Hundreds of additional titles available for
online reading when you join Gateway to the Classics
THE SEVENTH STAGE
NOW I saw in my dream, that Christian went not forth alone; for there was one
whose name was Hopeful, (being so made by the beholding of Christian and
Faithful in their words and behavior, in their sufferings at the fair,)
who joined himself unto him, and entering into a brotherly covenant, told
him that he would be his companion. Thus one died to bear testimony to the
truth, and another rises out of his ashes to be a companion with Christian
in his pilgrimage. This Hopeful also told Christian, that there were many
more of the men in the fair that would take their time, and follow after.
So I saw, that quickly after they were got out of the fair, they overtook
one that was going before them, whose name was By-ends; so they said to him,
What countryman, sir? and how far go you this way? He told them, that he came
from the town of Fair-speech, and he was going to the Celestial City; but told
them not his name.
From Fair-speech? said Christian; is there any good that lives there?
BY-ENDS: Yes, said By-ends, I hope so.
CHRISTIAN: Pray, sir, what may I call you?
 BY-ENDS: I am a stranger to you, and you to me: if you be going this way,
I shall be glad of your company; if not, I must be content.
CHRISTIAN: This town of Fair-speech, said Christian, I have heard of; and,
as I remember, they say it's a wealthy place.
BY-ENDS: Yes, I will assure you that it is; and I have very many rich kindred
CHRISTIAN: Pray, who are your kindred there, if a man may be so bold?
BY-ENDS: Almost the whole town; and in particular my Lord Turn-about, my Lord
Time-server, my Lord Fair-speech, from whose ancestors that town first took
its name; also, Mr. Smooth-man, Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Any-thing; and the
parson of our parish, Mr. Two-tongues, was my mother's own brother, by father's
side; and, to tell you the truth, I am become a gentleman of good quality; yet
my great-grandfather was but a waterman, looking one way and rowing another,
and I got most of my estate by the same occupation.
CHRISTIAN: Are you a married man.
BY-ENDS: Yes, and my wife is a very virtuous woman, the daughter of a virtuous
woman; she was my Lady Feigning's daughter; therefore she came of a very
honorable family, and is arrived to such a pitch of breeding, that she
knows how to carry it to all, even to prince and peasant. 'Tis true, we
somewhat differ in religion from those of the stricter sort, yet but in
two small points: First, we never strive against wind and tide. Secondly,
we are always most zealous when religion goes in his silver slippers; we
love much to walk with him in the street, if the sun shines and the people
Then Christian stepped a little aside to his fellow Hopeful, saying, it
runs in my mind that this is one By-ends, of Fair-speech; and if it be he,
we have as very a knave in our company as dwelleth in all these parts. Then
said Hopeful, Ask him; methinks he should not be ashamed of his name. So
Christian came up with him again, and said, Sir, you talk as if you knew
something more than all the world doth; and, if I take not my mark amiss,
I deem I have half a guess of you. Is not your name Mr. By-ends of Fair-speech?
BY-ENDS: This is not my name, but indeed it is a nickname that is given me
by some that cannot abide me, and I must be content to
 bear it as a reproach,
as other good men have borne theirs before me.
CHRISTIAN: But did you never give an occasion to men to call you by this name?
BY-ENDS: Never, never! The worst that ever I did to give them an occasion to
give me this name was, that I had always the luck to jump in my judgment with
the present way of the times, whatever it was, and my chance was to get
thereby: but if things are thus cast upon me, let me count them a blessing;
but let not the malicious load me therefore with reproach.
CHRISTIAN: I thought, indeed, that you were the man that I heard of; and to
tell you what I think, I fear this name belongs to you more properly than you
are willing we should think it doth.
BY-ENDS: Well if you will thus imagine, I cannot help it; you shall find me a
fair company-keeper, if you will still admit me your associate.
CHRISTIAN: If you will go with us, you must go against wind and tide;
the which, I perceive, is against your opinion: you must also own Religion
in his rags, as well as when in his silver slippers; and stand by him, too,
when bound in irons, as well as when he walketh the streets with applause.
BY-ENDS: You must not impose, nor lord it over my faith; leave me to my
liberty, and let me go with you.
CHRISTIAN: Not a step farther, unless you will do, in what I propound, as we.
 Then said By-ends, I shall never desert my old principles, since they are
harmless and profitable. If I may not go with you, I must do as I did before
you overtook me, even go by myself, until some overtake me that will be glad
of my company.
Now I saw in my dream, that Christian and Hopeful forsook him, and kept their
distance before him; but one of them, looking back, saw three men following
Mr. By-ends; and, behold, as they came up with him, he made them a very low
congee; and they also gave him a compliment. The men's names were, Mr.
Hold-the-world, Mr. Money-love, and Mr. Save-all, men that Mr. By-ends
had formerly been acquainted with; for in their minority they were
schoolfellows, and taught by one Mr. Gripeman, a schoolmaster in Lovegain,
which is a market-town in the county of Coveting, in the North. This
Schoolmaster taught them the art of getting, either by violence, cozenage,
flattering, lying, or by putting on a guise of religion; and these four
gentlemen had attained much of the art of their master, so that they could
each of them have kept such a school themselves.
Well, when they had, as I said, thus saluted each other, Mr. Money-love said
to Mr. By-ends, Who are they upon the road before us? For Christian and
Hopeful were yet within view.
BY-ENDS: They are a couple of far country-men, that, after their mode,
are going on pilgrimage.
MR. MONEY-LOVE: Alas! why did they not stay, that we might
 have had their
good company? for they, and we, and you, sir, I hope, are all going on
BY-ENDS: We are so, indeed; but the men before us are so rigid, and love
so much their own notions, and do also so lightly esteem the opinions of
others, that let a man be ever so godly, yet if he jumps not with them in
all things, they thrust him quite out of their company.
MR. SAVE-ALL: That is bad; but we read of some that are righteous overmuch,
and such men's rigidness prevails with them to judge and condemn all but
themselves. But I pray, what, and how many, were the things wherein you
BY-ENDS: Why, they, after their headstrong manner, conclude that it is
their duty to rush on their journey all weathers, and I am for waiting
for wind and tide. They are for hazarding all for God at a clap; and I
am for taking all advantages to secure my life and estate. They are for
holding their notions, though all other men be against them; but I am
for religion in what, and so far as the times and my safety will bear
it. They are for religion when in rags and contempt; but I am for him
when he walks in his silver slippers, in the sunshine, and with applause.
MR. HOLD-THE-WORLD: Aye, and hold you there still, good Mr. By-ends;
for, for my part, I can count him but a fool, that having the liberty
to keep what he has, shall be so unwise as to lose it. Let us be wise
as serpents. It is best to make hay while the sun shines. You see how
the bee lieth still in winter, and bestirs her only when she can have
profit with pleasure. God sends sometimes rain, and sometimes sunshine:
if they be such fools to go through the first, yet let us be content to
take fair weather along with us. For my part, I like that religion best
that will stand with the security of God's good blessings unto us; for
who can imagine, that is ruled by his reason, since God has bestowed
upon us the good things of this life, but that he would have us keep
them for his sake? Abraham and Solomon grew rich in religion; and Job
says, that a good man shall lay up gold as dust; but he must not be
such as the men before us, if they be as you have described them.
MR. SAVE-ALL: I think that we are all agreed in this matter; and
there-  fore there needs no more words about it.
MR. MONEY-LOVE: No, there needs no more words about this matter,
indeed; for he that believes neither Scripture nor reason, (and you
see we have both on our side,) neither knows his own liberty nor seeks
his own safety.
BY-ENDS: My brethren, we are, as you see, going all on pilgrimage; and
for our better diversion from things that are bad, give me leave to
propound unto you this question.
Suppose a man, a minister, or a tradesman, etc., should have an advantage
lie before him to get the good blessings of this life, yet so as that he
can by no means come by them, except, in appearance at least, he becomes
extraordinary zealous in some points of religion that he meddled not with
before; may he not use this means to attain his end, and yet be a right
MR. MONEY-LOVE: I see the bottom of your question; and with these
gentlemen's good leave, I will endeavor to shape you an answer. And
first, to speak to your question as it concerneth a minister himself:
suppose a minister, a worthy man, possessed but of a very small benefice,
and has in his eye a greater, more fat and plump by far; he has also now
an opportunity of getting it, yet so as by being more studious, by
preaching more frequently and zealously, and, because the temper of
the people requires it, by altering of some of his principles;
 for my
part, I see no reason why a man may not do this, provided he has a call,
aye, and more a great deal besides, and yet be an honest man. For why?
1. His desire of a greater benefice is lawful, (this cannot be contradicted,)
since it is set before him by Providence; so then he may get it if he can,
making no question for conscience' sake.
2. Besides, his desire after that benefice makes him more studious, a more
zealous preacher, etc., and so makes him a better man, yea, makes him better
improve his parts, which is according to the mind of God.
3. Now, as for his complying with the temper of his people, by deserting, to
serve them, some of his principles, this argueth, 1. That he is of a
self-denying temper. 2. Of a sweet and winning deportment. And, 3. So
more fit for the ministerial function.
4. I conclude, then, that a minister that changes a small for a great,
should not, for so doing, be judged as covetous; but rather, since he is
improved in his parts and industry thereby, be counted as one that pursues
his call, and the opportunity put into his hand to do good.
And now to the second part of the question, which concerns the tradesman
you mentioned. Suppose such an one to have but a poor employ in the world,
but by becoming religious he may mend his market, perhaps get a rich wife,
or more and far better customers to his shop; for my part, I see no reason
but this may be lawfully done. For why?
1. To become religious is a virtue, by what means soever a man becomes so.
2. Nor is it unlawful to get a rich wife, or more custom to my shop.
3. Besides, the man that gets these by becoming religious, gets that which
is good of them that are good, by becoming good himself; so then here is a
good wife, and good customers, and good gain, and all these by becoming
religious, which is good: therefore, to become religious to get all these
is a good and profitable design.
This answer, thus made by Mr. Money-love to Mr. By-ends' question, was
highly applauded by them all; wherefore they concluded, upon the whole,
that it was most wholesome and advantageous. And because, as they thought,
no man was able to contradict it; and because
 Christian and Hopeful were yet
within call, they jointly agreed to assault them with the question as soon as
they overtook them; and the rather, because they had opposed Mr. By-ends before.
So they called after them, and they stopped and stood still till they came up
to them; but they concluded, as they went, that not Mr. By-ends, but old Mr.
Hold-the-world should propound the question to them, because, as they
supposed, their answer to him would be without the remainder of that heat
that was kindled betwixt Mr. By-ends and them at their parting a little before.
So they came up to each other, and after a short salutation, Mr.
Hold-the-world propounded the question to Christian and his fellow, and
then bid them to answer if they could.
Then said Christian, Even a babe in religion may answer ten thousand such
questions. For if it be unlawful to follow Christ for loaves, as it is,
how much more abominable is it to make of him and religion a
stalking-horse to get and enjoy the world! Nor do we find any other than
heathens, hypocrites, devils, and wizards, that are of this opinion.
1. Heathens: for when Hamor and Shechem had a mind to the daughter and
cattle of Jacob, and saw that there was no way for them to come at them
but by being circumcised, they said to their companions, If every male
of us be circumcised, as they are circumcised, shall not their cattle,
and their substance, and every beast of theirs be ours? Their daughters
and their cattle were that which they sought to obtain, and their religion
the stalking-horse they made use of to come at them. Read the whole story,
2. The hypocritical Pharisees
 were also of this religion: long prayers
were their pretence, but to get widows' houses was their intent; and
greater damnation was from God their judgment.
3. Judas the devil was also of this religion: he was religious for the
bag, that he might be possessed of what was put therein; but he was lost,
cast away, and the very son of perdition.
4. Simon the wizard was of this religion too; for he would have had the
Holy Ghost, that he might have got money therewith: and his sentence from
Peter's mouth was according.
5. Neither will it go out of my mind, but that that man who takes up
religion for the world, will throw away religion for the world; for so
surely as Judas designed the world in becoming religious, so surely did
he also sell religion and his Master for the same. To answer the question,
therefore, affirmatively, as I perceive you have done, and to accept of, as
authentic, such answer, is heathenish, hypocritical, and devilish; and your
reward will be according to your works.
Then they stood staring one upon another, but had not wherewith to answer
Christian. Hopeful also approved of the soundness of Christian's answer;
so there was a great silence among them. Mr. By-ends and his company also
staggered and kept behind, that Christian and Hopeful might outgo them.
Then said Christian to his fellow, If these men cannot stand before the
sentence of men, what will they do with the sentence of God? And if they
are mute when dealt with by vessels of clay, what will they do when they
shall be rebuked by the flames of a devouring fire?
Then Christian and Hopeful outwent them again, and went till they came at
a delicate plain, called Ease, where they went with much content; but that
plain was but narrow, so they were quickly got over it. Now at the farther
side of that plain was a little hill, called Lucre, and in that hill a
silver-mine, which some of them that had formerly gone that way, because
of the rarity of it, had turned aside to see; but going too near the brim
of the pit, the ground, being deceitful under them, broke, and they were
slain: some also had been maimed there, and could not, to their dying day,
be their own men again.
Then I saw in my dream, that a little off the road, over against the
 silver-mine, stood Demas (gentleman-like) to call passengers to come
and see; who said to Christian and his fellow, Ho! turn aside hither,
and I will show you a thing.
CHRISTIAN: What thing so deserving as to turn us out of the way to see it?
DEMAS: Here is a silver-mine, and some digging in it for treasure; if
you will come, with a little pains you may richly provide for yourselves.
HOPEFUL: Then said Hopeful, let us go see.
CHRISTIAN: Not I, said Christian: I have heard of this place before now,
and how many there have been slain; and besides, that treasure is a snare
to those that seek it, for it hindereth them in their pilgrimage.
Then Christian called to Demas, saying, Is not the place dangerous? Hath
it not hindered many in their pilgrimage? Hosea 9:6.
DEMAS: Not very dangerous, except to those that are careless; but withal
he blushed as he spake.
CHRISTIAN: Then said Christian to Hopeful, Let us not stir a step, but
still keep on our way.
 HOPEFUL: I will warrant you, when By-ends comes up, if he hath the same
invitation as we, he will turn in thither to see.
CHRISTIAN: No doubt thereof, for his principles lead him that way, and a
hundred to one but he dies there.
DEMAS: Then Demas called again, saying, But will you not come over and see?
CHRISTIAN: Then Christian roundly answered, saying, Demas, thou art an
enemy to the right ways of the Lord of this way, and hast been already
condemned for thine own turning aside, by one of his Majesty's judges,
and why seekest thou to bring us into the like condemnation?
Besides, if we at all turn aside, our Lord the King will certainly hear
thereof, and will there put us to shame, where we would stand with boldness
Demas cried again, that he also was one of their fraternity; and that if
they would tarry a little, he also himself would walk with them.
CHRISTIAN: Then said Christian, What is thy name? Is it not the same by
which I have called thee?
DEMAS: Yes, my name is Demas; I am the son of Abraham.
CHRISTIAN: I know you; Gehazi was your great-grandfather, and Judas your
father, and you have trod in their steps; it is but a devilish prank that
thou usest: thy father was hanged for a traitor, and thou deservest no
better reward. Assure thyself,
that when we come to the King, we will tell him of this thy behavior.
Thus they went their way.
By this time By-ends and his companions were come again within sight,
and they at the first beck went over to Demas. Now, whether they fell
into the pit by looking over the brink thereof, or whether they went
down to dig, or whether they were smothered in the bottom by the damps
that commonly arise, of these things I am not certain; but this I
observed, that they were never seen again in the way. Then sang
"By-ends and silver Demas both agree;
One calls, the other runs, that he may be
A sharer in his lucre: so these two
Take up in this world, and no farther go."
 Now I saw that, just on the other side of this plain, the pilgrims came
to a place where stood an old monument, hard by the highway-side, at the
sight of which they were both concerned, because of the strangeness of the
form thereof; for it seemed to them as if it had been a woman transformed
into the shape of a pillar. Here, therefore, they stood looking and looking
upon it, but could not for a time tell what they should make thereof. At
last Hopeful espied, written above upon the head thereof, a writing in an
unusual hand; but he being no scholar, called to Christian (for he was
learned) to see if he could pick out the meaning: so he came, and after
a little laying of letters together, he found the same to be this,
"Remember Lot's wife." So he read it to his fellow; after which they
both concluded that that was the pillar of salt into which Lot's wife
was turned, for her looking back with a covetous heart when she was
going from Sodom for safety. Which sudden and amazing sight
gave them occasion for this discourse.
THEY BOTH CONCLUDED THAT
THAT WAS THE PILLAR OF SALT INTO WHICH LOT'S WIFE
WAS TURNED, FOR HER LOOKING BACK WITH A COVETOUS HEART.
CHRISTIAN: Ah, my brother, this is a seasonable sight: it came opportunely
to us after the invitation which Demas gave us to come over to view the
hill Lucre; and had we gone over, as he desired us, and as thou wast
inclined to do, my brother, we had, for aught I know, been made, like
this woman, a spectacle for those that shall come after to behold.
HOPEFUL: I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am made to wonder that I
am not now as Lot's wife; for wherein was the difference betwixt her sin
and mine? She only looked back, and I had a desire to go see. Let grace be
adored; and let me be ashamed that ever such a thing should be in mine heart.
CHRISTIAN: Let us take notice of what we see here, for our help from time
to come. This woman escaped one judgment, for she fell not by the
destruction of Sodom; yet she was destroyed by another, as we see:
she is turned into a pillar of salt.
HOPEFUL: True, and she may be to us both caution and example; caution,
that we should shun her sin; or a sign of what judgment will overtake
such as shall not be prevented by this caution: so Korah, Dathan, and
Abiram, with the two hundred and fifty
men that perished in their sin, did also become a sign or example to
others to beware. But above all, I muse at
one thing, to wit, how Demas and his
 fellows can stand so confidently
yonder to look for that treasure, which this woman but for looking behind
her after, (for we read not that she stepped one foot out of the way,) was
turned into a pillar of salt; especially since the judgment which overtook
her did make her an example within sight of where they are; for they cannot
choose but see her, did they but lift up their eyes.
CHRISTIAN: It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth that their
hearts are grown desperate in the case; and I cannot tell who to compare
them to so fitly, as to them that pick pockets in the presence of the
judge, or that will cut purses under the gallows. It is said of the men
of Sodom, that they were "sinners exceedingly," because they were sinners
"before the Lord," that is, in his eyesight, and notwithstanding the
kindnesses that he had shown them; for the land of Sodom was now like
the garden of Eden as heretofore. This, therefore,
provoked him the more to jealousy, and made their plague as hot as
the fire of the Lord out of heaven could make it. And it is most
rationally to be concluded, that such, even such as these are, that
shall sin in the sight, yea, and that too in despite of such examples
that are set continually before them, to caution them to the contrary,
must be partakers of severest judgments.
HOPEFUL: Doubtless thou hast said the truth; but what a mercy is it, that
neither thou, but especially I, am not made myself this example! This
ministereth occasion to us to thank God, to fear before him, and always
to remember Lot's wife.
I saw then that they went on their way to a pleasant river, which David
the king called "the river of God;" but John, "the river of the water of
life." Now their way lay just upon the
bank of this river: here, therefore, Christian and his companion walked
with great delight; they drank also of the water of the river, which was
pleasant and enlivening to their weary spirits. Besides, on the banks of
this river, on either side, were green trees with all manner of fruit; and
the leaves they ate to prevent surfeits, and other diseases that are
incident to those that heat their blood by travel. On either side of
the river was also a meadow, curiously beautified with lilies; and it
was green all the year long. In this meadow they lay down and slept,
for here they
 might lie down safely. When they
awoke they gathered again of the fruit of the trees, and drank again of
the water of the river, and then lay down again to sleep. Thus they did
several days and nights. Then they sang;
THEY WENT ON THEIR WAY TO
A PLEASANT RIVER, WHICH DAVID THE KING CALLED "THE RIVER OF GOD;"
BUT JOHN, THE RIVER OF THE WATER OF LIFE."
"Behold ye, how these Crystal Streams do glide,
To comfort pilgrims by the highway-side.
The meadows green, besides their fragrant smell,
Yield dainties for them; And he that can tell
What pleasant fruit, yea, leaves these trees do yield,
Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field."
So when they were disposed to go on, (for they were not as yet at their
journey's end,) they ate, and drank, and departed.
Now I beheld in my dream, that they had not journeyed far, but the river
and the way for a time parted, at which they were not a little sorry; yet
they durst not go out of the way. Now the way from the river was rough,
and their feet tender by reason of their travels; so the souls of the
pilgrims were much discouraged because of the way. Wherefore,
still as they went on, they wished for a better way. Now, a little before
them, there was on the left hand of the road a meadow, and a stile to go
over into it, and that meadow is called By-path meadow. Then said Christian
to his fellow, If this meadow lieth along by our wayside, let's go over
into it. Then he went to the stile to see, and behold a path lay along
by the way on the other side of the fence. It is according to my wish,
said Christian; here is the easiest going; come, good Hopeful, and let
us go over.
HOPEFUL: But how if this path should lead us out of the way?
CHRISTIAN: That is not likely, said the other. Look, doth it not go
along by the wayside? So Hopeful, being persuaded by his fellow, went
after him over the stile. When they were gone over, and were got into
the path, they found it very easy for their feet; and withal, they,
looking before them, espied a man walking as they did, and his name
was Vain-Confidence: so they called after him, and asked him whither
that way led. He said, To the Celestial Gate. Look, said Christian,
did not I tell you so? by this you may see we are right. So they
followed, and he went before them. But behold the night came on,
 it grew very dark; so that they that went behind lost the sight
of him that went before.
He therefore that went before, (Vain-Confidence by name,) not seeing
the way before him, fell into a deep pit, which was on purpose there
made, by the prince of those grounds, to catch vain-glorious fools
withal, and was dashed in pieces with his fall.
Now, Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they called to know
the matter, but there was none to answer, only they heard a groaning.
Then said Hopeful, Where are we now? Then was his fellow silent, as
mistrusting that he had led him out of the way; and now it began to
rain, and thunder, and lighten in a most dreadful manner, and the
water rose amain.
Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, Oh that I had kept on my way!
CHRISTIAN: Who could have thought that this path should have led us
out of the way?
HOPEFUL: I was afraid on't at the very first, and therefore gave you
that gentle caution. I would have spoke plainer, but that you are older
CHRISTIAN: Good brother, be not offended; I am sorry I have brought thee
out of the way, and that I have put thee into such imminent danger. Pray,
my brother, forgive me; I did not do it of an evil intent.
HOPEFUL: Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee; and believe, too,
that this shall be for our good.
CHRISTIAN: I am glad I have with
 me a merciful brother: but we must not
stand here; let us try to go back again.
HOPEFUL: But, good brother, let me go before.
CHRISTIAN: No, if you please, let me go first, that if there be any
danger, I may be first therein, because by my means we are both gone
out of the way.
HOPEFUL: No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first, for your mind being
troubled may lead you out of the way again. Then for their encouragement
they heard the voice of one saying, "Let thine heart be toward the
highway, even the way that thou wentest: turn again." Jer. 31:21. But
by this time the waters were greatly risen, by reason of which the way
of going back was very dangerous. (Then I thought that it is easier
going out of the way when we are in, than going in when we are out.)
Yet they adventured to go back; but it was so dark, and the flood was
so high, that in their going back they had like to have been drowned
nine or ten times.
Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get again to the stile
that night. Wherefore at last, lighting under a little shelter, they sat
down there till the day brake; but being weary, they fell asleep. Now
there was, not far from the place where they lay, a castle, called
Doubting Castle, the owner whereof was Giant Despair, and it was in
his grounds they now were sleeping: wherefore he, getting up in the
morning early, and walking up and down in his fields, caught Christian
and Hopeful asleep in his grounds. Then with a grim and surly voice, he
bid them awake, and asked them whence they were, and what they did in his
grounds. They told him they were pilgrims, and that they had lost their
way. Then said the giant, You have this night trespassed on me by
trampling in and lying on my grounds, and therefore you must go along
with me. So they were forced to go, because he was stronger than they.
They also had but little to say, for they knew themselves in a fault.
The giant, therefore, drove them before him, and put them into his
castle, into a very dark dungeon, nasty and stinking to the spirits
of these two men. Here, then, they lay from Wednesday morning till
Saturday night, without one bit of bread, or drop of drink, or light,
or any to ask how they did; they were, therefore, here in evil case,
and were far from friends and acquaintance. Now in this
place Christian had double sorrow,
 because it was through his unadvised
counsel that they were brought into this distress.
Now Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence: so when he
was gone to bed he told his wife what he had done, to wit, that he had
taken a couple of prisoners, and cast them into his dungeon for trespassing
on his grounds. Then he asked her also what he had best do further to them.
So she asked him what they were, whence they came, and whither they were
bound, and he told her. Then she counseled him, that when he arose in the
morning he should beat them without mercy. So when he arose, he getteth
him a grievous crab-tree cudgel, and goes down into the dungeon to them,
and there first falls to rating of them as if they were dogs, although
they gave him never a word of distaste. Then he falls upon them, and
beats them fearfully, in such sort that they were not able to help
themselves, or to turn them upon the floor. This done, he withdraws
and leaves them there to condole their misery, and to mourn under
their distress: so all that day they spent the time in nothing but
sighs and bitter lamentations. The next night, she, talking with her
husband further about them, and understanding that they were yet alive,
did advise him to counsel them to make away with themselves. So when
morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner, as before, and
perceiving them to be very sore with the stripes that he had given
them the day before, he told them, that since they were never like
to come out of that place, their only way would be forthwith to make
an end of themselves, either with knife, halter, or poison; for why,
said he, should you choose to live, seeing it is attended with so much
bitterness? But they desired him to let them go. With that he looked
ugly upon them, and rushing to them, had doubtless made an end of them
himself, but that he fell into one of his fits, (for he sometimes in
sunshiny weather fell into fits,) and lost for a time the use of his
hands; wherefore he withdrew, and left them as before to consider what
to do. Then did the prisoners consult between themselves whether it was
best to take his counsel or no; and thus they began to discourse:
CHRISTIAN: Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The life that we
now live is miserable. For my part, I know not whether it is best to
 thus, or to die out of hand. My soul chooseth strangling rather
than life, and the grave is more easy for me than this dungeon.
Shall we be ruled by the giant?
HOPEFUL: Indeed our present condition is dreadful, and death would
be far more welcome to me than thus for ever to abide; but yet, let
us consider, the Lord of the country to which we are going hath said,
"Thou shalt do no murder," no, not to another man's person; much more,
then, are we forbidden to take his counsel to kill ourselves. Besides,
he that kills another, can but commit murder upon his body; but for one
to kill himself, is to kill body and soul at once. And moreover, my
brother, thou talkest of ease in the grave; but hast thou forgotten
the hell whither for certain the murderers go? for "no murderer hath
eternal life," etc. And let us consider again, that all the law is not
in the hand of Giant Despair: others, so far as I can understand, have
been taken by him as well as we, and yet have escaped out of his hands.
Who knows but that God, who made the world, may cause that Giant Despair
may die; or that, at some time or other, he may forget to lock us in; or
that he may, in a short time, have another of his fits before
 us, and may lose the use of his limbs? And if ever that should come to pass
again, for my part, I am resolved to pluck up the heart of a man, and
to try my utmost to get from under his hand. I was a fool that I did
not try to do it before. But, however, my brother, let us be patient,
and endure a while: the time may come that may give us a happy release;
but let us not be our own murderers. With these words Hopeful at present
did moderate the mind of his brother; so they continued together in the
dark that day, in their sad and doleful condition.
Well, towards evening the giant goes down into the dungeon again, to see
if his prisoners had taken his counsel. But when he came there he found
them alive; and truly, alive was all; for now, what for want of bread
and water, and by reason of the wounds they received when he beat them,
they could do little but breathe. But I say, he found them alive; at
which he fell into a grievous rage, and told them, that seeing they had
disobeyed his counsel, it should be worse with them than if they had
never been born.
At this they trembled greatly, and I think that Christian fell into a
swoon; but coming a little to himself again, they renewed their discourse
about the giant's counsel, and whether yet they had best take it or no.
Now Christian again seemed for doing it; but Hopeful made his second reply
HOPEFUL: My brother, said he, rememberest thou not how valiant thou hast
been heretofore? Apollyon could not crush thee, nor could all that thou
didst hear, or see, or feel, in the Valley of the Shadow of Death. What
hardship, terror, and amazement hast thou already gone
 through; and art
thou now nothing but fears! Thou seest that I am in the dungeon with thee,
a far weaker man by nature than thou art. Also this giant hath wounded me
as well as thee, and hath also cut off the bread and water from my mouth,
and with thee I mourn without the light. But let us exercise a little more
patience. Remember how thou playedst the man at Vanity Fair, and wast
neither afraid of the chain nor cage, nor yet of bloody death: wherefore
let us (at least to avoid the shame that it becomes not a Christian to be
found in) bear up with patience as well as we can.
Now night being come again, and the giant and his wife being in bed, she
asked him concerning the prisoners, and if they had taken his counsel: to
which he replied, They are sturdy rogues; they choose rather to bear all
hardships than to make away with themselves. Then said she, Take them into
the castle-yard to-morrow, and show them the bones and skulls of those that
thou hast already dispatched, and make them believe, ere a week comes to an
end, thou wilt tear them in pieces, as thou hast done their fellows before them.
So when the morning was come, the giant goes to them again, and takes them
into the castle-yard, and shows them as his wife had bidden him. These, said
he, were pilgrims, as you are, once, and they trespassed on my grounds, as
you have done; and when I thought fit I tore them in pieces; and so within
ten days I will do you: get you down to your den again. And with that he beat
them all the way thither. They lay, therefore, all day on Saturday in a
lamentable case, as before. Now, when night was come, and when Mrs.
Diffidence and her husband the giant was got to bed, they began to renew
their discourse of their prisoners; and withal, the old giant wondered that
he could neither by his blows nor counsel bring them to an end. And with that
his wife replied, I fear, said she, that they live in hopes that some will
come to relieve them; or that they have picklocks about them, by the means
of which they hope to escape. And sayest thou so, my dear? said the giant;
I will therefore search them in the morning.
Well, on Saturday, about midnight they began to pray, and continued in prayer
till almost break of day.
Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, as one half amazed, brake
out into this passionate speech: What a fool, quoth he, am I, thus
 to lie
in a stinking dungeon, when I may as well walk at liberty! I have a key in
my bosom, called Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any lock in
Doubting Castle. Then said Hopeful, That is good news; good brother,
pluck it out of thy bosom, and try.
Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at the
dungeon-door, whose bolt, as he turned the key, gave back, and the
door flew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both came out.
Then he went to the outward door that leads into the castle-yard,
and with his key opened that door also. After he went to the iron
gate, for that must be opened too; but that lock went desperately
hard, yet the key did open it. They then thrust open the gate to make
their escape with speed; but that gate, as it opened, made such a creaking,
that it waked Giant Despair, who hastily rising to pursue his prisoners,
felt his limbs to fail, for his fits took him again, so that he could by
no means go after them. Then they went on, and came to the King's highway,
and so were safe, because they were out of his jurisdiction.
THAT GATE, AS IT OPENED,
MADE SUCH A CREAKING, THAT IT WAKED GIANT DESPAIR, WHO HASTILY
RISING TO PURSUE HIS PRISONERS, FELT HIS LIMBS TO FAIL.
Now, when they were gone over the stile, they began to contrive with
themselves what they should do at that stile, to prevent those that
shall come after from falling into the hands of Giant Despair. So
they consented to erect there a pillar, and to engrave upon the side
thereof this sentence: "Over this stile is the way to Doubting Castle,
which is kept by Giant Despair, who despiseth the King of' the Celestial
country, and seeks to destroy his holy pilgrims." Many, therefore, that
followed after, read what was written, and escaped the danger. This done,
they sang as follows:
"Out of the way we went, and then we found
What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground:
And let them that come after have a care,
Lest heedlessness makes them as we to fare;
Lest they, for trespassing, his prisoners are,
Whose castle's Doubting, and whose name's Despair."