The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan Every Child Can Read
towards him as might tend most to his encouragement. Well, when he had a
sight of the things of the place, and was ready to take his journey to
go to the City, my Lord, as he did to Christian before, gave him a
bottle of spirits, and some comfortable things to eat. Thus we set
forward, and I went before him; but the man was but of few words, only
he would sigh aloud.
[Sidenote: GREAT-HEART'S REMINISCENCES]
When we were come to the place where the three fellows were hanged, he
said that he doubted that that would be his end also. Only he seemed
glad when he saw the Cross and the sepulchre. There, I confess, he
desired to stay a little to look; and he seemed, for a little while
after, to be a little cheery. When we came at the Hill Difficulty, he
made no stick at that, nor did he much fear the lions, for you must know
that his trouble was not about such things as those; his fear was about
his acceptance at last.
I got him in at the House Beautiful, I think, before he was willing.
Also, when he was in, I brought him acquainted with the damsels that
were of the place; but he was ashamed to make himself much for company.
He desired much to be alone; yet he always loved good talk, and often
would get behind the screen to hear it. He also loved much to see
ancient things, and to be pondering them in his mind. He told me,
afterwards, that he loved to be in those two houses from which he came
last; to wit, at the gate, and that of the Interpreter; but that he
durst not be so bold as to ask.
When we went also from the House Beautiful, down the hill into the
Valley of Humiliation, he went down as well as ever I saw a man in my
life: for he cared not how mean he was, so he might be happy at last.
Yea, I think there was a kind of sympathy betwixt that valley and him;
for I never saw him better in all his pilgrimage than when he was in
that valley.
Here he would lie down, embrace the ground, and kiss the very flowers
that grew in this valley. He would now be up every morning by break of
day, tracing and walking to and fro in this valley.
But when he was come to the entrance of the Valley of the Shadow of
Death, I thought I should have lost my man: not for that he had any
inclination to go back--that he always abhorred; but he was ready to
die for fear. "Oh, the hobgoblins will have me! the hobgoblins will have
me!" cried he, and I could not beat him out of it. He made such a noise
and such an outcry here, that, had they but heard him, it was enough to
encourage them to come and fall upon us.
But this I took very great notice of, that this valley was as quiet
while we went through it as ever I knew it before or since. I suppose
those enemies here had now a special check from our Lord, and a command
not to meddle until Mr. Fearing had passed over it.
[Sidenote: FEARING AT VANITY FAIR]
It would be too tedious to tell you of all, I will therefore only
mention a passage or two more. When he was come at Vanity Fair, I
thought he would have fought with all the men in the fair. I feared
there we should both have been knocked on the head, so hot was he
against their fooleries. Upon the Enchanted Ground he was also very
wakeful. But, when he was come at the river where was no bridge, there
again he was in a heavy case. Now, now, he said, he should be drowned
for ever, and so never see that face with comfort that he had come so
many miles to behold.
And here also I took notice of what was very remarkable: the water of
that river was lower at this time than ever I saw it in all my life: so
he went over at last, not much above wetshod. When he was going up to
the gate, I began to take leave of him, and to wish him a good
reception above. So he said, "I shall, I shall." Then parted we
asunder, and I saw him no more.
HON. Then it seems he was well at last?
GREAT. Yes, yes; I never had a doubt about him. He was a man of choice
spirit; only he was always kept very low, and that made his life so
burthensome to himself and so troublesome to others. He was, above many,
tender of sin: he was so afraid of doing injuries to others, that he
often would deny himself of that which was lawful because he would not
offend.
HON. But what should be the reason that such a good man should be all
his days so much in the dark?
GREAT. There are two sorts of reasons for it. One is, the wise God will
have it so; some must pipe, and some must weep. Now Mr. Fearing was one
that played upon this bass. He and his fellows sound the sackbut, whose
notes are more doleful than the notes of other music are; though,
indeed, some say the bass is the ground of music. And, for my part, I
care not at all for that profession which begins, not in heaviness of
mind. The first string that the musician usually touches is the bass,
when he intends to put all in tune. God also plays upon this string
first, when He sets the soul in tune for Himself. Only here was the
imperfection of Mr. Fearing: he could play upon no other music but this
till toward his latter end.
I make bold to talk thus in figures, for the ripening of the wits of
young readers, and because, in the book of the Revelation, the saved
are compared to a company of musicians, that play upon their trumpets
and harps, and sing their songs before the throne.
HON. He was a very zealous man, as one may see by the relation which you
have given of him. Difficulties, lions, or Vanity Fair he feared not at
all; it was only sin, death, and hell that were to him a terror, because
he had some doubts about his interest in that Celestial Country.
GREAT. You say right: those were the things that were his troublers, and
they, as you have well observed, arose from the weakness of his mind
thereabout, not from weakness of spirit as to the practical part of a
pilgrim's life. I dare believe that, as the proverb is, he would have
bit a firebrand, had it stood in his way; but the things with which he
was oppressed no man ever yet could shake off with ease.
CHR. Then said Christiana, "This relation of Mr. Fearing has done me
good. I thought nobody had been like me; but I see there was some
semblance betwixt this good man and I: only we differed in two things.
His troubles were so great that they broke out; but mine I kept within.
His also lay so hard upon him, they made him that he could not knock at
the houses provided for entertainment; but my trouble was always such as
made me knock the louder."
MER. If I might also speak my heart, I must say that something of him
has also dwelt in me; for I have ever been more afraid of the lake, and
the loss of a place in Paradise, than I have been of the loss of other
things. Oh, thought I, may I have the happiness to have a habitation
there, it is enough, though I part with all the world to win it!
MATT. Then said Matthew, "Fear was one thing that made me think that I
was far from having that within me which makes me sure of being saved.
But if it were so with such a good man as he, why may it not also go
well with me?"
JAMES. "No fears, no grace," said James, "Though there is not always
grace where there is the fear of hell, yet, to be sure, there is no
grace where there is no fear of God."
GREAT. Well said, James; thou hast hit the mark. For the fear of God is
the beginning of wisdom; and, to be sure, they that want the beginning
have neither middle nor end. But we will here conclude our discourse of
Mr. Fearing, after we have sent after him this farewell:
"Well, Master Fearing, thou didst fear
Thy God, and wast afraid
Of doing anything while here
That would have thee betrayed.
"And didst thou fear the lake and pit?
Would others did so too!
For, as for them that want thy wit,
They do themselves undo."
[Sidenote: HONEST TELLS OF MR. SELF-WILL]
Now I saw that they still went on in their talk; for, after Mr.
Great-heart had made an end with Mr. Fearing, Mr. Honest began to tell
them of another, but his name was Mr. Self-will. "He pretended himself
to be a pilgrim," said Mr. Honest, "but I persuade myself he never came
in at the gate that stands at the head of the way."
GREAT. Had you ever any talk with him about it?
HON. Yes, more than once or twice; but he would always be like himself,
self-willed. He neither cared for man, nor argument, nor yet example;
what his mind prompted him to, that he would do, and nothing else could
he be got to do.
GREAT. Pray, what principles did he hold? for I suppose you can tell.
HON. He held that a man might follow the sins as well as the virtues of
pilgrims; and that, if he did both, he should be certainly saved.
GREAT. How! If he had said it is possible for the best to be guilty of
the vices, as well as to partake of the virtues, of pilgrims, he could
not much have been blamed; for, indeed, we are free from no sin
absolutely, but on condition that we watch and strive. But this, I
perceive, is not the thing; but, if I understood you right, your meaning
is that he was of opinion that it was allowable so to be.
HON. Ay, ay, so I mean, and so he believed and acted.
GREAT. But what grounds had he for his so saying?
HON. Why, he said he had the Scripture for his warrant.
[Sidenote: HONEST QUOTES SELF-WILL]
GREAT. Prithee, Mr. Honest, present us with a few particulars.
HON. So I will. He said, To have to do with other men's wives had been
practiced by David, God's beloved; and therefore he could do it. He
said, To have more women than one was a thing that Solomon practiced;
and therefore he could do it. He said that Sarah lied, and so did Rahab;
and therefore he could do it. He said that the disciples went at the
bidding of their Master, and took away the owner's ass; and therefore he
could do so too. He said that Jacob got the inheritance of his father in
a way of guile and cheating; and therefore he could do so too.
GREAT. Highly base, indeed! And you are sure he was of this opinion?
HON. I have heard him plead for it, bring Scripture for it, bring
argument for it, and so on.
GREAT. An opinion that is not fit to be with any allowance in the world!
HON. You must understand me rightly: he did not say that _any_ man might
do this; but that they who had the virtues of those that did such
things, might also do the same.
GREAT. But what more false than such a conclusion? For this is as much
as to say that, because good men heretofore have sinned through weakness
or forgetfulness, therefore he had an allowance to do it of a purpose;
or if, because a child, by the blast of the wind, or for that it
stumbled at a stone, fell down and defiled itself in the mire,
therefore he might wilfully lie down and wallow like a boar therein. Who
could have thought that any one could so far have been blinded by the
power of sin. But what is written must be true: they "stumble at the
Word, being disobedient; whereunto also they were appointed." His
supposing that such may have the godly man's virtues, who accustom
themselves to their vices, is also a delusion as strong as the other. To
eat up the sin of God's people as a dog licks up filth, is no sign of
one that is possessed with their virtues. Nor can I believe that one who
is of this opinion can have faith or love in him. But I know you have
made strong objections against him: prithee, what can he say for
himself?
HON. Why, he says, "To do this openly and by way of opinion, seems
abundantly more honest than to do it and yet hold contrary to it in
opinion."
GREAT. A very wicked answer. For, though to let loose the bridle to
lusts while our opinions are against such things is bad; yet to sin, and
plead a toleration so to do, is worse. The one stumbles beholders
accidentally, the other _pleads_ them into the snare.
HON. There are many of this man's mind, that have not this man's mouth;