THE CHILDREN'S HOUR
IN TEN VOLUMES
ILLUSTRATED
VOLUME V
[Illustration: _Ferdinand and Ariel_]
The
Children's
Hour
STORIES
FROM SEVEN
OLD FAVORITES
Selected & Arranged by
Eva March Tappan
Houghton
Mifflin
Company
Between the dark and the daylight,
when the night is beginning to lower,
Comes a pause in the days occupations,
that is known as the Children's Hour.
CONTENTS
TO THE CHILDREN
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
CHRISTIAN PASSES THROUGH THE WICKET GATE _John Bunyan_
A VISIT TO THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER _John Bunyan_
AT THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL _John Bunyan_
CHRISTIAN'S FIGHT WITH APOLLYON _John Bunyan_
THE CASTLE OF GIANT DESPAIR _John Bunyan_
THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS _John Bunyan_
THE PILGRIMS WANDER FROM THE WAY _John Bunyan_
THE CELESTIAL CITY _John Bunyan_
ROBINSON CRUSOE
ROBINSON CRUSOE IS SHIPWRECKED _Daniel Defoe_
UNLOADING A WRECK _Daniel Defoe_
ROBINSON CRUSOE'S FIRST HOME ON THE ISLAND _Daniel Defoe_
ROBINSON CRUSOE BUILDS A BOAT _Daniel Defoe_
THE MYSTERIOUS FOOTPRINT _Daniel Defoe_
THE COMING OF FRIDAY _Daniel Defoe_
HOMEWARD BOUND _Daniel Defoe_
GULLIVER'S TRAVELS
GULLIVER IS SHIPWRECKED ON THE COAST OF LILLIPUT _Jonathan Swift_
GULLIVER SEIZES THE ENEMY'S FLEET _Jonathan Swift_
A LILLIPUTIAN ODE TO THE MAN-MOUNTAIN _Jonathan Swift_
AMONG THE BROBDINGNAGIAN GIANTS _Jonathan Swift_
ADVENTURES IN BROBDINGNAG _Jonathan Swift_
GULLIVER'S ESCAPE _Jonathan Swift_
DON QUIXOTE
DON QUIXOTE DETERMINES TO BECOME A KNIGHT
_Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
THE FIGHT WITH THE WINDMILLS _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
THE INNKEEPER'S BILL _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
THE BATTLE OF THE SHEEP _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
THE CONQUEST OF MAMBRINO'S HELMET _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
DON QUIXOTE'S BATTLE WITH THE GIANTS _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
DON QUIXOTE MEETS THE LIONS _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
THE RIDE ON THE WOODEN HORSE _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
THE THREE THOUSAND THREE HUNDRED AND ODD LASHES
_Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
THE RETURN AND DEATH OF DON QUIXOTE _Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra_
THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
THE STORY OF ALADDIN; OR, THE WONDERFUL LAMP
ALI BABA AND THE FORTY THIEVES
SINDBAD THE SAILOR
THE TRAVELS OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN
THE BARON'S FIRST WANDERINGS _Rodolph Eric Raspe_
THE BARON'S JOURNEY TO ST. PETERSBURG _Rodolph Eric Raspe_
THE BARON'S WONDERFUL HORSE _Rodolph Eric Raspe_
THE BARON'S COLD DAY _Rodolph Eric Raspe_
TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE
THE COMEDY OF ERRORS _Charles and Mary Lamb_
THE MERCHANT OF VENICE _Charles and Mary Lamb_
THE TEMPEST _Charles and Mary Lamb_
ILLUSTRATIONS
FERDINAND AND ARIEL _Sir John Everett Millais_
CHRISTIAN IS HARNESSED FOR THE PILGRIMAGE _David Scott, R.S.A._
CAUGHT CHRISTIAN AND HOPEFUL ASLEEP _David Scott, R.S.A._
THE SECOND RAFT _J. Finnemore_
THE PRINT OF A MAN'S NAKED FOOT ON THE SHORE _J. Finnemore_
PRODUCING HIS CREDENTIALS _T. Morten_
THE HUGE CREATURE TROD SHORT _T. Morten_
HURLED AWAY BOTH KNIGHT AND HORSE _Gustave Doré_
A HIDEOUS GENIE OF GIGANTIC SIZE APPEARED _Robert Smirke, R.A._
THE GREAT HEAPS OF GOLD DAZZLED HER EYES _Robert Smirke, R.A._
PURSUED BY THE ROCS _J.D. Batten_
THE LION JUMPED FORWARD INTO THE CROCODILE'S MOUTH _Gustave Doré_
THE VESSEL WILL BE DASHED TO PIECES _G. Romney_
TO THE CHILDREN
This volume is made up of stories from seven famous books. These books
are as different as they can possibly be; and yet there are not many
boys and girls who do not like every one of them. The chief reason for
this is because they seem so true, so much more "real" than most other
stories. When you read about Tom Thumb, for instance, you do not
really believe that there ever was a little boy no bigger than his
mother's thumb; at least, you do not believe it in the same way that
you believe the sun shines or the wind blows; but when you read
"Robinson Crusoe," you feel as if every word of it must be true.
The first of these books is "The Pilgrim's Progress." In one way it is
a little like a fable; that is, when you read it the first time, it is
simply a good story. Afterwards--sometimes a long while
afterwards--you read it again or sit thinking about it, and suddenly
you see that it has another meaning, that it is more than the story of
a man who makes a wonderful journey. This book was written in jail by
a man named John Bunyan. The English laws of that time would not allow
any one to preach except clergymen of the Church of England. Bunyan,
however, felt that it would be wicked for him to obey these laws, so
he kept on preaching. He was thrown into prison, and the prisons of
those days were horrible places. "If you will promise not to preach
again, you shall be free," said the officers. "If you let me out
to-day I will preach again to-morrow," declared Bunyan; and meanwhile
he preached to the other prisoners. He thought of his wife and
children and of how little he could do to support them while he was in
jail; he thought of his little blind daughter Mary; but still he said
to himself, "I must, I must do it." For twelve long years he stayed in
prison. He made tags for shoe laces to sell to help his family; and he
wrote the book that has been read by more people than any other volume
except the Bible.
The second book, "Robinson Crusoe," was written by Daniel Defoe; and
he, too, knew what it was to be in jail. He was not imprisoned for
preaching, but for his political writings. Once when he had written a
pamphlet that did not please the authorities, he was condemned to
stand in the pillory. The people took his part, and, instead of
throwing stones at him, they dropped roses about him and bought
thousands of copies of a poem that he had written while in jail.
He wrote many books, but his best, "Robinson Crusoe," was produced
after he had become a middle-aged man and had some money and a big,
homely house with plenty of ground for his favorite gardening. The way
the book came to be written was this. A sailor named Alexander Selkirk
spent more than four years alone on the island of Juan Fernandez. When
he was rescued and brought to England, many people went to gaze at him
in his goatskin clothes and to hear him talk about his life on the
island. Defoe went with the others, and he never forgot the stories
told by the sailor in goatskins. Seven years later he worked in his
garden and thought about the desert island. Then he went into his
house and wrote the book that everybody likes, "Robinson Crusoe."
"Gulliver's Travels" was written by an Irish clergyman named Jonathan
Swift. He was a strange man. Some people said he was a genius, and
some said he had always been a little insane. When he wrote, he often
seemed to care for nothing but to say the most cutting, scornful
things that he could. There was one class of persons, however, who
loved him from the bottom of their hearts, and they were the poor
people about his home in Ireland. It is true that he sometimes scolded
them, but they saw straight through his grumbling and understood that
he really cared for them and wanted to help them, and they loved him
and trusted him. He lived more than two hundred years ago, but the
Irish have never forgotten him; and even to this day, if you should
wander about in Ireland, you would see in many a little cottage people
gathered around the fire, telling over and over the stories that their
grandmothers had told them of his kind heart and his peculiar ways.
"The Pilgrim's Progress," "Robinson Crusoe," and "Gulliver's Travels"
were all written by men of the British Isles, but our fourth book,
"Don Quixote," was written by a Spaniard named Cervantes. He was a
soldier part of his life and as valiant a fighter as his own hero. For
five years he was a prisoner of war; he was poor and sick and in one
trouble after another; but he was always brave and cheerful and
good-humored. In his day, the Spaniards read few books except queer
old romances of chivalry, the sort of tale in which a great champion
goes out with his squire to wander over the world in search of
adventures. He makes thieves give back what they have stolen, he sets
prisoners free, he rescues beautiful maidens who have been dragged
away from their homes; in short, he roams about making people do
whatever he thinks proper. Sometimes he takes a castle all by himself,
sometimes he gets the better of a whole group of champions or a host
of giants or even a dragon or two. Cervantes's book makes fun of such
tales as these. His hero attacks a terrible company of giants standing
on a plain all ready to destroy him; but the giants prove to be
windmills, and their sails give him many a heavy blow before his fight
with them is over. Another time, he finds the giants in his very
bedroom; and the courageous knight cuts off their heads as fast as he
can swing his sword. Blood flows like water; only when a light is
brought, it does not prove to be blood but--well, it is not fair to
tell the rest of the story. We must let Cervantes do that for himself
in "Don Quixote's Battle with the Giants."
The fifth book, the "Arabian Nights," is a mystery. We do not know who
composed the stories or who brought them together in one collection.
We cannot even tell where they came from. The most we can say
positively is that two hundred years ago a Frenchman traveling through
the East came across them in some Arabian manuscripts and translated
them into French. Whether they came in the first place from Arabia or
Persia or India, whether they were composed five or six hundred years
ago or at least one thousand, no one can say. Many learned scholars
have tried in vain to answer these questions; but if we had to choose
between having the stories and knowing who wrote them, I do not
believe that any boy or girl who had read even one of them would find
it difficult to make a choice.
The sixth book, "The Travels of Baron Munchausen," is said to have
been written by a German named Raspé; but it is just as well not to
believe this statement too positively, for it is quite possible that
Raspé had nothing to do with the book. Learned scholars have held
profound discussions on the source of the stories. One in particular,
that of the frozen tunes which began to play of themselves as soon as
they thawed, has been found in some form in several countries. The
best match for the Baron's version is the old tale of the merchants
who set out one day to buy furs. When they came to a river, they saw
the fur dealers standing on the opposite shore. The dealers held up
their furs and seemed to be shouting their prices, but it was so cold
that the words froze in the air. Then the merchants went out on the
ice and built a great fire. It warmed the air overhead, and the words
thawed and came down. But long before this, the dealers had gone home.
The merchants thought the prices too high, so they, too, went home;
and that was the end of the tale. The "Travels" is full of stories as
absurd as this, but told in such a way that while you are reading
them, and sometimes for as much as five minutes afterwards, you feel
as if they were really true.
The seventh and last of the books is the plays of Shakespeare. A play
always contains a story, and it is the stories of some of
Shakespeare's dramas that are given here. In the real plays there is
much more than stories, however, because Shakespeare was not only a
story-teller but also a poet. A poet must express what he sees and
thinks in a way to give pleasure and he must see more than other
people. Now when Shakespeare puts a thought into words, we find that
no one else has expressed it so well. Moreover, he sees more clearly
than any other writer how a person would feel and behave in various
circumstances. As we read the plays, we say to ourselves of one
character after another, "That is just the way I should feel if I were
that person." We think of them as real people. We talk of what they
would have done if circumstances had been different. It is only a
great genius who can make out of words characters that seem almost as
real as the people around us, but this is what William Shakespeare has
done.
THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS
CHRISTIAN PASSES THROUGH THE WICKET GATE
_By John Bunyan_
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 knocked
therefore more then once or twice, saying,--
"May I now enter here? Will he within
Open to sorry me, though I have bin
An undeserving Rebel? Then shall I
Not fail to sing his lasting praise on high."
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 therefore, Sir, since I am informed
that by this Gate is the way thither, know if you are willing to let
me in.
_Good-Will._ I am willing with all my heart, said he; and with that he
opened the Gate.
So when _Christian_ was stepping in, the other gave him a pull. Then
said _Christian_, What means that? The other told him, A little
distance from this Gate, there is erected a strong Castle, of which
_Beelzebub_ is the Captain; from thence both he and they that are with
him shoot arrows at those that come up to this Gate, if haply they may
dye before they can enter in. Then said _Christian_, I rejoyce and
tremble. So when he was got in, the Man of the Gate asked him, Who
directed him thither?
_Chr._ _Evangelist_ bid me come hither and knock (as I did); and he
said that you, Sir, would tell me what I 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?
_Chr._ Because none of my Neighbours 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 Neighbours 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 persuade 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 Slow of
_Dispond_, into the which we also suddenly fell. And then was my
Neighbour _Pliable_ discouraged, and would not adventure further.
Wherefore getting out again on that side next to his own house, he
told me I should possess the brave countrey alone for him; so he went
_his_ way, and I came _mine_: he after _Obstinate_, and I to this
Gate.
_Good-Will._ Then said _Good-Will_, Alas, poor man, is the
Coelestial 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 all the truth of myself, it will appear there
is no betterment 'twixt him and myself. 'T is true, he went back to
his own house, but I also turned aside to go in the way of death,
being persuaded thereto by the carnal arguments of one Mr. _Worldly
Wiseman_.
_Good-Will._ O, 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; 't is well you escaped being by it dashed 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 't was God's 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 favor is this to me, that yet I am admitted
entrance here!
_Good-Will._ We make no objections against any; notwithstanding all
that they have done before they come hither, they in no wise are cast
out; and therefore, good _Christian_, come a little way with me, and I
will teach thee about the way thou must go. Look before thee; dost
thou see this narrow way? THAT is the way thou must go; it was cast up
by the Patriarchs, Prophets, Christ, his Apostles; and it is as
straight as a rule can make it: This is the way thou must go.
_Chr._ But said _Christian_, Is there no turnings nor windings, by
which a Stranger may lose the way?
_Good-Will._ Yes, there are many ways butt down upon this, and they
are crooked and wide: But thus thou mayest distinguish the right from
the wrong, _that_ only being straight and narrow.
Then I saw in my Dream, that _Christian_ asked him 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 the Burden, be content to bear it, until thou
comest to the place of _Deliverance_; for there it will fall from thy
back itself.
Then _Christian_ began to gird up his loins, and to address himself to
his Journey. So the other told him, 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 show him
excellent things. Then _Christian_ took his leave of his Friend, and
he again bid him God speed.
A VISIT TO THE HOUSE OF THE INTERPRETER
_By John Bunyan_
Then _Christian_ went on till he came at the House of the
_Interpreter_, where he knocked over and over; at last one came to the
door, and asked Who was there?
_Chr._ Sir, here is a Travailler, 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 commanded his man to light the
Candle, and bid _Christian_ follow him: so he had him into a private
room, and bid his man open a door; the which when he had done,
_Christian_ saw the Picture of a very grave Person hang up against the
wall; and this was the fashion of it. It had eyes lift up to Heaven,
the best of Books in its hand, the Law of Truth was written upon its
lips, the World was 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 Children, and nurse them himself
when they are born. And whereas thou seest him with 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 thou seest him stand as if he pleaded
with Men; and 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 Master's service, he is sure in the world that comes next to
have Glory for his reward. Now, said the _Interpreter_, I have shewed
thee this Picture first, because the Man whose Picture this is, is the
only 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; the 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,
put strength into, and increase it in the soul, as it doth discover
and forbid it, but doth not give power to subdue.
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 subdued, and
the soul made clean, through the Faith of it, and consequently fit for
the King of Glory to inhabit.
I saw moreover in my Dream, that the _Interpreter_ took him by the
hand, and had him into a little room, where sat two little Children,
each one in his chair. The name of the eldest was _Passion_, and the
name of the other _Patience_. _Passion_ seemed to be much discontent;
but _Patience_ was very quiet. Then _Christian_ asked, What is the
reason of the discontent of _Passion_? The _Interpreter_ answered, The
Governour 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.
Then I saw that one came to _Passion_, and brought him a bag of
Treasure, and poured it down at his feet, the which he took up and
rejoyced therein; and withall, laughed _Patience_ to scorn. But I
beheld but a while, and he had lavished all away, and had nothing left
him but Rags.
_Chr._ Then said _Christian_ to the _Interpreter_, Expound 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 of more authority with them
then are all the Divine testimonies of the good of the World to come.
But as thou sawest that he had quickly lavished all away, and had
presently left him nothing but Raggs; so will it be with all such Men
at the end of this World.
_Chr._ Then said _Christian_, Now I see that _Patience_ has the best
wisdom, and that upon many accounts. 1. Because he stays for the best
things. 2. And also because he will have the Glory of his, when the
other has nothing but Raggs.
_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 last; for _first_ must give
place to _last_, because _last_ must have his time to come: but _last_
gives place to nothing; for there is not another to succeed. He
therefore that hath his portion _first_, must needs have a time to
spend it; but he that hath his portion _last_, must have it lastingly;
therefore it is said of _Dives, In thy Lifetime thou hadest or
receivedst thy good things, and likewise_ Lazarus _evil things; but
now he is comforted, and thou art tormented_.
_Chr._ Then I perceive 'tis not best to covet things that are now, but
to wait for things to come.
_Inter._ You say the Truth: _For the things which are seen are_
Temporal; _but the things that are not seen are_ Eternal. But though
this be so, yet since things present and our fleshly appetite are such
near neighbours 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 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 backside of the wall, where he saw
a man with a Vessel of Oyl 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 Oyl of his Grace, maintains the work already begun in the heart:
by the means of which, notwithstanding what the Devil can do, the
souls of his people prove gracious still. And in that thou sawest that
the man stood behind the Wall to maintain the Fire, this is to teach
thee that it is hard for the tempted to see how this word 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 walking,
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 door-way stood many men in armour to keep it, being
resolved to do the men that would enter what hurt and mischief they
could. Now was _Christian_ somewhat in a muse. 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 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 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 the Three
that walked upon the top of the Palace, saying,--
Come in, Come in;
Eternal Glory thou shall 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 there sat a Man in an Iron Cage.
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.
Then said _Christian_ to the Man, What art thou? The man answered, I
am what I was not once.
_Chr._ What wast thou once?
_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 Coelestial City, and had then even joy at the
thoughts that I should get thither.
_Chr._ Well, but what art thou now?
_Man._ I am now a man of _Despair_, and am shut up in it, as in this
Iron Cage. I cannot get out; O _now_ I cannot.
_Chr._ But how comest 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 are there no hopes for
such a man as this? Ask him, said the _Interpreter_. Nay, said
Christian, pray Sir, do you.
_Inter._ Then said the _Interpreter_, Is there no hope, but you must
be kept in this Iron Cage of Despair?
_Man._ No, none at all.
_Inter._ Why? the Son of the Blessed is very pitiful.
_Man._ I have crucified him to myself afresh, I have despised his
Person, I have despised his Righteousness, I have counted his Blood an
unholy thing; I have done despite to the Spirit of Grace. Therefore I
have shut myself out of all the Promises, and there now remains to me
nothing but threatnings, dreadful threatnings, _fearful_ threatnings
of certain Judgement which shall devour me as an Adversary.
_Chr._ For what did you bring yourself into this condition?
_Man._ For the Lusts, Pleasures, and Profits of this World; in the
injoyment of which I did then promise myself much delight; but now
even every one of those things also bite me, and gnaw me like a
burning worm.
_Chr._ 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. O 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 man's
misery be remembred 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 cause of this man's
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 Rayment,
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
thundered 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 Trumpet, and saw
also a Man sit upon a Cloud, attended with the thousands of Heaven;
they were all in flaming fire, also the Heavens was on a burning
flame. I heard then a voice saying, _Arise ye Dead, and come to
Judgement_; and with that the Rocks rent, the Graves opened, and the
Dead that were therein came forth. Some of them were exceeding glad,
and looked upward; and some sought to 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 which issued out and came from before him, a convenient distance
betwixt him and them, as betwixt the Judge and the Prisoners at the
bar. I heard it also proclaimed to them that attended on the Man that
sat on the Cloud, _Gather together the Tares, the Chaff, and 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, Smoak and Coals of fire, with hideous
noises. It was also said to the same persons, _Gather my Wheat into my
Garner_. And with that I saw many catch't up and 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 sins also came into my mind; and my Conscience did accuse me on
every side. Upon this I awaked from my sleep.
_Chr._ But what was it that made you so afraid of this sight?
_Man._ Why, I thought that 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 within 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 considered 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 I have 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 shew'd me was, and let me be
Thankful, O good Interpreter, to thee.
AT THE HOUSE BEAUTIFUL
_By John Bunyan_
Behold there was a very stately Palace before him, the name of which
was _Beautiful_; and it stood just by the High-way side.
So I saw in my Dream that he made haste and went forward, that if
possible he might get Lodging there. Now before he had gone far, he
entered into a very narrow passage, which was about a furlong off of
the Porter's lodge; and looking very narrowly before him as he went,
he espied two Lions in the way. Now, thought he, I see the dangers
that _Mistrust_ and _Timorus_ were driven back by. (The Lions were
chained, but he saw not the chains.) Then he was afraid, and thought
also himself to go back after them, for he thought nothing but death
was before him: But the Porter at the lodge, whose name is _Watchful_,
perceiving that _Christian_ made a halt as if he would go back, cried
unto him, saying, Is thy strength so small? Fear not the Lions, for
they are chained, and are placed there for trial of faith where it is,
and for discovery of those that have none. Keep in the midst of the
Path, and no hurt shall come unto thee.
Then I saw that he went on, trembling for fear of the Lions, but
taking good heed to the directions of the Porter; he heard them roar,
but they did him no harm. Then he clapt his hands, and went on till he
came and stood before the Gate where the Porter was. Then said
_Christian_ to the Porter, Sir, what House is this? and may I lodge
here to-night? The Porter answered, This House was built by the Lord
of the Hill, and he built it for the relief and security of Pilgrims.
The Porter also asked whence he was, and whither he was going?
_Chr._ I am come from the City of _Destruction_, and am going to Mount
_Zion_; but because the Sun is now set, I desire, if I may, to lodge
here to-night.
_Por._ What is your name?
_Chr._ My name is now _Christian_, but my name at the first was
_Graceless;_ I came of the race of _Japhet_, whom God will perswade to
dwell in the Tents of _Shem_.
_Por._ But how doth it happen that you come so late? The Sun is set.
_Chr._ I had been here sooner, but that, wretched man that I am! I
slept in the _Arbour_ that stands on the Hillside; nay, I had
notwithstanding that been here much sooner, but that in my sleep I
lost my Evidence, and came without it to the brow of the Hill; and
then feeling for it, and finding it not, I was forced with sorrow of
heart to go back to the place where I slept my sleep, where I found
it, and now I am come.
_Por._ Well, I will call out one of the Virgins of this place, who
will, if she likes your talk, bring you in to the rest of the Family,
according to the rules of the house. So _Watchful_ the Porter rang a
bell, at the sound of which came out at the door of the house, a grave
and beautiful Damsel named _Discretion_, and asked why she was called.
The Porter answered, This man is in a Journey from the City of
_Destruction_ to Mount _Zion_, but being weary and benighted, he asked
me if he might lodge here to-night; so I told him I would call for
thee, who, after discourse had with him, mayest do as seemeth thee
good, even according to the Law of the House.
Then she asked him whence he was, and whither he was going; and he
told her. She asked him also, how he got into the way; and he told
her. Then she asked him what he had seen and met with in the way; and
he told her. And last she asked his name; so he said, It is
_Christian_; and I have so much the more a desire to lodge here
to-night, because, by what I perceive, this place was built by the
Lord of the Hill, for the relief and security of Pilgrims. So she
smiled, but the water stood in her eyes; and after a little pause, she
said, I will call forth two or three more of the Family. So she ran to
the door, and called out _Prudence_, _Piety_, and _Charity_, who after
a little more discourse with him, had him in to the Family; and many
of them, meeting him at the threshold of the house, said, Come in,
thou blessed of the Lord; this house was built by the Lord of the
Hill, on purpose to entertain such Pilgrims in. Then he bowed his
head, and followed them into the house. So when he was come in and set
down, they gave him something to drink, and consented together, that
until supper was ready, some of them should have some particular
discourse with _Christian_, for the best improvement of time; and they
appointed _Piety_, and _Prudence_, and _Charity_ to discourse with
him; and thus they began:--
_Piety._ Come, good _Christian_, since we have been so loving to you,
to receive you into our house this night, let us, if perhaps we may
better ourselves thereby, talk with you of all things that have
happened to you in your Pilgrimage.
_Chr._ With a very good will, and I am glad that you are so well
disposed.
_Piety._ What moved you at first to betake yourself to a Pilgrim's
life?
_Chr._ I was driven out of my Native Country, by a dreadful sound that
was in mine ears, to wit, That unavoidable destruction did attend me,
if I abode in that place where I was.
_Piety._ But how did it happen that you came out of your Country this
way?
_Chr._ It was as God would have it; for when I was under the fears of
destruction, I did not know whither to go; but by chance there came a
man, even to me, as I was trembling and weeping, whose name is
_Evangelist_, and he directed me to the Wicket-gate, which else I
should never have found, and so set me into the way that hath led me
directly to this house.
_Piety._ But did you not come by the House of the _Interpreter_?
_Chr._ Yes, and did see such things there, the remembrance of which
will stick by me as long as I live; specially three things: to wit,
How Christ, in despite of Satan, maintains his work of Grace in the
heart; how the Man had sinned himself quite out of hopes of God's
mercy; and also the Dream of him that thought in his sleep the day of
Judgement was come.
_Piety._ Why, did you hear him tell his Dream?
_Chr._ Yes, and a dreadful one it was. I thought it made my heart ake
as he was telling of it; but yet I am glad I heard it.
_Piety._ Was that all that you saw at the House of the _Interpreter_?
_Chr._ No, he took me and had me where he shewed me a stately Palace,
and how the people were clad in Gold that were in it; and how there
came a venturous man and cut his way through the armed men that stood
in the door to keep him out, and how he was bid to come in, and win
eternal Glory. Methought those things did ravish my heart; I could
have stayed at that good man's house a twelve-month, but that I knew I
had further to go.
_Piety._ And what saw you else in the way?
_Chr._ Saw! Why, I went but a little further, and I saw one, as I
thought in my mind, hang bleeding upon the Tree; and the very sight of
him made my Burden fall off my back (for I groaned under a weary
Burden), but then it fell down from off me. 'Twas a strange thing to
me, for I never saw such a thing before; yea, and while I stood
looking up (for then I could not forbear looking) three Shining Ones
came to me. One of them testified that my sins were forgiven me;
another stript me of my Rags, and gave me this broidred Coat which you
see; and the third set the Mark which you see, in my forehead, and
gave me this sealed Roll (and with that he plucked it out of his
bosom).
_Piety._ But you saw more then this, did you not?
_Chr._ The things that I have told you were the best; yet some other
matters I saw, as namely I saw three men, _Simple_, _Sloth_, and
_Presumption_, lye asleep a little out of the way as I came, with
Irons upon their heels; but do you think I could awake them? I also
saw _Formalist_ and _Hypocrisie_ come tumbling over the wall, to go,
as they pretended, to _Sion_; but they were quickly lost; even as I
myself did tell them, but they would not believe. But, above all I
found it hard work to get up this Hill, and as hard to come by the
Lion's mouths; and truly if it had not been for the good man, the
Porter that stands at the Gate, I do not know but that after all I
might have gone back again; but now I thank God I am here, and I thank
you for receiving of me.
Then _Prudence_ thought good to ask him a few questions, and desired
his answer to them.
_Prud._ Do you not think sometimes of the Country from whence you
came?
_Chr._ Yes, but with much shame and detestation: Truly, if I had been
mindful of that Country from whence I came out, I might have had
opportunity to have returned; but now I desire a better Country, that
is, an Heavenly.
_Prud._ Do you not yet bear away with you some of the things that then
you were conversant withal?
_Chr._ Yes, but greatly against my will; especially my inward and
carnal cogitations, with which all my countrymen, as well as myself,
were delighted; but now all those things are my grief; and might I but
chuse mine own things, I would chuse never to think of those things
more; but when I would be doing of that which is best, that which is
worst is with me.
_Prud._ Do you not find sometimes, as if those things were vanquished,
which at other times are your perplexity?
_Chr._ Yes, but that is seldom; but they are to me golden hours in
which such things happen to me.
_Prud._ Can you remember by what means you find your annoyances at
times, as if they were vanquished?
_Chr._ Yes, when I think what I saw at the Cross, that will do it; and
when I look upon my broidered Coat, that will do it; also when I look
into the Roll that I carry in my bosom, that will do it; and when my
thoughts wax warm about whither I am going, that will do it.
_Prud._ And what is it that makes you so desirous to go to Mount
_Zion_?
_Chr._ Why, there I hope to see him alive that did hang dead on the
Cross; and there I hope to be rid of all those things that to this day
are in me an annoyance to me; there, they say, there is no death; and
there I shall dwell with such Company as I like best. For to tell you
truth, I love him, because I was by him eased of my Burden, and I am
weary of my inward sickness; I would fain be where I shall die no
more, and with the Company that shall continually cry, _Holy, Holy,
Holy_.
Then said _Charity_ to _Christian_, Have you a family? Are you a
married man?
_Chr._ I have a Wife and four small Children.
_Char._ And why did you not bring them along with you?
_Chr._ Then _Christian_ wept, and said, Oh, how willingly would I have
done it, but they were all of them utterly averse to my going on
Pilgrimage.
_Char._ But you should have talked to them, and have endeavoured to
have shewen them the danger of being behind.
_Chr._ So I did, and told them also what God had shewed to me of the
destruction of our City; but I seemed to them as one that mocked, and
they believed me not.
_Char._ And did you pray to God that he would bless your counsel to
them?
_Chr._ Yes, and that with much affection; for you must think that my
Wife and poor Children were very dear unto me.
_Char._ But did you tell them of your own sorrow, and fear of
destruction? For I suppose that destruction was visible enough to you.
_Chr._ Yes, over, and over, and over. They might also see my fears in
my countenance, in my tears, and also in my trembling under the
apprehension of the Judgment that did hang over our heads; but all was
not sufficient to prevail with them to come with me.
_Char._ But what could they say for themselves, why they came not?
_Chr._ Why, my Wife was afraid of losing this World, and my Children
were given to the foolish Delights of youth: so what by one thing, and
what by another, they left me to wander in this manner alone.
_Char._ But did you not with your vain life, damp all that you by
words used by way of persuasion to bring them away with you?
_Chr._ Indeed I cannot commend my life; for I am conscious to myself
of many failings therein: I know also, that a man by his conversation
may soon overthrow, what by argument or persuasion he doth labour to
fasten upon others for their good. Yet this I can say, I was very wary
of giving them occasion, by any unseemly action, to make them averse
to going on Pilgrimage. Yea, for this very thing they would tell me I
was too precise, and that I denied myself of things (for their sakes)
in which they saw no evil. Nay, I think I may say, that if what they
saw in me did hinder them, it was my great tenderness in sinning
against God, or of doing any wrong to my Neighbour.
_Char._ Indeed _Cain_ hated his Brother, because his own works were
evil, and his Brother's righteous; and if thy Wife and Children have
been offended with thee for this, they thereby shew themselves to be
implacable to good, and thou hast delivered thy soul from their blood.
Now I saw in my Dream, that thus they sat talking together until
supper was ready. So when they had made ready, they sat down to meat.
Now the Table was furnished with fat things, and with Wine that was
well refined: and all their talk at the Table was about the LORD of
the Hill; as namely, about what HE had done, and wherefore HE did what
HE did, and why HE had builded that House: and by what they said, I
perceived that he had been a _great Warriour_, and had fought with and
slain him that had the power of Death, but not without great danger to
himself, which made me love him the more.
For, as they said, and as I believe (said _Christian_), he did it with
the loss of much blood; but that which put Glory of Grace into all he
did, was, that he did it out of pure love to his Country. And besides,
there were some of them of the Household that said they had seen and
spoke with him since he did dye on the Cross; and they have attested
that they had it from his own lips, that he is such a lover of poor
Pilgrims, that the like is not to be found from the East to the West,
They moreover gave an instance of what they affirmed, and that was, He
had stript himself of his glory, that he might do this for the Poor;
and that they heard him say and affirm, That he would not dwell in the
Mountain of _Zion_ alone. They said moreover, that he had made many
Pilgrims Princes, though by nature they were Beggars born, and their
original had been the Dunghill.
Thus they discoursed together till late at night; and after they had
committed themselves to their Lord for protection, they betook
themselves to rest. The Pilgrim they laid in a large upper chamber,
whose window opened towards the Sun-rising; the name of the chamber
was _Peace_, where he slept till break of day; and then he awoke and
sang,--