Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Half Title
 Title Page
 Note on the text of the pilgrim's...
 The pilgrim's progress - part...
 The pilgrim's progress - part...
 Back Matter
 Back Cover

Title: The pilgrim's progress
Full Citation
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00087071/00001
 Material Information
Title: The pilgrim's progress
Physical Description: xlviii, 2, 379 p. : ill., facsim. ; 20 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Bunyan, John, 1628-1688
Firth, C. H ( Charles Harding ), 1857-1936 ( Author of introduction )
Bell, Robert Anning, 1863-1933 ( Illustrator )
Methuen & Co ( Publisher )
William Brendon and Son ( Printer )
Publisher: Methuen & Co.
Place of Publication: London
Manufacturer: William Brendon and Son
Publication Date: 1898
Subject: Christian life -- Fiction   ( lcsh )
Salvation -- Fiction   ( lcsh )
Christian pilgrims and pilgrimages -- Fiction   ( lcsh )
Good and evil -- Fiction   ( lcsh )
Prize books (Provenance) -- 1898   ( rbprov )
Allegories -- 1898   ( rbgenr )
Dialogues -- 1898   ( rbgenr )
Juvenile literature -- 1898   ( rbgenr )
Bldn dy 1898
Genre: Prize books (Provenance)   ( rbprov )
Allegories   ( rbgenr )
Dialogues   ( rbgenr )
Juvenile literature   ( rbgenr )
novel   ( marcgt )
Spatial Coverage: England -- London
England -- Plymouth
Statement of Responsibility: by John Bunyan ; with thirty-nine illustrations by Robert Anning Bell ; and an introduction by C.H. Firth.
General Note: Pictorial front cover and spine.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00087071
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002464308
notis - AMG9696
oclc - 07347472

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Page i
        Page i-a
    Front Matter
        Page ii
    Half Title
        Page iii
    Title Page
        Page iv
        Page v
        Page vi
        Page vii
        Page viii
        Page ix
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    Note on the text of the pilgrim's progress
        Page xlix
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    The pilgrim's progress - part I
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    The pilgrim's progress - part II
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    Back Matter
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    Back Cover
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Full Text


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T HE Pilgrim's Progress is so closely related to the life of
Bunyan that it is impossible to appreciate the one
without some knowledge of the other. How was it, one
naturally asks, that a man of little education could produce
two centuries ago a masterpiece which is still read wherever
the English language is spoken, and has been translated
into every European tongue? It is not sufficient to answer
that the author of the work was a genius: it is necessary to
show what the conditions were which enabled his genius to
develop itself, led him to find the form of expression which
best suited its character, and secured for what it produced
both immediate popularity and lasting fame.
Bunyan belonged to a family of Bedfordshire peasants
which can be traced back for many generations in local
records, and the theory that he was of gipsy descent has
long been disproved. His father, Thomas Bunyan, was
a tinker, or, as he calls himself in his will, "a brasier."
He is described by one of the biographers of his son
as "an honest, poor labouring man, who, like Adam un-
paradised, had all the world before him to get his bread
in, and was very careful to maintain his family." John,
who was the eldest son of Thomas Bunyan, was bap-
tised in Elstow Church on November 3oth, 1628. Poor
though his parents were, says he, "it pleased God to put
into their hearts to put me to school to learn both to
read and write; the which I also attained according to the
rate of other poor men's children; though to my shame I
confess I did soon lose that little I learnt, even almost


utterly." His school days were over and he was beginning
to learn his father's trade when the civil war began. He
joined the parliamentary army, not as a volunteer, but as
one of the young men whom Bedfordshire, like other counties
under the Parliament's control, was ordered to impress for
military service. His name appears in the muster roll of a
regiment forming part of the garrison of Newport Pagnell
in November 1644, when he was just sixteen years old, and
he served there till the end of May 1645, and perhaps a few
months longer.
As he was present with his company at Newport on
May 27th, 1645, the story that he fought at the siege of
Leicester must be definitely abandoned, for the king'began
the investment of that town on May 28th.
In 1646 at the latest Bunyan's military service ended.
He had seen something of a soldier's life in a frontier
garrison, but can have taken part in no fighting more
serious than a trifling skirmish, or possibly the siege of
some fortified house. But it must have enlarged the
home-bred country boy's knowledge of men and manners,
and whatever he saw and learnt remained in his mind, and
was put to good use when he came to describe the
character of a puritan soldier in the person of Mr.
Greatheart, and the vicissitudes of a besieged town in
the history of the City of Mansoul. He returned to his
trade, married about the year 1649 a woman of his own
rank whose name is unknown, and set up housekeeping at
Elstow. "This woman and I," says he, "came together as
poor as might be, not having so much household stuff as a
dish or spoon betwixt us both." But she brought with her
two books: The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven, by
Arthur Dent, and Bishop Bayly's Practice of Piety. These
books they sometimes read together, wherein," he tells us,
" I found some things that were not unpleasing to me." In
his younger days Bunyan had been, according to his own
account, careless and vicious. "I had but few equals,


especially considering my years, both for cursing, lying and
blaspheming. I was the very ringleader of all the
youth that kept me company, in all manner of vice and
ungodliness." Yet even then his imagination was sensitive
to supernatural visiting. He was scared at times by fear-
ful dreams and dreadful visions, and afflicted with appre-
hensions of devils. On his marriage he became a reformed
and an outwardly religious man. He felt "some desires to
religion," he went to church twice a Sunday, became over-
run with the spirit of superstition," and began to reverence
both the church itself and the clergyman who ministered
there with great devotion. My neighbours did take me to
be a very godly man, a new and religious man, and did
much marvel to see such a great and famous alteration in
my life and manners." But while others thought him one
of the elect his mind was distracted by doubt and des-
pondency, he doubted the reality of his conversion, the
certainty of his election and salvation. "I began to sink
greatly in my soul, and began to entertain such discourage-
ment in my heart as laid me as low as Hell. I fell at
the sight of my own vileness deeply into despair; for I
concluded that this condition I was in could not stand with
a state of grace. Sure, thought I, I am forsaken of God;
sure I am given up to the Devil and to a reprobate mind.
And thus I continued a long while, even for some years
together." He read the Bible diligently, and at times found
comfort in it. More often "fearful scriptures" would
strike him down as dead, and ring in his ears for days
together. He read religious treatises too; some of the
books of the Ranters which religious friends recommended
to him fell into his hands, but they gave no light, but fresh
doubts. Another book he lighted on was the story of
Francis Spira-an apostate Protestant-which '" was to my
troubled spirit as salt when rubbed into a fresh wound."
Chance at last threw into his hands Martin Luther's com-
mentary an the Galatians, in which, says he, I found my


condition so largely and profoundly handled as if his book
had been written out of my heart. ." It seemed to him
of all the books he had ever seen, the most fit for a wounded
conscience. Much, too, was he helped and comforted by
the teaching of John Gifford-the minister of an Indepen-
dent congregation which had St. John's Church at Bedford
for its meeting place. Bunyan was formally received as a
member of this church in 1653. Gifford's doctrine, he
says, "by God's grace was much for my stability "; it was
"as seasonable to my soul as the former and the latter rain
in their season." His troubles were not yet ended, but by
slow degrees his mind grew less perturbed and he passed
from darkness and terror to peace and light.
In Bunyan's Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners,
which he published in 1666, he told the story of his
spiritual life with a minuteness that strangely contrasts with
his reticence about those outward things on which most
modern autobiographies dilate.
He writes as a man to whom the little world within is
the only real world, and the great one without something
unsubstantial and visionary. Grace Abounding is the best
preface to the Pilgrim's Progress, and the best comment
upon it. Bunyan's allegory is the generalization of his own
experiences, shadowing the incidents of his own history.
The elements of the Pilgrim's Progress are in the earlier
work, waiting for the moment which is to combine them
into an allegorical story. Its style has the same qualities.
There is the strong, simple, homely diction, sometimes
touched with imagination, and always full of passionate
sincerity. There is the same vivid realization of things
unseen, which is already becoming a tendency to give
concrete form to the promptings of the heart and the
abstractions of the brain. Bunyan's struggles with tempta-
tion are pictured as struggles with a corporeal tempter,
audible and visible. At one time he describes himself as
"much followed by this scripture, 'Simon, Simon, behold


Satan hath desired to have you,'" and "sometimes it would
sound so loud within me, yea, call so strongly after me,
that once above all the rest I turned my head over my
shoulder, thinking that verily some man behind me called
me." At times as he prayed, "I have thought I felt the
devil behind me pulling my clothes; he would also be
continually at me in the time of prayer to have done:
'Break off, make haste, you have prayed long enough,
stay no longer."' Worst of all was the voice that cried
in his ear, "Sell Christ for this or that." "This tempta-
tion did put me into such fears that by the very force of my
imagination in labouring to gainsay and resist this wicked-
ness my very body would be put into action, by way of
pushing or thrusting with my hands or elbows, still answer-
ing as fast as the destroyer said, 'Sell Him.'" And again,
when the temptation is conquered, he says, Methought I
saw as if the tempter did leer and steal away from me, as
being ashamed of what he had done." Bunyan's hopes
took the same distinct and concrete form to his mind's eye.
"Now had I an evidence, as I thought, of my salvation
from heaven, with many golden seals thereon all hanging
in my sight My understanding was so enlightened that
I was as though I had seen the Lord Jesus look down
from heaven through the tiles upon me, and direct these
words unto me." His natural instinct was to express each
change of feeling, each vicissitude in his spiritual conflict,
in figurative or metaphorical form. In his despair his
tumultuous thoughts "like masterless hell hounds roar and
bellow within him," his soul was "like a broken vessel
driven as with the winds." To describe his despondency,
he employs the very image he subsequently uses to depict
Christian's experiences in the Pilgrim's Progress, and likens
himself to a child that has fallen into a pool, or a horse
stuck fast in the mire and struggling to reach firm ground.
The instinct which made Bunyan seek to realize his
mental conceptions of the spiritual world in the most


Visible' and tangible shape, and to express each vicissitude
in his religious experience in a simile or a figure, led him
naturally towards allegory. In the verses in which he
explains the origin of the Pilgrim's Progress, he says:

"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."

So now in Grace Abounding Bunyan, comparing his
forlorn condition with the lot of those happy in their
certain faith, "fell suddenly into an allegory."
"About this time, the state and happiness of these poor
people at Bedford was thus, in a dream or Vision,
prescribed to me. I saw as if they were set on the Sunny
side of some high Mountain, there refreshing themselves
with the pleasant beams of the Sun, while I was shivering
and shrinking in the Cold, afflicted with Frost, Snow, and
dark Clouds. Methought, also, betwixt me and them, I
saw a wall that did compass about this mountain; now,
through this wall my soul did greatly desire to pass;
concluding, that if I could, I would go even into the
midst of them, and there also comfort myself with the heat
of their Sun.
"About this wall I thought myself to go again and
again, still prying as I went, to see if I could find some
way or passage, by which I might enter therein; but none
could I find for some time. At the last, I saw, as it were,
a narrow gap, like a little doorway in the Wall, through
which I attempted to pass. Now the passage being very
strait and narrow, I made many efforts to get in, but
all in Vain, even until I was well nigh quite beat out,
by striving to get in. At last, with great striving, me-
thought I at first did get in my head, and after that,
by a sidling striving, my shoulders and my whole Body.
Then I was exceeding glad, and went and sat down in


the midst of them, and so was comforted with the light and
heat of their Sun.
"Now, this Mountain and Wall, etc., was thus made out
to me-the Mountain signified the Church of the living
God; the Sun that shone thereon, the comfortable shining
of his merciful Face on them that were therein; the wall,
I thought, was the Word, that did make separation between
the Christians and the World; and the Gap which was in
this Wall, I thought, was Jesus Christ, who is the way
to God the Father. But forasmuch as the passage was
wonderful narrow, even so narrow that I could not, but
with great difficulty, enter in threat, it showed me that
none could enter into Life, but those that were in down-
right earnest, and unless also they left this wicked World
behind them; for here was only room for Body and Soul,
but not for Body and Soul and Sin.
"This resemblance abode upon my Spirit many days."
Many years were yet to pass before Bunyan would make
a similar resemblance the groundwork of a story presenting
not merely his own experience, but the general experience
of all seekers after righteousness. In the meantime the
training he went through tended to fit him for the task
towards which his natural bent led him. Assiduous reading
of the Bible and of the few religious books he possessed
had been to him a new education, which replaced the little
school learning he had forgotten. Assiduous preaching
and controversial writing completed the process. Some
two years or so after he joined Mr. Gifford's congregation,
brethren who had discovered his gift of utterance, pressed
him to exhort the rest in their private meetings, and "with
much weakness and infirmity" he obeyed their desire.
Urged by them, he began to exhort more publicly, and
at last, about 1656, he tells us, "being still desired by the
church, I was more particularly called forth and appointed
to a more ordinary and public preaching the Word, not
only to and amongst them that believed, but also to offer

* *


he Gospel to those who had not yet received the faith
thereof.' Besides the desire of the church, he felt in his
own mind "a secret pricking thereto." Conscious that he
had a gift, he could not be content unless he exercised it.
"Wherefore," he says, though of all the Saints the most
unworthy, yet I, but with great fear and trembling at the
sight of my own weakness, did set upon the work, and did
according to my gift and the proportion of my faith preach
that blessed Gospel that God had showed me." Soon from
all parts of the country round men came to hear him in
hundreds, and some were touched and greatly affected in
their minds. Ministers of the established church warned
people against "the wandering preaching tinker." Quakers
controverted him, he was derided and slandered, but
nothing could break the spell which he cast over those who
heard him. The secret of his eloquence was its passion
and its sincerity. "I preached what I felt, what I
smartingly did feel. ." "I carried that fire in my own
conscience that I persuaded them to beware of. ." "I
have been in my preaching as if an angel of God had
stood at my back to encourage me. ." I could not
be contented with saying, I believe and am sure, methought
I was more than sure that those things which I then
asserted were true."
In 1660 the Restoration came, and the forcible sup-
pression of nonconformity began. On November i2th,
1660, Bunyan was arrested at a hamlet in Bedfordshire
just as he was about to begin to preach. "At the sessions,"
he relates, I was indicted for an upholder and maintainer
of unlawful conventicles, and for not conforming to the
national worship of the Church of England; and after
some conference there with the judges, they taking my
plain dealing with them for a confession of my indictment,
did sentence me to a perpetual imprisonment because I
refused to conform." He not only refused to conform,
but refused to give up preaching. A friend argued with


him, that the powers that be were ordained of Go. ancd
that therefore it was his duty to obey the law. "Sir," said
Bunyan, "the law hath provided two ways of obeying.
The one is to do that which I in my conscience do believe
that I am bound to do actively, and where I cannot obey
actively there I am willing to lie down, and to suffer what
they shall do unto me."
For the next twelve years Bunyan was a prisoner in the
county gaol at Bedford. In 1666 he is said to have been
released for a short time, but if so he was speedily re-
arrested. Towards the close of his imprisonment its rigour
was considerably relaxed, for from August, 1668, he was
able occasionally to attend the meetings of his congre-
gation, and his name is frequently mentioned in its records.
On January 21st, 1672, while still a prisoner, he was elected
to be its minister, having been hitherto merely one of its
deacons and an occasional preacher. During his confine-
ment he maintained himself and his family by making laces,
and perhaps also by some other handicraft. "I have
been witness," writes a friend, "that his own hands have
ministered to his and his families necessities, making many
hundred gross of long tagged laces to fill up the vacancies
of his time, which he had learned for that purpose since he
had been in prison." He also wrote much. Four works
from Bunyan's pen were published between 1656 and 1660,
and eleven others appeared between 1661 and 1672. One
was a curious "map showing the causes of Salvation and
Damnation." Four of them were verse compositions, viz.,
Profitable Meditations, Prison Meditations, Ebal and
Gerizim, and The Four Last Things. Of the prose works,
Grace Abounding, published in 1666, was the most im-
portant. The friend who visited Bunyan in prison
describes him as having with him there "his library, the
least and yet the best that ever I saw, consisting only of
two books-a Bible and the Book of Martyrs." The copy
of Foxe's Book of Martyrs, which Bunyan bought during


:his imprisonment, is now in the library of the Literary
aid Scientific Institute at Bedford. It contains some
doggerel verses on the margins which Southey and other
biographers have attributed to Bunyan himself, but they
are in the handwriting of one of the later owners of the
book. Southey is nevertheless right in saying that Bunyan
learnt to versify from Foxe. His earliest verses, and
especially his Prison Meditations, closely resemble both
in metre and style "the godly letter of Master Robert
Smith in metre," which Foxe inserts in his account of the
sufferings of the martyrs of Mary's reign. And the farewell
speeches of the martyrs to their friends before they passed
through the fire, probably suggested the similar utterances
of Bunyan's pilgrims before they passed through the river.
The influence of Foxe over Bunyan is further attested by
the fact that he is frequently quoted in Bunyan's religious
treatises, and is indeed the only author so quoted.
In 1672 Charles II., desirous of winning support for the
war against the Dutch, changed his policy towards the
English Nonconformists, and published on March 15th,
1672, his Declaration of Indulgence. On May 8th, Bunyan
and his fellow prisoners at Bedford petitioned for their
release, and on September i3th, 1672, he received with
many others a pardon under the Great Seal. He had ob-
tained his freedom, however, some months before this
formal pardon was granted, and on May 9th, 1672, he was
given a licence to preach either in the house of Josias
Ruffhead at Bedford, which was the meeting-place of his
little congregation, or in any other licensed building.
Ruffhead's house, or rather his barn, and the orchard in
which it stood, were conveyed to Bunyan and his congre-
gation in August, 1672, and the present Bunyan Meeting
at Bedford now stands upon its site.
This respite from persecution was only temporary.
Parliament obliged Charles II. to annul his Declaration
of Indulgence within a year of its promulgation, and the



toleration it had guaranteed came to an end. In i6759
probably towards the end of the year, Bunyan was again
imprisoned, and remained a prisoner till the spring of the
following year. This time the place of his confinement
was the town gaol of Bedford, which stood on the bridge
over the Ouse, and served the double purpose of a prison
and a toll-house. The gaol on the bridge was "the den"
to which Bunyan refers in the opening lines of the Pilgrim's
Progress, as the place in which he laid himself down to
sleep and dreamed his dream. Dr. John Brown-the last
and best of Bunyan's biographers-has proved the time
and the circumstances under which the composition of the
Pilgrim's Progress was begun, by an ingenious and con-
vincing series of arguments. Bunyan occupied himself
during the first part of his imprisonment by writing a
catechism entitled, Instruction for the Ignorant, which he
dedicated to his congregation at Bedford. In the preface
to this work, which was published in 1675, he describes
himself as "being driven from you in presence, not
affection," obviously alluding in these words to his confine-
ment. He then began a discourse called "The Strait
Gate, or the great difficulty of going to heaven, plainly
proving by the Scriptures, that not only the rude and
profane, but many great professors will come short of that
kingdom." After dwelling on the narrowness of the
gate, Bunyan enumerated the different kinds of professing
Christians who would seek to enter by it and would be
unable, and characterized them one by one. As he wrote
a new idea flashed across his mind. He would write not
a treatise only but a story, not of the gate only but of the
road, with all its difficulties and perils, representing not
merely pretended saints, but honest wayfarers on their
journey "from this world to that which is to come."
Such is the account of the origin of the Pilgrim's
Progress given by Bunyan himself in the rough verses
prefixed to it, if we interpret them by the light of the


contents and history of the Strait Gate. When I began
to write this, says Bunyan, I did not mean to make a
book of it.
"Nay, I had undertook
To make another, which when almost done
Before I was aware I this begun."

For I was writing of the way to Heaven, and of the
race of Christians who live nowadays, when I' fell suddenly
into an allegory.' Bunyan appears to have intended to
make this allegory an episode in his treatise on the
Strait Gate, but one thought kindled another, and the
allegory grew so rapidly that he determined to keep it
separate, lest it should quite swallow up and 'eat out'
the serious treatise. The various classes of pretenders to
religion enumerated at the end of the Strait Gate appear
in the Pilgrin's Progress amongst the persons whom
Christian meets upon the road. Those "whose religion
lieth only in their tongues" are represented by Mr. Talka-
tive, the covetous professors who make a gain of religion
by Mr. By-ends, and the wilfully ignorant by "the very
brisk lad" whose name was Ignorance. The legalist is
heard of as Mr. Legality, and the formalist is one of the
two men who "come tumbling over the wall" because they
think it too far round to go to the gate.
Bunyan was released from his imprisonment in 1676, and
published The Strait Gate before the close of that year.
The Pilgrim's Progress seems to have been unfinished when
he left the gaol, and was completed outside its walls. Such
at least is the inference which has been drawn from the
curious break in the story which occurs on p. 153. After
describing the parting of Christian and Hopeful with the
shepherds on the Delectable Mountains, Bunyan concludes,
"So I awoke from my dream." In the next paragraph he
continues, "And I slept and dreamed again, and saw the
same two pilgrims going down, the mountains along the


highway towards the City." Dr. Brown argues with great
probability that this breaking of Bunyan's dream alludes to
his release from the den in which he began his dream.
When Bunyan had resumed and completed the first part of
the Pilgrim's Progress, he showed it to some of his friends
and asked them whether he should print it or not. Some
had scruples about the treatment of sacred things in a
fictitious narrative, but finding them divided he determined
to publish it, prefixing to it, however, a preface defending
his use of similes and figures for the purpose of instruction.
In December, 1677, the book was in the hands of the
printer, Nathaniel Ponder, and was entered by him at
Stationers' Hall. It was licensed on February i8th, 1678,
and published forthwith in a little octavo volume of 232
pages at the price of eighteenpence. A second edition
appeared within the year, a third in 1679, and by 1688 it
had reached an eleventh edition. It was translated into
Dutch in 1682, into French in 1685, and into Welsh in
1688. Additional proof of its popularity was given by
unauthorised continuations, some of which were falsely
attributed to Bunyan. The author of another which
appeared in 1683, honestly styled Bunyan's volume "a
necessary and useful tract which hath deservedly obtained
such an universal esteem and commendation," but com-
plained that certain specified doctrines were inadequately
treated in it, and that some passages occasioned "light-
ness and laughter" in "vain and frothy minds."
The Second Part of the Pilgrim's Progress appeared in
1684. Bunyan's first intention had been to publish a com-
panion to the Pilgrim's Progress rather than a continuation.
"As I was considering with myself," he says, "what I had
written concerning the Progress of the Pilgrim from this
world to glory; and how it has been acceptable to many in
this nation: it came again into my mind to write, as then
of him that was going to Heaven so now of the life and
death of the ungodly and of their travel down from this


world to Hell." With this object he wrote the Life and
Death of Mr. Badman, which appeared in 1680. From this
realistic picture of a vicious and swindling tradesman, which
recalls both in subject and treatment some of Defoe's novels,
Bunyan turned once more to allegory. The Holy War,
which was published in 1682, is an attempt to treat in prose
and for the people the problem which Milton had treated in
verse. Its subject is the fall and redemption of mankind,
the struggle between God and the devil for the soul of man,
narrated under the similitude of the history of a besieged
city. The town of Mansoul, as Mr. Froude has pointed
out, represents sometimes the soul of a single man, some-
times the collective souls of the Christian world, and it is
not always clear which the writer means. The Holy War
is a much more elaborate allegory than the Pilgrim's Pro-
gress, and more completely symbolical in all its details, but
its subject was less fitted for allegorical treatment. One
seeks, like Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained, to explain
the ways of God to man, the other only to represent the
way of man to heaven. One embodies the complete
system of theology, the other rests not so much on Puritan
doctrine as on the Puritan conception of human life. And
because our little systems have their day and their place,
while the religious instinct is something lasting and uni-
versal, the Pilgrim's Progress is read and The Holy War
neglected. Add to this that the personages in the history
of Mansoul are for the most part devoid of any human
interest. The pilgrims have each their own individuality,
while nothing but the label distinguishes Captain Credence
from Captain Conviction. The trials of the Diabolonians
after the conquest of Mansoul awake more interest than
the siege, and the condemned sinners have all the individu-
ality which the saints lack. In The Holy War the
spontaneity and freedom of the Pilgrim's Progress is
absent. "I did it mine own self to gratify," says Bunyan
of his first allegory. His second allegory was too obviously


written to instruct others, and the genius of the story-teller
is cramped by the theological framework of the story.
Possibly Bunyan felt this himself. In the verses at the end
of The Holy War his mind goes back to the earlier
allegory; he turns suddenly to answer the critics who said
the Pilgrim's Progress was not his own, and asserts his
authorship of it in emphatic terms.
"It came from mine own heart so to my head .
Manner and matter too was all mine own,
Nor was it unto any mortal known
Till I had done it. Nor did any then
By books, by wits, by tongues, or hand, or pen
Add five words to it, or wrote half a line
Thereof; the whole and every whit is mine."

This new allegory too, he continues, is also all my
own; but his claim to have written the Pilgrim's Progress
is evidently the more important in his eyes.
The best way to refute these critics, and to respond to
the general desire which had led to the publication of
unauthorized continuations, was to write a second part to
the Pilgrim's Progress. The story "of the setting out of
Christian's wife and children, their dangerous journey, and
their safe arrival at the desired country," was completed in
1684. Bunyan's warrant to Ponder, the printer, for its
publication is dated January Ist, 1684-that is 1685 in our
modern reckoning-and the book was published between
that date and March 25th when the year 1684 ended. It
was nearly as popular as the first part, and reached its sixth
edition in 1693.
Charles II. died on February 6th, 1685, just about the
time when the second part of the Pilgrim's Progress
appeared. The reaction against the Whigs and the
accompanying persecution of the Nonconformists which
had marked the last years of Charles II.'s reign continued
during the first year of his successor's. In 1684 Bunyan
published his Seasonable Counsel, or Advice lo Sufferers,


an exhortation to his persecuted brethren setting forth the
duty of suffering cheerfully for the sake of their consciences,
and the spiritual uses of adversity. His own freedom was
once more in danger, and on December 23rd, 1685, he
conveyed all his property to his wife, in order that his
family might have some means of support if he should be
again imprisoned. But though threatened and molested
he escaped a third imprisonment, and James II.'s change of
policy put an end to the danger.
Each change in the position of English Nonconformity
is reflected in Bunyan's allegories. Persecution was at its
hottest when he began to write, but even then the number
of Nonconformists was increasing. Their sufferings gained
them friends. "The men being patient, and not rendering
railing for railing, but contrarywise blessing, and giving
good words for bad, some men in the Fair that were
more observing and less prejudiced than the rest, began
to check and blame the baser sort for their continual
abuses done by them to the men." A new candidate for
martyrdom filled the place of each who suffered. When
Christian left the town of Vanity, says Bunyan, "I saw in
my dream that he 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." As soon as persecution relaxed
the number of Nonconformists rapidly increased. In 1669
it was computed that there were some thirty in Bedford; in
1676, according to Archbishop Sheldon's religious census,
their number was one hundred and twenty-one adults.
With this increase came a new peril-the peril of false
brethren who for the sake of gain made a profession of
godliness. How much it occupied Bunyan's thoughts the
character of By-ends shows, and above all the manner in
which he retouched and further developed the figures of


By-ends and his friends in the second and third edition of
the first part of the Pilgrim's Progress. The grave irony
of Mr. Money-love's answer to the case of conscience
propounded by his friends is worthy of Swift, and it
was not unneeded. Bunyan himself felt no temptation
to change a small living for a greater, though greater ones
were offered him as his fame spread. He was not a man
that preached by way of bargain for money," wrote his
first biographer, "for he hath refused a more plentiful
income to keep his station."
The renewal of persecution which marked the end of
Charles II.'s reign was preceded by an attack on the
charters of the corporate towns. All over England Whigs
and favourers of Nonconformists were put out of corpora-
tions, and Tories and persecutors put in. This process was
just beginning when Bunyan wrote the Holy War, and it
is anticipated in his account of the remodelling of the
magistracy of Mansoul by Diabolus. When Mansoul was
recaptured by the army of Emmanuel the process was
reversed, a new charter given to the town, and godly
magistrates appointed. In like fashion James II., when
he adopted the policy embodied in the Declaration of
Indulgence, remodelled the corporation of Bedford, and
filled it with compliant tools of the court and with Non-
conformists who were willing to support the king's scheme.
Some of Bunyan's congregation were amongst the new
councillors, and his influence was eagerly sought by the
court candidate for the borough. But Bunyan himself
seems to have distrusted the king's aims in granting liberty
of conscience. He was glad to lay hold of this liberty as
" an acceptable thing in itself," but he would have nothing
to do with the regulators employed to remodel the govern-
ment of the municipalities. "When a great man in those
days, coming to Bedford upon some such errand, sent for
him, as it is supposed to give him a place of public trust,
he would by no means come at him, but sent his excuse."


Dread of the progress of Catholicism explains Bunyan's
reluctance, as it accounts for the lukewarmness of the
Nonconformists in general towards the toleration policy of
James II. When he wrote the first part of the Pilgrim's
Progress he had hardly regarded Catholicism as a serious
danger. Giant Pope was still alive, but grown so crazy
and stiff in his joints that he could only sit at the mouth of
his cave "grinning at pilgrims, and biting his nails because
he cannot come at them." The fierce excitement of the
Popish Plot produced a change of feeling in Bunyan's
party and in Bunyan himself. In the second part of the
Pilgrim's Progress the Roman Church appears in the shape
of the monster living in the woods near the town of Vanity,
a monster that was "very rampant," and "made great
havoc of children." Like Mr. Greatheart and his "valiant
worthies," Bunyan was eager to check the monster's
ravages. One of his last works was a posthumously
published treatise against the Roman Church, called Of
Antichrist and his ruine, and the Slaying of the Witnesses.
He did not live to see the fall of King James put an
end to his fears, or the Revolution which guaranteed the
freedom of conscience he desired. Bunyan died about
ten weeks before William of Orange landed in England,
on August 3ist, 1688, and was buried in the cemetery
in Bunhill Fields.
To contemporaries outside his own sect the author of
the Pilgrim's Progress was nothing but a dissenting
preacher with some little reputation among Nonconformists,
a preacher, as a news-letter which mentioned his death
remarked, "said to be gifted in that way, though once
a cobbler." The literary fame of the author was a thing
of growth as slow as the popularity of his book had been
immediate. Addison cited Bunyan as a proof that even
despicable writers had their admirers, Young compared his
prose to Durfey's poetry, and when Cowper praised him he
apologized for his praises;


"I name thee not, lest so despised a name
Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame."

Yet before the eighteenth century ended the dictators of
taste had begun to praise the work of the unlettered
preacher. Swift wrote that he had been more entertained
and more confirmed by a few pages in the Pilgrim's
Progress than by a long discussion upon the will and
the intellect. Johnson compared passages in it to
Spenser and Dante, and told Boswell it was one of the
three books which readers wished longer. It had great
merit, he declared, "both for invention, imagination, and
conduct of the story," and when Bishop Percy's little
girl confessed that she had not read it, he put her off his
knee at once, and said he would not give a farthing for
her. In 1830 the publication of Southey's edition of the
Pilgrim's Progress, followed by Macaulay's essay, showed
that the critics had at last accepted the verdict of the
people on Bunyan's masterpiece, and in 1880, with the
publication of Froude's life of the author, Bunyan was
formally included in the roll of English men of letters."
It was not a dignity which he ever desired, and he would
probably have classed most of his associates with Talkative
the son of Saywell, who dwelt in Prating Row, and dis-
coursed glibly of the history and mystery of things.
To explain the immediate popularity of the Pilgrim's
Progress with Bunyan's contemporaries is more necessary
than to trace the growth of his posthumous fame. A
certain amount of success the very choice of his subject
secured. Religious books were almost the only serious
reading of the class for which Bunyan wrote. Any allegory
which appealed to Puritans of the lower and middle
classes, and represented in an imaginative form feelings
they had experienced, struggles they had gone through,
and ideals they cherished, was sure of a wide circle of
readers. The inner meaning of Bunyan's narrative was



plain enough, and a hundred pious commentators have
pointed out the significance of every incident. But
considered simply as a story, there was in what Bunyan
terms "the outside of my dream" much to explain its
immediate popularity.
In the first place it was a great advantage that the idea
on which Bunyan based his allegory was one with which
people had long been familiar. Different commentators
have pitched upon different books as containing the germ
of the Pilgrim's Progress. A long list of such works is
given in the preface to Mr. Offor's edition, and Guillaume
de Guilleville's Pilgrimage of the Soule, of which Caxton
printed a translation in 1483, has been gravely republished
as Bunyan's original. If Bunyan took the hint from any
book it was from the Bible.* But the truth is the idea
that life was but a pilgrimage through this world to the
next was common property. In the Middle Ages the sight
of the crowds of men who with staff and scrip and
pilgrim's weeds travelled to the shrines of the Holy Land,
had suggested to contemplative minds the obvious parallel.
As late as the middle of the sixteenth century English
pilgrims flocked to visit the shrines of St. Thomas of
Canterbury or our Lady of Walsingham. The Middle Ages
bequeathed the idea to the Protestants of the sixteenth
and seventeenth centuries, and long after pilgrimages had
ceased, the pilgrim of tradition-
"With his cockle hat and staff,
And his sandal shoon"

was a figure familiar to the minds of the people. To give
the traditional equipment of the pilgrim a spiritual signifi-
cance also was easy and natural. Sir Walter Raleigh, for
instance, does so in the poem called the Pilgrimage,"
which he wrote when he was condemned to death.

* Hebrews xi. 13.


"Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy-immortal diet,
My bottle of Salvation,
My gown of glory, hope's true gage,
And thus I'11 take my pilgrimage."

Emblem writers like Whitney and Quarles had popular-
ized the same idea in their pictures, and George Herbert
had embodied it in one of the poems in his Temple.
Thus the fundamental conception of the Pilgrim's
Progress was one with which English readers were perfectly
familiar, and when Bunyan made it the basis of an allegory,
their minds were prepared to understand his hidden meaning.
Another cause of the book's success was its style. It
addressed the unlettered Puritan in a speech which un-
lettered Puritans could understand. The people for whom
Bunyan wrote were illiterate people like his pilgrims them-
selves. Christian "was a scholar," and could read a notice
board, but Hopeful could not even do that. But they
knew their Bible well, and were never at a loss for a text.
They could follow Bunyan in his highest flights, and in his
most serious theological arguments, because he used the
language of the Bible, and adopted its words, its phrases,
and its imagery. "Bunyan's English," says Mr. J. R.
Green, "is the English of the Bible. In no book do we
see more clearly the new imaginative force which had been
given to the common life of Englishmen by their study of
the Bible."
This is true, but it is not the whole truth. In the
narrative part of the Pilgrim's Progress, and in much of
the dialogue, Bunyan used the every-day language of the
seventeenth century workman or shopkeeper, which was
a much more homely and less dignified dialect than the
language of the Bible.
As Macaulay remarks, the "vocabulary of the Pilgrim's
Progress is the vocabulary of the common people," and



with the limitation just pointed out the statement is correct.
Hence come the colloquialisms, the obsolete words, and
the homely expressions. For instance, when the pilgrims
got to the top of the hill called Difficulty "they were very
willing to sit down, for they were all in a pelting heat."
When they reached their inn after a long day's walking,
the host says to them, "You have gone a good stitch, you
may well be a-weary." Their talk is full of proverbs and
proverbial expressions. Christian says that the house of
Talkative "is as empty of religion as the white of an egg
is of savour." The common people that know Talkative
say that he is "a saint abroad and a devil at home." When
Hopeful says something Christian disapproves, Christian, in
the words of the margin, snibbeth his fellow for unadvised
speaking," and tells him he talks like a newly-hatched
chicken. "Thou talkest like one upon whose head is
the shell to this day."
Sometimes Bunyan drops into the language of his un-
regenerate days. Old Mr. Honest is described by Great-
heart as "a cock of the right kind"-an obvious reminis-
cence of a profane sport, which Bunyan had doubtless
taken part in in the old times. There was a bad relapse
in his account of the escape of the prisoners from Doubt-
ing Castle. Even when Christian had discovered the key
in his bosom, he found the iron gate difficult to unlock,
for "that lock went damnable hard." Scrupulous modern
editors have often altered the adjective.
The colloquial language of the Pilgrim's Progress was
not an accident. Bunyan purposely chose the style most
likely to appeal to the readers he wished to reach. The
fowler, he remarks, sometimes finds his gun and his net
insufficient, and must pipe and whistle to catch his birds.
The fisherman when hook and line fail him is driven to
tickling for trout. In the same way the fisher of men must
attract in order to capture.
A similar reason explains the introduction of the sym-


bolical sights and pictures which the pilgrims see in the
House Beautiful and elsewhere. The man with the muck
rake, the parlour full of dust, the two little children in their
little chairs, the robin with the great spider in its mouth,
and the rest-these transparent parables were introduced
by Bunyan because he was writing for the young and the
unlearned. "I make bold to talk thus metaphorically,"
explains Mr. Greatheart, "for the ripening of the wits of
young readers." So when Mr. Interpreter led Mercy and
Christiana into his "Significant Rooms" to see the hen
and chickens and other moral spectacles, he condescend-
ingly told them, "I chose, my darlings, to lead you into
the room where such things are, because you are women,
and they are easy for you."
These symbolical pictures also illustrate the way in
which Bunyan made use of the popular literature of his
time. For a century before his day emblem-books had
enjoyed a wide popularity both in England and in Europe.
The little pictures symbolically setting forth moral and
religious truths, and accompanied by prose and verse ex-
planations, were familiar to everybody. Hundreds of such
works had been published both at home and abroad,
both by Catholics and Protestants. The most popular of
English emblem-writers, especially with the Puritans, was
Francis Quarles, whoseEmblems, Divine andMoral appeared
in 1635. No book was commoner in Puritan households,
and it cannot be doubted that Bunyan knew a work so easy
to meet with, and so valued by his party. He even tried
his hand at composing emblems himself, and published
in 1686 what he called A Book for Boys and Girls, or
Country Rhymes for Children. It was republished in the
next century under the title of Divine Emblems, and
equipped with curious cuts. The sights which Mr. Inter-
preter shows the pilgrims are attempts to express in plain
prose what Bunyan himself afterwards tried to express in
rough verses, and what the emblem-writers had expressed



in wood cuts or copper plates. Having taken a popular
idea and made it the basis of his allegory, Bunyan now
took a hint from popular literature, using it to embellish
his story, and to make his moral purpose clearer.
But whatever suggestions Bunyan derived from literature,
he drew more from the world around him than from
books. One of the most remarkable qualities of his story
is the faithfulness with which it pictures the life of the
times. The road on which the pilgrims travel is as realisti-
cally described as the pilgrims themselves. It is like an old
Roman road in some respects, for it goes up the hill called
Difficulty, and across "the delicate plain called Ease as
straight as a rule can make it." Sometimes there is a high
wall by the side of it, and fruit trees hang their branches
over the wall to tempt the children. Dogs bark at the
travellers as they pass by, and frighten the women "with
the great voice of their roaring." Other travellers overtake
them or meet them on the road; they see men lying asleep
by the roadside; they see criminals hanging in irons a
little way from it. Sometimes "a fine pleasant green
lane comes down into the road; on one side of it there
is "a meadow and a style to go over into it," or a by-path
such as that which leads Christian and Hopeful into the
grounds of Giant Despair. It may be called the road to
the Celestial City, but it is very like a common English
seventeenth century high-road. The dangers which beset
the wayfarers are (in most cases) dangers which every seven-
teenth century traveller had to face. Compare for instance
Macaulay's description of an English road in the time of
Charles II. "It was only in fine weather that the whole
breadth of the road was available for wheeled vehicles.
Often the mud lay deep on the right and left, and only
a narrow track of firm ground rose above the quagmire.
It happened almost every day that coaches stuck fast until
a team of cattle could be procured from some neighbour-
ing farm to drag them out of the slough." Does not this


description at once recall that "very miry slough" named
Despond, where Christian and Pliable "wallowed for a
time, being grievously bedaubed with the dirt," just because
they missed "the good and substantial stepping-stones in
the middle"? A more serious danger than the mud was
the frequent floods. Macaulay illustrates this from Ralph
Thoresby's account of his journeys from Leeds to London.
"On one occasion he learned that the floods were out
between Ware and London, that passengers had to swim
for their lives, and that a higgler had perished in the
waters. In consequence of these tidings he turned out
of the high-road, and was conducted across some meadows
where it was necessary for him to ride to the saddle skirts
in water. In the course of another journey he narrowly
escaped being swept away by an inundation of the Trent."
In like manner Christian and Hopeful were surprised
in By-path Meadow by the sudden rising of the river.
"By this time the 'waters were greatly risen, by reason of
which the way of going back was very dangerous. It
was so dark, and the flood was so high, that in going
back they had like to have been drowned nine or ten
If the traveller escaped the mud and the waters, there
was a third danger equally common and more terrible.
The latter part of the seventeenth century was the golden
age of the British highwayman. Then flourished Claude
Duval, John Nevison, the Golden Farmer, Muldsack, and
many others whose fame lives in the pages of Johnson's
Lives of Highwaymen and Pirates. The open heaths
and moors round London were their favourite hunting-
grounds, or they lay in wait in the woods that bordered
the great roads. Cambridge scholars on their way to-
London, says Macaulay, trembled as they approached
Epping Forest. Oxford scholars for equally good reasons
thanked God when they had passed Maidenhead Thicket.
The mounted highwaymen attacked horsemen and coaches,



the poor pedestrian was preyed upon by the footpads-
gangs of sturdy rogues armed with cudgels, who assaulted
and robbed the foot-traveller as he tramped on his weary
way, and it was much if they spared his life. Such were
the villains who attacked Valiant-for-truth, and plundered
Little-Faith. Alter the names, and the robbery of Little-
Faith reads like a page from the Police News of the period.
"The thing was this:-
"At the entering in at this passage, there comes down
from Broadway Gate, a Lane called Dead Man's Lane; so
called because of the murders that are commonly done
there; and this Little-Faith going on pilgrimage as we
do now, chanced to sit down there, and slept. Now there
happened at that time, to come down the lane from
Broadway Gate, three sturdy rogues, and their names were
Faint-heart, Mistrust, and Guilt (three brothers), and they
espying Little-Faith, where he was, came galloping up with
speed. Now the good man was just awake from his sleep,
and was getting up to go on his journey. So they came
up all to him, and with threatening language bid him
"At this Little-Faith looked as white as a clout, and had
neither power to fight nor fly. Then said Faint-heart,
Deliver thy purse. But he making no haste to do it
(for he was loathe to lose his money), Mistrust ran up
to him, and thrusting his hand in his pocket, pulled out
thence a bag of silver. Then he cried out, Thieves!
Thieves! With that, Guilt with a great club that was
in his hand, struck Little-Faith on the head, and with
that blow felled him flat to the ground: where he lay
bleeding as one that would bleed to death. All this while
the thieves stood by. But, at last, they hearing that some
were upon the road, and fearing lest it should be one
Great-grace, that dwells in the city of Good-confidence,
they betook themselves to their heels, and left this good
man to shift for himself. Now, after a while, Little-Faith


came to himself, and getting up, made shift to scramble on
his way. This was the story."
On the other hand, some of the perils the pilgrims
meet with are not perils to which seventeenth century
travellers were usually exposed. They did not generally
meet a dragon "straddling quite over the whole breadth of
the way," or a giant preparing to pick a passenger's bones,
or seven devils carrying a man down a very dark lane.
There is a romantic as well as a realistic element in the
story, and for this romantic element Bunyan was indebted
to the popular literature of the time. Dr. Johnson,
discussing the Pilgrim's Progress with Boswell, observes,
in his confident way, that there is reason to think that
Bunyan had read Spenser. A recent editor, Mr. Venables,
takes this hint, and works it out, trying to show from
certain resemblances between the Pilgrim's Progress and
the Faery Queen, that Bunyan was familiar with Spenser's
epic. He compares the House Beautiful to Spenser's
House of Holiness, Apollyon to the Dragon vanquished by
the Red Cross Knight, and the cave of giants Pope and
Pagan with the cave of Despair. Other parallels might be
pointed out, but nevertheless it is very unlikely that Bunyan
ever read a line of Spenser. The sources of Bunyan's
literary inspiration are to be found, not in the books
which were read by scholars and gentlemen, but in the
literature of the people. Both Bunyan and Spenser were
indebted to the romances of chivalry for their romantic
machinery, their giants and dragons and enchanters.
Spenser knew the romances in their literary form, and
in the epics of Ariosto and other Italian poets. Bunyan
knew them in their popular form, in the abridgements,
the compilations, and the imitations which ballads and
chap-books had made familiar to Englishmen of the
uneducated classes. They had been his favourite reading
when he was unconverted. "I remember," he says,
speaking of a preacher, "he alleged many a scripture,



but those I valued not. The Scriptures, thought I, what
are they? A dead letter, a little ink and paper, of three
or four shillings worth. Give me a ballad, a news-book,
George on horseback, or Bevis of Southampton; give me
some book that teaches curious arts, that tells of old
fables; but for the holy Scriptures I cared not."
One of the best examples of these story books is
Richard Johnson's Seven Champions of Christendom,
originally published in 1607, which went through in-
numerable editions. It begins with the life of St. George,
and is doubtless what Bunyan refers to as George." This
book or some other of the same kind suggested many of
the incidents which happen to Bunyan's pilgrims. The
monsters in the Pilgrim's Progress are of two kinds.
Apollyon was a fiend somewhat of the nature of a dragon.
He had "scales like a fish, wings like a dragon, feet like a
bear, out of his belly came fire and smoke, and his mouth
was like the mouth of a lion." He made a "yelling and
a hideous roaring" all the time of the fight, and when he
spake he "spake like a dragon." Christian was healed of
the wounds he received by applying to them some of the
leaves of the tree of life. In the same way St. George
in the Seven Champions was healed of the wounds he got
from the Egyptian dragon, by the virtues of the fruit of a
miraculous tree that grew near the site of the battle.
In the encounters of the pilgrims with the giants the
influence of the romances is more plainly perceptible.
The giants are of a less complex nature than the monsters.
Despair is only an immense man. He had a cap of steel
upon his head, a breastplate of fire girded to him, and he
came out in iron shoes with a great club in his hand."
Slaygood is not only a giant, but a cannibal. He was of
the nature of the flesh eaters," and is found stripping Feeble-
mind "with a purpose after that to pick his bones." He
resembles the giant thirty feet high "who never eats any meat
but the raw flesh of mankind," whom St. George vanquishes.


Giant Maul is perhaps the most typical of Bunyan's
giants, and his fight with Great-heart is the most minutely
described. It begins, as these fights generally begin in the
romances, by a defiance and an exchange of taunts between
the two champions.
"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
"When they had rested them and taken breath they
both fell to it again, and Mr. Great-heart with a full blow
fetched the giant down to the ground. Nay, hold,' quoth
he, 'and let me recover.' So Mr. Great-heart fairly let him
get up; so to it they went again; and the giant missed but
a little of narrowly breaking Mr. Great-heart's skull with his
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
smit the head of the giant from his shoulders."
The incidents of this fight have a general resemblance
to the incidents of the battles recorded in the popular
romances. Giants in these stories habitually fight with
clubs, or even with whole trees. The giant Blanderon in
his fight with St. Anthony employed an oak tree, "and with



his great oak he so nimbly bestirred him with such vehement
blows that they seemed to shake the earth. And had not
the politic knight continually skipped from the fury of his
blow, he had been bruised as small as flesh unto the pot, for
every stroke that the giant gave the root of his oak entered
at least three inches into the ground."
Another family characteristic of these giants is that, like
Giant Maul, they get extremely hot, while the knight, who
is always in good condition, keeps cool. Blanderon, for
instance, grows so breathless that he is finally unable to lift
his club above his head. "The sweat of the giant's brows
ran into his eyes, and by reason he was so extreme fat he
grew so blind that he could not see to endure combat any
Great-heart is a most chivalrous fighter, and when the
giant is knocked down allows him to get up again. St.
Anthony is less generous to Blanderon, and refuses him
the breathing time for which he petitions, but Guy of
Warwick is as obliging as Great-heart. Colebrand, the
giant whom Guy is fighting, becomes very thirsty, and says:
Good Sir, an it be thy will
Give me leave to drink my fill,
For sweet St. Charity,
And I will do thee the same deed
Another time if thou have need,
I tell thee certainly."

On which Guy agrees to wait till he has refreshed himself.
SOne must not exaggerate these resemblances between
Bunyan's story and the stories in which he had once
delighted, but it is plain that he was not uninfluenced by
them. They suggested the adventures to which he gave
an allegorical meaning, and his recollections of them some-
times supplied him with appropriate details.
There is the same mixture of realism and romance in
Bunyan's description of the countries through which the
pilgrims travel, and of the scenery through which the road


passes. Here and there reminiscences of popular literature
colour his pictures, or even suggest his scenes, but for
the most part he draws what he had seen with his own
eyes. Bunyan's feeling for natural beauty is very keen, but
it is the landscape of his native Midlands which pleased
him most. From the roof of the House Beautiful Christian
sees afar off "a most pleasant mountainous country,
beautified with woods and vineyards and fruits of all sorts;
flowers also with springs and fountains very beautiful to
behold." But when he gets amongst rocks he is rather
afraid of them. In the story they threaten to topple down
on the traveller's head, or to give way under his feet.
Woods and green fields, rich meadows and softly-sliding
waters attract Bunyan's imagination most. In his ideal
country, the land of Beulah, the air is "sweet and pleasant,"
"the sun shineth night and day." They heard continually
the singing of birds, and saw every day the flowers appear
in the earth." More mundane, because further from the
celestial city, is the beauty of the Valley of Humiliation.
It is empty and solitary; "I love to be in such places
where there is no rattling with coaches nor rumbling with
wheels," exclaims Mercy. "It consisteth much in meadows,"
says Mr. Great-heart, "and if a man were to come here
in 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 all that would be delightful to
him. Behold how green this valley is, also how beautified
with lilies."
The shepherd boy feeding his father's sheep supplies the
one touch necessary to complete the picture. "The boy
was in very mean clothes but of a very fresh and well-
favoured countenance, and as he sate by himself he sung.
.... Then said their guide, Do you hear him? I will
dare to say that this boy lives a merrier life, and wears
more of that herb called Heartsease in his bosom, than he
that is clad in silk and velvet,"



The song the shepherd sings is a song of content-a
Puritan echo of a hundred similar songs of the Elizabethan
poets-like .in temper, if simpler in expression, to "Art
thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers," or, "My mind
to me a kingdom is," or, "How happy is he born and
taught." We are back in Arcadia, with Sidney's shepherds
piping as if they would never grow old, or with the happy
melodist of Keats "forever piping songs forever new."
These fair lands of Bunyan's fancy are a kind of homely
Arcadia-like the Arcadia of earlier poets, and yet different,
a Puritan instead of a pagan Arcadia. Marlowe's passionate
shepherd promises his shepherdess "a thousand fragrant
posies." "In the land of Beulah the children of the town
would go into the king's gardens to gather nosegays
for the pilgrims, and bring them to them with much
affection." In Marlowe's Arcadia there are shallow rivers
to whose falls melodious birds sing madrigals." In the
grove outside the House Beautiful the birds sing with a
"most curious melodious note," but they sing the psalms
of Sternhold and Hopkins.
Amidst these landscapes from Bedfordshire and the
echoes of Arcadia appear once more the reminiscences
of popular romance. One of the chief characteristics of
romances is what Milton terms

"Forests and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear."

Of this nature is Bunyan's Enchanted Land. "By this
time," he says, "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 sleep,
'tis a question, say some, whether ever they shall rise or
wake again in this world. Over this forest therefore they


went." In one of these arbours Great-heart and his band
find Heedless and Too-bold in their unwaking slumbers.
Just so in the Seven Champions, when St. David ventured
into the Enchanted Garden of the Magician Ormandine,
"all his senses were overtaken with a sudden and heavy
sleep." He fell flat on the ground, "where his eyes were
so fast locked up by magic art, and his waking senses
drowned in such a dead slumber, that it was as impossible
to recover himself from sleep as to pull the sun out of the
firmament." So he lay asleep for seven years. Further on
in the same romance occurs an enchanted bed, which is
not unlike one of Bunyan's arbours. "Whoever but sat
upon the sides, or touched the furniture of the bed, were
presently cast in as deep a sleep as if they had drunk the
juice of Dwaile or the seed of poppy."
Even the conception of the Valley of the Shadow of
Death, which Bunyan invests with so much. spiritual
significance, finds its parallels in these romances. St.
George has to journey through an Enchanted Vale, when
he hears "dismal croaking of night ravens, hissing of
serpents, bellowing of bulls, and roaring of monsters." St.
Andrew traverses in a land of continual darkness the Vale
of Walking Spirits amid like sounds of terror. To say that
here and elsewhere Bunyan's incidents were suggested by
his recollections of popular romance, does not diminish the
originality of the Pilgrim's Progress, but helps to explain
its popularity. The man who, like Bunyan himself, turned
from reading romances to thinking about his soul and its
salvation, found in Bunyan's pages something of the charm
he had found in the old fables of adventure.
When the pilgrims reach Vanity Fair we are once more
amid scenes drawn from the life of the times. "The Fair,"
Bunyan tells us, "was an ancient thing of long standing,
and a very great fair." He describes with the most vivid
realism the rows of booths where all kinds of merchandise
were sold, the shows where jugglings and plays and games



of every kind were to be seen, and the noise of buyers
and sellers in its streets. It is possible, as commentators
suggest, that he had in his mind the actual fair which had
been annually held at Elstow ever since Henry II. had
granted a charter for it to the nuns of Elstow Abbey. Or
he may have recalled the greater fair held at Stourbridge,
near Cambridge, which he must have seen in his travels,
or perhaps the Bartholomew Fair held at Smithfield in
London. In Ben Jonson's play on Bartholomew Fair he
depicts the adventures of two Puritans who strayed into
that scene. All the sights and sounds of the fair shock
them. Walk on in the middle way," cries the leader to
his companion, "turn neither to the right nor to the left;
let not your eyes be drawn aside with vanity, nor your ears
with noises. The wares are the wares of devils, and the
whole Fair is the shop of Satan." Zeal of the land Busy-
as Jonson's Puritan is named-becomes as uncontrollable
as Mr. Fearing when his blood was up. He is moved in
the spirit to protest against the abuses of the fair by
throwing over a basket of gingerbread, and is put in the
stocks for it.
Gifford, in his edition of Jonson, conjectured that Bunyan
in the days of his youth read Jonson's play, and asserted
that Jonson's drama was the groundwork of Vanity Fair.
But nothing is less likely than that Bunyan had read
Jonson's satire against the Puritans; similar incidents
must have come to his knowledge, for they were not un-
common. The Quakers in the days of the Commonwealth
habitually preached in fairs and markets, and suffered
accordingly. "On the market .day," writes George Fox
in his journal, "I went to Lancaster, and spake through
the market in the dreadful power of God, declaring the
day of the Lord to the people, and crying out against all
their deceitful merchandise." In Vanity Fair and in the
incidents which followed the arrival of Christian and


Faithful, Bunyan is once more copying life, and not
borrowing from literature.
Equally realistic is the trial of Christian and Faithful.
It resembles, as Macaulay does not fail to point out, the
parody of justice which was administered by hostile judges
to accused Nonconformists. When Baxter was tried in
1685 for complaining in print of the persecutions of his
brethren, Lord Jefferies behaved very like Lord Hategood.
"This is an old rogue," said Jefferies, "a schismatical
knave, a hypocritical villain. He deserves to be whipped
at the cart's tail." When Baxter strove to argue in his
defence, Jefferies rudely stopped him.
"Richard, Richard, dost thou think we will let thee
poison the Court?"
"Richard, thou art an old knave. Thou hast written
books enough to fill a cart, and every book as full of
sedition as an egg is of meat. By the grace of God I'll
look after thee."
In the same manner Hategood addressed Faithful, saying,
"Thou Runagate, Heretick, and Traitor, hast thou heard
what these honest gentlemen have witnessed against thee ?"
"May I speak a few words in my own defence ?"
"Sirrah, Sirrah, thou deserves to live no longer, but to
be slain immediately upon the place; yet that all men may
see our gentleness towards thee, let us see what thou hast
to say."
The trial at the town of Vanity should be compared
with the trials which took place at the town of Mansoul as
related in the Holy War. There is a singular resemblance
in the deliberations of the two juries, and when the good
men have the upper hand they give the bad men just as
short a shrift as Faithful received.
A comparison of the trials in these two books also brings
out more clearly the influence which another species of
popular literature had exercised upon Bunyan. Allegorical
trials played a great part in English and foreign polemical



literature. There are several anti-Catholic pamphlets of the
time of the English Reformation in which the form of a
trial is adopted. Such for instance is the Examination of
the Mass published in 1547. In the seventeenth century
the same device was often employed by controversialists on
both sides. When the Presbyterians got the upper hand,
and endeavoured to suppress the worship of the Indepen-
dents, a bold Independent printed The Trial of Mr. Per-
secution. Under the Protectorate, when the Government
was engaged in suppressing the old festivals of the Church,
there came to its assistance a Trial of Father Christmas
for corrupting the world by riotous living.
A Puritan divine, Richard Bernard, of Batcombe,
employed this device of a trial for much the same purpose
as Bunyan used it, that is for moral rather than for con-
troversial purposes. Bernard's book, which was published
in 1627, went through nine editions by 1634, and was
very popular with Puritans of the class to which Bunyan
belonged. The title of the book is The Isle of Man, or
the Legal Proceedings in Manshire against Sin. Wherein,
by way of a continued allegory, the chief malefactors dis-
turbing both Church and Commonwealth are detected and
attacked, with their arraignment and judicial trial according
to the laws of England.
Manshire is the name of the county in which the trials
take place. The assizes are being held at the county town
which is called Soul. "That worthy judge Conscience"
presides, and before him the criminals appear one after
another. The names of these offenders are Old Man,
who represents what in theological language is called
"the old Adam," his wife, Mistress Heart, his servant,
Wilful Will, Covetousness, and others. A few extracts
from the trial of Old Man will supply a specimen of
Bernard's method of handling his allegory. The indict-
ment is set forth in the usual legal form.
"Old Man, thou art indicted here by the name of Old


Man of the town of Eve's temptation, in the county of
Adam's consent, that upon the day of Man's fall in
Paradise when he was driven out, thou didst corrupt the
whole nature of man."
David and St. Paul bear witness against the Criminal,
who argues in his own defence much as the Pelagians do
vainly talk. He is condemned to death and prays for
mercy. "Good my Lord, I beseech you be good untb
me, and cast not away so poor an old man, good my
Lord, for I am at this day 5564 years old."
But his plea for mercy and his request to be allowed
benefit of clergy are all in vain. He is sentenced to be
hung, or rather, as the judge says, "to be cut off with all
his works."
Bernard's handling of his allegory is awkward and
cumbrous; he can neither tell a story, nor draw a character,
and he has very little humour, though he apologizes for
showing too much. But there are nevertheless certain
resemblances between the Isle of Man and the Holy War
which seem to show that Bunyan had read the work of
the earlier allegorist. The town of Soul in the county of
Manshire naturally suggests Bunyan's town of Mansoul.
Bernard's Wilful Will is the prototype of Bunyan's Lord Will
be Will. There are touches in the trials described by
Bernard which remind the reader of incidents in those
related by Bunyan. Lord Covetousness in Bunyan's book
changes his name to Prudent-thrifty, and in the same way
Bernard's Covetousness finds a flaw in -his indictment,
pleading that his real name is Thrift. And Judge Con-
science addresses Covetousness much in the manner that
Judge Hategood addresses Faithful.
Sirrah, Sirrah, thou that hast so impudently denied thy
name here before the face of thy country; it being so
clearly proved against thee every way, what canst thou
allege for thyself that now the sentence of death should not
be pronounced against thee ?"


All I wish to show is that in introducing these trials
in his two allegories Bunyan was adopting a literary device
with which English readers were already familiar, and one
which was specially popular with the readers for whom
he wrote. In his hands the old idea received a new life,
and the tedious abstractions of the allegorical courts
became living persons. It is in this power of giving life
to his characters that the supreme excellence of Bunyan as
an allegorist lies. Whatever adventures his pilgrims pass
through they are always flesh and blood Englishmen of
the seventeenth century, speaking and acting as English
Puritans of their class would have acted under the
conditions which Bunyan's imagination created. The
serious discourse with which Christian and Faithful while
away their march is as true to life as the road or the fair
through which they pass. Ellwood the Quaker tells us
in his autobiography how he and his friend Ovy set forth
to learn from Isaac Pennington the true principles of
We met at Stokenchurch," he says, "with our staves
in our hands like a couple of pilgrims, intending to walk
on foot; and having taken some refreshment and rest
at Wycombe, went on cheerfully in the afternoon, enter-
taining each other with grave and religious discourses,
which made the walk the easier."*
It has often been said that the pilgrims in Bunyan's
story are as individual as Chaucer's pilgrims. Coleridge
goes so far as to complain that the allegory is so strongly
individualized that it ceases to be allegory, the characters
become real persons with nicknames. Bunyan's characters
themselves seem to feel that they are not abstractions, but
men. Mr. By-ends protests when he is addressed by his
name, "That is not my name, but indeed it is a nickname
given me by some that cannot abide me." Another character
modestly explains that his name is too good for him.
Ed. Morley, p. 113.


"'Your name is old Honesty, is it not,' asks Great-heart,
. ... So the old man 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.'"
Bunyan conceives his characters so clearly that he gives
them not merely the utterances, but the features and the
gestures appropriate to their parts. Mr. Honest recognizes
Mr. Feeble-mind by his likeness to Mr. Fearing. "He
was mine uncle," answers Fearing, "he and I have been
much of a temper; he was a little shorter than I, but
yet we were much of a complexion." At which old Honest
observes with awkward candour, "I am apt to believe
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." Old Honest indeed is a keen observer of
the little tricks of manner and bearing in which character
reveals itself. "Madam Bubble," he reflectively remarks
to Mr. Stand-fast when he hears her name mentioned,
"Madam Bubble, is she not a tall comely dame, some-
thing of a swarthy complexion?" "Right, you hit it,"
says Stand-fast, "she is just such a one."
"Doth she not speak very smoothly, and give you a
smile at the end of the sentence ?"
You fall right upon it again, these are her very actions."
"Doth she not wear a great purse at her side, and is not
her hand often in it fingering her money as if that was
her heart's delight."
"'Tis just so-Had she stood by all this while, you could
not more amply have set her forth before me."
It is curious that Bunyan's power of individualizing his
personages seems for a moment to leave him when he gives
them proper names. Christiana and Mercy are clearly
drawn, but Matthew, Joseph, Samuel, and James are little
better than lay-figures. Beyond the fact that one was fond
of his catechism and another too fond of green plums, there
is little to distinguish them. And this is stranger because


in the second part-inferior as it is on the whole to the first
part-Bunyan handles his allegorical characters with more
freedom and ease than in the first. The most vivid and
impressive figure in it is Great-heart, the servant of Mr.
Interpreter. He is a combination of two persons men-
tioned in the first part-of Mr. Great-grace, who is
"excellent good at his weapons" and bears in his face the
scars of former battles, and of the nameless "man of a very
stout countenance" who fights his way through the armed
men into the palace, "cutting and hacking most fiercely."
But Great-heart is not merely the strong man armed; he
beguiles the journey of the pilgrims he protects by the
charms of his conversation. He begins, it is true, by a
lengthy discourse on justification by faith, but he soon
becomes humanized, and tells humorous stories of the
pilgrims he has known, such as Mr. Fearing, "the most
troublesome pilgrim that ever I met with in all my days."
To the children he is always kind and affable. He
takes the little boy by the hand up the Hill Difficulty,
and cheers the others on, Come, my pretty boys; how do
you like going on a pilgrimage ?"
He jokes with them because they run and get behind
him when they meet the lions.
But when there is more real danger-when they go
through the valley-he is first behind and then in front,
saying to them: "Be of good cheer-we shall be out by
and by," or "Let them that are most afraid keep close
to me."
A very pleasing and natural touch is his delight in
pilgrims of his own temper. When they meet old
Honest asleep he at first takes them for thieves.
"What would, or could you a done, to a helped your-
self, if indeed we had been of that company," asks Great-
"Done," answers Honest, "why I would a fought as
long as breath had been in me."


"Well said, Father Honest, well said," quoth the guide,
"for by this I know thou art a cock of the right kind."
So, too, when they meet the man with his sword drawn
and his face all bloody from a three hours' fight with
three thieves, all the old soldierly instincts break out in
Great-heart at his story. "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.'
"Mr. Great-heart was delighted in him, for he loved one
greatly that he found to be a man of his hands."
So vivid is the portrait, so characteristic the touches, that
one thinks Bunyan must have had in his mind's eye when
he drew it some real soldier, someone whom he had served
under at Newport, or some scarred veteran of Naseby and
Worcester, who had come back to live in Bedford and
turned his sword into a reaping hook.
In the second part of the Pilgrim's Progress, which was
published in 1684, six years after the first part, Bunyan
handles his allegorical characters with more freedom.
Sometimes he seems to forget the allegory for a moment,
and to let the sense of humour, or the story-telling instinct,
run away with him. Look, for instance, at two episodes in
the second part.
Matthew's illness after his over-indulgence in plums is a
little crudely described, but it is humorous as well as
realistic. "Pray Sir," says the afflicted mother to the
"antient and well-approved physician," "try the utmost
of your skill with him, whatever it costs"; to which he
replies with professional dignity, "Nay, I hope I shall be
Matthew's reluctance to take his physic, and his mother's
moving entreaties to him, are copied from the life. "With
that she touched one of the pills with the end of her tongue.
Oh, Matthew,' said she, 'this potion is sweeter than honey.'"


As to the pills themselves, "he was to take them three at
a time fasting, in half a quarter of a pint of the tears of
In the end after the cure is wrought the antient physician
praises his pills. "It is a universal pill, it is good against
all the diseases that pilgrims are incident to." "Pray Sir,"
replies the provident parent, "make me up twelve boxes of
them"; and he does.
All this is, of course, allegorical, but the reader forgets
all about its spiritual significance, and takes no notice of
the texts in the margin. He may be edified by it in the
end, but for the moment he is simply "merry and jocund,"
as the pilgrims are when they dance in the road.
A page or two earlier comes the episode of Mercy's love
affair. At the House Beautiful Mercy "had a visitor that
pretended some goodwill unto her. 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
made, seemed to be greatly taken, for 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 enquired of them concerning
him, for they 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 Mercy, 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 discouragement to be given to him, her continuing so as
she had begun to do for the poor would quickly cool his
courage. So the next time he comes, he finds her at her
old work a-making of things for the poor. Then said he,
' What! always at it ?' Yes,' said she, 'either for my-
self or for others.' 'And what can 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.' 'Why, prithee, what dost thou do with them?' said
he., 'Clothe the naked,' said she. With that his counten-
ance fell. So he forebore to come at her again; and when
he was asked the reason why, he said, Mercy was a pretty
lass, but troubled with ill-conditions.'"
Mercy's comment puts the finishing touch to the whole
picture. "Mercy and Mr. Brisk," observes Prudence, "are
of characters so different, that I believe they will never come
together." Then says Mercy, with an air of modest pride,
and doubtless with her usual blush, "I might a had
husbands afore now, tho' I spake 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."
Here the allegory disappears altogether. We have simply
an incident in the life of a fair Puritan described with
absolute fidelity to nature; the actors are ordinary men
and women of the time, and the fact that their names have
a moral significance makes no difference to the story. We
are passing, in fact, from allegory to the novel with an
improving tendency. Bunyan is here the forerunner of
Hannah More and a whole generation of novelists who
sought to combine realistic fiction and moral teaching,
while Mr. Brisk is the not very remote ancestor of Coelebs
in search of a wife. In the days when the English novel
did not exist, an allegory which was so like a story of
every-day life had a charm which it is not easy for us to



appreciate now. Bunyan was not merely the first of
English allegorists; he is one of the founders of the
English novel and the forerunner of Defoe.
It is time to sum up this analysis of the causes of the
popularity of the Pilgrim's Progress. Bunyan took a
familiar idea as the basis of his story, and told it in a
language that was simple or elevated just as the subject
required. He put the essence of his own life into the
story; put into it reproductions of the life he saw round
him, and recollections of the books he had read; made
his actors real men and women, and made his narrative
by turns satirical and enthusiastic, humorous and pathetic,
realistic and romantic. It was no wonder that "the out-
side of his dream" attracted his readers, but what united
and harmonized all these different elements was the inner
spirit of his dream. That which gives the book a lasting
power is the ideal of life which underlies it all-of life as
the Puritan conceived it then and conceives it still. The
Pilgrim's Progress is the prose epic of English Puritanism;
it contains much that is only temporary and local in its
application, but unlike Milton's epic it can be understood
everywhere, and has been translated into most tongues.
Its real foundation is not a doctrinal system but a moral
conception. Omit a few theological discussions, and it
appeals to the Puritan of all creeds and all races. Every-
where the seeker after personal holiness or ideal perfection
turns his face from his own home, and sets forth on the
same journey: let others stay by their farm or their
merchandise, he must follow the light which he sees, or
thinks he sees; happy if at last he beholds the shining
spires of the city he travels to, glad if he catches by the
way only a glimpse of the glory of it. Some may laugh
at him as a fool, others may tell him there is no such city;
like Bunyan he heeds them not, but dreams his dream and
holds it true.


A FACSIMILE reproduction of the First Part of the Pilgrim's
Progress has been published by Mr. Elliot Stock. An
edition of both parts was edited by Mr. George Offor for
the Hanserd Knollys Society in 1847, which reproduces
the orthography, punctuation, and italics of the original
editions, and gives the textual variations of all the editions
published during Bunyan's lifetime. By permission of the
Delegates of the Clarendon Press, the text of the present
edition is a reprint of that prepared by Canon Venables
for the Clarendon Press Series of English Classics. In all
essentials it represents the text of the second edition of
the First Part of the Pilgrim's Progress, published in 1678,
and that of the first edition of the Second Part, published
in 1684. But as it is intended for the general reader
rather than the philologist, the spelling of the original has
been modernized, and the punctuation and use of capitals
revised in accordance with modern usage. The table
which follows shows the passages added by Bunyan in
the two later editions of the First Part.

Christian's revelation of his design to his family.
"In this plight" . "what shall I do to be saved ?"
Page II, line II, to page 12, line 26.
Christian's conversation with Worldly Wiseman and his second meeting
with Evangelist.
"Now as. Christian was walking" . "Worldly Wiseman's
counsel." Page 21, line 15, to page 25, line 8.


Christian's confession to Good Will.
"Truly, said Christian" . they in no wise are cast out."
Page 3r, line 16, to page 32, line 7.

Christian's conversation with Charity at the Palace Beautiful.
"Then said Charity" "from their blood."
Page 61, line 14, to page 62, line 30.

The third meeting of Christian with Evangelist.
"Now when they were got" . "as unto a faithful Creator."
Page Ioo, line I, to page 102, line 6.

Account of the relations of Mr. By-ends.
"Almost the whole town" ... by Fathers side."
Page x18, line 31, to page 118, line 36.

The conversation between Mr. By-ends and his friends.
"Now I saw in my dream . "a devouring fire."
Page 120, line 26, to page 126, line 2.

The conversation about Lot's wife.
"Now I saw that just on the other side" . "always to
remember Lot's wife." Page 130, line I, to page 133, line 36.

The account of Giant Despair's wife.
"Now Giant Despair had a wife" . "I will therefore search
them in the morning." Page 141, line 27, to page 145, line 14.
The reception of the Pilgrims on the other bank of the;river.
"There came out also at this time" . "can their glorious
joy be expressed?" Page 196, line 6 to line 33.

All these additions were made at the second issue of the
Pilgrim's Progress, excepting that marked with an asterisk,
which was made at the third.

Pilgrim's Progrefs
That which is to come:
Delivered under the Similitude of a

Wherein is Difcovered,
The manner of his letting out,
His DangerousJourney; Andfafe
Arrival at the Defired Countrey.
I have ufed Similitudes, Hof I12. io.
By John Bunyan.
tLicenfetan ntrz accojbingfto .Dber.
Printed for Nath. Ponder at the Peacock
in the Poultrey near Cornhil, 1678.




IWHen at the first I toak 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.
Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast,
I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last
Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out
The 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 undertake
Thereby toplease my Neighbor; no not I,
And did it mine 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 thoughts, which make me do amiss.
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 Ipull'd, it came; and so Ipenn'd
It down; until at last it came to be,
For length and breadth the bigness which you see.
Well, when I had thus put mine ends together,,
I shew'd them others, that I might see whether
They would condemn them, or them justify:
And some said, let them live; some, let them die.
Some said, John, print it; others said, Not so:
Some said, It might do good; others said, No.
Now was I in a strait, and did not see
Which was the best thing to be done by me:
At last I thought, Since you are thus divided,
I print it will; and so the case decided.
For, thought I, Some, I see, would have it done,
Though others in that Channel do not run;
To prove then who advised for the best,
Thus I though fit ftoput 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, Offendyou I am loth;
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 topick the bone:
Yea, that I might them better palliate,
I did too with them thus expostulate.
May I not write in such a stile as this ?
In such a method too, andyet not miss
Mine 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 spues out both, and makes their blessings null.
You see the ways the Fisherman doth take
To catch the Fish; what Engins doth he make ?
Behold how he ingageth all his Wits,
Also his Snares, Lines, Angles, Hooks and ANes.
Yet Fish there be, that neither Hook, nor Line,
Nor Snare, nor Net, nor Engine can make thine;
They must be grop'tfor, and be tickled too,
Or they will not be catch, what e're you do.
How doth the Fowler seek to catch his Game,
By divers means, all which one cannot name ?
His Gun, his Nets, his Limetwigs, light, and bell:
He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea who can tell


Of all his postures, Yet there's none of these
Will make him master of what Fowls he please.
Yea, he must Pipe, and Whistle to catch this;
Yet if he does so, that Bird he will miss.
If that a Pearl may in a Toads-head dwell,
And may be found too in an Oystershell;
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 fnd it. N.ow my little Book,
(Tho' void of all those paintings that may make
It with this or the other Man to take,)
Is not without those things that do excel
What do in brave, but empty notions dwell.
Well, yet I am not fully satisfied,
That this your Book will stand when soundly try'd;
Why, what's the matter / it is dark, what tho ?
But it is feigned. What of that I tro ?
Some men by feigning words as dark as mine,
Make truth to spangle, and its rays to shine.
But they want solidness: Speak man thy mind,
They drown'd 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; Was not Gods Laws,
His Gospel-Laws, in older time held forth
By Types, Shadows and Metaphors ? Yet loth
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 fnd out what by pins and loops,


By Calves, and Sheep, by Heifers, and by Rams;
By Birds, and Herbs, and by the blood of Lambs,
God speaketh to him. And happy is he
That finds the light, and grace that in them be.
Be not too forward therefore to conclude,
That I want solidness, that I am rude:
All things solid in skew, 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 inclose the Gold.
The Prophets used much by Metaphors
To set forth Truth; Yea, who so considers
Christ, his Apostles too, shall plainly see,
That Truths to this day in such Mantles be.
Am I afraid to say that holy Writ,
Which for its Stile, and Phrase puts down all Wit,
Is every where so full of all these things,
(Dark Figures, Allegories,) yet there springs
From that same Book that lustre, and those rays
Of light, that turns our darkest nights to days.
Come, let my Carper to his Life now look,
And find There darker lines than in my Book
Hefindeth 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 durst adventure Ten,
That they will take my meaning in these lines
Far better than his Lies in Silver Shrines.
Come, Truth, although in Swadling-clouts, I find
Informs the Judgment, rectifies the Mind,


Pleases the Understanding, makes the WTill
Submit; the Memory too it doth fill
With what doth our Imagination please;
Likewise, it tends our troubles to appease.
Sound words I know Timothy is to use,
And old Wives Fables he is to refuse;
But yet grave Paul, him no where doth 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, 0 man of God I
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.
r. I find not that I am denied the use
Of this my method, so I no abuse
Put on the Words, Things, Readers, or be rude
In handling Figure, or Similitude,
In application; but, all that I may,
Seek the advance of Truth, this or that way:
Denied, did I say ? Nay, I have leave,
(Example too, and that from them that have
God better pleased by their words or ways,
Than any man that breatheth now a-days,)
Thus to express my mind, thus to declare
Things unto thee, that excellentest are.
2. I find that men (as high as Trees) will write
Dialogue-wise; yet no man doth them slight
For writing so: Indeed if they abuse
Truth, cursed be they, and, the craft they use


To that intent; But yet let Truth be free
To make her Sallies upon Thee, and Me,
Which way it pleases God. For who knows how,
Better than he that taught us first to Plough,
To guide our Mind and Pens for his Design ?
And he makes base things usher in Divine.
3. I find that holy Writ in many places,
Hath semblance with this method, where the cases
Doth call for one thing, to set forth another:
Use it I may then, and yet nothing smother
Truths golden Beams; Nay, by this method may
Make it cast forth its rays as light as day.
And now, before I do put up my Pen,
I'll shew the profit of my Book, and then
Commit both thee, and it unto that hand
That pulls the strong down, and makes weak ones stand.
This Book it chalketh out before thine eyes
The man that seeks the everlasting Prize:
It shews you whence he comes, whither he goes,
What he leaves undone; also what he does:
It also shews you how he runs and runs,
Till he unto the Gate of Glory comes.
It shews too, who sets out for life amain,
As if the lasting Crown they would attain :
Here also you may see the reason why
They lose their labour, and like Fools do die.
This Book will make a Traveller of thee,
If by its Counsel thou wilt ruled be;
It will direct thee to the Holy Land,
If thou wilt its Directions understand:
Yea, it will make the slothful, active be;
The Blind also, delightful things to see.


Art thou for something rare, andprofitable ?
Wouldest thou see a Truth within a Fable ?
Art thou forgetful ? wouldest thou remember
From New-year's-day to the last of December?
Then read my fancies, they will stick like Burs,
And may be to the Helpless, Comforters.
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.
Would'st thou divert thyself from Melancholy ?
Would'st thou be pleasant, yet be far from folly ?
Would'st thou read Riddles, & their Explanation '
Or else be drowned in thy Contemplation 1
Dost thou love picking meat Or wouldst thou see
A man i' th Clouds, and hear him speak to thee ?
Would'st thou be in a Dream, and yet not sleep ?
Or wouldest thou in a moment laugh, and weep 1
Wouldest thou lose thyself and catch no harm ?
And find thyself again without a charm 7
Would'st read thyself and read thou know'st not what
And yet know whether thou art blest or not,
By reading the same lines? 0 then come hither,
And lay my Book, thy Head, and Heart together.






A S I walk'd through the wilderness of this world, I
lighted on a certain place, where was a Den; and The Gaol.
I laid me down in that place to sleep: and as I slept
I dreamed a Dream. I dreamed, and behold I saw a man Isa. 64. 6.
clothed with Rags, standing in a certain place, with his Luke g4. 33.
Ps. 38. 4.
face from his own House, a Book in his hand, and a great Hab. 2.2.
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 His utcry.
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, 0 my dear Wife, said he,
and you the Children of my bowels, I your dear friend, am
in myself undone, by reason of a burden that lieth hard upon
me: moreover, I am for certain informed that this our City This World.
will be burned with fire from Heaven, in which fearful
overthrow, both myself, with thee, my Wife, and you my


He knew no sweet babes, shall miserably come to ruin; except (the which,
escape as yet I see not) some way of escape can be found, whereby we
may be delivered. At this his Relations were sore amazed;
not for that they believed that what he had said to them
was true, but because they thought that some frenzy dis-
temper had got into his head: therefore, it drawing towards
night, and they hoping that sleep might settle his brains,
with all haste they got him to bed; but the night was as
troublesome to him as the day: wherefore instead of
sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. So when the
morning was come, they would know how he did; he told
them, worse and worse. He also set to talking to them
carnal again, but they began to be hardened; they also thought
sick Soul. to drive away his distemper by harsh and surly carriages to
him: sometimes they would deride, sometimes they would
chide, and sometimes they would quite neglect him:
wherefore he began to retire himself to his Chamber to
pray for, and pity them; and also to condole his own
misery: he would also walk solitarily in the Fields, some-
times 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
Acts 16. burst out, as he had done before, crying, What shall I do
30, 3.1 to be saved?
I saw also that he looked this way, and that way, as if he
would run; yet he stood still, because as I perceived he
could not tell which way to go. I looked then, and saw a
Man named Evangelist1 coming to him, and asked, Where-
fore doest thou cry ? He answered, Sir, I perceive, by the
Heb. 9. 27. Book in my hand, that I am condemned to die, and after

SChristian no sooner leaves the World but meets
Evangelist, who lovingly him greets
With tidings of another: and doth show
Him how to mount to that from thisbelow.


that to come to Judgement; and I find that I am not Job. x6.
21, 22.
willing to do the first, nor able to do the second. Ezek '2. 14.
Then said Evangelist, Why not willing to die? since this
life is attended with so many evils ? The Man answered,
Because I fear that this burden that is upon my back, will
sink me lower than the Grave; and I shall fall into Tophet. Isa 30. 33.
And Sir, if I be not fit to go to Prison, I am not fit (I am
sure) to go to Judgement, 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 conviction
whither to go. Then he gave him a Parchment Roll, and neceity
there was written within, Fly from the wrath to come. oMa 7
The Man therefore read it, and looking upon Evangelist
very carefully; said, Whither must I fly? Then said
Evangelist, pointing with his finger over a very wide Field,
Do you see yonder Wicket-gate The Man said, No. Matt. 7. 3.
Then said the other, Do you see yonder shining light? Psalm 9g.
He said, I think I do. Then said Evangelist, Keep that 2 Pet. x.9
light in your eye, and go up directly thereto, so shalt thou Christ and
see the Gate; at which when thou knockest, it shall be told him w t
be found
thee what thou shalt do. without the
So I saw in my Dream, that the Man began to run; now Word.
he had not run far from his own door, but his Wife and
Children perceiving it, began to cry after him to return: Luke 4. 26..
but the Man put his fingers in his Ears, and ran on crying,
Life, Life, Eternal Life: so he looked not behind him, but Gen. .9. 17.
fled towards the middle of the Plain.
The Neighbors also came out to see him run, and as he They that
fly from the-
ran, some mocked, others threatened; and some cried after wrath to
come are
him to return. And among those that did so, there were A Gazing
Stock to the-
two that were resolved to fetch him back by force: the world.
name of the one was Obstinate, and the name of the other JatOo.
Pliable. Now by this time the Man was got a good ad Plie
distance from them; But however they were resolved to
pursue him; which they did, and in a little time they over-


took him. Then said the Man, Neighbors, Wherefore are
you come 7 They said, To persuade you to go back with
us; but he said, That can by no means be: You dwell,
said he, in the City of Destruction (the place also where
I was born,) I see it to be so; and dying there, sooner or
later, you will sink lower then the Grave, into a place that
burns with Fire and Brimstone; Be content good Neigh-
bors, and go along with me.
obstinate. What said Obstinate, and leave our Friends, and our
comforts behind us/
cristian. Yes, said Christian, (for that was his name) because that
2 Cor. 4. 8, all is not worthy to be compared with a little of that that
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,
Luke s. 17. is enough, and to spare; Come away, and prove my-words.
Oss. What are the things you seek, since you leave all the
World to find them 7
i Pet. r. 4. CHR. I seek an Inheritance, incorruptible, undefiled, and
Heb. zi. 16. 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.
OBS. 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
Luke 9.6. hand to the Plough.
SOBs. Come then, Neighbor Pliable, let us turn again, and
go home without him; There is a Company of these Craz'd-
headed Coxcombs, that when they take a fancy by the end, are
wiser in their own eyes than seven men that can render a
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 ipclines to go with my Neighbor.
OBS. What/ more Fools still? be ruled by me and go
back; who knows whither such a brainsick fellow will lead
you ? Go back, go back, and be wise.


CHR. Nay, but do thou come with me, Neighbor Pliable; Christian
there are such things to be had which I spoke of, and obstinate
many more Glories besides. If you believe not me, read %pWe',s
here in this Book; and for the truth of what is exprest soU'
therein, behold all is confirmed by the blood of him that Heb. 13.
made it. Heb. 9.17,
PLI. Well Neighbor Obstinate, (said Pliable) I begin to A~Ps"
come to a point; I intend to go along with this good man, and on0 t~I
to cast in my lot with him: But my good Companion, do you Christian.
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 instruction about the way.
PLI. Come then good Nedghbor, let us be going. Then
they went both together.
OBs. And I will go back to my place, said Obstinate. I obsinate
will be no Companion of such misled fantastical Fellows. beck.il
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, Talk
CHR. Come Neighbor Pliable, how do you do ? I am c,,ri,
glad you are persuaded to go along with me; and had even and Pliable.
Obstinate himself but felt what I have felt of the Powers
and Terrors of what is yet unseen, he would not thus
lightly have given us the back.
PLI. Come Neighbor Christian, since there is none but us
two here, tell me now further what the things are, and how
to be enjoyed, whither we are going ?
CHR. I can better conceive of them with my Mind, than God's
things un-
speak of them with my Tongue: But yet since you are speakable.
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 lye. Tit. a.
PLI. Well said; what things are they ?
CHR. There is an endless Kingdom to be inhabited, and Isa. 45. i7.


John ro.27, everlasting life to be given us, that we may inhabit that
2", 29 Kingdom for ever.
PLI. Well said; and what else?
2 Tim. 4.8. CHR. There are Crowns of Glory to be given us; and
eMat. '43. Garments that will make .us shine like the Sun in the
Firmament of Heaven.
PLI. This is excellent; and what else?
I sa2. 2. CHR. There shall be no more crying, nor sorrow; For
Rev7. he that is owner of the place, will wipe all tears from
chap. 21. 4 our eyes.
PLI. And what company shall we have there?
isa. 6.2. CHR. There we shall be with Seraphims, and Cherubins,
I6, T7. Creatures that will dazzle your eyes to look on them: There
Rev. 7. .also you shall meet with thousands, and ten thousands that
have gone before us to that place; none of them are hurt-
ful, but loving, and holy: every one walking in the sight of
God, and standing in his presence with acceptance for ever.
Rev. 4.4. In a word, there we shall see the Elders with their Golden
Chap. 14. 1, Crowns: there we shall see the Holy Virgins with their
2,3,4, 5-
John4 '. 5. Golden Harps: there we shall see Men that by the World
were cut in pieces, burned in flames, eaten of Beasts,
drowned in the Seas, for the love that they bare to the
2 Cor. 2, Lord of the place, all well, and cloathed with Immortality
3, 5 as with a Garment.
PLI. The hearing of this is enough to ravish ones heart;
but are these things to be enjoyed? How shall we get to be
Sharers hereof?
CHR. The Lord, the Governor of that Country, hath
sa. 55. 2. recorded that in this Book: the substance of which is,
John 7. 37.
Ch~7. 6. If we be truly willing to have it, he will bestow it upon
Rev. 21. 6.
Chap. 22.17. us freely.
PLI. Well,my good Companion, glad am Ito 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 upon my back.
Now I saw in my Dream, that just as they had .ended




v .9


this talk, they drew near to a very Mfiry Slough, that was in The Slough
the midst of the Plain, and they being heedless, did both of Dind..
fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the Slough was
Dispond. 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
PLI. Then said Pliable, Ah, Neighbor Christian, where
are you now?
CHR. Truly, said Christian, I do not know.
PLI. At that Pliable began to be offended; and angerly
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, twixtt this and our Journeys end?
May Iget out again with my life, you shall possess the brave It is not
enough to
Country alone for me. And with that he gave a desperate be Pliable.
struggle or two, and got out of the Mire, on that side of
the Slough which was next his own House: so away he
went, and Christian saw him no more.
Wherefore Christian was left to tumble in the Slough
of Dispond alone; but still he endeavoured to struggle
to that side of the Slough that was still further from his Christian in
trouble seeks
own House, and next to the Wicket-gate; the which he still to get
further from
did, but could not get out, because of the burden that his ow
was upon his back. But I beheld in my Dream, thatHouse.
a Man came to him, whose name was Help, and asked
him, What he did there?
CHR. Sir, said Christian, I was directed 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 you not look for the steps? The
CHR. Fear followed me so hard, that I fled the next
way, and fell in.
HELP. Then, said he, Give me thy hand! So he gave


Her lifts him his hand, and he drew him out, and set him upon
him out.
Ps. 4..2. sound ground, and bid him go on his way.
Then I stepped to him that pluckt 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
What makes is such a place as cannot be mended. It is the descent
the Slough
of Dispond. whither the scum and filth that attends conviction for sin
doth continually run, and therefore it is called the Slough
of Dispond: for still as the sinner is awakened about his
lost condition, there ariseth in his soul many fears and
doubts and discouraging apprehensions, which all of them
get together, and settle in this place: And this is the
reason of the'badness of this ground.
Isa. 35.3,4. It is not the pleasure of the King that this place should
remain so bad. His Laborers also have, by the direction
of His Majestye's Surveyors, been for above this sixteen
hundred years employed about this patch of ground, if
perhaps it might have been mended: yea, and to my
knowledge, said he, Here hath been swallowed up at least
twenty million Cart Loads; yea millions, of wholesome
Instructions, that have at all seasons been brought from
all places of the Kings Dominions; (and they that can
tell, say, they are the best Materials to make good ground
of the place;) if so be it might have been mended; but
it is the Slough of Dispond still, and so will be, when they
have done what they can.
The True, there are by the direction of the Lawgiver, certain
Promises of
forgiveness good and substantial Steps,- placed even through the very
and acto midst of this Slough; but at such time as this place doth
y faith much spue out its filth, as it doth against change of
in Christ.
Weather, these steps are hardly seen; or if they be, Men
through the dizziness of their .heads, step besides; and
then they are bemired to purpose, notwithstanding the


steps be there; but the ground is good when they are i Sam. 12.
once got in at the Gate. 23.
Now I saw in my Dream, that by this time Pliable was liable got
home and Is
got home to his House again. So his Neighbors came visited of his
to visit him; and some of them called him wise Man Hi enter-
for coming back; and some called him Fool, for hazarding them at his
himself with Christian; others again did mock at hisreturn.


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 solitary by himself, he Mr.
espied one afar off come crossing over the field to meet wiem


eets with him; and their hap was to meet just as they were crossing
Cristi the way of each other. The Gentleman's name 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.-Master 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.
Talk be- WORLD. How now, good fellow, whither away after this
twixt Mr.
Wordl'y- burdened manner ?
Wsema CHR. A burdened manner indeed, as ever I think poor
Chris4tn. 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,
Scor. 7. 29. I am as if I had none.
WORLD. Wilt thou hearken to me, if I give thee counsel?
CHR. If it be good, I will; for I stand in need of good
Mr. WORLD. I would advise thee then, that thou with all speed
w .mn. get thyself rid of thy burden; for thou wilt never be settled in
cut, 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 my self I cannot: nor is
there a 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 7


CHR. A man that appeared to me to be a very great and
honorable person; his name, as I remember, is Evangelist.
WORLD. I beshrow him for his counsel; there is not a Mr.
more dangerous and troublesome way in the world than is rsem'n
that unto which he hath directed thee; and that thou shalt oanemedi
find if thou wilt be ruled by his counsel. Thou hast met with Counsel.
something (as I perceive) already; for I see the dirt of the
Slough of Dispond is upon thee; but that Slough is the
beginning of the sorrows that do attend those that go on in
that way. Hear me, I am older than thou/ thou art like
to meet with in the way which thou goest, Wearisomness,
Painfulness, Hunger, Perils, Nakedness, Sword, Lions,
Dragons, Darkness, and in a word, death, and what not?
These things are certainly true, having been confirmed by
many testimonies. And why should a man so carelessly cast
away himself by giving heed to a stranger?
CHR. Why, Sir, this burden upon my back is more The frame
of the heart
terrible to me than all these things which you have men-of young
tioned: nay, methinks I care not what I meet with in the Christians.
way, so be I can also meet with deliverance from my
WORLD. How camest thou by thy burden at first?
CHR. By reading this Book in my hand.
WORLD. I thought so; and it is happened unto thee as to WorUly-
other weak men, who meddling with things too high for them, oe not ike
that Men
do suddenly fall into thy distractions; which distractions do should e
not only unman men, (as thine I perceive has done thee) but Seaius i
they run them upon desperate ventures, to obtain they know Bible.
not what.
CHR. I know what I would obtain; it is ease for my
heavy burden.
WORLD. But why wilt thou seek for ease this way, seeing Whether
so many dangers attend it, especially, since (hadst thou but Worldly
patience to hear me,) I could direct thee to the obtaining of feZisty
what thou desirest, without the dangers that thou in this way beforeate
wilt run thy self into: yea, and the remedy is at hand,


Besides, I will add, that instead of those dangers, thou shall
meet with much safety, friendship, and content.
CHR. Pray, Sir, open this secret to me.
WORLD. Why in yonder Village, (the Village is named
Morality) there dwells a Gentleman, whose name is Legality,
a very judicious man (and a man of a very good name) that
has skill to help men off with such burdens as thine are from
their shoulders: yea, to my knowledge he hath done a great
deal of good this way : Aye, and besides, he hath skill to cure
those that are somewhat crazed in their wits with their
burdens. To him, as I said, thou mayest go, and be helped
presently. His house is not quite a mile from this place; and
if he should not be at home himself he hath a pretty young
man to his Son, whose name is Civility, that can do it (to
speak on) as well as the old Gentleman himself: There, I say,
thou mayest be eased of thy burden, and if thou art not
minded to go back to thy former habitation, as indeed I would
not wish thee, thou mayest send for thy Wife and Children to
thee to this Village, where there are houses now stand empty,
one of which thou mayest have at reasonable rates: Provision
is there also cheap and good, and that which will make thy
life the more happy, is, to be sure there thou shalt live by
honest neighbors, in credit and good fashion.
Ckristan Now was Christian somewhat at a stand, but presently
by he concluded; if this be true which this Gentleman hath
wordI' said, my wisest course is to take his advice; and with that
words. he thus farther spoke.
CHR. Sir, which is my way to this honest man's house?
Mount WORLD. Do you see yonder high hill?
Sinai CHR. Yes, very well.
WORLD. By that Hill you must go, and the first house
you come at is his.
So Christian turned out of his way to go to Mr. Legality's
house for help: but behold, when he was got now hard by
the Hill, it seemed so high, and also that side of it that
was next the way side did hang so much over, that Christian


was afraid to venture further, lest the Hill should fall on chkrisia,
afraid that
his head: wherefore there he stood still, and he wot not Mountinai
what to do. Also his burden, now, seemed heavier to him hissd on.
than while he was in his way. There came also flashes
of fire out of the Hill, that made Christian afraid that he Exod. 19. s8.
should be burned. Here therefore he sweat, and did quake Ver. 16.
for fear. And now he began to be sorry that he had taken Heb. 12. z.
Mr. Worldly-Wisemans counsel; and with that he saw
Evangelist coming to meet him; at the sight also of whom Ev elist
he began to blush for shame. So Evangelist drew nearer ch isian
and nearer, and coming up to him, he looked upon him Mount
with a severe and dreadful countenance: and thus began to IS. "an
reason with Christian. severely
upon him.
EVAN. What doest thou here ? Christian, said he ? at Evangelist
which word Christian knew not what to answer: wherefore, arsh with
at present he stood speechless before him. Then said Christian.
Evangelist farther, 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 7
CHR. Yes, dear Sir, said Christian.
EVAN. How is it then that thou art so quickly turned
aside ? for thou art now out of the way.
CHR. I met with a Gentleman, so soon as I had got over
the Slough of Disfond, who persuaded me that I might, in
the Village before me, find a man that could take off my
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 7
CHR. Why, he asked me whither I was going, and I told


EVAN. And what said he then?
CHR. He asked me if I had a Family, and I told him:
but, said I, I am so loaden with the burden that is on my
back, that I cannot take pleasure in them as formerly.
EVAN. And what said he then ?
CHR. He bid me with speed get rid of my burden, and
I told him, 'twas ease that I sought: And said I, I am
therefore going to yonder Gate to receive further direction
how I may get to the place of deliverance. So he said
that he would shew me a better way, and short, not so
attended with difficulties, as the way, Sir, that you set me:
which way, said he, will direct you to a Gentleman's house
that hath skill to take off these burdens: So I believed
him, and turned out of that way into this, if haply I might
be soon eased of my burden: but when I came to this
place, and beheld things as they are, I stopped for fear, (as
I said) of danger: but I now know not what to do.
EVAN. Then (said Evangelist) stand still a little, that. I
may shew thee the words of God. So he stood trembling.
Heb. 2.25. Then (said Evangelist) See that ye refuse not him that
Eangelist seaketh ; for if they escaped not who refused him that spake
christian of on Earth, much more shall not we escape, if we turn away
bis Error. f hV tt
Chp. ... 38.from him that speaketh from Heaven. He said moreover,
Now the just shall live by faith ; but if any man draws
back, my soul shall have no pleasure in him. He also did
thus apply them, Thou art the man that art running into
this misery, thou hast began 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
Matt. 2z. 31. Evangelist caught him by the right hand, saying, all man-
Mark 3. 28. ner of sin and blasphemies shall be forgiven unto men;
be not faithless, but believing; then did Christian again
a little revive, and stood up trembling, as at first, before


Then Evangelist proceeded, saying, Give more earnest
heed to the things that I shall tell thee of I will now shew
thee who it was that deluded thee, and who 'twas also to
whom he sent thee. The man that met thee, is one Mr.
Worldly- Wiseman1, and rightly is he so called; partly, wisem n
because he savoureth only the Doctrine of this world Evingeis.
(therefore he always goes to the Town of Morality to G1. 6 ..-
Church) and partly because he loveth that Doctrine best,
for it saveth him from the Cross; and because he is of
this carnal temper, therefore he seeketh to prevent my
ways, though right. Now there are three things in this Evangelst
discovers the
mans counsel that thou must utterly abhor: deceit of Mr.
I. His turning thee out of the way. Wiseman.
2. His labouring to render the Cross odious to thee.
3. And 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;
yea, and thine own consenting thereto: because this is to
reject the counsel of God, for the sake of the counsel of
a Worldly-Wiseman. The Lord says, Strive to enter in Luke 3.24.
at the strait gate, the gate to which I sent thee; for strait Matt. 7.
is the gate that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it. '~, 4.
From this little wicket-gate, and from the way thereto hath
this wicked man turned thee, to the bringing of thee
almost to destruction; hate therefore his turning thee out
of the way, and abhor thyself for hearkening to him.
Secondly, Thou must abhor his labouring to render the
Cross odious unto thee; for thou art to prefer it before the Heb. II.
treasures of Egypt: besides, the King of Glory hath told Mak s. s.
thee, that he that will save his life, shall lose it: and he Matt. 39
that comes after him, and hates not his father, and mother, Luke 14. 26.
and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters; yea, and

1 When Christians unto carnal men give ear,
Out of their way they go, and pay for't dear,
For master Worldly- Wiseman can but shew
A Saint the way to Bondage and to woe.


his own life also, he cannot be my Disciple. I say therefore,
for a man to labour to persuade thee, that that shall be thy
death, without which the truth hath said, thou canst not
have eternal life, This Doctrine thou must abhor.
Thirdly, Thou must hate his setting of thy feet in the
way that leadeth to the ministration of death. And for
this thou must consider to whom he sent thee, and also
how unable that person was to deliver thee from thy
He to whom thou wast sent for ease, being by name
Gal. 4. 2, Legality, is the Son of the Bond-woman which now is,
, 27. and is in bondage with her children, and is in a mystery
The Bond- 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 a cheat: and for his son Civility,
notwithstanding his simpering looks, he is but an
hypocrite, and cannot help thee. Believe me, there is
nothing in all this noise, that thou hast heard of this
sottish man, but a design to beguile thee of thy Salvation,
by turning thee from the way in which I had set thee.
After this Evangelist called aloud to the Heavens for con-
firmation 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.
Gal. 3. o. The words were thus pronounced, As many as are of the
works of the Law, are under the curse; for it is written,
Cursed is every one that continueth not in all things which
are written in the Book of the Law to do them.
Now Christian looked for nothing but death, and began
to cry out lamentably, even cursing the time in which he


met with Mr. Worldly- Wiseman, still calling himself a
thousand fools for hearkening to his counsel: he also was
greatly ashamed to think that this Gentleman's arguments,
flowing only from the flesh, should have that prevalency
with him to forsake the right way. This done, he applied
himself again to Evangelist in words and sense as follows.
CHR. Sir, what think you? is there hopes? may I now Christian
Enquired if
go back, and go up to the Wicket-gate ? Shall I not be hemayyet
abandoned for this, and sent back from thence ashamed ? be Happy.
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 of the Gate receive thee, for he has good Evangelist
will for men; only, said he, take heed that thou turn not him.
aside again, lest thou perish from the way when his wrath
is kindled but a little. Then did Christian address himself Psalm 2. .2.
to go back, and Evangelist, after he had kist 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
man asked him, would he vouchsafe them an answer. He
went like one that was all the while treading on forbidden
ground, and could by no means think himself safe, till
again he was got into the way which he left to follow
Mr. Worldly- Wiseman's counsel. So in process of time,
Christian got up to the Gate. Now over the Gate there
was written, Knock and it shall be opened unto you. He Matt. 7. 8.
knocked therefore1, more than once or twice, saying,
May I now enter here ? will he within
Open to sorry me, though I have been
An undeserving Rebel ? then shall I
Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high.
1 He that will enter in must first without
Stand knocking at the Gate, nor need he doubt
That is a knocker but to enter in ;
For God can love him, and forgive his sin.


At last there came a grave Person to the Gate, named
Good Will, who asked Who was there? and whence he
came and what he would have
CHR. Here is a poor burdened sinner. I come from the
City of Destruction, but am going to Mount Zion, that I
may be delivered from the wrath to come. I would there-
fore, Sir, since I am informed that by this Gate is the way
thither, know if you are willing to let me in.
The Gate GOOD WILL. I am willing with all my heart, said he;
will be
opened to and with that he opened the Gate.
hearted So, when Christian was stepping in, the other gave him a
sinners pull; Then said Christian, What means that? The other
told him, A little distance from this Gate, there is erected
Satan a strong Castle, of which Beelzebub is the Captain: from
that ente thence both he, and them that are with him shoot Arrows
the straight
Gtaiht at those that come up to this Gate; if haply they may die
EChneisa before they can enter in. Then said Christian, I rejoice
Entred the
Gate with and tremble. So when he was got in, the Man of the Gate
Joy and
trembling. asked him, Who directed him thither?
Talk CHR. Evangelist bid me come hither and knock, (as I
obed wii did;) And he said, that you, Sir, would tell me what I
Christian. must do.
GOOD WILL. An open Door is set before thee, and no man
can shut it.
CHR. Now I begin to reap the benefits of my hazards.
GOOD WILL. But how is it that you came alone 1
CHR. Because none of my Neighbors saw their danger,
as I saw mine.
GOOD WILL. Did any of them know of your coming?
CHR. Yes, my Wife and Children saw me at the first,
and called after me to turn again: Also some of my
Neighbors 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 ferswade
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 Dispond, into the which we also suddenly
fell. And then was my Neighbor Pliable discouraged, and
would not adventure further. Wherefore getting out A Manmay
have Corn-
again, on that side next to his own House, he told me, pany whe
he sets out
I should possess the brave Country alone for him: So he for Heaven,
went his way, and I came mine. He after Obstinate, and hYe go
I to this Gate. alone.
GooD WILL. Then said Good Will, Alas poor Man, is
the Ccelestial 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 the truth of myself, it will
appear there is no betterment twixtt him and myself. 'Tis c,'stian
true, he went back to his own house, but I also turned himself
aside to go in the way of death, being persuaded thereto bee the
by the carnal arguments of one Mr. Worldly- Wiseman. Gate.
GooD WILL. Oh, did he light upon you? what, he
would have had you a sought for ease at the hands of Mr.
Legality; they are both of them a very cheat: But did you
take his counsel?
CHR. Yes, as far as I durst: I went to find out Mr.
Legality, until I thought that the Mountain that stands by
his house, would have fallen upon my head: wherefore
there I was forced to stop.
GOOD WILL. That Mountain has been the death of
many, and will be the death of many more: 'tis well you
escaped being by it dasht in pieces.
CHR. Why, truly I do not know what had become of
me there, had not Evangelist happily met me again as I
was musing in the midst of my dumps: but 'twas Gods
mercy that he came to me again, for else I had never come


hither. But now I am come, such a one as I am, more fit
indeed for death by that Mountain, than thus to stand
talking with my Lord: But O, what a favour is this to me,
that yet I am admitted entrance here.
Christian Goon WILL. We make no objections against any, not-
again, withstanding all that they have done before they come
John 6.37. hither, they in no wise are cast out, and therefore, good
Christian, come a little way with me, and I will teach thee
Christian about the way thou must go. Look before thee; dost
directed yet
on his way thou see this narrow way? THAT is the way thou must
go. It was cast up by the Patriarchs, Prophets, Christ,
and his Apostles; and it is as straight as a Rule can make
it: This is the way thou must go.
Christian CHR. But said Christian, Is there no turnings nor
losig h windings by which a Stranger may lose the way?
way. GOOD WILL. Yes, there are many ways bxtt down upon
this; and they are crooked, and wide: But thus thou
Matt. 7. -4. may'st distinguish the right from the wrong, That only
being straight and narrow.
Christian Then I saw in my Dream, That Christian asked him
hbrden 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,
Thereisno until thou comest to the place of Deliverance; for there it
from the will fall from thy back itself.
burden of Then Christian began to gird up his loins, and to
sin, but by address himself to his Journey. So the other told him,
the death
and blood that by that he was gone some distance from the Gate, he
would come at the House of the Interpreter; at whose
Door he should knock; and he would shew him excellent
things. Then Christian took his leave of his Friend, and
he again bid him God speed.
Christian Then he went on, till he came at the House of the
omes to the Interpreter, where he knocked over and over : at last one
Interpreter. came to the Door, and asked Who was there


CHR. Sir, here is a Traveller, who was bid by an
acquaintance of the Good-man of this House, to call here
for my profit: I would therefore speak with the Master of
the House. So he called for the Master of the House;
who after a little time came to Christian, and asked him
what he would have ?
CHR. Sir, said Christian, I am a Man that am come
from the City of Destruction, and am going to the Mount
Zion, and I was told by the Man that stands at the Gate,
at the head of this way, That if I called here, you would
shew me excellent things, such as would be an help to me
in my Journey.
INTER. Then said the Interpreter, Come in, I will shew
thee that which will be profitable to thee. So he com- He is
manded his Man to light the Candle, and bid Christian Ilumin-.
follow him; so he had him into a private Room, and bid tion.
his Man open a Door; the which when he had done,
Christian saw the Picture of a very grave Person hang up crst*an
sees a brave
against the Wall, and this was the fashion of it. It had Picture.
eyes lift up to Heaven, the best of Books in his hand, the The fashion
Law of Truth was written upon his lips, the World was Picture.
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 means this ?
INTER. The Man whose Picture this is, is one of a
thousand; he can beget Children, travel in birth with cor.4. is.
Children, and nurse them himself when they are born. iThess.2.7.
And whereas thou seest him with his eyes lift up to
Heaven, the best of Books in his hand, and the Law of
Truth writ on his lips: it is to shew thee, that his work is
to know and unfold dark things to sinners; even as also The mean-
thou seest him stand as if he pleaded with Men: And Pift .he
whereas thou seest the World as cast behind him, and
that a Crown hangs over his head; that is, to shew thee that
slighting and despising the things that are present, for the
love that he hath to his Masters service, he is sure ir


the World that comes next to have Glory for his Reward.
Why he Now, said the Interpreter, I have shewed thee this Picture
showed him
the Picture first, because the Man whose Picture this is, is the only
fist Man, whom the Lord of the Place whither thou art going,
hath authorized to be thy Guide in all difficult places thou
mayest meet with in the way: wherefore take good heed to
what I have shewed thee, and bear well in thy mind what
thou hast seen; lest in thy Journey thou meet with some
that pretend to lead thee right, but their way goes down
to death.
Then he took him by the hand, and led him into a very
large Parlour that was full of dust, because never swept;
the which, after he had reviewed a little while, the
Interpreter called for a man to sweep. Now when he
began to sweep, the dust began so abundantly to fly about,
that Christian had almost therewith been choaked. Then
said the Interpreter to a Damsel that stood by, Bring
hither the Water, and sprinkle the Room; which when
she had done, it was swept and cleansed with pleasure.
CHR. Then said Christian, What means this ?
INTER. The Interpreter answered; this Parlour is the
heart of a Man that was never sanctified by the sweet
Grace of the Gospel: the dust, is his Original Sin, and
inward Corruptions that have defiled the whole Man. He
that began to sweep at first is the Law; but She that
brought water, and did sprinkle it, is the Gospel. Now,
whereas thou sawest that so soon as the first began to
sweep, the dust did so fly about that the Room by him
could not be cleansed, but that thou wast almost choaked
therewith: this is to shew thee, that the Law, instead of
cleansing the heart (by its working) from sin, doth revive,
Rom. 7.6. put strength into, and increase it in the soul, even as it
Rom. 1. '6. doth discover and forbid it, but doth not give power to
Again, as thou sawest the Damsel sprinkle the Room
with Water, upon which it was cleansed with pleasure;



this is to shew thee, that when the Gospel comes in the
sweet and precious influences thereof to the heart, then,
I say, even as thou sawest the Damsel lay the dust by
sprinkling the Floor with Water, so is sin vanquished and John i5. 3.
Eph. 5. 26.
subdued, and the soul made clean, through the faith of it, Acts i5. 9.
and consequently fit for the King of Glory to inhabit. Rs," 6.
I saw moreover in my Dream, that the Interpreter took John s5. I3.
him by the hand, and had him into a little Room, where
sate two little Children, each one in his Chair. The name He showed
him Passion
of the eldest was Passion, and of the other Patience. and
Passion seemed to be much discontent, but Patience was Passion will
have all now.
very quiet. Then Christian asked, What is the reason of
the discontent of Passion 7 The Interpreter answered,
The Governor of them would have him stay for his best
things till the beginning of the next year; but he will have
all now: But Patience is willing to wait. Patience is
for waiting.
Then I saw that one came to Passion, and brought him Pasion has
a Bag of Treasure, and poured it down at his feet; the his desire.
which he took up, and rejoiced therein; and withal, laughed
Patience to scorn. But I beheld but a while, and he had And quickly
lavished all away, and had nothing left him but Rags. al away.
CHR.' Then said Christian to the Interpreter, Expound hem a
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 TheWorldly
Man for a
of more Authority with them, than are all the Divine Testi- Bird in the
monies of the good of the World to come. But as thou hand.
sawest, that he had quickly lavished all away, and had
presently left him, nothing but Rags; so will it be with
all such Men at the end of this World.


CHR. Then said Christian, Now I see that Patience has
Patience the best Wisdom; and that upon many accounts. I. Because
had the best
Wisdom. he stays for the best things. 2. And also because he will
have the glory of his, when the other hath nothing but Rags.
INTER. Nay, you may add another; to wit, the Glory of
the next world will never wear out; but these are suddenly
gone. Therefore Passion had not so much reason to laugh
at Patience, because he had his good things first, as Patience
will have to laugh at Passion, because he had his best
Things that things last; for first must give place to last, because last
give place, must have his time to come, but last gives place to nothing;
that arrest, for there is not another to succeed. He therefore that
are lasting. hath his Portion first, must needs have a time to spend it;
but he that has his Portion last, must have it lastingly.
Luke 16. Therefore it is said of Dives, In thy lifetime thou receivedest
Dives had
his good thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things; But now
things first, he is comforted, and thou art tormented.
CHR. Then Iperceive, 'tis not best to covet things that are
now; but to wait for things to come.
2 Co. 4. I. INTER. You say Truth; For the things that are seen, are
The first
things are Temporal; but the things that are not seen, are Eternal.
poral. But though this be so; yet since things present, and our
fleshly appetite, are such near Neighbors one to another;
and again, because things to come, and carnal sense, are
such strangers one to another: therefore it is, that the first
of these so suddenly fall into amity, and that distance is so
continued between the second.
Then I saw in my Dream, that the Interpreter took
Christian by the hand, and led him into a place where was
a Fire burning against a Wall, and one standing by it
always, casting much Water upon it to quench it: yet did
the Fire burn higher and hotter.
Then said Christian, What means this
The Interpreter answered, This fire is the work of Grace
that is wrought in the heart; he that casts Water upon it,
to extinguish and put it out, is the Devil. but in that thou


seest the fire notwithstanding burn higher and hotter, thou
shalt also see the reason of that: So he had him about to
the 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 means this? The Interpreter answered,
This is Christ, who continually, with the Oil of his Grace,
maintains the work already begun in the heart; by the
means of which, notwithstanding what the Devil can do, 2 Cor. 12.9.
the souls of his People prove gracious still. And in that
thou sawest that the Man stood behind the Wall to main-
tain the fire; this 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 walked, who were cloathed all in
Gold. Then said Christian, May we go in thither? Then
the Interpreter took him, and led him up toward 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 Armor to
keep it; being resolved to do to the Man that would enter,
what hurt and mischief they could. Now was Christian
somewhat in a maze: at last, when every Man started back
for fear of the armed men; Christian saw a Man of a very
stout countenance come up to the Man that sat there to
write; saying, Set down my name, Sir; the which when he The aliant
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
Acts 14.22. 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 cloathed with such Garments as
they. Then Christian smiled, and said, I think verily I
know the meaning of this.
Now, said Christian, let me go hence: Nay stay (said
the Interpreter,) till I have shewed thee a little more, and
after that thou shalt go on thy way. So he took him by
the hand again, and led him into a very dark Room, where
Despair like there sat a Man in an Iron Cage.
a "Ir Now the Man, to look on, seemed very sad: he sat with
his eyes looking down to the ground, his hands folded
together; and he sighed as if he would break his heart.
Then said Christian, What means this ? At which the
Interpreter bid him talk with the Man.
CHR. Then said Christian to the Man, What art thou?
The Man answered, I am what I was not once.
CHR. What wast thou once 1
Luke 8. 3. MAN. The Man said, I was once a fair and flourishing
Professor, both in mine own eyes, and also in the eyes of
others: I once was, as I thought, fair for the Ccelestial
City, and had then even joy at the thoughts that I should
get thither.
CHR. Well, but what art thou now I
MAN. I am now a Man of Despair, and am shut up in
it, as in this Iron Cage. I cannot get out; 0 now I
CHR. But how camest thou in this condition ?


MAN. I left off to watch, and be sober; I laid the reins
upon the neck of my lusts; I sinned against the light of
the Word, and the goodness of God: I have grieved the
Spirit, and he is gone; I tempted the Devil, and he is
come to me; I have provoked God to anger, and he has
left me; I have so hardened my heart, that I cannot repent.
Then said Christian to the Interpreter, But is there no
hopes for such a Man as this? Ask him, said the Inter-
CHR. Then said Christian, Is there no hope but you must
be kept in the Iron Cage of Despair
MAN. No, none at all.
CHR. Why ? The Son of the Blessed is very pitiful.
MAN. I have crucified him to myself, afresh. I have Heb. 6.6.
despised his Person, I have despised his Righteousness, Luke 19.14.
I have counted his Blood an unholy thing, I have done
despite to the Spirit of Grace: Therefore I have shut Heb.o.
myself out of all the Promises; and there now remains to 2'29'
me nothing but threatnings, dreadful threatnings, faithful
threatnings of certain Judgment, which shall devour me as
an Adversary.
INTER. For what did you bring yourself into this con-
dition ?
MAN. For the Lusts, Pleasures, and Profits of this
World; in the enjoyment of which, I did then promise
my self much delight; but now every one of those things
also bite me, and gnaw me like a burning worm.
INTER. But canst thou not now repent and turn ?
MAN. God hath denied me repentance; his Word gives
me no encouragement to believe; yea, himself hath shut
me up in this Iron Cage; nor can all the men in the World
let me out. 0 Eternity! Eternity! how shall I grapple
with the misery that I must meet with in Eternity !
INTER. Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Let this
mans misery be remembered by thee, and be an everlasting
caution to thee.


CHR. Well, said Christian, this is fearful; God help
me to watch and be sober; and to pray, that I may shun
the causes of this mans misery. Sir, is it not time for
me to go on my way now?
INTER. Tarry till I shall shew thee one thing more, and
then thou shalt go on thy way.
So he took Christian by the hand again, and led him
into a Chamber, where there was one rising out of Bed;
and as he put on his Raiment, he shook and trembled.
Then said Christian, Why doth this Man thus tremble?
The Interpreter then bid him tell to Christian the reason
of his so doing. So he began, and said: This night as
'I was in my sleep, I Dreamed, and behold the Heavens
grew exceeding black; also it hundred and lightned in
most fearful wise, that it put me into an Agony. So I
looked up in my Dream, and saw the Clouds rack at an
unusual rate; upon which I heard a great sound of a
Cor. 1s. s2. Trumpet, and saw also a Man sit upon a Cloud, attended
6.. with the thousands of Heaven; they were all in flaming
uTh es.. 8. fire, also the Heavens were on a burning flame. I heard
ohn 5. 28. then a voice, saying, Arise ye Dead, and come to Judgment;
12, i3, 14. and with that, the Rocks rent, the Graves opened, & the
Isa. 26. 2,. Dead that were therein, came forth; some of them were
Mic,7. exceeding glad, and looked upward; and some sought to
Do.7 'o."' 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 that issued out and came from before him, a con-
venient distance betwixt him and them, as betwixt the
Mal.3.2, 3. Judge and the Prisoners at the Bar. I heard it also
Dan.7.9, 10 proclaimed to them that attended on the Man that sat
Matt. 3 .2. on the Cloud; Gather together the Tares, the Chaff, and
Chap. 13. 30.
Mal. 3'.30 Stubble, and cast them into the burning Lake; and with
that, the bottomless pit opened, just whereabout I stood;
out of the mouth of which there came in an abundant
manner Smoke, and Coals of fire, with hideous noises. It


was also said to the same persons; Gather my Wheat into Luke 3. 17.
the Garner. And with that I saw many catch'd up and I Thess. 4
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 Rom.2. '4,
sins also came into my mind, and my Conscience did
accuse me on every side. Upon this I awaked from my
CHR. But what was it that made you so afraid of this
sight ?
MAN. Why I thought the day of Judgement was come,
and that I was not ready for it: but this frighted me most,
that the Angels gathered up several, and left me behind;
also the pit of Hell opened her mouth just where I stood:
my Conscience too afflicted me ; and as I thought, the
Judge had always his eye upon me, shewing indignation
in his countenance.
Then said the Interpreter to Christian, Hast thou con-
sidered all these things
CHR. Yes, and they put me in hope and fear.
INTER. Well, keep all things so in thy mind, that they
may be as a Goad in thy sides, to prick thee forward in
the way thou must go. Then Christian began to gird up
his loins, and to address himself to his Journey. Then
said the Interpreter, The Comforter be always with thee
good Christian, to guide thee in the way that leads to
the City.
So Christian went on his way, saying,

Here have I 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 shewed me was, and let me be
Thankful, 0 good Interpreter, to thee.


Now I saw in my Dream, that the highway up which
Christian was to go, was fenced on either side with a Wall,
Isa. 26. r. and that Wall is called Salvation. Up this way therefore
did burdened Christian run, but not without great diffi-
culty, because of the load on his back.
He ran thus till he came at a place somewhat ascending;
and upon that place stood a Cross, and a little below in
the bottom, a Sepulchre. So I saw in my Dream, that
just as Christian came up with the Cross, his burden
loosed from off his Shoulders, and fell from off his back,
and began to tumble; and so continued to do, till it came
to the mouth of the Sepulchre, where it fell in, and I saw
it no more.1
When God Then was Christian glad and lightsome, and said with
r' ous il a merry heart, He hath given me rest, by his sorrow; and
andburden, life, by his death. Then he stood still a while, to look
we are as
those that and wonder; for it was very surprising to him, that the
p for joy. 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.
Zech. 12. o. Now as he stood looking and weeping, behold three
shining ones came to him, and saluted him, with Peace
Mark 2. s. be to thee: so the first said to him, Thy sins be forgiven.
The second, stript him of his Rags, and cloathed him
Zech. 3.4. with change of Raiment. The third also set a mark in
Ephes. 1. 13. his forehead, and gave him a Roll with a Seal upon it,
which he bid him look on as he ran, and that he should
give it in at the Coelestial Gate; so they went their way.
Then Christian gave three leaps for joy, and went on singing,
A Christian Thus far did Icome loaden with my sin;
can sing tho'
alone, when Nor could ought ease the grief that I was in,
God doth
give him the Till I came hither: What a place is this /
of his Must here be the beginning of my bliss ?

SWho's this; the Pilgrim. How! 'tis very true,
Old things are past away. all's become new.
Strange I he's another man upon my word,
They be fine Feathers that make a fine Bird.

s:. -



-\"; ^*Y'I


Must here the burden fall from off my back ?
Must here the strings that bound it to me crack 7
Blest Cross / blest Sepulchre / blest rather be
The Man that there was put to shame for me.

I saw then in my Dream that he went on thus, even
until he came at a bottom, where he saw, a little out of
the way, three Men fast asleep with Fetters upon their
heels. The name of the one was Simple, another Sloth, and Simplie,
the third Presumption. or,-
Christian then seeing them lie in this case, went to ton.
them, if peradventure he might awake them. And cried,
You are like them that sleep on the top of a Mast, for the Prov. 23. 34
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 I Pet. 5. .
will certainly become a prey to his teeth. With that they
lookt upon him, and began to reply in this sort: Simple
said, I see no danger; Sloth said, Yet a little more sleep: There isno
and Presumption said, Every Fatt must stand upon his own will doif
bottom. And so they lay down to sleep again, and Christian Go the ee.
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, coun-
seling of them, and proffering to help them off with their
Irons. And as he was troubled thereabout, he espied two
Men come tumbling over the Wall, on the left hand of the
narrow way; and they made up apace to him. The name
of the one was Formalist, and the name of the other
Hypocrisy. So, as I said, they drew up unto him, who
thus entered with them into discourse.
CHR. Gentlemen, Whence came you, and whither do you go Cristian
talked with
FORM. and HYP. We were born in the land of Vain-them.
glory, and are going for praise to Mount Sion.


CHR. Why came you not in at the Gate which standeth at
John 0o. x. the beginning of the way ? Know you not that it is written,
That he that comet not in by the door, but climbeth up some
other way, the same is a thief and a robber 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
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?
They that FORM. and HYP. They told him, That as for that, he
come into
theway, but needed not to trouble his head thereabout: for what they
door, thi did, they had custom for; and could produce, if need
can tsy were, Testimony that would witness it, for more than a
nothing thousand years.
in vindica-
ton of their CHR. But, said Christian, will your practice stand a
own Prac-.
tice. 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 an Impartial
Judge. And besides, said they, if we get into the way,
what's matter which way we get in? If we are in, we
are in: thou art but in the way, who, as we perceive, came
in at the Gate; and we are also in the way, that came
tumbling over the wall. Wherein now is thy condition
better than ours?
CHR. I walk by the Rule of my Master, you walk by
the rude working of your fancies. You are counted thieves
already, by the Lord of the way; therefore I doubt you
will not be found true men at the end of the way. You
come in by yourselves without his direction, and shall go
out by yourselves without his mercy.
To this they made him but little answer; only they bid
him look to himself. Then I saw that they went on every

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