him to conform, and had a very long and interesting conference with him
in the prison. This shows that the magistrates were well convinced that
he was a leader in nonconformity, who, if brought over, would afford
them a signal triumph. In fact, he was called, by a beneficed
clergyman, ‘the most notorious schismatic in all the county of
Bedford.’[239] It is perhaps to the arguments of Cobb that he refers in
his Advice to Sufferers. ‘The wife of the bosom lies at him, saying, O
do not cast thyself away; if thou takest this course, what shall I do?
Thou hast said thou lovest me; now make it manifest by granting this my
small request—Do not still remain in thine integrity. Next to this come
the children, which are like to come to poverty, to beggary, to be
undone, for want of wherewithal to feed, and clothe, and provide for
them for time to come. Now also come kindred, and relations, and
acquaintance; some chide, some cry, some argue, some threaten, some
promise, some flatter, and some do all to befool him for so unadvised
an act as to cast away himself, and to bring his wife and children to
beggary for such a thing as religion. These are sore temptations.’[240]
It was during this period of his imprisonment that the mad attempt was
made, by Venner and his rabble, to overturn the government. This was
pressed upon Bunyan as a reason why he should not hold meetings for
religious exercises, but rely upon his more private opportunities of
exhorting his neighbours. In reply to this, Mr. Cobb is reminded of
Bunyan’s well-known loyalty, which would become useful in proportion to
his public teaching. It was a pleasing interview, which, while it did
not for a moment shake his determination, led him to thank Mr. Cobb for
his civil and meek discourse, and to ejaculate a heartfelt prayer—‘O
that we might meet in heaven.’[241] The whole of it is reprinted at the
end of the Grace Abounding, and it shows that God gave him favour even
with his persecutors. It Is not surprising that such a prisoner should
have won the good opinion of his jailer, so that he was permitted the
consolation of seeing his relatives and friends, who ministered to his
comforts.
When the time arrived for the execution of the bitterest part of his
sentence, God, in his providence, interposed to save the life of his
servant. He had familiarized his mind with all the circumstances of a
premature and appalling death; the gibbet, the ladder, the halter, had
lost much of their terrors; he had even studied the sermon he would
then have preached to the concourse of spectators. At this critical
time the king’s coronation took place, on April 23, 1661. To garnish
this grand ceremony, the king had ordered the release of numerous
prisoners of certain classes, and within that description of offences
was that for which Bunyan was confined. The proclamation allowed twelve
months’ time to sue out the pardon under the great seal, but without
this expensive process thousands of vagabonds and thieves were set at
liberty, while, alas, an offence against the church was not to be
pardoned upon such easy terms. Bunyan and his friends were too simple,
honest, and virtuous, to understand why such a distinction should be
made. The assizes being held in August, he determined to seek his
liberty by a petition to the judges. The court sat at the Swan Inn, and
as every incident in the life of this extraordinary man excites our
interest, we are gratified to have it in our power to exhibit the state
of this celebrated inn at that time.
Having written his petition, and made some fair copies of it, his
modest, timid wife determined to present them to the judges. Her heroic
achievements—for such they deserve to be called—on behalf of her
husband, are admirably narrated by Bunyan, the whole of which is
reprinted in our first volume,[243] and deserves a most attentive
perusal. Want of space prevents us repeating it here, or even making
extracts from it. She had previously traveled to London with a petition
to the House of Lords, and entrusted it to Lord Barkwood, who conferred
with some of the peers upon it, and informed her that they could not
interfere, the king having committed the release of the prisoners to
the judges. When they came the circuit and the assizes were held at
Bedford; Bunyan in vain besought the local authorities that he might
have liberty to appear in person and plead for his release. This
reasonable request was denied, and, as a last resource, he committed
his cause to an affectionate wife. Several times she appeared before
the judges; love to her husband, a stern sense of duty, a conviction of
the gross injustice practiced upon one to whom she was most tenderly
attached, overcame her delicate, modest, retiring habits, and forced
her upon this strange duty. Well did she support the character of an
advocate. This delicate, courageous, high-minded woman appeared before
Judge Hale, who was much affected with her earnest pleading for one so
dear to her, and whose life was so valuable to his children. It was the
triumph of love, duty, and piety, over bashful timidity. Her energetic
appeals were in vain. She returned to the prison with a heavy heart, to
inform her husband that, while felons, malefactors, and men guilty of
misdemeanours were, without any recantation or promise of amendment, to
be let loose upon society to grace the coronation, the poor prisoners
for conscience’ sake were to undergo their unjust and savage sentences.
Or, in plain words, that refusing to go to church to hear the Common
Prayer was an unpardonable crime, not to be punished in any milder mode
than recantation, or transportation, or the halter. With what bitter
feelings must she have returned to the prison, believing that it would
be the tomb of her beloved husband! How natural for the distressed,
insulted wife to have written harsh things against the judge! She could
not have conceived that, under the stately robes of Hale, there was a
heart affected by Divine love. And when the nobleman afterwards met the
despised tinker and his wife, on terms of perfect equality, clothed in
more glorious robes in the mansions of the blessed, how inconceivable
their surprise! It must have been equally so with the learned judge,
when, in the pure atmosphere of heaven, he found that the illiterate
tinker, harassed by poverty and imprisonment, produced books, the
admiration of the world. As Dr. Cheever eloquently writes—‘How little
could he dream, that from that narrow cell in Bedford jail a glory
would shine out, illustrating the grace of God, and doing more good to
man, than all the prelates and judges of the kingdom would
accomplish.’[244]
Bunyan was thus left in a dreary and hopeless state of imprisonment, in
which he continued for somewhat more than twelve years, and it becomes
an interesting inquiry how he spent his time and managed to employ his
great talent in his Master’s service. The first object of his
solicitude would be to provide for his family, according to 1 Timothy
5:8. How to supply his house with bare necessaries to meet the expenses
of a wife and four children, must have filled him with anxiety. The
illness, death, and burial of his first beloved wife, had swept away
any little reserve which otherwise might have accumulated, so that,
soon after his imprisonment commenced, before he could resume any kind
of labour, his wife thus pleaded with the judge for his liberty, ‘My
lord, I have four small children that cannot help themselves, of which
one is blind, and have nothing to live upon but the charity of good
people.’ How inscrutable are the ways of Providence; the rich reveling
in luxury while using their wealth to corrupt mankind, while this
eminent saint, with his family, were dependent upon charity! As soon as
he could get his tools in order he set to work; and we have the
following testimony to his industry by a fellow-prisoner, Mr. Wilson,
the Baptist minister, and of Charles Doe, who visited him in
prison:—‘Nor did he, while he was in prison, spend his time in a supine
and careless manner, nor eat the bread of idleness; for there have I
been witness that his own hands have ministered to his and his family’s
necessities, making many hundred gross of long tagged laces, to fill up
the vacancies of his time, which he had learned to do for that purpose,
since he had been in prison. There, also, I surveyed his library, the
least, but yet the best that e’er I saw—the Bible and the Book of
Martyrs.[245] And during his imprisonment (since I have spoken of his
library), he writ several excellent and useful treatises, particularly
The Holy City, Christian Behaviour, The Resurrection of the Dead, and
Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners.’[246] Besides these valuable
treatises, Charles Doe states that, of his own knowledge, in prison
Bunyan wrote The Pilgrim’s Progress, the first part, and that he had
this from his own mouth.[247] In addition to the demonstration of this
important fact contained in the introduction to The Pilgrim’s Progress,
there ought to have been added, Bunyan’s statement made in introducing
his second part:—‘Now, having taken up my lodgings in a wood about a
mile off the place’: no longer in ‘a den,’ but sheltered, in a wood, in
a state of comparative, but not of perfect liberty, about a mile
distant from the den in which he wrote his first part. Whether this may
refer to his former cottage at Elstow, of which there is great doubt,
or to the house he occupied in Bedford after his release, they were
equally about a mile from the jail. He certainly means that the two
parts were not written in the same place, nor is there a shadow of a
doubt as to the fact that in prison the great allegory was conceived
and written. Well might Mr. Doe say, ‘What hath the devil or his agents
got by putting our great gospel minister in prison?’ They prevented his
preaching to a few poor pilgrims in the villages round Bedford, and it
was the means of spreading his fame, and the knowledge of the gospel,
by his writings, throughout the world. Thus does the wrath of man
praise God. In addition to the works above enumerated, he also
published some extremely valuable tracts, several editions of a work
which ought to be read by all young Christians—A Treatise on the
Covenants of the Law and of Grace; several editions of Sighs from Hell;
A Map of Salvation and Damnation; The Four Last Things, a poem; Mount
Ebal and Gerizim, or, Redemption from the Curse, a poem; Prison
Meditations, a poem: the four last are single sheets, probably sold by
his children or friends to assist him in obtaining his livelihood:
Justification by Faith in Jesus Christ, 4to; Confession of His Faith
and Reason of His Practice. The most remarkable treatise which he
published while in confinement, is on prayer, from the words of the
apostle, ‘I will pray with the spirit and with the understanding also.’
His attention had been fixed on this subject when his free-born spirit
was roused by the threat of Justice Keeling, ‘Take heed of speaking
irreverently of the Book of Common Prayer, for if you do you will bring
great damage upon yourself.’
Bunyan had formed his ideas of prayer from heartfelt experience; it is
the cry of the burthened, sinking sinner, ‘Lord save us, we perish’; or
adoration rising from the heart to the throne of grace, filled with
hopes of pardon and immortality. In his estimation, any form of human
invention was an interference with the very nature of prayer, and with
the work of the Holy Spirit, who alone can inspire our souls with
acceptable prayer.
In expressing his views upon this all-important subject, Bunyan was
simply guided by a sense of duty. Fear of the consequences, or of
offending his enemies, never entered his mind. He felt that they were
in the hands of his heavenly Father, and that all their malice must be
over-ruled for good. Notwithstanding his solemn warning not to speak
irreverently of the book, his refusal to use which had subjected him to
severe privations and the fear of a halter, this Christian hero was not
daunted, but gives his opinion of it with all that freedom and liberty
which he considered essential to excite in his fellow-men inquiries as
to its origin and imposition.
It is not my province to enter into the controversy whether in public
worship a form of prayer ought to be used. Let every one be persuaded
in his own mind; but to pass a law denouncing those that refuse to use
a prescribed form as worthy of imprisonment, transportation, or death,
is an attack upon the first principles of Christianity. To punish those
who spoke irreverently of it, was almost an acknowledgment that it
would not bear investigation. To speak of the book as in his serious
judgment it deserved, was not that mark of sectarianism which Romaine
exhibited when he called the beautiful hymns of Dr. Watts, which are
used so much in public worship among Dissenters, ‘Watts’ jingle,’ and
‘Watts’ whims!’[248] No answer appears to have been published to
Bunyan’s extremely interesting volume until twelve years after the
author’s death, when a reply appeared under the title of Liturgies
Vindicated by the Dissenters, or the Lawfulness of Forms of Prayer
proved against John Bunyan and the Dissenters. 1700. This is a very
rare and curious volume. The author, as usual in such controversies,
deals wholesale in invective, and displays all the ability of a
sophist.
The Christian world is indebted to Dr. Cheever for a beautiful picture
of Bunyan’s devotional exercise in his cell. ‘It is evening; he
finishes his work, to be taken home by his dear blind child. He reads a
portion of Scripture, and, clasping her small hands in his, kneels on
the cold stone floor, and pours out his soul to God; then, with a
parting kiss, dismisses her to her mother. The rude lamp glimmers on
the table; with his Bible, pen, and paper, he writes as though joy did
make him write. His face is lighted as from the radiant jasper walls of
the celestial city. He clasps his hands, looks upward, and blesses God
for his goodness. The last you see of him—is alone, kneeling on the
prison floor; he is alone with God.’
Charles Doe, who manifested most laudable anxiety to hand down the
works of Bunyan to posterity, bears honourable testimony to his conduct
while in prison. ‘It was by making him a visit in prison that I first
saw him, and became acquainted with him; and I must profess I could not
but look upon him to be a man of an excellent spirit, zealous for his
master’s honour, and cheerfully committing all his own concernments
unto God’s disposal. When I was there, there were about sixty
Dissenters besides himself there, taken but a little before at a
religious meeting at Kaistoe, in the county of Bedford; besides two
eminent Dissenting ministers, Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Dun (both very well
known in Bedfordshire, though long since with God[249]), by which means
the prison was very much crowded; yet, in the midst of all that hurry
which so many new-comers occasioned, I have heard Mr. Bunyan both
preach and pray with that mighty spirit of faith and plerophory of
divine assistance that has made me stand and wonder.’[250] Here they
could sing, without fear of being overheard; no informers prowling
round. The world was shut out; and, in communion with heaven, they
could forget their sorrows, and have a rich foretaste of the
inconceivable glory of the celestial city. It was under such
circumstances that Bunyan preached one of his most remarkable sermons,
afterwards published under the title of The Holy City or the New
Jerusalem, 1665. ‘Upon a certain first-day, being together with my
brethren in our prison-chamber, they expected that, according to our
custom, something should be spoken out of the Word for our mutual
edification. I felt myself, it being my turn to speak, so empty,
spiritless, and barren, that I thought I should not have been able to
speak among them so much as five words of truth with life and evidence.
At last I cast mine eye upon this prophecy, when, after considering
awhile, methought I perceived something of that jasper in whose light
you find this holy city descended; wherefore, having got some dim
glimmering thereof, and finding a desire to see farther thereinto, I
with a few groans did carry my meditations to the Lord Jesus for a
blessing, which he did forthwith grant, and helping me to set before my
brethren, we did all eat, and were well refreshed; and behold, also,
that while I was in the distributing of it, it so increased in my hand,
that of the fragments that we left, after we had well dined, I gathered
up this basketful. Wherefore, setting myself to a more narrow search,
through frequent prayer, what first with doing and then with undoing,
and after that with doing again, I thus did finish it.’[251] To this
singular event the religious public are indebted for one of Bunyan’s
ablest treatises, full of the striking sparkles of his extraordinary
imagination. It was a subject peculiarly adapted to display his
powers—the advent of New Jerusalem, her impregnable walls and gates of
precious stones, golden streets, water of life, temple, and the
redeemed from all nations flocking into it.[252]
In these times of severe persecution, two of the church members, S.
Fenn and J. Whiteman, were ordained joint pastors. Fenn has just been
delivered out of prison; yet they ventured to brave the storm, and in
this year, although the lions prowled before the porch, a number were
added to the church. Thus was their little Jerusalem built ‘even in
troublous times.’
Bunyan’s popularity and fame for wisdom and knowledge had spread all
round the country, and it naturally brought him visitors, with their
doubts, and fears, and cases of conscience. Among these a singular
instance is recorded in the Life of Badman. ‘When I was in prison,’
says the narrator, ‘there came a woman to me that was under a great
deal of trouble. So I asked her, she being a stranger to me, what she
had to say to me? She said she was afraid she should be damned. I asked
her the cause of those fears. She told me that she had, some time
since, lived with a shopkeeper at Wellingborough, and had robbed his
box in the shop several times of money, and pray, says she, tell me
what I shall do? I told her I would have her go to her master, and make
him satisfaction. She said she was afraid lest he should hang her. I
told her that I would intercede for her life, and would make use of
other friends to do the like; but she told me she durst not venture
that. Well, said I, shall I send to your master, while you abide out of
sight, and make your peace with him before he sees you? and with that I
asked her master’s name. But all she said in answer to this was, pray
let it alone till I come to you again. So away she went, and neither
told me her master’s name nor her own; and I never saw here
again.’[253] He adds, ‘I could tell you of another, that came to me
with a like relation concerning herself, and the robbing of her
mistress.’
To his cruel imprisonment the world is indebted for the most surprising
narrative of a new birth that has ever appeared. It was there that he
was led to write the Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners. He
displays in the preface his deep interest in the spiritual welfare of
those who had been born under his ministry. He rejoices in their
happiness, even while he was ‘sticking between the teeth of the lions
in the wilderness. I now again, as before from the top of shenir and
Hermon, so now from the lions’ dens, from “the mountains of the
leopards,” do look yet after you all, greatly longing to see your safe
arrival into the desired haven.’[254] How natural it was that, while
narrating his own experience, he should be led to write a guide to
pilgrims through time to eternity, and that it should be dated from
‘the den!’
‘And thus it was: I writing of the way
And race of saints, in this our gospel-day,
Fell suddenly into an allegory
About their journey, and the way to glory.’[255]
Any one possessing powers of imagination, to whom the adventures of
Christian are familiar, would, on reading the Grace Abounding, be
continually struck with the likeness there drawn of the pilgrim—the
more he contemplates the two pictures of Christian experience, so much
the more striking is their similarity. The one is a narrative of facts,
the other contains the same facts allegorized. Thus, by an irresistible
impulse from heaven upon the mind of a prisoner for Christ, did a light
shine forth from the dungeon on Bedford bridge which has largely
contributed to enlighten the habitable globe. The Pilgrim has been
translated into most of the languages and dialects of the world. The
Caffrarian and Hottentot, the enlightened Greek and Hindoo, the remnant
of the Hebrew race, the savage Malay and the voluptuous Chinese—all
have the wondrous narrative in their own languages. Bunyan was
imprisoned by bigots and tyrants, to prevent his being heard or known;
and his voice, in consequence, reaches to the ends of the earth. Let
every wretched persecutor contemplate this instance of God’s
over-ruling power. You will surely plunge the avenging sword into your
own vitals if, by persecution, you vainly endeavour to wound the saints
of the living God. You may make hypocrites throw off their disguise.
The real Christian may be discouraged, but he perseveres. He feels the
truth of Bunyan’s quaint saying, ‘the persecutors are but the devil’s
scarecrows, the old one himself lies quat’; while the eye of God is
upon him to save the children of Zion.[256] His otherwise dreary
imprisonment was lightened, and the time beguiled by these delightful
writings. His fellow-prisoners were benefited by hearing him read his
pilgrim’s adventures. But this has been so fully displayed in the
introduction to the Pilgrim that any further notice is
unnecessary.[257]
While busily occupied with his Grace Abounding and Pilgrim’s Progress,
he wrote a poetical epistle in answer to the kind inquiries of his
numerous friends and visitors. After thanking them for counsel and
advice, he describes his feelings in prison. His feet stood on Mount
Zion; his body within locks and bars, while his mind was free to study
Christ, and elevated higher than the stars. Their fetters could not
tame his spirit, nor prevent his communion with God. The more his
enemies raged, the more peace he experienced. In prison he received the
visits of saints, of angels, and the Spirit of God. ‘I have been able
to laugh at destruction, and to fear neither the horse nor his rider. I
have had sweet sights of the forgiveness of my sins in this place, and
of my being with Jesus in another world.’[258] If his ears were to be
pierced in the pillory, it would be only ‘to hang a jewel there.’ The
source of his happy feelings is well expressed in one of the stanzas:—
‘The truth and I were both here cast
Together, and we do
Lie arm in arm, and so hold fast
Each other; this is true.’[259]
Yes, honest John Bunyan, the world at large now gives you credit for
the truth of that saying.
How strange must it seem to the luxurious worldling, with his bed of
down and splendid hangings, but aching heart, to hear of the exquisite
happiness of the prisoner for Christ on his straw pallet! ‘When God
makes the bed,’ as Bunyan says, ‘he must needs be easy that is cast
thereon; a blessed pillow hath that man for his head, though to all
beholders it is hard as a stone.’[260] In the whole course of his
troubles, he enjoyed the sympathy of his family and friends. his food
was brought daily, and such was the veneration in which his memory was
embalmed, that the very jug in which his broth was taken to the prison
has been preserved to this day.[261]
In the midst of all his sufferings he murmurs not nor for a moment
gives way to revenge; he leaves the persecutor in the hands of God.
Stand off, Christian; pity the poor wretch that brings down upon
himself the vengeance of God. Your pitiful arm must no strike him—no,
stand by, ‘that God may have his full blow at him in his time.
Wherefore he saith avenge not yourself—“Vengeance is mine, saith the
Lord.” Give place, leave such an one to be handled by me.’[262]
‘There are several degrees of suffering for righteousness—the scourge
of the tongue, the ruin of an estate, the loss of liberty, a gaol, a
gibbet, a stake, a dagger. Now answerable to these are the comforts of
the Holy Ghost, prepared like to like, part proportioned to part, only
the consolations are said to abound.’[263] The mind of Bunyan was
imbued with these sentiments; baptized into them, and consequently
elevated far above the fear of what man could do unto him. Yes, he knew
the power of God. ‘He can make those things that in themselves are most
fearful and terrible to behold, the most delightful and most desirable
things. He can make a gaol more beautiful than a palace, restraint more
sweet by far than liberty, and the reproach of Christ greater riches
than the treasures of Egypt.’[264]
The Bible, that heavenly storehouse, was opened to him: ‘I never had,
in all my life, so great an inlet into the Word of God as now.’[265] ‘I
have had sweet sights of forgiveness and of the heavenly Jerusalem. I
have seen here that which, while in this world, I shall never be able
to express.’