside near by, and that often when these giants saw a man about to enter the wicket gate they would shoot at him with their arrows. In this way many persons had been killed before they could enter in.
"How glad I am that I am here!" said Graceless; "and yet I tremble from the dangers I have passed through!"
"Who sent you here?" asked Good-will.
"A good man, called Evangelist," was the answer. "He told me to knock, and he said that you would show me what to do to be delivered from this heavy burden."
"Why did you come alone?" asked Good-will.
"Because none of my neighbors would come. They did not see their danger as I saw mine."
"Did any one know of your coming?"
"Oh, yes. My wife and children saw me start, and they called after me to come back. Some of my friends saw me and followed me a little way."
"And did you come straight hither?"
"Alas, no! for I listened to the words of Mr. Worldly Wiseman and was persuaded to turn aside into a dangerous way."
"Oh, did he meet you? And I suppose he advised you to seek ease from Mr. Legality, did he not?"
"He did," answered Graceless, "and I foolishly listened to his advice."
"Well, Mr. Wiseman is a cheat, and so is Mr. Legality," said Good-will. "What did Mr. Legality say?"
"I went by the broad road to find him," said Graceless; "but the mountain which stands by his house was about to fall upon me, and I was forced to stop."
"That mountain has been the death of many, and it was lucky that you escaped," said Good-will.
"Indeed, I should have perished had not Evangelist met me there. He turned my feet again into the narrow way, and my face toward the shining light. And now I am come, unworthy as I am, into this place. How kind you were to open the gate for me!"
"We refuse none who come and knock. Therefore, come with me, and I will teach you that which you need most to know. But first I will give you a new name. You shall no longer be called Graceless but Christian, for you are now a pilgrim on the road to the Celestial Land."
"Oh, tell me about that road," said Christian.
"Look before you," answered Good-will. "See that narrow highway. It was cast up and built by the great and good men of old. It is the way by which you must go."
"I see it," answered Christian; "but are there no windings in it by which one might lose his way?"
"Not in the way itself," answered Good-will; "but there are many crooks and turnings which join on to it at different places. You may always know the right way, for it is never any other than straight and narrow."
"This burden on my back is very grievous," said Christian. "Can you not in some way help me to get rid of it?"
"Be content to bear your burden yet a little while," answered Good-will. "You will come, by and by, to the place of deliverance; and there it will fall from your back of itself."
"Very well, then," said Christian, "I will go forward on my journey."
"Go," said Good-will, "and you will soon see a beautiful house by the roadside. It is the house of the Interpreter. Knock at the door, and he will open and bid you enter. Tell him your name and whither you are going, and he will show you many excellent things."
So Christian bade his friend farewell, and joyfully renewed his journey.
THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER
THEN I saw in my dream that Christian went on until he came to the house of the Interpreter.
There he knocked again and again; and at last one came to the door and asked who was there.
Christian answered that he was a traveler who was on his way to the Celestial City, and that he wished to see the master of the house.
Then the Interpreter himself came to the door and said, "Come in. I will show you some things that will be helpful to you on your journey."
So Christian went in and stood waiting. Then the Interpreter took a lighted candle and bade him follow into the next room. And there the good man showed the pilgrim wonderful portraits and moving pictures, each one of which taught its lesson of truth.
In one of these pictures two children were shown whose names were Passion and Patience. Passion was always restless and dissatisfied; but Patience was very quiet and contented.
As Christian looked at the picture he saw a man bring a bag of gold and pour out the treasure at Passion's feet. The child was very glad and seized the gold with his hands. He laughed at Patience, and rejoiced in his treasure. But soon it melted away, and he had nothing left but rags.
Christian asked the Interpreter the meaning of this picture.
"I will tell you," he answered. "As the treasure of the child Passion vanished and left him nothing but rags, so shall it be with the men of this world who desire to have all their good things now."
"Yes," said Christian, "I see that Patience was wiser than Passion, for he was contented to wait."
"You are right," answered the Interpreter; "for he waits for the best things, and in due time will be rewarded."
Thus Christian was led from room to room, and in each he was shown some picture or other wonderful object; and the Interpreter explained the meaning of everything that he saw. At last he was taken into a very dark room, where he saw a man sitting in a cage.
The man seemed very sad. He sat with his eyes looking down to the ground. His hands were folded, and he sighed as though his heart would break.
"My friend," said Christian, "who are you?"
"I am not what I once was," answered the man.
"Well, then, what were you once?" asked Christian.
The man answered, "I was once a happy man, with bright prospects in life. I had even a joyful hope of going to the Celestial City."
"And what are you now?" asked Christian.
"I am a man without hope," was the answer. "I am shut up in the iron cage of despair. For when I might have done well, I neglected my duty and wasted my opportunities."
Then said the Interpreter to Christian, "Let this man's misery be a warning to you, my friend."
"Yes, indeed," said Christian. "May God help me to watch and be sober. But, sir, is it not time that I should be going?"
"Tarry till I show you one thing more," said the Interpreter.
So he took Christian by the hand and led him into a chamber where there was a man rising quickly out of bed. The man's face was white with fear and he trembled and shook.
"What is the matter?" asked Christian. "Why are you afraid?"
"Oh, I have had such a terrible dream," answered the man. "I thought that the heavens were black with storm clouds, and that the thunder and lightning were most fearful. Then, as the clouds parted. I saw One sitting among them, with the thousands of heaven around him; and all were clothed in garments of fire.
"A trumpet sounded, and a voice cried, 'Arise all ye, and come to judgment!'
"With that, the rocks were rent, and the earth was opened, and all who had ever lived came forth. Some of these were very glad, and looked upward; and some sought to hide themselves under the mountains.
"Then He that sat among the clouds opened a book, and bade all to draw near and be judged. Thereupon, I sought to hide myself, but could not; for the eyes of the Judge were upon me, and my conscience accused me on every side."
"But what was it that made you so afraid of this sight?" asked Christian.
"Why," answered the man, "I thought that the day of judgment was come, and that I was not ready for it. My conscience afflicted me, and I thought that the Judge had always his eye upon me."
Then the Interpreter led Christian away. "Have you considered all these things?" he asked.
"Yes, and they put me in fear and hope," answered Christian.
So he rested for a short time in this wonderful house of the Interpreter. But he would not tarry long, for he was impatient to go on his way.
"I am thankful to you, O good Interpreter," he said; "for you have shown me many things that are both rare and profitable."
"May the Comforter be always with thee, to guide thee in the way that leads to the City," said the Interpreter.
So Christian, with a lighter heart, renewed his journey.
THE LIFTING OF THE BURDEN
NOW I saw in my dream that Christian went on slowly and with great difficulty. For the road was steep, and the burden on his back was very heavy.
But he toiled on until he came to a hill upon which there was a cross; and at the foot of the hill there was a sepulcher. So, as he climbed the hill and came up to the cross, behold, his burden fell from his shoulders and began to tumble; and it rolled downward till it came to the mouth of the sepulcher, where it fell in, and I saw it no more.
Oh, how merry of heart was Christian then. He stood for a while to look and wonder; for it seemed very strange that the sight of the cross should thus ease him from his burden.
The Three Shining Ones
And as he wondered and wept, he saw three Shining Ones, who saluted him and said, "Peace be to thee."
The first said to him, "I give thee a pure heart."
The second stripped him of his rags and clothed him in beautiful garments.
The third set a mark on his forehead, and gave him a little book with a seal upon it. "Keep this book with care," he said, "and read in it often as you journey onward. When you come to the Celestial City, show it to the keeper of the gate; it shall be your passport."
So the Shining Ones vanished from sight. And Christian was so filled with joy that he leaped three times into the air and then went on, singing,—
"Thus far did I come
With my burden of sin,
And nothing could ease
The grief I was in.
But when I came hither
The burden I lost;
And I found peace and joy
At the foot of the cross."
ADVENTURES ON THE ROAD
THEN I saw in my dream that as Christian was going joyfully on his way he came to a pleasant valley. And there he saw, a little way from the road, three men who were lying fast asleep on the brink of a precipice. They had fetters upon their heels, and their names were Simple, Sloth, and Presumption.
Christian went toward them, and cried out to awaken them. "Ho, there, you sleepers! Wake up, and come away from that dangerous place!"
But they only groaned and settled themselves for a deeper sleep.
"Wake up! wake up!" cried Christian again. "Wake up, and I will help you off with your fetters."
They opened their eyes and looked at him.
"I don't see any danger," said Simple.
"Let me sleep a little longer," said Sloth.
"Every tub must stand upon its own bottom," said Presumption.
Then all went to sleep more soundly than before, and Christian went on his way.
He had not gone far when he saw two climbing over the wall from the field on the left-hand side of the road. As he came up, they joined him, and the three walked on together.
"Gentlemen," said Christian, "who are you, and whither are you going?"
One of them, who had a very soft voice and a goody-goody countenance, answered, "My name is Hypocrisy, and I am from the land of Vainglory."
"And my name," said the other, "is Formalist. We two are close friends and companions, and we are on our way to the Celestial City."
"Why didn't you come in by the gate?" asked Christian.
"The gate?" answered Hypocrisy. "What is the use of going round by the gate, when one can make a short cut across the fields, and jump over the wall?"
"But it is written in this book," said Christian, "that he that climbeth up some other way, the same is a thief and a robber."
"Oh, you needn't call us names," answered Formalist. "It has been the practice a thousand years for people to climb over the wall just as we have done."
"Well," said Christian, "I doubt if your practice will stand the test of trial."
"What of that?" asked Hypocrisy. "You are on the road to the Celestial City; we are on the same road. Are we not as far along on the way as you?"
"We shall see whether you are found true men at the end of the way," answered Christian.
"Well," said Formalist, "you are no better than we, even if you do wear finer garments."
"These garments," said Christian, "were given to me by the Lord of the place to which I am going. Surely they are a token of his kindness, for I had only rags before. And when I get to the city he will know me, for I shall be clothed in his garments."
To this the men made no answer. They only looked at each other and laughed; and Christian walked on ahead of them.
So they all went on until they came to a very high and rugged hill which is called the Hill of Difficulty. At the foot of that hill there was a spring of clear water. And here there were two other roads besides the straight and narrow one. One of these wound around the hill on the right-hand side; the other branched off on the left-hand side. But the narrow road went straight forward over the steepest part of the hill.
Christian went to the spring and drank from it. Then feeling much refreshed, he went onward, right up the difficult way. And as he went he began to sing,
- "The hill, though steep,
- I will ascend;
- For me the toil
- Will not offend.
- Be brave, my heart,
- And do not fear;
- For the way to life
- Leads over here."
The other two men came also to the foot of the hill; but when they saw how high and steep it was, they dreaded to climb it. Then they saw the other two roads, how much easier they seemed; and they decided to follow them.
"All the ways will probably meet again on the other side of the hill," they said.
Now the name of one of these roads was Danger, and the name of the other was Destruction. But the two men did not know that.
So one of them walked briskly onward along the way of Danger, and the other went as fearlessly down the road to Destruction. Soon both were lost in dark forests where there was no pathway to guide them, and they were seen no more.
But Christian toiled onward and upward until he at length reached the top of the hill.