English Men of Letters

Edited by John Morley

BUNYAN

by

JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE

LondonMacmillan and Co. 1880

CONTENTS. 

 CHAPTER I. PAGE

 EARLY LIFE 1

 CHAPTER II. 

 CONVICTION OF SIN 16

 CHAPTER III. 

 GRACE ABOUNDING 35

 CHAPTER IV. 

 CALL TO THE MINISTRY 52

 CHAPTER V. 

 ARREST AND TRIAL 65

 CHAPTER VI. 

 THE BEDFORD GAOL 78

 CHAPTER VII. 

 LIFE AND DEATH OF MR. BADMAN 90

 CHAPTER VIII. 

 THE HOLY WAR 114

 CHAPTER IX. 

 THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS 151

 CHAPTER X. 

 LAST DAYS AND DEATH 173

BUNYAN. 

CHAPTER I. 

EARLY LIFE. 

'I was of a low and inconsiderable generation, my father's house beingof that rank that is meanest and most despised of all families in theland. ' 'I never went to school, to Aristotle or Plato, but was broughtup in my father's house in a very mean condition, among a company ofpoor countrymen. ' 'Nevertheless, I bless God that by this door Hebrought me into the world to partake of the grace and life that is byChrist in His Gospel. ' This is the account given of himself and hisorigin by a man whose writings have for two centuries affected thespiritual opinions of the English race in every part of the world morepowerfully than any book or books, except the Bible. 

John Bunyan was born at Elstow, a village near Bedford, in the year1628. It was a memorable epoch in English history, for in that yearthe House of Commons extorted the consent of Charles I. To thePetition of Right. The stir of politics, however, did not reach thehumble household into which the little boy was introduced. His fatherwas hardly occupied in earning bread for his wife and children as amender of pots and kettles: a tinker, --working in neighbours' housesor at home, at such business as might be brought to him. 'TheBunyans, ' says a friend, 'were of the national religion, as men ofthat calling commonly were. ' Bunyan himself, in a passage which hasbeen always understood to refer to his father, describes him 'as anhonest poor labouring man, who, like Adam unparadised, had all theworld to get his bread in, and was very careful to maintain hisfamily. ' In those days there were no village schools in England; theeducation of the poor was an apprenticeship to agriculture orhandicraft; their religion they learnt at home or in church. YoungBunyan was more fortunate. In Bedford there was a grammar school, which had been founded in Queen Mary's time by the Lord Mayor ofLondon, Sir William Harper. Hither, when he was old enough to walk toand fro, over the mile of road between Elstow and Bedford, the childwas sent, if not to learn Aristotle and Plato, to learn at least 'toread and write according to the rate of other poor men's children. '

If religion was not taught at school, it was taught with some care inthe cottages and farmhouses by parents and masters. It was common inmany parts of England, as late as the end of the last century, for thefarmers to gather their apprentices about them on Sunday afternoons, and to teach them the Catechism. Rude as was Bunyan's home, religiousnotions of some kind had been early and vividly impressed upon him. Hecaught, indeed, the ordinary habits of the boys among whom he wasthrown. He learnt to use bad language, and he often lied. When achild's imagination is exceptionally active, the temptations tountruth are correspondingly powerful. The inventive faculty has itsdangers, and Bunyan was eminently gifted in that way. He was aviolent, passionate boy besides, and thus he says of himself that forlying and swearing he had no equal, and that his parents did notsufficiently correct him. Wickedness, he declares in his ownremorseful story of his early years, became a second nature to him. But the estimate which a man forms of himself in later life, if he hasarrived at any strong abhorrence of moral evil, is harsher than othersat the time would have been likely to have formed. Even then the poorchild's conscience must have been curiously sensitive, and it revengeditself upon him in singular tortures. 

'My sins, ' he says, 'did so offend the Lord that even in my childhoodHe did scare and affright me with fearful dreams, and did terrify mewith dreadful visions. I have been in my bed greatly afflicted whileasleep, with apprehensions of devils and wicked spirits, who still, asI then thought, laboured to draw me away with them, of which I couldnever be rid. I was afflicted with thoughts of the Day of Judgmentnight and day, trembling at the thoughts of the fearful torments ofhell fire. ' When, at ten years old, he was running about with hiscompanions in 'his sports and childish vanities, ' these terrorscontinually recurred to him, yet 'he would not let go his sins. '

Such a boy required rather to be encouraged than checked in seekinginnocent amusements. Swearing and lying were definite faults whichought to have been corrected; but his parents, perhaps, saw that therewas something unusual in the child. To them he probably appeared notworse than other boys, but considerably better. They may have thoughtit more likely that he would conquer his own bad inclinations by hisown efforts, than that they could mend him by rough rebukes. 

When he left school he would naturally have been bound apprentice, but his father brought him up at his own trade. Thus he lived at home, and grew to manhood there, forming his ideas of men and things out ofsuch opportunities as the Elstow neighbourhood afforded. 

From the time when the Reformation brought them a translation of it, the Bible was the book most read--it was often the only book which wasread--in humble English homes. Familiarity with the words had not yettrampled the sacred writings into practical barrenness. No doubts orquestions had yet risen about the Bible's nature or origin. It wasreceived as the authentic word of God Himself. The Old and NewTestament alike represented the world as the scene of a strugglebetween good and evil spirits; and thus every ordinary incident ofdaily life was an instance or illustration of God's Providence. Thiswas the universal popular belief, not admitted only by the intellect, but accepted and realised by the imagination. No one questioned it, save a few speculative philosophers in their closets. The statesman inthe House of Commons, the judge on the Bench, the peasant in a midlandvillage, interpreted literally by this rule the phenomena which theyexperienced or saw. They not only believed that God had miraculouslygoverned the Israelites, but they believed that as directly andimmediately He governed England in the seventeenth century. They notonly believed that there had been a witch at Endor, but they believedthat there were witches in their own villages, who had made compactswith the devil himself. They believed that the devil still literallywalked the earth like a roaring lion: that he and the evil angels wereperpetually labouring to destroy the souls of men; and that God wasequally busy overthrowing the devil's work, and bringing sin andcrimes to eventual punishment. 

In this light the common events of life were actually looked at andunderstood, and the air was filled with anecdotes so told as toillustrate the belief. These stories and these experiences wereBunyan's early mental food. One of them, which had deeply impressedthe imagination of the Midland counties, was the story of 'Old Tod. 'This man came one day into court, in the Summer Assizes at Bedford, 'all in a dung sweat, ' to demand justice upon himself as a felon. Noone had accused him, but God's judgment was not to be escaped, and hewas forced to accuse himself. 'My Lord, ' said Old Tod to the judge, 'Ihave been a thief from my childhood. I have been a thief ever since. There has not been a robbery committed these many years, within somany miles of this town, but I have been privy to it. ' The judge, after a conference, agreed to indict him of certain felonies which hehad acknowledged. He pleaded guilty, implicating his wife along withhim, and they were both hanged. 

An intense belief in the moral government of the world creates what itinsists upon. Horror at sin forces the sinner to confess it, and makesothers eager to punish it. 'God's revenge against murder and adultery'becomes thus an actual fact, and justifies the conviction in which itrises. Bunyan was specially attentive to accounts of judgments uponswearing, to which he was himself addicted. He tells a story of a manat Wimbledon, who, after uttering some strange blasphemy, was struckwith sickness, and died cursing. Another such scene he probablywitnessed himself, [1] and never forgot. An alehouse-keeper in theneighbourhood of Elstow had a son who was half-witted. The favouriteamusement, when a party was collected drinking, was for the father toprovoke the lad's temper, and for the lad to curse his father and wishthe devil had him. The devil at last did have the alehouse-keeper, andrent and tore him till he died. 'I, ' says Bunyan, 'was eye and earwitness of what I here say. I have heard Ned in his roguery cursinghis father, and his father laughing thereat most heartily, stillprovoking of Ned to curse that his mirth might be increased. I saw hisfather also when he was possessed. I saw him in one of his fits, andsaw his flesh as it was thought gathered up in an heap about thebigness of half an egg, to the unutterable torture and affliction ofthe old man. There was also one Freeman, who was more than an ordinarydoctor, sent for to cast out the devil, and I was there when heattempted to do it. The manner whereof was this. They had thepossessed in an outroom, and laid him upon his belly upon a form, withhis head hanging down over the form's end. Then they bound him downthereto; which done, they set a pan of coals under his mouth, and putsomething therein which made a great smoke--by this means, as it wassaid, to fetch out the devil. There they kept the man till he wasalmost smothered in the smoke, but no devil came out of him, at whichFreeman was somewhat abashed, the man greatly afflicted, and I made togo away wondering and fearing. In a little time, therefore, that whichpossessed the man carried him out of the world, according to thecursed wishes of his son. '

[Footnote 1: The story is told by Mr. Attentive in the 'Life of Mr. Badman;' but it is almost certain that Bunyan was relating his ownexperience. ]

The wretched alehouse-keeper's life was probably sacrificed in thisattempt to dispossess the devil. But the incident would naturallyleave its mark on the mind of an impressionable boy. Bunyan ceased tofrequent such places after he began to lead a religious life. Thestory, therefore, most likely belongs to the experiences of his firstyouth after he left school; and there may have been many more of asimilar kind, for, except that he was steady at his trade, he grew upa wild lad, the ringleader of the village apprentices in all manner ofmischief. He had no books, except a life of Sir Bevis of Southampton, which would not tend to sober him; indeed, he soon forgot all that hehad learnt at school, and took to amusements and doubtful adventures, orchard-robbing, perhaps, or poaching, since he hints that he mighthave brought himself within reach of the law. In the most passionatelanguage of self-abhorrence, he accuses himself of all manner of sins, yet it is improbable that he appeared to others what in later life heappeared to himself. He judged his own conduct as he believed that itwas regarded by his Maker, by whom he supposed eternal torment to havebeen assigned as the just retribution for the lightest offence. Yet hewas never drunk. He who never forgot anything with which he couldcharge himself, would not have passed over drunkenness, if he couldremember that he had been guilty of it; and he distinctly asserts, also, that he was never in a single instance unchaste. In our days, arough tinker who could say as much for himself after he had grown tomanhood, would be regarded as a model of self-restraint. If, inBedford and the neighbourhood, there was no young man more viciousthan Bunyan, the moral standard of an English town in the seventeenthcentury must have been higher than believers in Progress will bepleased to allow. 

He declares that he was without God in the world, and in the sensewhich he afterwards attached to the word this was probably true. Butserious thoughts seldom ceased to work in him. Dreams only reproducethe forms and feelings with which the waking imagination is mostengaged. Bunyan's rest continued to be haunted with the phantoms whichhad terrified him when a child. He started in his sleep, andfrightened the family with his cries. He saw evil spirits in monstrousshapes and fiends blowing flames out of their nostrils. 'Once, ' says abiographer, who knew him well, and had heard the story of his visionsfrom his own lips, 'he dreamed that he saw the face of heaven as itwere on fire, the firmament crackling and shivering with the noise ofmighty thunder, and an archangel flew in the midst of heaven, soundinga trumpet, and a glorious throne was seated in the east, whereon satOne in brightness like the morning star. Upon which, he thinking itwas the end of the world, fell upon his knees and said, "Oh, Lord, have mercy on me! What shall I do? The Day of Judgment is come and Iam not prepared. "'

At another time 'he dreamed that he was in a pleasant place jovial andrioting, when an earthquake rent the earth, out of which came bloodyflames, and the figures of men tossed up in globes of fire, andfalling down again with horrible cries and shrieks and execrations, while devils mingled among them, and laughed aloud at their torments. As he stood trembling, the earth sank under him, and a circle offlames embraced him. But when he fancied he was at the point toperish, One in shining white raiment descended and plucked him out ofthat dreadful place, while the devils cried after him to take him tothe punishment which his sins had deserved. Yet he escaped the danger, and leapt for joy when he awoke and found it was a dream. '

Mr. Southey, who thinks wisely that Bunyan's biographers haveexaggerated his early faults, considers that at worst he was a sort of'blackguard. ' This, too, is a wrong word. Young village blackguards donot dream of archangels flying through the midst of heaven, nor werethese imaginations invented afterwards, or rhetorically exaggerated. Bunyan was undoubtedly given to story-telling as a boy, and therecollection of it made him peculiarly scrupulous in his statements inlater life. One trait he mentions of himself which no one would havethought of who had not experienced the feeling, yet every person canunderstand it and sympathise with it. These spectres and hobgoblinsdrove him wild. He says, 'I was so overcome with despair of life andheaven, that I should often wish either that there had been no hell, or that I had been a devil; supposing that they were only tormentors, and that, if it must needs be that I went thither, I might rather be atormentor than tormented myself. '

The visions at last ceased. God left him to himself, as he puts it, and gave him over to his own wicked inclinations. He fell, he says, into all kinds of vice and ungodliness without further check. Theexpression is very strong, yet when we look for particulars we canfind only that he was fond of games which Puritan precisenessdisapproved. He had high animal spirits, and engaged in lawlessenterprises. Once or twice he nearly lost his life. He is sparing ofdetails of his outward history, for he regarded it as nothing butvanity; but his escapes from death were providences, and therefore hementions them. He must have gone to the coast somewhere, for he wasonce almost drowned in a creek of the sea. He fell out of a boat intothe river at another time, and it seems that he could not swim. Afterwards he seized hold of an adder, and was not bitten by it. Thesemercies were sent as warnings, but he says that he was too carelessto profit by them. He thought that he had forgotten God altogether, and yet it is plain that he had not forgotten. A bad young man, whohas shaken off religion because it is a restraint, observes withmalicious amusement the faults of persons who make a profession ofreligion. He infers that they do not really believe it, and onlydiffer from their neighbours in being hypocrites. Bunyan notes thisdisposition in his own history of Mr. Badman. Of himself, he says:'Though I could sin with delight and ease, and take pleasure in thevillanies of my companions, even then, if I saw wicked things done bythem that professed goodness, it would make my spirit tremble. Once, when I was in the height of my vanity, hearing one swear that wasreckoned a religious man, it made my heart to ache. '

He was now seventeen, and we can form a tolerably accurate picture ofhim--a tall, active lad, working as his father's apprentice, at hispots and kettles, ignorant of books, and with no notion of the worldbeyond what he could learn in his daily drudgery, and the talk of thealehouse and the village green; inventing lies to amuse hiscompanions, and swearing that they were true; playing bowls andtipcat, ready for any reckless action, and always a leader in it, yetall the while singularly pure from the more brutal forms of vice, andhaunted with feverish thoughts, which he tried to forget inamusements. It has been the fashion to take his account of himselfliterally, and represent him as the worst of reprobates, in order tomagnify the effects of his conversion, and perhaps to makeintelligible to his admiring followers the reproaches which he heapsupon himself. They may have felt that they could not be wrong inexplaining his own language in the only sense in which they couldattach a meaning to it. Yet, sinner though he may have been, like allthe rest of us, his sins were not the sins of coarseness andvulgarity. They were the sins of a youth of sensitive nature and verypeculiar gifts: gifts which brought special temptations with them, andinclined him to be careless and desperate, yet from causes singularlyunlike those which are usually operative in dissipated and uneducatedboys. 

It was now the year 1645. Naseby Field was near, and the first CivilWar was drawing to its close. At this crisis Bunyan was, as he says, drawn to be a soldier; and it is extremely characteristic of him andof the body to which he belonged, that he leaves us to guess on whichside he served. He does not tell us himself. His friends in after lifedid not care to ask him, or he to inform them, or else they alsothought the matter of too small importance to be worth mentioning withexactness. There were two traditions, and his biographers chosebetween them as we do. Close as the connection was in that greatstruggle between civil and religious liberty--flung as Bunyan wasflung into the very centre of the conflict between the English peopleand the Crown and Church and aristocracy--victim as he was himself ofintolerance and persecution, he never but once took any politicalpart, and then only in signing an address to Cromwell. He never showedany active interest in political questions; and if he spoke on suchquestions at all after the Restoration, it was to advise submission tothe Stuart Government. By the side of the stupendous issues of humanlife, such miserable _rights_ as men might pretend to in this worldwere not worth contending for. The only _right_ of man that he thoughtmuch about, was the right to be eternally damned if he did not layhold of grace. King and subject were alike creatures whose solesignificance lay in their individual immortal souls. Their relationswith one another upon earth were nothing in the presence of the awfuljudgment which awaited them both. Thus whether Bunyan's brief careerin the army was under Charles or under Fairfax must remain doubtful. Probability is on the side of his having been with the Royalists. Hisfather was of 'the national religion. ' He himself had as yet nospecial convictions of his own. John Gifford, the Baptist minister atBedford, had been a Royalist. The only incident which Bunyan speaks ofconnected with his military experience points in the same direction. 'When I was a soldier, ' he says, 'I was with others drawn out to go tosuch a place to besiege it. But when I was just ready to go, one ofthe company desired to go in my room. Coming to the siege as he stoodsentinel he was shot in the heart with a musket bullet and died. 'Tradition agrees that the place to which these words refer wasLeicester. Leicester was stormed by the King's troops a few daysbefore the battle of Naseby. It was recovered afterwards by theParliamentarians, but on the second occasion there was no fighting, asit capitulated without a shot being fired. Mr. Carlyle supposes thatBunyan was not with the attacking party, but was in the town as one ofthe garrison, and was taken prisoner there. But this cannot be, for hesays expressly that he was one of the besiegers. Legend gathers freelyabout eminent men, about men especially who are eminent in religion, whether they are Catholic or Protestant. Lord Macaulay is not onlypositive that the hero of the English Dissenters fought on the side ofthe Commonwealth, but he says, without a word of caution on theimperfection of the evidence, 'His Greatheart, his Captain Boanerges, and his Captain Credence, are evidently portraits of which theoriginals were among those martial saints who fought and expounded inFairfax's army. '[2]

[Footnote 2: _Life of Bunyan_: Collected Works, vol. Vii. P. 299. ]

If the martial saints had impressed Bunyan so deeply, it isinconceivable that he should have made no more allusion to hismilitary service than in this brief passage. He refers to the siegeand all connected with it merely as another occasion of his ownprovidential escapes from death. 

Let the truth of this be what it may, the troop to which he belongedwas soon disbanded. He returned at the end of the year to his tinker'swork at Elstow, much as he had left it. The saints, if he had met withsaints, had not converted him. 'I sinned still, ' he says, 'and grewmore and more rebellious against God and careless of my ownsalvation. ' An important change of another kind, however, lay beforehim. Young as he was he married. His friends advised it, for theythought that marriage would make him steady. The step was lessimprudent than it would have been had Bunyan been in a higher rank oflife, or had aimed at rising into it. The girl whom he chose was apoor orphan, but she had been carefully and piously brought up, andfrom her acceptance of him, something more may be inferred about hischaracter. Had he been a dissolute idle scamp, it is unlikely that arespectable woman would have become his wife when he was a mere boy. His sins, whatever these were, had not injured his outwardcircumstances; it is clear that all along he worked skilfully andindustriously at his tinkering business. He had none of the habitswhich bring men to beggary. From the beginning of his life to the endof it he was a prudent, careful man, and, considering the station towhich he belonged, a very successful man. 

'I lighted on a wife, ' he says, 'whose father was counted godly. Wecame together as poor as poor might be, not having so much householdstuff as a dish or a spoon between us. But she had for her portion twobooks, "The Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven, " and "The Practice ofPiety, " which her father had left her when he died. In these two booksI sometimes read with her. I found some things pleasing to me, but allthis while I met with no conviction. She often told me what a godlyman her father was, how he would reprove and correct vice both in hishouse and among his neighbours, what a strict and holy life he livedin his day both in word and deed. These books, though they did notreach my heart, did light in me some desire to religion. '

There was still an Established Church in England, and the constitutionof it had not yet been altered. The Presbyterian platform threatenedto take the place of Episcopacy, and soon did take it; but theclergyman was still a priest and was still regarded with piousveneration in the country districts as a semi-supernatural being. Thealtar yet stood in its place, the minister still appeared in hissurplice, and the Prayers of the Liturgy continued to be read orintoned. The old familiar bells, Catholic as they were in all theemotions which they suggested, called the congregation together withtheir musical peal, though in the midst of triumphant Puritanism. The'Book of Sports, ' which, under an order from Charles I. , had been readregularly in Church, had in 1644 been laid under a ban; but the gloomof a Presbyterian Sunday was, is, and for ever will be detestable tothe natural man; and the Elstow population gathered persistently afterservice on the village green for their dancing, and their leaping, and their archery. Long habit cannot be transformed in a day by anEdict of Council, and amidst army manifestoes and battles of MarstonMoor, and a king dethroned and imprisoned, old English life inBedfordshire preserved its familiar features. These Sunday sports hadbeen a special delight to Bunyan, and it is to them which he refers inthe following passage, when speaking of his persistent wickedness. Onhis marriage he became regular and respectable in his habits. He says, 'I fell in with the religion of the times to go to church twice a day, very devoutly to say and sing as the others did, yet retaining mywicked life. Withal I was so overrun with the spirit of superstitionthat I adored with great devotion even all things, both the highplace, priest, clerk, vestment, service, and what else belonging tothe Church, counting all things holy therein contained, and especiallythe priest and clerk most happy and without doubt greatly blessed. This conceit grew so strong in my spirit, that had I but seen apriest, though never so sordid and debauched in his life, I shouldfind my spirit fall under him, reverence, and be knit to him. Theirname, their garb, and work did so intoxicate and bewitch me. '

Surely if there were no other evidence, these words would show thatthe writer of them had never listened to the expositions of themartial saints. 

CHAPTER II. 

CONVICTION OF SIN. 

The 'Pilgrim's Progress' is the history of the struggle of humannature to overcome temptation and shake off the bondage of sin, underthe convictions which prevailed among serious men in England in theseventeenth century. The allegory is the life of its author cast in animaginative form. Every step in Christian's journey had been firsttrodden by Bunyan himself; every pang of fear and shame, every spasmof despair, every breath of hope and consolation, which is theredescribed, is but a reflexion as on a mirror from personal experience. It has spoken to the hearts of all later generations of Englishmenbecause it came from the heart; because it is the true record of thegenuine emotions of a human soul; and to such a record the emotions ofother men will respond, as one stringed instrument vibratesresponsively to another. The poet's power lies in creating sympathy;but he cannot, however richly gifted, stir feelings which he has nothimself known in all their intensity. 

 Ut ridentibus arrident ita flentibus adflent Humani vultus. Si vis me flere dolendum est Primum ipsi tibi. 

The religious history of man is essentially the same in all ages. Ittakes its rise in the duality of his nature. He is an animal, and asan animal he desires bodily pleasure and shrinks from bodily pain. Asa being capable of morality, he is conscious that for him there existsa right and wrong. Something, whatever that something may be, bindshim to choose one and avoid the other. This is his religion, hisreligatio, his obligation, in the sense in which the Romans, from whomwe take it, used the word; and obligation implies some superior powerto which man owes obedience. The conflict between his two dispositionsagitates his heart, and perplexes his intellect. To do what thesuperior power requires of him, he must thwart his inclinations. Hedreads punishment, if he neglects to do it. He invents methods bywhich he can indulge his appetites, and finds a substitute by which hecan propitiate his invisible ruler or rulers. He offers sacrifices; heinstitutes ceremonies and observances. This is the religion of thebody, the religion of fear. It is what we call superstition. In hisnobler moods he feels that this is but to evade the difficulty. Heperceives that the sacrifice required is the sacrifice of himself. Itis not the penalty for sin which he must fear, but the sin itself. Hemust conquer his own lower nature. He must detach his heart from hispleasures, and he must love good for its own sake, and because it ishis only real good; and this is spiritual religion or piety. Betweenthese two forms of worship of the unseen, the human race has swayed toand fro from the first moment in which they learnt to discern betweengood and evil. Superstition attracts, because it is indulgent toimmorality by providing means by which God can be pacified. But itcarries its antidote along with it, for it keeps alive the sense ofGod's existence; and when it has produced its natural effects, whenthe believer rests in his observances and lives practically as ifthere was no God at all, the conscience again awakes. Sacrifices andceremonies become detested as idolatry, and religion becomesconviction of sin, a fiery determination to fight with the whole soulagainst appetite, vanity, self-seeking, and every mean propensitywhich the most sensitive alarm can detect. The battle unhappily isattended with many vicissitudes. The victory, though practically itmay be won, is never wholly won. The struggle brings with it everyvariety of emotion, alternations of humility and confidence, despondency and hope. The essence of it is always the same--the effortof the higher nature to overcome the lower. The form of it varies fromperiod to period, according to the conditions of the time, thetemperament of different people, the conception of the character ofthe Supreme Power, which the state of knowledge enables men to form. It will be found even when the puzzled intellect can see no light inHeaven at all, in the stern and silent fulfilment of moral duty. Itwill appear as enthusiasm; it will appear as asceticism. It willappear wherever there is courage to sacrifice personal enjoyment for acause believed to be holy. We must all live. We must all, as wesuppose, in one shape or other give account for our actions; andaccounts of the conflict are most individually interesting when it isan open wrestle with the enemy; as we find in the penances andausterities of the Catholic saints, or when the difficulties of beliefare confessed and detailed, as in David's Psalms, or in the Epistlesof St. Paul. St. Paul, like the rest of mankind, found a law in hismembers warring against the law which was in his heart. The problempresented to him was how one was to be brought into subjection to theother, and the solution was by 'the putting on of Christ. ' St. Paul'smind was charged with the ideas of Oriental and Greek philosophy thenprevalent in the Roman Empire. His hearers understood him, because hespoke in the language of the prevailing speculations. We who have notthe clue cannot, perhaps, perfectly understand him; but his words havebeen variously interpreted as human intelligence has expanded, andhave formed the basis of the two great theologies which have beendeveloped out of Christianity. The Christian religion taught that evilcould not be overcome by natural human strength. The Son of God hadcome miraculously upon earth, had lived a life of stainless purity, and had been offered as a sacrifice to redeem men conditionally fromthe power of sin. The conditions, as English Protestant theologyunderstands them, are nowhere more completely represented than in the'Pilgrim's Progress. ' The Catholic theology, rising as it did in thetwo centuries immediately following St. Paul, approached probablynearer to what he really intended to say. 

Catholic theology, as a system, is a development of Platonism. ThePlatonists had discovered that the seat of moral evil was materialsubstance. In matter, and therefore in the human body, there waseither some inherent imperfection, or some ingrained perversity andantagonism to good. The soul so long as it was attached to the bodywas necessarily infected by it; and as human life on earth consistedin the connection of soul and body, every single man was necessarilysubject to infirmity. Catholic theology accepted the position andformulated an escape from it. The evil in matter was a fact. It wasexplained by Adam's sin. But there it was. The taint was inherited byall Adam's posterity. The flesh of man was incurably vitiated, and ifhe was to be saved a new body must be prepared for him. This Christhad done. That Christ's body was not as other men's bodies was provedafter his resurrection, when it showed itself independent of thelimitations of extended substance. In virtue of these mysteriousproperties it became the body of the Corporate Church into whichbelievers were admitted by baptism. The natural body was not at oncedestroyed, but a new element was introduced into it, by the power ofwhich, assisted by penance and mortification, and the spiritual foodof the Eucharist, the grosser qualities were gradually subdued, andthe corporeal system was changed. Then body and spirit became alikepure together, and the saint became capable of obedience, so perfectas not only to suffice for himself, but to supply the wants of others. The corruptible put on incorruption. The bodies of the saints workedmiracles, and their flesh was found unaffected by decay after hundredsof years. 

This belief so long as it was sincerely held issued naturally incharacters of extreme beauty; of beauty so great as almost todemonstrate its truth. The purpose of it, so far as it affectedaction, was self-conquest. Those who try with their whole souls toconquer themselves find the effort lightened by a conviction that theyare receiving supernatural assistance; and the form in which theCatholic theory supposed the assistance to be given was at leastperfectly innocent. But it is in the nature of human speculations, though they may have been entertained at first in entire good faith, to break down under trial, if they are not in conformity with fact. Catholic theology furnished Europe with a rule of faith and actionwhich lasted 1500 years. For the last three centuries of that periodit was changing from a religion into a superstition, till, from beingthe world's guide, it became its scandal. 'The body of Christ' hadbecome a kingdom of this world, insulting its subjects by theeffrontery of its ministers, the insolence of its pretensions, themountains of lies which it was teaching as sacred truths. Lutherspoke; and over half the Western world the Catholic Church collapsed, and a new theory and Christianity had to be constructed out of thefragments of it. 

There was left behind a fixed belief in God and in the Bible as Hisrevealed word, in a future judgment, in the fall of man, in theatonement made for sin by the death of Christ, and in the new lifewhich was made possible by His resurrection. The change was in theconception of the method by which the atonement was imagined to beefficacious. The material or sacramental view of it, though itlingered inconsistently in the mind even of Luther himself, wassubstantially gone. New ideas adopted in enthusiasm are necessarilyextreme. The wrath of God was held to be inseparably and eternallyattached to every act of sin, however infirm the sinner. That hisnature could be changed, and that he could be mystically strengthenedby incorporation with Christ's body in the Church was contrary toexperience, and was no longer credible. The conscience of every man, in the Church or out of it, told him that he was daily and hourlyoffending. God's law demanded a life of perfect obedience, eternaldeath being the penalty of the lightest breach of it. No human beingwas capable of such perfect obedience. He could not do one single actwhich would endure so strict a scrutiny. All mankind were thusincluded under sin. The Catholic Purgatory was swept away. It haddegenerated into a contrivance for feeding the priests with money, andit implied that human nature could in itself be renovated by its ownsufferings. Thus nothing lay before the whole race except everlastingreprobation. But the door of hope had been opened on the cross ofChrist. Christ had done what man could never do. He had fulfilled thelaw perfectly. God was ready to accept Christ's perfect righteousnessas a substitute for the righteousness which man was required topresent to him, but could not. The conditions of acceptance were nolonger sacraments or outward acts, or lame and impotent efforts aftera moral life, but faith in what Christ had done; a completeself-abnegation, a resigned consciousness of utter unworthiness, andan unreserved acceptance of the mercy held out through the Atonement. It might have been thought that since man was born so weak that it wasimpossible for him to do what the law required, consideration would behad for his infirmity; that it was even dangerous to attribute to theAlmighty a character so arbitrary as that He would exact an accountfrom his creatures which the creature's necessary inadequacy renderedhim incapable of meeting. But the impetuosity of the new theologywould listen to no such excuses. God was infinitely pure, and nothingimpure could stand in his sight. Man, so long as he rested on merit ofhis own, must be for ever excluded from his presence. He must acceptgrace on the terms on which it was held out to him. Then and then onlyGod would extend his pity to him. He was no longer a child of wrath:he was God's child. His infirmities remained, but they were constantlyobliterated by the merits of Christ. And he had strength given to him, partially, at least, to overcome temptation, under which, but for thatstrength, he would have fallen. Though nothing which he could do coulddeserve reward, yet he received grace in proportion to the firmness ofhis belief; and his efforts after obedience, imperfect though theymight be, were accepted for Christ's sake. A good life, or a constanteffort after a good life, was still the object which a man was boundto labour after. Though giving no claim to pardon, still less forreward, it was the necessary fruit of a sense of what Christ had done, and of love and gratitude towards him. Good works were the test ofsaving faith, and if there were no signs of them, the faith wasbarren: it was not real faith at all. 

This was the Puritan belief in England in the seventeenth century. Thereason starts at it, but all religion is paradoxical to reason. Godhates sin, yet sin exists. He is omnipotent, yet evil is not overcome. The will of man is free, or there can be no guilt, yet the action ofthe will, so far as experience can throw light on its operation, is asmuch determined by antecedent causes as every other natural force. Prayer is addressed to a Being assumed to be omniscient, who knowsbetter what is good for us than we can know, who sees our thoughtwithout requiring to hear them in words, whose will is fixed andcannot be changed. Prayer, therefore, in the eye of reason is animpertinence. The Puritan theology is not more open to objection onthe ground of unreasonableness than the Catholic theology or any otherwhich regards man as answerable to God for his conduct. We must judgeof a creed by its effects on character, as we judge of thewholesomeness of food as it conduces to bodily health. And the creedwhich swept like a wave through England at that time, and recommendeditself to the noblest and most powerful intellects, produced also inthose who accepted it a horror of sin, an enthusiasm for justice, purity, and manliness, which can be paralleled only in the first ageof Christianity. Certainly there never was such a theory to take man'sconceit out of him. He was a miserable wretch, so worthless at hisbest as to deserve everlasting perdition. If he was to be saved atall, he could be saved only by the unmerited grace of God. In himselfhe was a child of the devil; and hell, not in metaphor, but in hardand palpable fact, inevitably waited for him. This belief, or theaffectation of this belief, continues to be professed, but without arealisation of its tremendous meaning. The form of words is repeatedby multitudes who do not care to think what they are saying. Who canmeasure the effect of such a conviction upon men who were in earnestabout their souls, who were assured that this account of theirsituation was actually true, and on whom, therefore, it bore withincreasing weight in proportion to their sincerity?

With these few prefatory words, I now return to Bunyan. He had begunto go regularly to church, and by Church he meant the Church ofEngland. The change in the constitution of it, even when it came, didnot much alter its practical character in the country districts. AtElstow, as we have seen, there was still a high place; there was stilla liturgy; there was still a surplice. The Church of England is acompromise between the old theology and the new. The Bishops have theapostolical succession, but many of them disbelieve that they deriveany virtue from it. The clergyman is either a priest who can absolvemen from sins, or he is a minister as in other Protestant communions. The sacraments are either means of grace, or mere outward signs. AChristian is either saved by baptism, or saved by faith, as he pleasesto believe. In either case he may be a member of the Church ofEngland. The effect of such uncertain utterances is to leave animpression that in defining such points closely, theologians arelaying down lines of doctrines about subjects of which they knownothing, that the real truth of religion lies in what is common to thetwo theories, the obligation to lead a moral life; and to thissensible view of their functions the bishops and clergy had in factgradually arrived in the last century, when the revival of what iscalled earnestness, first in the form of Evangelicalism, and then ofAnglo-Catholicism, awoke again the old controversies. 

To a man of fervid temperament suddenly convinced of sin, incapable ofbeing satisfied with ambiguous answers to questions which mean life ordeath to him, the Church of England has little to say. If he is quietand reasonable, he finds in it all that he desires. Enthusiastic agesand enthusiastical temperaments demand something more complete andconsistent. The clergy under the Long Parliament caught partially thetone of the prevailing spirit. The reading of the 'Book of Sports' hadbeen interdicted, and from their pulpits they lectured theircongregations on the ungodliness of the Sabbath amusements. But thecongregations were slow to listen, and the sports went on. 

One Sunday morning, when Bunyan was at church with his wife, a sermonwas delivered on this subject. It seemed to be especially addressed tohimself, and it much affected him. He shook off the impression, andafter dinner he went as usual to the green. He was on the point ofstriking at a ball when the thought rushed across his mind, Wilt thouleave thy sins and go to Heaven, or have thy sins and go to hell? Helooked up. The reflection of his own emotion was before him in visibleform. He imagined that he saw Christ himself looking down at him fromthe sky. But he concluded that it was too late for him to repent. Hewas past pardon. He was sure to be damned, and he might as well bedamned for many sins as for few. Sin at all events was pleasant, theonly pleasant thing that he knew, therefore he would take his fill ofit. The sin was the game, and nothing but the game. He continued toplay, but the Puritan sensitiveness had taken hold of him. Anartificial offence had become a real offence when his conscience waswounded by it. He was reckless and desperate. 

'This temptation of the devil, ' he says, 'is more usual among poorcreatures than many are aware of. It continued with me about a monthor more; but one day as I was standing at a neighbour's shop-window, and there cursing and swearing after my wonted manner, there satewithin the woman of the house and heard me, who, though she was aloose and ungodly wretch, protested that I swore and cursed at such arate that she trembled to hear me. I was able to spoil all the youthsin a whole town. At this reproof I was silenced and put to secretshame, and that too, as I thought, before the God of Heaven. I stoodhanging down my head and wishing that I might be a little child thatmy father might learn me to speak without this wicked sin of swearing, for, thought I, I am so accustomed to it that it is vain to think of areformation. '

These words have been sometimes taken as a reflection on Bunyan's ownfather, as if he had not sufficiently checked the first symptoms of abad habit. If this was so, too much may be easily made of it. Thelanguage in the homes of ignorant workmen is seldom select. They havenot a large vocabulary, and the words which they use do not mean whatthey seem to mean. But so sharp and sudden remorse speaks remarkablyfor Bunyan himself. At this time he could have been barely twentyyears old, and already he was quick to see when he was doing wrong, to be sorry for it, and to wish that he could do better. Vain theeffort seemed to him, yet from that moment 'he did leave off swearingto his own great wonder, ' and he found 'that he could speak better andmore pleasantly than he did before. '

It lies in the nature of human advance on the road of improvement, that, whatever be a man's occupation, be it handicraft, or art, orknowledge, or moral conquest of self, at each forward step which hetakes he grows more conscious of his shortcomings. It is thus with hiswhole career, and those who rise highest are least satisfied withthemselves. Very simply Bunyan tells the story of his progress. On hisoutward history, on his business and his fortunes with it, he istotally silent. Worldly interests were not worth mentioning. He issolely occupied with his rescue from spiritual perdition. Soon afterhe had profited by the woman's rebuke, he fell in 'with a poor manthat made profession of religion and talked pleasantly of theScriptures. ' Earnestness in such matters was growing common amongEnglish labourers. Under his new friend's example, Bunyan 'betook himto the Bible, and began to take great pleasure in reading it, ' butespecially, as he admits frankly (and most people's experience willhave been the same), 'especially the historical part; for as for St. Paul's Epistles and Scriptures of that nature, he could not away withthem, being as yet ignorant of the corruption of his nature, or of thewant and worth of Jesus Christ to save him. '

Not as yet understanding these mysteries, he set himself to reform hislife. He became strict with himself in word and deed. 'He set theCommandments before him for his way to Heaven. ' 'He thought if hecould but keep them pretty well he should have comfort. ' If now andthen he broke one of them, he suffered in conscience; he repented ofhis fault, he made good resolutions for the future and struggled tocarry them out. 'His neighbours took him to be a new man, andmarvelled at the alteration. ' Pleasure of any kind, even the mostinnocent, he considered to be a snare to him, and he abandoned it; hehad been fond of dancing, but he gave it up. Music and singing heparted with, though it distressed him to leave them. Of allamusements, that in which he had most delighted had been in ringingthe bells in Elstow church tower. With his bells he could not part allat once. He would no longer ring himself: but when his friends wereenjoying themselves with the ropes, he could not help going now andthen to the tower door to look on and listen; but he feared at lastthat the steeple might fall upon him and kill him. We call suchscruples in these days exaggerated and fantastic. We are no longer indanger ourselves of suffering from similar emotions. Whether we arethe better for having got rid of them, will be seen in the futurehistory of our race. 

Notwithstanding his struggles and his sacrifices, Bunyan found thatthey did not bring him the peace which he expected. A man can changehis outward conduct, but if he is in earnest he comes in sight ofother features in himself which he cannot change so easily; themeannesses, the paltrinesses, the selfishnesses which haunt him inspite of himself, which start out upon him at moments the mostunlocked for, which taint the best of his actions and make him loatheand hate himself. Bunyan's life was now for so young a person a modelof correctness; but he had no sooner brought his actions straight thanhe discovered that he was admiring and approving of himself. Nosituation is more humiliating, none brings with it a feeling of moreentire hopelessness. 'All this while, ' he says, 'I knew not Christ, nor grace, nor faith, nor hope, and had I then died my state had beenmost fearful. I was but a poor painted hypocrite, going about toestablish my own righteousness. '

Like his own Pilgrim, he had the burden on his back of his consciousunworthiness. How was he to be rid of it?

'One day in a street in Bedford, as he was at work in his calling, hefell in with three or four poor women sitting at a door in the suntalking about the things of God. ' He was himself at that time 'a brisktalker' about the matters of religion, and he joined these women. Their expressions were wholly unintelligible to him. 'They werespeaking of the wretchedness of their own hearts, of their unbelief, of their miserable state. They did contemn, slight, and abhor theirown righteousness as filthy and insufficient to do them any good. Theyspoke of a new birth and of the work of God in their hearts, whichcomforted and strengthened them against the temptations of the Devil. '

The language of the poor women has lost its old meaning. Theythemselves, if they were alive, would not use it any longer. Theconventional phrases of Evangelical Christianity ring untrue in amodern ear like a cracked bell. We have grown so accustomed to them asa cant, that we can hardly believe that they ever stood for sincereconvictions. Yet these forms were once alive with the profoundest ofall moral truths; a truth not of a narrow theology, but which lies atthe very bottom of the well, at the fountain-head of human morality;namely, that a man who would work out his salvation must cast outself, though he rend his heart-strings in doing it; not love ofself-indulgence only, but self-applause, self-confidence, self-conceitand vanity, desire or expectation of reward; self in all the subtleingenuities with which it winds about the soul. In one dialect oranother, he must recognise that he is himself a poor creature notworth thinking of, or he will not take the first step towardsexcellence in any single thing which he undertakes. 

Bunyan left the women and went about his work, but their talk wentwith him. 'He was greatly affected. ' 'He saw that he wanted the truetokens of a godly man. ' He sought them out and spoke with them againand again. He could not stay away; and the more he went the more hequestioned his condition. 

'I found two things, ' he says, 'at which I did sometimes marvel, considering what a blind ungodly wretch but just before I was; one agreat softness and tenderness of heart, which caused me to fall underthe conviction of what, by Scripture, they asserted; the other a greatbending of my mind to a continual meditating on it. My mind was nowlike a horse-leech at the vein, still crying Give, give; so fixed oneternity and on the kingdom of heaven (though I knew but little), thatneither pleasure, nor profit, nor persuasion, nor threats could loosenit or make it let go its hold. It is in very deed a certain truth; itwould have been then as difficult for me to have taken my mind fromheaven to earth, as I have found it often since to get it from earthto heaven. '

Ordinary persons who are conscious of trying to do right, who resisttemptations, are sorry when they slip, and determine to be more ontheir guard for the future, are well contented with the conditionwhich they have reached. They are respectable, they are right-mindedin common things, they fulfil their every-day duties to theirfamilies and to society with a sufficiency for which the world speakswell of them, as indeed it ought to speak; and they themselvesacquiesce in the world's verdict. Any passionate agitation about thestate of their souls they consider unreal and affected. Such men maybe amiable in private life, good neighbours, and useful citizens; butbe their talents what they may, they could not write a 'Pilgrim'sProgress, ' or ever reach the Delectable Mountains, or even beconscious that such mountains exist. 

Bunyan was on the threshold of the higher life. He knew that he was avery poor creature. He longed to rise to something better. He was amere ignorant, untaught mechanic. He had not been to school withAristotle and Plato. He could not help himself or lose himself in thespeculations of poets and philosophers. He had only the Bible, andstudying the Bible he found that the wonder-working power in man'snature was Faith. Faith! What was it? What did it mean? Had he faith?He was but 'a poor sot, ' and yet he thought that he could not bewholly without it. The Bible told him that if he had faith as a grainof mustard seed, he could work miracles. He did not understandOriental metaphors; here was a simple test which could be at onceapplied. 

'One day, ' he writes, 'as I was between Elstow and Bedford, thetemptation was hot upon me to try if I had faith by doing somemiracle. I must say to the puddles that were in the horse-pads, "bedry, " and truly at one time I was agoing to say so indeed. But just asI was about to speak, the thought came into my mind: Go under yonderhedge first and pray that God would make you able. But when I hadconcluded to pray, this came hot upon me, that if I prayed and cameagain and tried to do it, and yet did nothing notwithstanding, thenbe sure I had no faith but was a castaway and lost. Nay, thought I, ifit be so, I will never try it yet, but will stay a little longer. Thuswas I tossed between the Devil and my own ignorance, and so perplexedat some times that I could not tell what to do. '

Common sense will call this disease, and will think impatiently thatthe young tinker would have done better to attend to his business. Butit must be observed that Bunyan was attending to his business, toilingall the while with grimed hands over his pots and kettles. No one evercomplained that the pots and kettles were ill-mended. It was merelythat being simple-minded, he found in his Bible that besides earninghis bread he had to save or lose his soul. Having no other guide hetook its words literally, and the directions puzzled him. 

He grew more and more unhappy--more lowly in his own eyes--

 'Wishing him like to those more rich in hope'--

like the women who were so far beyond him on the heavenly road. He wasa poet without knowing it, and his gifts only served to perplex himfurther. His speculations assumed bodily forms which he supposed to beactual visions. He saw his poor friends sitting on the sunny side of ahigh mountain refreshing themselves in the warmth, while he wasshivering in frost and snow and mist. The mountain was surrounded by awall, through which he tried to pass, and searched long in vain for anopening through it. At last he found one, very straight and narrow, through which he struggled after desperate efforts. 'It showed him, 'he said, 'that none could enter into life but those who were indownright earnest, and unless they left the wicked world behind them, for here was only room for body and soul, but not for body and souland sin. ' The vision brought him no comfort, for it passed away andleft him still on the wrong side: a little comfortable self-conceitwould have set him at rest. But, like all real men, Bunyan had theworst opinion of himself. He looked at his Bible again. He found thathe must be elected. Was he elected? He could as little tell as whetherhe had faith. He knew that he longed to be elected, but 'the Scripturetrampled on his desire, ' for it said, 'It is not of him that willeth, or of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy;' therefore, unless God had chosen him his labour was in vain. The Devil saw hisopportunity; the Devil among his other attributes must have possessedthat of omnipresence, for whenever any human soul was in straits, hewas personally at hand to take advantage of it. 

'It may be that you are not elected, ' the tempter said to Bunyan. 'Itmay be so indeed, ' thought he. 'Why then, ' said Satan, 'you had asgood leave off and strive no farther; for if indeed you should not beelected and chosen of God, there is no talk of your being saved. '

A comforting text suggested itself. 'Look at the generations of old;did any ever trust in the Lord and was confounded?' But these exactwords, unfortunately, were only to be found in the Apocrypha. Andthere was a further distressing possibility, which has occurred toothers besides Bunyan. Perhaps the day of grace was passed. It came onhim one day as he walked in the country that perhaps those good peoplein Bedford were all that the Lord would save in those parts, and thathe came too late for the blessing. True, Christ had said, 'Compel themto come in, for yet there is room. ' It might be 'that when Christspoke those words, ' He was thinking of him--him among the rest thathe had chosen, and had meant to encourage him. But Bunyan was toosimply modest to gather comfort from such aspiring thoughts. Bedesired to be converted, craved for it, longed for it with all hisheart and soul. 'Could it have been gotten for gold, ' he said, 'whatwould I not have given for it. Had I had a whole world it had all goneten thousand times over for this, that my soul might have been in aconverted state. But, oh! I was made sick by that saying of Christ:"He called to Him whom He would, and they came to Him. " I feared Hewould not call me. '

Election, conversion, day of grace, coming to Christ, have been pawedand fingered by unctuous hands for now two hundred years. The bloom isgone from the flower. The plumage, once shining with hues direct fromheaven, is soiled and bedraggled. The most solemn of all realitieshave been degraded into the passwords of technical theology. InBunyan's day, in camp and council chamber, in High Courts ofParliament, and among the poor drudges in English villages, they werestill radiant with spiritual meaning. The dialect may alter; but ifman is more than a brief floating bubble on the eternal river of time;if there be really an immortal part of him which need not perish; andif his business on earth is to save it from perishing, he will stilltry to pierce the mountain barrier. He will still find the work ashard as Bunyan found it. We live in days of progress andenlightenment; nature on a hundred sides has unlocked her storehousesof knowledge. But she has furnished no 'open sesame' to bid themountain gate fly wide which leads to conquest of self. There is stillno passage there for 'body and soul and sin. '

CHAPTER III. 

GRACE ABOUNDING. 

The women in Bedford, to whom Bunyan had opened his mind, had beennaturally interested in him. Young and rough as he was, he could nothave failed to impress anyone who conversed with him with a sense thathe was a remarkable person. They mentioned him to Mr. Gifford, theminister of the Baptist Church at Bedford. John Gifford had, at thebeginning of the Civil War, been a loose young officer in the king'sarmy. He had been taken prisoner when engaged in some exploit whichwas contrary to the usages of war. A court-martial had sentenced himto death, and he was to have been shot in a few hours, when he brokeout of his prison with his sister's help, and, after variousadventures, settled at Bedford as a doctor. The near escape had notsobered him. He led a disorderly life, drinking and gambling, till theloss of a large sum of money startled him into seriousness. In thelanguage of the time he became convinced of sin, and joined theBaptists, the most thorough-going and consistent of all the Protestantsects. If the Sacrament of Baptism is not a magical form, but is apersonal act, in which the baptised person devotes himself to Christ'sservice, to baptise children at an age when they cannot understandwhat they are doing may well seem irrational and even impious. 

Gifford, who was now the head of the Baptist community in the town, invited Bunyan to his house, and explained the causes of his distressto him. He was a lost sinner. It was true that he had parted with hisold faults, and was leading a new life. But his heart was unchanged;his past offences stood in record against him. He was still under thewrath of God, miserable in his position, and therefore miserable inmind. He must become sensible of his lost state, and lay hold of theonly remedy, or there was no hope for him. 

There was no difficulty in convincing Bunyan that he was in a bad way. He was too well aware of it already. In a work of fiction, theconviction would be followed immediately by consoling grace. In theactual experience of a living human soul, the medicine operates lesspleasantly. 

'I began, ' he says, 'to see something of the vanity and inwardwretchedness of my wicked heart, for as yet I knew no great mattertherein. But now it began to be discovered unto me, and to work forwickedness as it never did before. Lusts and corruptions wouldstrongly put themselves forth within me in wicked thoughts and desireswhich I did not regard before. Whereas, before, my soul was full oflonging after God; now my heart began to hanker after every foolishvanity. '

Constitutions differ. Mr. Gifford's treatment, if it was ever good forany man, was too sharp for Bunyan. The fierce acid which had beenpoured into his wounds set them all festering again. He frankly admitsthat he was now farther from conversion than before. His heart, dowhat he would, refused to leave off desiring forbidden pleasures, andwhile this continued, he supposed that he was still under the law, andmust perish by it. He compared himself to the child who, as he wasbeing brought to Christ, was thrown down by the devil and wallowedfoaming. A less healthy nature might have been destroyed by theseartificially created and exaggerated miseries. He supposed he wasgiven over to unbelief and wickedness, and yet he relates withtouching simplicity:--

'As to the act of sinning I was never more tender than now. I durstnot take up a pin or a stick, though but so big as a straw, for myconscience now was sore and would smart at every touch. I could nottell how to speak my words for fear I should misplace them. '

But the care with which he watched his conduct availed him nothing. Hewas on a morass 'that shook if he did but stir, ' and he was 'thereleft both of God and Christ and the Spirit, and of all good things. ''Behind him lay the faults of his childhood and youth, every one ofwhich he believed to be recorded against him. Within were hisdisobedient inclinations, which he conceived to be the presence of theDevil in his heart. If he was to be presented clean of stain beforeGod he must have a perfect righteousness which was to be found only inChrist, and Christ had rejected him. 'My original and inwardpollution, ' he writes, 'was my plague and my affliction. I was moreloathsome in my own eyes than was a toad, and I thought I was so inGod's eyes too. I thought every one had a better heart than I had. Icould have changed heart with anybody. I thought none but the Devilhimself could equal me for inward wickedness and pollution. Sure, thought I, I am given up to the Devil and to a reprobate mind; andthus I continued for a long while, even for some years together. '

And all the while the world went on so quietly; these things overwhich Bunyan was so miserable not seeming to trouble anyone excepthimself; and, as if they had no existence except on Sundays and inpious talk. Old people were hunting after the treasures of this life, as if they were never to leave the earth. Professors of religioncomplained when they lost fortune or health; what were fortune andhealth to the awful possibilities which lay beyond the grave? ToBunyan the future life of Christianity was a reality as certain as thenext day's sunrise; and he could have been happy on bread and water ifhe could have felt himself prepared to enter it. Every created beingseemed better off than he was. He was sorry that God had made him aman. He 'blessed the condition of the birds, beasts, and fishes, forthey had not a sinful nature. They were not obnoxious to the wrath ofGod. They were not to go to hell-fire after death. ' He recalled thetexts which spoke of Christ and forgiveness. He tried to persuadehimself that Christ cared for him. He could have talked of Christ'slove and mercy 'even to the very crows which sate on the ploughed landbefore him. ' But he was too sincere to satisfy himself with formulasand phrases. He could not, he would not, profess to be convinced thatthings would go well with him when he was not convinced. Cold spasmsof doubt laid hold of him--doubts, not so much of his own salvation, as of the truth of all that he had been taught to believe; and theproblem had to be fought and grappled with, which lies in theintellectual nature of every genuine man, whether he be an Ĉschylus ora Shakespeare, or a poor working Bedfordshire mechanic. No honest soulcan look out upon the world and see it as it really is, without thequestion rising in him whether there be any God that governs it atall. No one can accept the popular notion of heaven and hell asactually true, without being as terrified as Bunyan was. We go on aswe do, and attend to our business and enjoy ourselves, because thewords have no real meaning to us. Providence in its kindness leavesmost of us unblessed or uncursed with natures of too fine a fibre. 

Bunyan was hardly dealt with. 'Whole floods of blasphemies, ' he says, 'against God, Christ, and the Scriptures were poured upon my spirit;questions against the very being of God and of his only beloved Son, as whether there was in truth a God or Christ, or no, and whether theHoly Scriptures were not rather a fable and cunning story than theholy and pure Word of God. '

'How can you tell, ' the tempter whispered, 'but that the Turks have asgood a Scripture to prove their Mahomet the Saviour, as we have toprove our Jesus is? Could I think that so many tens of thousands in somany countries and kingdoms should be without the knowledge of theright way to heaven, if there were indeed a heaven, and that we wholie in a corner of the earth, should alone be blessed therewith. Everyone doth think his own religion the rightest, both Jews, Moors, andPagans; and how if all our faith, and Christ, and Scripture should bebut "a think so" too. ' St. Paul spoke positively. Bunyan saw shrewdlythat on St. Paul the weight of the whole Christian theory reallyrested. But 'how could he tell but that St. Paul, being a subtle andcunning man, might give himself up to deceive with strong delusions?''He was carried away by such thoughts as by a whirlwind. '

His belief in the active agency of the Devil in human affairs, ofwhich he supposed that he had witnessed instances, was no doubt agreat help to him. If he could have imagined that his doubts ormisgivings had been suggested by a desire for truth, they would havebeen harder to bear. More than ever he was convinced that he waspossessed by the devil. He 'compared himself to a child carried off bya gipsy. ' 'Kick sometimes I did, ' he says, 'and scream, and cry, butyet I was as bound in the wings of temptation, and the wind would bearme away. ' 'I blessed the dog and toad, and counted the condition ofeverything that God had made far better than this dreadful state ofmine. The dog or horse had no soul to perish under the everlastingweight of hell for sin, as mine was like to do. '

Doubts about revelation and the truth of Scripture were more easy toencounter then than they are at present. Bunyan was protected by wantof learning, and by a powerful predisposition to find the objectionsagainst the credibility of the Gospel history to be groundless. Critical investigation had not as yet analysed the historicalconstruction of the sacred books, and scepticism, as he saw it inpeople round him, did actually come from the devil, that is from adesire to escape the moral restraints of religion. The wisest, noblest, best instructed men in England, at that time regarded theBible as an authentic communication from God, and as the onlyfoundation for law and civil society. The masculine sense and strongmodest intellect of Bunyan ensured his acquiescence in an opinion sopowerfully supported. Fits of uncertainty recurred even to the end ofhis life; it must be so with men who are honestly in earnest; but hisdoubts were of course only intermittent, and his judgment was in themain satisfied that the Bible was, as he had been taught, the Word ofGod. This, however, helped him little; for in the Bible he read hisown condemnation. The weight which pressed him down was the sense ofhis unworthiness. What was he that God should care for him? He fanciedthat he heard God saying to the angels, 'This poor, simple wretch dothhanker after me, as if I had nothing to do with my mercy but to bestowit on such as he. Poor fool, how art thou deceived! It is not for suchas thee to have favour with the Highest. '

Miserable as he was, he clung to his misery as the one link whichconnected him with the object of his longings. If he had no hope ofheaven, he was at least distracted that he must lose it. He was afraidof dying, yet he was still more afraid of continuing to live; lest theimpression should wear away through time, and occupation and otherinterests should turn his heart away to the world, and thus his woundsmight cease to pain him. 

Readers of the 'Pilgrim's Progress' sometimes ask with wonder, why, after Christian had been received into the narrow gate, and had beenset forward upon his way, so many trials and dangers still lay beforehim. The answer is simply that Christian was a pilgrim, that thejourney of life still lay before him, and at every step temptationswould meet him in new, unexpected shapes. St. Anthony in his hermitagewas beset by as many fiends as had ever troubled him when in theworld. Man's spiritual existence is like the flight of a bird in theair; he is sustained only by effort, and when he ceases to exerthimself he falls. There are intervals, however, of comparative calm, and to one of these the storm-tossed Bunyan was now approaching. Hehad passed through the Slough of Despond. He had gone astray after Mr. Legality, and the rocks had almost overwhelmed him. Evangelist nowfound him and put him right again, and he was to be allowed abreathing space at the Interpreter's house. As he was at his ordinarydaily work his mind was restlessly busy. Verses of Scripture came intohis head, sweet while present, but like Peter's sheet caught up againinto heaven. We may have heard all our lives of Christ. Words andideas with which we have been familiar from childhood are trodden intopaths as barren as sand. Suddenly, we know not how, the meaningflashes upon us. The seed has found its way into some corner of ourminds where it can germinate. The shell breaks, the cotyledons open, and the plant of faith is alive. So it was now to be with Bunyan. 

'One day, ' he says, 'as I was travelling into the country, musing onthe wickedness of my heart, and considering the enmity that was in meto God, the Scripture came into my mind, "He hath made peace throughthe blood of His cross. " I saw that the justice of God and my sinfulsoul could embrace and kiss each other. I was ready to swoon, not withgrief and trouble, but with solid joy and peace. ' Everything becameclear: the Gospel history, the birth, the life, the death of theSaviour; how gently he gave himself to be nailed on the cross for his(Bunyan's) sins. 'I saw Him in the spirit, ' he goes on, 'a Man on theright hand of the Father, pleading for me, and have seen the manner ofHis coming from Heaven to judge the world with glory. '

The sense of guilt which had so oppressed him was now a key to themystery. 'God, ' he says, 'suffered me to be afflicted with temptationsconcerning these things, and then revealed them to me. ' He was crushedto the ground by the thought of his wickedness; 'the Lord showed himthe death of Christ, and lifted the weight away. '

Now he thought he had a personal evidence from Heaven that he wasreally saved. Before this, he had lain trembling at the mouth of hell;now he was so far away from it that he could scarce tell where it was. He fell in at this time with a copy of Luther's commentary on theEpistle to the Galatians, 'so old that it was like to fall to pieces. 'Bunyan found in it the exact counterpart of his own experience: 'ofall the books that he had ever met with, it seemed to him the most fitfor a wounded conscience. '

Everything was supernatural with him: when a bad thought came into hismind, it was the devil that put it there. These breathings of peace heregarded as the immediate voice of his Saviour. Alas! the respite wasbut short. He had hoped that his troubles were over, when the temptercame back upon him in the most extraordinary form which he had yetassumed, Bunyan had himself left the door open; the evil spirits couldonly enter 'Mansoul' through the owner's negligence, but once in, theycould work their own wicked will. How it happened will be toldafterwards. The temptation itself must be described first. Never was anature more perversely ingenious in torturing itself. 

He had gained Christ, as he called it. He was now tempted 'to sell andpart with this most blessed Christ, to exchange Him for the things ofthis life--for anything. ' If there had been any real prospect ofworldly advantage before Bunyan, which he could have gained byabandoning his religious profession, the words would have had ameaning; but there is no hint or trace of any prospect of the kind;nor in Bunyan's position could there have been. The temptation, as hecalled it, was a freak of fancy: fancy resenting the minuteness withwhich he watched his own emotions. And yet he says, 'It lay upon mefor a year, and did follow me so continually that I was not rid of itone day in a month, sometimes not an hour in many days together, unless when I was asleep. I could neither eat my food, stoop for apin, chop a stick, or cast my eye to look on this or that, but stillthe temptation would come, "Sell Christ for this, sell Him for that!Sell Him! Sell Him!"'

He had been haunted before with a notion that he was under a spell;that he had been fated to commit the unpardonable sin; and he was nowthinking of Judas, who had been admitted to Christ's intimacy, and hadthen betrayed him. Here it was before him--the very thing which he hadso long dreaded. If his heart did but consent for a moment, the deedwas done. His doom had overtaken him. He wrestled with the thought asit rose, thrust it from him 'with his hands and elbows, ' body and mindconvulsed together in a common agony. As fast as the destroyer said, 'Sell Him, ' Bunyan said, 'I will not; I will not; I will not, not forthousands, thousands, thousands of worlds!' One morning as he lay inhis bed, the voice came again, and would not be driven away. Bunyanfought against it, till he was out of breath. He fell back exhausted, and without conscious action of his will, the fatal sentence passedthrough his brain, 'Let Him go if He will. '

That the 'selling Christ' was a bargain in which he was to lose alland receive nothing is evident from the form in which he was overcome. Yet if he had gained a fortune by fraud or forgery, he could not havebeen more certain that he had destroyed himself. 

Satan had won the battle, and he, 'as a bird shot from a tree, hadfallen into guilt and despair. ' He got out of bed, 'and went mopinginto the fields, ' where he wandered for two hours, 'as a man bereft oflife, and now past recovering, ' 'bound over to eternal punishment. ' Heshrank under the hedges, 'in guilt and sorrow, bemoaning the hardnessof his fate. ' In vain the words now came back that had so comfortedhim, 'The blood of Christ cleanseth from all sin. ' They had noapplication to him. He had acquired his birthright, but, like Esau, hehad sold it, and could not any more find place for repentance. True itwas said that 'all manner of sins and blasphemies should be forgivenunto men, ' but only such sins and blasphemies as had been committed inthe natural state. Bunyan had received grace, and after receiving it, had sinned against the Holy Ghost. 

It was done, and nothing could undo it. David had received grace, andhad committed murder and adultery after it. But murder and adultery, bad as they might be, were only transgressions of the law of Moses. Bunyan had sinned against the Mediator himself, 'he had sold hisSaviour. ' One sin, and only one there was which could not be pardoned, and he had been guilty of it. Peter had sinned against grace, and evenafter he had been warned. Peter, however, had but denied his Master. Bunyan had sold him. He was no David or Peter, he was Judas. It was, very hard. Others naturally as bad as he had been saved. Why had hebeen picked out to be made a Son of Perdition? A Judas! Was there anypoint in which he was better than Judas? Judas had sinned withdeliberate purpose: he 'in a fearful hurry, ' and 'against prayer andstriving. ' But there might be more ways than one of committing theunpardonable sin, and there might be degrees of it. It was a dreadfulcondition. The old doubts came back. 

'I was now ashamed, ' he says, 'that I should be like such an ugly manas Judas. I thought how loathsome I should be to all the saints at theDay of Judgment. I was tempted to content myself by receiving somefalse opinion, as that there should be no such thing as the Day ofJudgment, that we should not rise again, that sin was no such grievousthing, the tempter suggesting that if these things should be indeedtrue, yet to believe otherwise would yield me ease for the present. IfI must perish, I need not torment myself beforehand. '

Judas! Judas! was now for ever before his eyes. So identified he waswith Judas that he felt at times as if his breastbone was bursting. Amark like Cain's was on him. In vain he searched again through thecatalogue of pardoned sinners. Manasseh had consulted wizards andfamiliar spirits. Manasseh had burnt his children in the fire todevils. He had found mercy; but, alas! Manasseh's sins had nothing ofthe nature of selling the Saviour. To have sold the Saviour 'was a sinbigger than the sins of a country, of a kingdom, or of the wholeworld--not all of them together could equal it. '

His brain was overstrained, it will be said. Very likely. It is to beremembered, however, who and what he was, and that he had overstrainedit in his eagerness to learn what he conceived his Maker to wish himto be--a form of anxiety not common in this world. The cure was asremarkable as the disorder. One day he was 'in a good man's shop, 'still 'afflicting himself with self-abhorrence, ' when something seemedto rush in through an open window, and he heard a voice saying, 'Didstever refuse to be justified by the blood of Christ?' Bunyan shared thebelief of his time. He took the system of things as the Biblerepresented it; but his strong common sense put him on his guardagainst being easily credulous. He thought at the time that the voicewas supernatural. After twenty years he said modestly that he 'couldnot make a judgment of it. ' The effect, any way, was as if an angelhad come to him and had told him that there was still hope. Hapless ashis condition was, he might still pray for mercy, and might possiblyfind it. He tried to pray, and found it very hard. The devil whisperedagain that God was tired of him; God wanted to be rid of him and hisimportunities, and had, therefore, allowed him to commit thisparticular sin that he might hear no more of him. He remembered Esau, and thought that this might be too true: 'the saying about Esau was aflaming sword barring the way of the tree of life to him. ' Still hewould not give in. 'I can but die, ' he said to himself, 'and if itmust be so, it shall be said that such an one died at the feet ofChrist in prayer. '

He was torturing himself with illusions. Most of the saints in theCatholic Calendar have done the same. The most remorseless philosophercan hardly refuse a certain admiration for this poor uneducatedvillage lad struggling so bravely in the theological spider's web. The'Professors' could not comfort him, having never experienced similardistresses in their own persons. He consulted 'an Antient Christian, 'telling him that he feared that he had sinned against the Holy Ghost, The Antient Christian answered gravely that he thought so too. Thedevil having him at advantage, began to be witty with him. The devilsuggested that as he had offended the second or third Person of theTrinity, he had better pray the Father to mediate for him with Christand the Holy Spirit. Then the devil took another turn. Christ, hesaid, was really sorry for Bunyan, but his case was beyond remedy. Bunyan's sin was so peculiar, that it was not of the nature of thosefor which He had bled and died, and had not, therefore, been laid toHis charge. To justify Bunyan he must come down and die again, andthat was not to be thought of. 'Oh!' exclaimed the unfortunate victim, 'the unthought-of imaginations, frights, fears, and terrors, that areeffected by a thorough application of guilt (to a spirit) that isyielded to desperation. This is the man that hath his dwelling amongthe tombs. '

Sitting in this humour on a settle in the street at Bedford, he waspondering over his fearful state. The sun in heaven seemed to grudgeits light to him. 'The stones in the street and the tiles on thehouses did bend themselves against him. ' Each crisis in Bunyan's mindis always framed in the picture of some spot where it occurred. He wascrying 'in the bitterness of his soul, How can God comfort such awretch as I am?' As before, in the shop, a voice came in answer, 'Thissin is not unto death. ' The first voice had brought him hope which wasalmost extinguished; the second was a message of life. The night wasgone, and it was daylight. He had come to the end of the Valley of theShadow of Death, and the spectres and the hobgoblins which hadjibbered at him suddenly all vanished. A moment before he had supposedthat he was out of reach of pardon, that he had no right to pray, noright to repent, or, at least, that neither prayer nor repentancecould profit him. If his sin was not to death, then he was on the sameground as other sinners. If they might pray, he might pray, and mightlook to be forgiven on the same terms. He still saw that his 'sellingChrist' had been 'most barbarous, ' but despair was followed by anextravagance, no less unbounded, of gratitude, when he felt thatChrist would pardon even this. 

'Love and affection for Christ, ' he says, 'did work at this time sucha strong and hot desire of revengement upon myself for the abuse I haddone to Him, that, to speak as then I thought, had I had a thousandgallons of blood in my veins, I could freely have spilt it all at thecommand of my Lord and Saviour. The tempter told me it was vain topray. Yet, thought I, I will pray. But, said the tempter, your sin isunpardonable. Well, said I, I will pray. It is no boot, said he. Yet, said I, I will pray: so I went to prayer, and I uttered words to thiseffect: Lord, Satan tells me that neither Thy mercy nor Christ's bloodis sufficient to save my soul. Lord, shall I honour Thee most bybelieving that Thou wilt and canst, or him, by believing that Thouneither wilt nor canst? Lord, I would fain honour Thee by believingthat Thou wilt and canst. As I was there before the Lord, theScripture came, Oh! man, great is thy faith, even as if one hadclapped me on the back. '

The waves had not wholly subsided; but we need not follow theundulations any farther. It is enough that after a 'conviction ofsin, ' considerably deeper than most people find necessary forthemselves, Bunyan had come to realise what was meant by salvation inChrist, according to the received creed of the contemporary Protestantworld. The intensity of his emotions arose only from the completenesswith which he believed it. Man had sinned, and by sin was made aservant of the devil. His redemption was a personal act of the Saviourtowards each individual sinner. In the Atonement Christ had before himeach separate person whom he designed to save, blotting out hisoffences, however heinous they might be, and recording in place ofthem his own perfect obedience. Each reconciled sinner in returnregarded Christ's sufferings as undergone immediately for himself, andgratitude for that great deliverance enabled and obliged him to devotehis strength and soul thenceforward to God's service. In theseventeenth century, all earnest English Protestants held this belief. In the nineteenth century, most of us repeat the phrases of thisbelief, and pretend to hold it. We think we hold it. We are growingmore cautious, perhaps, with our definitions. We suspect that theremay be mysteries in God's nature and methods which we cannot fullyexplain. The outlines of 'the scheme of salvation' are growingindistinct; and we see it through a gathering mist. Yet the essence ofit will remain true whether we recognise it or not. While man remainsman he will do things which he ought not to do. He will leave undonethings which he ought to do. To will, may be present with him; but howto perform what he wills, he will never fully know, and he will stillhate 'the body of death' which he feels clinging to him. He will tryto do better. When he falls he will struggle to his feet again. Hewill climb and climb on the hill side, though he never reaches thetop, and knows that he can never reach it. His life will be a failure, which he will not dare to offer as a fit account of himself, or asworth a serious regard. Yet he will still hope that he will not bewholly cast away, when after his sleep in death he wakes again. 

Now, says Bunyan, there remained only the hinder part of the tempest. Heavenly voices continued to encourage him. 'As I was passing in thefield, ' he goes on, 'I heard the sentence, thy righteousness is inheaven; and methought I saw, with the eyes of my soul, Jesus Christat God's right hand, there I say, as my righteousness, so thatwherever I was, or whatever I was doing, God could not say of me Hewants my righteousness, for that was just before Him. Now did mychains fall off my legs indeed. I was loosed from my affliction andirons; my temptations also fled away, so that from that time thosedreadful Scriptures of God left off to trouble me. Now went I homerejoicing for the grace and love of God. Christ of God is made unto uswisdom and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption. I nowlived very sweetly at peace with God through Christ. Oh! methought, Christ, Christ! There was nothing but Christ before my eyes. I was notnow only looking upon this and the other benefits of Christ apart, asof His blood, burial, and resurrection, but considered Him as a wholeChrist. All those graces that were now green in me were yet but likethose cracked groats and fourpence half-pennies which rich men carryin their purses, while their gold is in their trunks at home. Oh! Isaw my gold was in my trunk at home in Christ my Lord and Saviour. TheLord led me into the mystery of union with the Son of God, that I wasjoined to Him, that I was flesh of His flesh. If He and I were one, His righteousness was mine, His merits mine, His victory mine. Now Icould see myself in heaven and earth at once; in heaven by my Christ, though on earth by my body and person. Christ was that common andpublic person in whom the whole body of His elect are always to beconsidered and reckoned. We fulfilled the law by Him, died by Him, rose from the dead by Him, got the victory over sin and death, thedevil and hell by Him. I had cause to say, Praise ye the Lord. PraiseGod in His sanctuary. '

CHAPTER IV. 

CALL TO THE MINISTRY. 

The Pilgrim falls into the hands of Giant Despair because he hashimself first strayed into Byepath Meadow. Bunyan found an explanationof his last convulsion in an act of unbelief, of which, on lookingback, he perceived that he had been guilty. He had been delivered outof his first temptation. He had not been sufficiently on his guardagainst temptations that might come in the future. Nay, he had himselftempted God. His wife had been overtaken by a premature confinement, and was suffering acutely. It was at the time when Bunyan wasexercised with questions about the truth of religion altogether. Asthe poor woman lay crying at his side, he had said mentally, 'Lord, ifThou wilt now remove this sad affliction from my wife, and cause thatshe be troubled no more therewith this night, then I shall know thatThou canst discern the more secret thoughts of the heart. ' In a momentthe pain ceased and she fell into a sleep which lasted till morning. Bunyan, though surprised at the time, forgot what had happened, tillit rushed back upon his memory, when he had committed himself by asimilar mental assent to selling Christ. He remembered the proof whichhad been given to him that God could and did discern his thoughts. Godhad discerned this second thought also, and in punishing him for ithad punished him at the same time for the doubt which he had allowedhimself to feel. 'I should have believed His word, ' he said, 'and nothave put an "if" upon the all-seeingness of God. '

The suffering was over now, and he felt that it had been infinitelybeneficial to him. He understood better the glory of God and of hisSon. The Scriptures had opened their secrets to him, and he had seenthem to be in very truth the keys of the kingdom of Heaven. Never soclearly as after this 'temptation' had he perceived 'the heights ofgrace, and love, and mercy. ' Two or three times 'he had such strangeapprehensions of the grace of God as had amazed him. ' The impressionwas so overpowering that if it had continued long 'it would haverendered him incapable for business. ' He joined his friend Mr. Gifford's church. He was baptised in the Ouse, and became a professedmember of the Baptist congregation. Soon after, his mental conflictwas entirely over, and he had two quiet years of peace. Before a mancan use his powers to any purpose, he must arrive at some convictionin which his intellect can acquiesce. 'Calm yourself, ' says Jean Paul;'it is your first necessity. Be a stoic if nothing else will serve. 'Bunyan had not been driven into stoicism. He was now restored to thepossession of his faculties, and his remarkable ability was not longin showing itself. 

The first consequence of his mental troubles was an illness. He had acough which threatened to turn into consumption. He thought it was allover with him, and he was fixing his eyes 'on the heavenly Jerusalemand the innumerable company of angels;' but the danger passed off, andhe became well and strong in mind and body. Notwithstanding hisvarious miseries, he had not neglected his business, and had indeedbeen specially successful. By the time that he was twenty-five yearsold he was in a position considerably superior to that in which he wasborn. 'God, ' says a contemporary biographer, 'had increased his storesso that he lived in great credit among his neighbours. ' On May 13, 1653, Bedfordshire sent an address to Cromwell approving the dismissalof the Long Parliament, recognising Oliver himself as the Lord'sinstrument, and recommending the county magistrates as fit persons toserve in the Assembly which was to take its place. Among thirty-sixnames attached to this document, appear those of Gifford and Bunyan. This speaks for itself: he must have been at least a householder and aperson of consideration. It was not, however, as a prosperous brazierthat Bunyan was to make his way. He had a gift of speech, which, inthe democratic congregation to which he belonged, could not longremain hid. Young as he was, he had sounded the depths of spiritualexperience. Like Dante he had been in hell--the popular hell ofEnglish Puritanism--and in 1655 he was called upon to take part in the'ministry. ' He was modest, humble, shrinking. The minister when hepreached was, according to the theory, an instrument uttering thewords not of himself but of the Holy Spirit. A man like Bunyan, whoreally believed this, might well be alarmed. After earnest entreaty, however, 'he made experiment of his powers' in private, and it was atonce evident that, with the thing which these people meant byinspiration, he was abundantly supplied. No such preacher to theuneducated English masses was to be found within the four seas. Hesays that he had no desire of vain glory; no one who has studied hischaracter can suppose that he had. He was a man of natural genius, who believed the Protestant form of Christianity to be completelytrue. He knew nothing of philosophy, nothing of history, nothing ofliterature. The doubts to which he acknowledged being without theirnatural food, had never presented themselves in a form which wouldhave compelled him to submit to remain uncertain. Doubt, as he hadfelt it, was a direct enemy of morality and purity, and as such he hadfought with it and conquered it. Protestant Christianity was true. Allmankind were perishing unless they saw it to be true. This was hismessage; a message--supposing him to have been right--of an importanceso immeasurable that all else was nothing. He was still 'afflictedwith the fiery darts of the devil, ' but he saw that he must not buryhis abilities. 'In fear and trembling, ' therefore, he set himself tothe work, and 'did according to his power preach the Gospel that Godhad shewn him. '

'The Lord led him to begin where his Word began--with sinners. Thispart of my work, ' he says, 'I fulfilled with a great sense, for theterrors of the law and guilt for my transgressions lay heavy on myconscience. I preached what I felt. I had been sent to my hearers asfrom the dead. I went myself in chains to preach to them in chains, and carried that fire in my own conscience that I persuaded them tobeware of. I have gone full of guilt and terror to the pulpit door;God carried me on with a strong hand, for neither guilt nor hell couldtake me off. '

Many of Bunyan's addresses remain in the form of theologicaltreatises, and that I may not have to return to the subject, I shallgive some account of them. His doctrine was the doctrine of the bestand strongest minds in Europe. It had been believed by Luther, it hadbeen believed by Knox. It was believed at that moment by OliverCromwell as completely as by Bunyan himself. It was believed, so faras such a person could be said to believe anything, by the allaccomplished Leibnitz himself. Few educated people use the language ofit now. In them it was a fire from heaven shining like a sun in a darkworld. With us the fire has gone out; in the place of it we have butsmoke and ashes, and the Evangelical mind in search of 'somethingdeeper and truer than satisfied the last century, ' is turning back toCatholic verities. What Bunyan had to say may be less than the wholetruth: we shall scarcely find the still missing part of it in lines ofthought which we have outgrown. 

Bunyan preached wherever opportunity served--in woods, in barns, onvillage greens, or in town chapels. The substance of his sermons herevised and published. He began, as he said, with sinners, explainingthe condition of men in the world. They were under the law, or theywere under grace. Every person that came into the world was born underthe law, and as such was bound, under pain of eternal damnation, tofulfil completely and continually every one of the Ten Commandments. The Bible said plainly, 'Cursed is every one that continueth not inall things which are written in the book of the law to do them. ' 'Thesoul that sinneth it shall die. ' The Ten Commandments extended intomany more, and to fail in a single one was as fatal as to break themall. A man might go on for a long time, for sixty years perhaps, without falling. Bunyan does not mean that anyone really could do allthis, but he assumes the possibility; yet he says if the man slippedonce before he died, he would eternally perish. The law does not referto words and actions only, but to thoughts and feelings. It followeda man in his prayers, and detected a wandering thought. It allowed norepentance to those who lived and died under it. If it was askedwhether God could not pardon, as earthly judges pardon criminals, theanswer was, that it is not the law which is merciful to the earthlyoffender but the magistrate. The law is an eternal principle. Themagistrate may forgive a man without exacting satisfaction. The lawknows no forgiveness. It can be as little changed as an axiom ofmathematics. Repentance cannot undo the past. Let a man leave his sinsand live as purely as an angel all the rest of his life, his oldfaults remain in the account against him, and his state is as bad asever it was. God's justice once offended knows not pity or compassion, but runs on the offender like a lion and throws him into prison, thereto lie to all eternity unless infinite satisfaction be given to it. And that satisfaction no son of Adam could possibly make. 

This conception of Divine justice, not as a sentence of a judge, butas the action of an eternal law, is identical with Spinoza's. Thatevery act involves consequences which cannot be separated from it, andmay continue operative to eternity, is a philosophical position whichis now generally admitted. Combined with the traditionary notions of afuture judgment and punishment in hell, the recognition that there wasa law in the case and that the law could not be broken, led to thefrightful inference that each individual was liable to be kept aliveand tortured through all eternity. And this, in fact, was the fatereally in store for every human creature unless some extraordinaryremedy could be found. Bunyan would allow no merit to anyone. He wouldnot have it supposed that only the profane or grossly wicked were indanger from the law. 'A man, ' he says, 'may be turned from a vain, loose, open, profane conversation and sinning against the law, to aholy, righteous, religious life, and yet be under the same state andas sure to be damned as the others that are more profane and loose. 'The natural man might think it strange, but the language of the cursewas not to be mistaken. Cursed is every one who has failed to fulfilthe whole law. There was not a person in the whole world who had nothimself sinned in early life. All had sinned in Adam also, and St. Paul had said in consequence, 'There is none that doeth good, no, notone! The law was given not that we might be saved by obeying it, butthat we might know the holiness of God and our own vileness, and thatwe might understand that we should not be damned for nothing. Godwould have no quarrelling at His just condemning of us at that day. '

This is Bunyan's notion of the position in which we all naturallystand in this world, and from which the substitution of Christ'sperfect fulfilment of the law alone rescues us. It is calculated, nodoubt, to impress on us a profound horror of moral evil when thepenalty attached to it is so fearful. But it is dangerous to introduceinto religion metaphysical conceptions of 'law. ' The cord cracks thatis strained too tightly; and it is only for brief periods of highspiritual tension that a theology so merciless can sustain itself. Noone with a conscience in him will think of claiming any merit forhimself. But we know also that there are degrees of demerit, and, theory or no theory, we fall back on the first verse of the EnglishLiturgy, as containing a more endurable account of things. 

For this reason, among others, Bunyan disliked the Liturgy. He thoughtthe doctrine of it false, and he objected to a Liturgy on principle. He has a sermon on Prayer, in which he insists that to be worthanything prayer must be the expression of an inward feeling; and thatpeople cannot feel in lines laid down for them. Forms of prayer hethought especially mischievous to children, as accustoming them to usewords to which they attached no meaning. 

'My judgment, ' he says, 'is that men go the wrong way to learn theirchildren to pray. It seems to me a better way for people to tell theirchildren betimes what cursed creatures they are, how they are underthe wrath of God by reason of original and actual sin; also to tellthem the nature of God's wrath and the duration of misery, which ifthey would conscientiously do, they would sooner learn their childrento pray than they do. The way that men learn to pray is by convictionof sin, and this is the way to make our "sweet babes" do so too. '

'Sweet babes' is unworthy of Bunyan. There is little sweetness in astate of things so stern as he conceives. He might have considered, too, that there was a danger of making children unreal in another andworse sense by teaching them doctrines which neither child nor man cancomprehend. It may be true that a single sin may consign me toeverlasting hell, but I cannot be made to acknowledge the justice ofit. 'Wrath of God' and such expressions are out of place when we arebrought into the presence of metaphysical laws. Wrath corresponds tofree-will misused. It is senseless and extravagant when pronouncedagainst actions which men cannot help, when the faulty action is thenecessary consequence of their nature, and the penalty the necessaryconsequence of the action. 

The same confusion of thought lies in the treatment of the kindredsubjects of Free-will, Election, and Reprobation. The logic must bemaintained, and God's moral attributes simultaneously vindicated. Bunyan argues about it as ingeniously as Leibnitz himself. Those whosuppose that specific guilt attaches to particular acts, that all menare put into the world, free to keep the Commandments or to breakthem, that they are equally able to do one as to do the other, andare, therefore, proper objects of punishment, hold an opinion which isconsistent in itself, but is in entire contradiction with facts. Children are not as able to control their inclinations as grown men, and one man is not as able to control himself as another. Some have nodifficulty from the first, and are constitutionally good; some areconstitutionally weak, or have incurable propensities for evil. Someare brought up with care and insight; others seem never to have anychance at all. So evident is this, that impartial thinkers havequestioned the reality of human guilt in the sense in which it isgenerally understood. Even Butler allows that if we look too curiouslywe may have a difficulty in finding where it lies. And here, ifanywhere, there is a real natural truth in the doctrine of Election, independent of the merit of those who are so happy as to find favour. Bunyan, however, reverses the inference. He will have all guiltytogether, those who do well and those who do ill. Even the elect arein themselves as badly off as the reprobate, and are equally includedunder sin. Those who are saved are saved for Christ's merits and notfor their own. 

Men of calmer temperament accept facts as they find them. They are tooconscious of their ignorance to insist on explaining problems whichare beyond their teach. Bunyan lived in an age of intense religiousexcitement, when the strongest minds were exercising themselves onthose questions. It is noticeable that the most effective intellectsinclined to necessitarian conclusions: some in the shape of Calvinism, some in the corresponding philosophic form of Spinozism. From bothalike there came an absolute submission to the decrees of God, and apassionate devotion to his service; while the morality of Free-will iscold and calculating. Appeals to a sense of duty do not reach beyondthe understanding. The enthusiasm which will stir men's hearts andgive them a real power of resisting temptation must be nourished onmore invigorating food. 

But I need dwell no more on a subject which is unsuited for thesepages. 

The object of Bunyan, like that of Luther, like that of all greatspiritual teachers, was to bring his wandering fellow-mortals intoobedience to the commandments, even while he insisted on theworthlessness of it. He sounded the strings to others which hadsounded loudest in himself. When he passed from mysticism into mattersof ordinary life, he showed the same practical good sense whichdistinguishes the chief of all this order of thinkers--St. Paul. Thereis a sermon of Bunyan's on Christian behaviour, on the duties ofparents to children, and masters to servants, which might be studiedwith as much advantage in English households as the 'Pilgrim'sProgress' itself. To fathers he says, 'Take heed that the misdeeds forwhich thou correctest thy children be not learned them by thee. Manychildren learn that wickedness of their parents, for which they beatand chastise them. Take heed that thou smile not upon them toencourage them in small faults, lest that thy carriage to them be anencouragement to them to commit greater faults. Take heed that thouuse not unsavoury and unseemly words in thy chastising of them, asrailing, miscalling, and the like--this is devilish. Take heed thatthou do not use them to many chiding words and threatenings, mixedwith lightness and laughter. This will harden. '

And again: 'I tell you that if parents carry it lovingly towards theirchildren, mixing their mercies with loving rebukes, and their lovingrebukes with fatherly and motherly compassions, they are more likelyto save their children than by being churlish and severe to them. Evenif these things do not save them, if their mercy do them no good, yetit will greatly ease them at the day of death to consider, I have doneby love as much as I could to save and deliver my child from hell. '

Whole volumes on education have said less, or less to the purpose, than these simple words. Unfortunately, parents do not read Bunyan. Heis left to children. 

Similarly, he says to masters:--

'It is thy duty so to behave thyself to thy servant that thy servicemay not only be for thy good, but for the good of thy servant, andthat in body and soul. Deal with him as to admonition as with thychildren. Take heed thou do not turn thy servants into slaves byovercharging them in thy work with thy greediness. Take heed thoucarry not thyself to thy servant as he of whom it is said, "He is sucha man of Belial that his servants cannot speak to him. " The Apostlebids you forbear to threaten them, because you also have a Master inHeaven. Masters, give your servants that which is just, just labourand just wages. Servants that are truly godly care not how cheap theyserve their masters, provided they may get into godly families, orwhere they may be convenient for the Word. But if a master ormistress takes this opportunity to make a prey of their servants, itis abominable. I have heard poor servants say that in some carnalfamilies they have had more liberty to God's things and more fairnessof dealing than among many professors. Such masters make religion tostink before the inhabitants of the land. '

Bunyan was generally charitable in his judgment upon others. If therewas any exception, it was of Professors who discredited their callingby conceit and worldliness. 

'No sin, ' he says, 'reigneth more in the world than pride amongProfessors. The thing is too apparent for any man to deny. We may anddo see pride display itself in the apparel and carriage of Professorsalmost as much as among any in the land. I have seen church members sodecked and bedaubed with their fangles and toys that when they havebeen at worship I have wondered with what faces such painted personscould sit in the place where they were without swooning. I once talkedwith a maid, by way of reproof for her fond and gaudy garment; shetold me the tailor would make it so. Poor proud girl, she gave ordersto the tailor to make it so. '

I will give one more extract from Bunyan's pastoral addresses. Itbelongs to a later period in his ministry, when the law had, for atime, remade Dissent into a crime; but it will throw light on the partof his story which we are now approaching, and it is in every way verycharacteristic of him. He is speaking to sufferers under persecution. He says to them:--

'Take heed of being offended with magistrates, because by theirstatutes they may cross thy inclinations. It is given to them to bearthe sword, and a command is to thee, if thy heart cannot acquiescewith all things, with meekness and patience to suffer. Discontent inthe mind sometimes puts discontent into the mouth; and discontent inthe mouth doth sometimes also put a halter about thy neck. For as aman speaking a word in jest may for that be hanged in earnest, so hethat speaks in discontent may die for it in sober sadness. Above all, get thy conscience possessed more and more with this, that themagistrate is God's ordinance, and is ordered of God as such; that heis the minister of God to thee for good, and that it is thy duty tofear him and to pray for him; to give thanks to God for him and besubject to him; as both Paul and Peter admonish us; and that not onlyfor wrath, but for conscience sake. For all other arguments come shortof binding the soul when this argument is wanting, until we believethat of God we are bound thereto. 

'I speak not these things as knowing any that are disaffected to thegovernment, for I love to be alone, if not with godly men, in thingsthat are convenient. I speak to show my loyalty to the king, and mylove to my fellow-subjects, and my desire that all Christians shallwalk in ways of peace and truth. '

CHAPTER V. 

ARREST AND TRIAL. 

Bunyan's preaching enterprise became an extraordinary success. All theMidland Counties heard of his fame, and demanded to hear him. He hadbeen Deacon under Gifford at the Bedford Church; but he was in suchrequest as a preacher, that, in 1657, he was released from his dutiesthere as unable to attend to them. Sects were springing up all overEngland as weeds in a hotbed. He was soon in controversy; Controversywith Church of England people; Controversy with the Ranters, whobelieved Christ to be a myth; Controversy with the Quakers who, attheir outset, disbelieved in his Divinity and in the inspiration ofthe Scriptures. Envy at his rapidly acquired reputation brought himbaser enemies. He was called a witch, a Jesuit, a highwayman. It wasreported that he had 'his misses, ' that he had two wives, &c. 'My foeshave missed their mark in this, ' he said with honest warmth: 'I am notthe man. If all the fornicators and adulterers in England were hangedby the neck, John Bunyan, the object of their envy, would be stillalive and well. I know not whether there be such a thing as a womanbreathing under the cope of the whole heavens but by their apparel, their children, or common fame, except my wife. '

But a more serious trial was now before him. Cromwell passed away. TheProtectorate came to an end. England decided that it had had enough ofPuritans and republicans, and would give the Stuarts and theEstablished Church another trial. A necessary consequence was therevival of the Act of Uniformity. The Independents were not meek likethe Baptists, using no weapons to oppose what they disapproved butpassive resistance. The same motives which had determined the originalconstitution of a Church combining the characters of Protestant andCatholic, instead of leaving religion free, were even more powerful atthe Restoration than they had been at the accession of Elizabeth. Before toleration is possible, men must have learnt to toleratetoleration itself; and in times of violent convictions, toleration islooked on as indifference, and indifference as Atheism in disguise. Catholics and Protestants, Churchmen and Dissenters, regarded oneanother as enemies of God and the State, with whom no peace waspossible. Toleration had been tried by the Valois princes in France. Church and chapel had been the rendezvous of armed fanatics. Thepreachers blew the war-trumpet, and every town and village had beenthe scene of furious conflicts, which culminated in the Massacre ofSt. Bartholomew. The same result would have followed in England if thesame experiment had been ventured. The different communities wereforbidden to have their separate places of worship, and services werecontrived which moderate men of all sorts could use and interpretafter their own convictions. The instrument required to be delicatelyhandled. It succeeded tolerably as long as Elizabeth lived. WhenElizabeth died, the balance was no longer fairly kept. The High Churchparty obtained the ascendancy and abused their power. Tyranny broughtrevolution, and the Catholic element in turn disappeared. The Bishopswere displaced by Presbyterian elders. The Presbyterian elders becamein turn 'hireling wolves, ' 'old priest' written in new characters. Cromwell had left conscience free to Protestants. But even he hadrefused equal liberty to Catholics and Episcopalians. He was gone too, and Church and King were back again. How were they to stand? The sternresolute men, to whom the Commonwealth had been the establishment ofGod's kingdom upon earth, were as little inclined to keep terms withAntichrist as the Church people had been inclined to keep terms withCromwell. To have allowed them to meet openly in their conventicleswould have been to make over the whole of England to them as aseed-bed in which to plant sedition. It was pardonable, it was evennecessary, for Charles II. And his advisers, to fall back uponElizabeth's principles, at least as long as the ashes were stillglowing. Indulgence had to be postponed till cooler times. With theFifth Monarchy men abroad, every chapel, except those of the Baptists, would have been a magazine of explosives. 

Under the 35th of Elizabeth, Nonconformists refusing to attend worshipin the parish churches were to be imprisoned till they made theirsubmission. Three months were allowed them to consider. If at the endof that time they were still obstinate, they were to be banished therealm; and if they subsequently returned to England without permissionfrom the Crown, they were liable to execution as felons. This Act hadfallen with the Long Parliament, but at the Restoration it was held tohave revived and to be still in force. The parish churches werecleared of their unordained ministers. The Dissenters' chapels wereclosed. The people were required by proclamation to be present onSundays in their proper place. So the majority of the nation haddecided. If they had wished for religious liberty they would not haverestored the Stuarts, or they would have insisted on conditions, andwould have seen that they were observed. 

Venner's plot showed the reality of the danger and justified theprecaution. 

The Baptists and Quakers might have been trusted to discourageviolence, but it was impossible to distinguish among the varioussects, whose tenets were unknown and even unsettled. The great body ofCromwell's spiritual supporters believed that armed resistance to agovernment which they disapproved was not only lawful, but wasenjoined. 

Thus, no sooner was Charles II. On the throne than the Nonconformistsfound themselves again under bondage. Their separate meetings wereprohibited, and they were not only forbidden to worship in their ownfashion, but they had to attend church, under penalties. The BedfordBaptists refused to obey. Their meeting-house in the town was shut up, but they continued to assemble in woods and outhouses; Bunyanpreaching to them as before, and going to the place in disguise. Informers were soon upon his track. The magistrates had receivedorders to be vigilant. Bunyan was the most prominent Dissenter in theneighbourhood. He was too sensible to court martyrdom. He had intendedto leave the town till more quiet times, and had arranged to meet afew of his people once more to give them a parting address. It wasNovember 12, 1660. The place agreed on was a house in the village ofSamsell near Harlington. Notice of his intention was privatelyconveyed to Mr. Wingate, a magistrate in the adjoining district. Theconstables were set to watch the house, and were directed to bringBunyan before him. Some member of the congregation heard of it. Bunyanwas warned, and was advised to stay at home that night, or else toconceal himself. His departure had been already arranged; but when helearnt that a warrant was actually out against him, he thought that hewas bound to stay and face the danger. He was the first Nonconformistwho had been marked for arrest. If he flinched after he had beensingled out by name, the whole body of his congregation would bediscouraged. Go to church he would not, or promise to go to church;but he was willing to suffer whatever punishment the law might order. Thus at the time and place which had been agreed on, he was in theroom, at Samsell, with his Bible in his hand, and was about to beginhis address, when the constables entered and arrested him. He made noresistance. He desired only to be allowed to say a few words, whichthe constables permitted. He then prepared to go with them. He was nottreated with any roughness. It was too late to take him that nightbefore the magistrate. His friends undertook for his appearance whenhe should be required, and he went home with them. The constables camefor him again on the following afternoon. 

Mr. Wingate, when the information was first brought to him, supposedthat he had fallen on a nest of Fifth Monarchy men. He enquired, whenBunyan was brought in, how many arms had been found at the meeting. When he learnt that there were no arms, and that it had no politicalcharacter whatever, he evidently thought it was a matter of noconsequence. He told Bunyan that he had been breaking the law, andasked him why he could not attend to his business. Bunyan said thathis object in teaching was merely to persuade people to give up theirsins. He could do that and attend to his business also. Wingateanswered that the law must be obeyed. He must commit Bunyan for trialat the Quarter Sessions; but he would take bail for him, if hissecurities would engage that he would not preach again meanwhile. Bunyan refused to be bailed on any such terms. Preach he would andmust, and the recognizances would be forfeited. After such an answer, Wingate could only send him to gaol: he could not help himself. Thecommittal was made out, and Bunyan was being taken away, when two ofhis friends met him, who were acquainted with Wingate, and they beggedthe constable to wait. They went in to the magistrate. They told himwho and what Bunyan was. The magistrate had not the least desire to behard, and it was agreed that if he would himself give some generalpromise of a vague kind he might be let go altogether. Bunyan wascalled back. Another magistrate who knew him had by this time joinedWingate. They both said that they were reluctant to send him toprison. If he would promise them that he would not call the peopletogether any more, he might go home. 

They had purposely chosen a form of words which would mean as littleas possible. But Bunyan would not accept an evasion. He said that hewould not force the people to come together, but if he was in a placewhere the people were met, he should certainly speak to them. Themagistrate repeated that the meetings were unlawful. They would besatisfied if Bunyan would simply promise that he would not call suchmeetings. It was as plain as possible that they wished to dismiss thecase, and they were thrusting words into his mouth which he could usewithout a mental reservation; but he persisted that there were manyways in which a meeting might be called; if people came together tohear him, knowing that he would speak, he might be said to have calledthem together. 

Remonstrances and entreaties were equally useless, and, with extremeunwillingness, they committed him to Bedford Gaol to wait for thesessions. 

It is not for us to say that Bunyan was too precise. He was himselfthe best judge of what his conscience and his situation required. Tohimself, at any rate, his trial was at the moment most severe. He hadbeen left a widower a year or two before, with four young children, one of them blind. He had lately married a second time. His wife waspregnant. The agitation at her husband's arrest brought on prematurelabour, and she was lying in his house in great danger. He was anaffectionate man, and the separation at such a time was peculiarlydistressing. After some weeks the quarter sessions came on. Bunyan wasindicted under the usual form, that he 'being a person of such andsuch condition had since such a time devilishly and perniciouslyabstained from coming to church to hear Divine service, and was acommon upholder of unlawful meetings and conventicles, to the greatdisturbance and distraction of the good subjects of this kingdom, contrary to the laws of our Sovereign Lord the King. '

There seems to have been a wish to avoid giving him a formal trial. Hewas not required to plead, and it may have been thought that he hadbeen punished sufficiently. He was asked why he did not go to church?He said that the Prayer-book was made by man; he was ordered in theBible to pray with the spirit and the understanding, not with thespirit and the Prayer-book. The magistrates, referring to another Actof Parliament, cautioned Bunyan against finding fault with thePrayer-book, or he would bring himself into further trouble. JusticeKeelin who presided said (so Bunyan declares, and it has been thestanding jest of his biographers ever since) that the Prayer-book hadbeen in use ever since the Apostles' time. Perhaps the words were thatparts of it had been then in use (the Apostles' Creed, for instance), and thus they would have been strictly true. However this might be, they told him kindly, as Mr. Wingate had done, that it would be betterfor him if he would keep to his proper work. The law had prohibitedconventicles. He might teach, if he pleased, in his own family andamong his friends. He must not call large numbers of people together. He was as impracticable as before, and the magistrates, being butunregenerate mortals, may be pardoned if they found him provoking. If, he said, it was lawful for him to do good to a few, it must be equallylawful to do good to many. He had a gift, which he was bound to use. If it was sinful for men to meet together to exhort one another tofollow Christ, he should sin still. 

He was compelling the Court to punish him, whether they wished it ornot. He describes the scene as if the choice had rested with themagistrates to convict him or to let him go. If he was bound to do hisduty, they were equally bound to do theirs. They took his answers as aplea of guilty to the indictment, and Justice Keelin, who waschairman, pronounced his sentence in the terms of the Act. He was togo to prison for three months; if, at the end of three months, hestill refused to conform, he was to be transported; and if he cameback without license he would be hanged. Bunyan merely answered, 'IfI were out of prison to-day, I would preach, the Gospel againto-morrow. ' More might have followed, but the gaoler led him away. 

There were three gaols in Bedford, and no evidence has been found toshow in which of the three Bunyan was confined. Two of them, thecounty gaol and the town gaol, were large roomy buildings. Traditionhas chosen the third, a small lock-up, fourteen feet square, whichstood over the river between the central arches of the old bridge; andas it appears from the story that he had at times fifty or sixtyfellow-prisoners, and as he admits himself that he was treated atfirst with exceptional kindness, it may be inferred that tradition, inselecting the prison on the bridge, was merely desiring to exhibit thesufferings of the Nonconformist martyr in a sensational form, and thathe was never in this prison at all. When it was pulled down in 1811 agold ring was found in the rubbish, with the initials 'J. B. ' upon it. This is one of the 'trifles light as air' which carry conviction tothe 'jealous' only, and is too slight a foundation on which to asserta fact so inherently improbable. 

When the three months were over, the course of law would have broughthim again to the bar, when he would have had to choose betweenconformity and exile. There was still the same desire to avoidextremities, and as the day approached, the clerk of the peace wassent to persuade him into some kind of compliance. Variousinsurrections had broken out since his arrest, and must have shownhim, if he could have reflected, that there was real reason for thetemporary enforcement of the Act. He was not asked to give uppreaching. He was asked only to give up public preaching. It was wellknown that he had no disposition to rebellion. Even the going tochurch was not insisted on. The clerk of the peace told him that hemight 'exhort his neighbours in private discourse, ' if only he wouldnot bring the people together in numbers, which the magistrates wouldbe bound to notice. In this way he might continue his usefulness, andwould not be interfered with. 

Bunyan knew his own freedom from seditious intentions. He would notsee that the magistrates could not suspend the law and make anexception in his favour. They were going already to the utmost limitof indulgence. But the more he disapproved of rebellion, the morepunctilious he was in carrying out resistance of another kind which heheld to be legitimate. He was a representative person, and he thoughtthat in yielding he would hurt the cause of religious liberty. 'Thelaw, ' he said, 'had provided two ways of obeying--one to obeyactively, and if he could not in conscience obey actively, then tosuffer whatever penalty was inflicted on him. '

The clerk of the peace could produce no effect. Bunyan rather lookedon him as a false friend trying to entangle him. The three monthselapsed, and the magistrates had to determine what was to be done. IfBunyan was brought before them, they must exile him. His case waspassed over and he was left in prison, where his wife and childrenwere allowed to visit him daily. He did not understand the law orappreciate their forbearance. He exaggerated his danger. At the worsthe could only have been sent to America, where he might have remainedas long as he pleased. He feared that he might perhaps be hanged. 

'I saw what was coming, ' he said, 'and had two considerationsespecially on my heart, how to be able to endure, should myimprisonment be long and tedious, and how to be able to encounterdeath should that be my portion. I was made to see that if I wouldsuffer rightly, I must pass sentence of death upon everything that canproperly be called a thing of this life, even to reckon myself, mywife, my children, my health, my enjoyments all as dead to me, andmyself as dead to them. Yet I was a man compassed with infirmities. The parting with my wife and poor children hath often been to me inthis place (the prison in which he was writing) as the pulling of myflesh from my bones; and that not only because I am too, too, fond ofthose great mercies, but also because I should have often brought tomy mind the hardships, miseries, and wants my poor family was like tomeet with should I be taken from them, especially my poor blind child, who lay nearer my heart than all I had besides. Poor child, thought I, what sorrow art thou like to have for thy portion in this world! Thoumust be beaten, suffer hunger, cold, nakedness, and a thousandcalamities, though I cannot now endure the wind should blow on thee. But yet, thought I, I must venture all with God, though it goeth tothe quick to leave you. I was as a man who was pulling down his houseupon the head of his wife and children. Yet thought I, I must do it--Imust do it. I had this for consideration, that if I should now ventureall for God, I engaged God to take care of my concernments. Also I haddread of the torments of hell, which I was sure they must partake ofthat for fear of the cross do shrink from their profession. I had thismuch upon my spirit, that my imprisonment might end in the gallows foraught I could tell. In the condition I now was in I was not fit todie, nor indeed did I think I could if I should be called to it. Ifeared I might show a weak heart, and give occasion to the enemy. Thislay with great trouble on me, for methought I was ashamed to die witha pale face and tottering knees for such a cause as this. The thingsof God were kept out of my sight. The tempter followed me with, "Butwhither must you go when you die? What will become of you? Whatevidence have you for heaven and glory, and an inheritance among themthat are sanctified?" Thus was I tossed many weeks; but I felt it wasfor the Word and way of God that I was in this condition. God mightgive me comfort or not as He pleased. I was bound, but He wasfree--yea, it was my duty to stand to His Word, whether He would everlook upon me or no, or save me at the last. Wherefore, thought I, thepoint being thus, I am for going on and venturing my eternal statewith Christ, whether I have comfort here or no. If God does not comein, thought I, I will leap off the ladder even blindfold intoeternity, sink or swim, come heaven, come hell. Now was my heart fullof comfort. '

The ladder was an imaginary ladder, but the resolution was a genuinemanly one, such as lies at the bottom of all brave and honourableaction. Others who have thought very differently from Bunyan aboutsuch matters have felt the same as he felt. Be true to yourselfwhatever comes, even if damnation come. Better hell with an honestheart, than heaven with cowardice and insincerity. It was the morecreditable to Bunyan, too, because the spectres and hobgoblins hadbegun occasionally to revisit him. 

'Of all temptations I ever met with in my life, ' he says, 'to questionthe being of God and the truth of His Gospel is the worst and worst tobe borne. When this temptation comes it takes my girdle from me andremoves the foundation from under me. Though God has visited my soulwith never so blessed a discovery of Himself, yet afterwards I havebeen in my spirit so filled with darkness, that I could not so much asonce conceive what that God and that comfort was with which I had beenrefreshed. '

CHAPTER VI. 

THE BEDFORD GAOL. 

The irregularities in the proceedings against Bunyan had perhaps beensuggested by the anticipation of the general pardon which was expectedin the following spring. At the coronation of Charles, April 23, 1661, an order was issued for the release of prisoners who were in gaol forany offences short of felony. Those who were waiting their trials wereto be let go at once. Those convicted and under sentence might sue outa pardon under the Great Seal at any time within a year from theproclamation. Was Bunyan legally convicted or not? He had not pleadeddirectly to the indictment. No evidence had been heard against him. His trial had been a conversation between himself and the Court. Thepoint had been raised by his friends. His wife had been in London tomake interest for him, and a peer had presented a petition in Bunyan'sbehalf in the House of Lords. The judges had been directed to lookagain into the matter at the midsummer assizes. The high sheriff wasactive in Bunyan's favour. The Judges Twisden, Chester, and no less aperson than Sir Matthew Hale, appear to have concluded that hisconviction was legal, that he could not be tried again, and that hemust apply for pardon in the regular way. His wife, however, at theinstance of the sheriff, obtained a hearing, and they listenedcourteously to what she had to say. When she had done, Mr. JusticeTwisden put the natural question, whether, if her husband wasreleased, he would refrain from preaching in public for the future. Ifhe intended to repeat his offence immediately that he was at liberty, his liberty would only bring him into a worse position. The wife atonce said that he dared not leave off preaching as long as he couldspeak. The judge asked if she thought her husband was to be allowed todo as he pleased. She said that he was a peaceable person, and wishedonly to be restored to a position in which he could maintain hisfamily. They had four small children who could not help themselves, one of them being blind, and they had nothing to live upon as long asher husband was in prison but the charity of their friends. Haleremarked that she looked very young to have four children. 'I am butmother-in-law to them, ' she said, 'having not been married yet fulltwo years. I was with child when my husband was first apprehended, butbeing young, I being dismayed at the news fell in labour, and socontinued for eight days. I was delivered, but my child died. '

Hale was markedly kind. He told her that as the conviction had beenrecorded they could not set it aside. She might sue out a pardon ifshe pleased, or she might obtain 'a writ of error, ' which would besimpler and less expensive. 

She left the court in tears--tears, however, which were not altogethertears of suffering innocence. 'It was not so much, ' she said, 'becausethey were so hardhearted against me and my husband, but to think whata sad account such poor creatures would have to give at the coming ofthe Lord. ' No doubt both Bunyan and she thought themselves cruellyinjured, and they confounded the law with the administration of it. Persons better informed than they often choose to forget that judgesare sworn to administer the law which they find, and rail at them asif the sentences which they are obliged by their oaths to pass weretheir own personal acts. 

A pardon, it cannot be too often said, would have been of no use toBunyan, because he was determined to persevere in disobeying a lawwhich he considered to be unjust. The most real kindness which couldbe shown to him was to leave him where he was. His imprisonment wasintended to be little more than nominal. His gaoler, not certainlywithout the sanction of the sheriff, let him go where he pleased; onceeven so far as London. He used his liberty as he had declared that hewould. 'I followed my wonted course of preaching, ' he says, 'takingall occasions that were put in my hand to visit the people of God. 'This was deliberate defiance. The authorities saw that he must beeither punished in earnest or the law would fall into contempt. Headmitted that he expected to be 'roundly dealt with. ' His indulgenceswere withdrawn, and he was put into close confinement. 

Sessions now followed sessions, and assizes, assizes. His detentionwas doubtless irregular, for by law he should have been sent beyondthe seas. He petitioned to be brought to trial again, and complainedloudly that his petition was not listened to; but no legislator, inframing an Act of Parliament, ever contemplated an offender in sosingular a position. Bunyan was simply trying his strength against theCrown and Parliament. The judges and magistrates respected hischaracter, and were unwilling to drive him out of the country; he hadhimself no wish for liberty on that condition. The only resource, therefore, was to prevent him forcibly from repeating an offence thatwould compel them to adopt harsh measures which they were so earnestlytrying to avoid. 

Such was the world-famous imprisonment of John Bunyan, which has beenthe subject of so much eloquent declamation. It lasted in all for morethan twelve years. It might have ended at any time if he would havepromised to confine his addresses to a private circle. It did endafter six years. He was released under the first declaration ofindulgence; but as he instantly recommenced his preaching, he wasarrested again. Another six years went by; he was again let go, andwas taken once more immediately after, preaching in a wood. This timehe was detained but a few months, and in form more than reality. Thepolicy of the government was then changed, and he was free for therest of his life. 

His condition during his long confinement has furnished a subject forpictures which if correct would be extremely affecting. It is truethat, being unable to attend to his usual business, he spent hisunoccupied hours in making tags for bootlaces. With this one fact tobuild on, and with the assumption that the scene of his sufferings wasthe Bridge Lockhouse, Nonconformist imagination has drawn a 'den' forus, 'where there was not a yard or a court to walk in for dailyexercise;' 'a damp and dreary cell;' 'a narrow chink which admits afew scanty rays of light to render visible the abode of woe;' 'theprisoner, pale and emaciated, seated on the humid earth, pursuing hisdaily task, to earn the morsel which prolongs his existence and hisconfinement together. Near him, reclining in pensive sadness, hisblind daughter, five other distressed children, and an affectionatewife, whom pinching want and grief have worn down to the gate ofdeath. Ten summer suns have rolled over the mansion of his miserywhose reviving rays have never once penetrated his sad abode, ' &c. &c. 

If this description resembles or approaches the truth, I can but saythat to have thus abandoned to want their most distinguished pastorand his family was intensely discreditable to the Baptist community. English prisons in the seventeenth century were not models of goodmanagement. But prisoners, whose friends could pay for them, were notconsigned to damp and dreary cells; and in default of evidence ofwhich not a particle exists, I cannot charge so reputable a communitywith a neglect so scandalous. The entire story is in itselfincredible. Bunyan was prosperous in his business. He was respectedand looked up to by a large and growing body of citizens, includingpersons of wealth and position in London. He was a representativesufferer fighting the battle of all the Nonconformists in England. Hehad active supporters in the town of Bedford and among the gentlemenof the county. The authorities, so far as can be inferred from theiractions, tried from the first to deal as gently with him as he wouldallow them to do. Is it conceivable that the Baptists would have lefthis family to starve; or that his own confinement would have been madeso absurdly and needlessly cruel? Is it not far more likely that hefound all the indulgences which money could buy and the rules of theprison would allow? Bunyan is not himself responsible for these wildlegends. Their real character appears more clearly when we observe howhe was occupied during these years. 

Friends, in the first place, had free access to him, and strangers whowere drawn to him by reputation; while the gaol was considered aprivate place, and he was allowed to preach there, at leastoccasionally, to his fellow-prisoners. Charles Doe, a distinguishedNonconformist, visited him in his confinement, and has left an accountof what he saw. 'When I was there, ' he writes, 'there were about sixtydissenters besides himself, taken but a little before at a religiousmeeting at Kaistor, in the county of Bedford, besides two eminentdissenting ministers, Mr. Wheeler and Mr. Dun, by which means theprison was much crowded. Yet, in the midst of all that hurry, I heardMr. Bunyan both preach and pray with that mighty spirit of faith andplerophory of Divine assistance, that he made me stand and wonder. Here they could sing without fear of being overheard; no informersprowling round, and the world shut out. '

This was not all. A fresh and more severe Conventicle Act was passedin 1670. Attempts were made to levy fines in the town of Bedford. There was a riot there. The local officers refused to assist inquelling it. The shops were shut. Bedford was occupied by soldiers. Yet, at this very time, Bunyan was again allowed to go abroad throughgeneral connivance. He spent his nights with his family. He evenpreached now and then in the woods. Once when he had intended to beout for the night, information was given to a clerical magistrate inthe neighbourhood, who disliked him, and a constable was sent toascertain if the prisoners were all within ward. Bunyan had received ahint of what was coming. He was in his place when the constable came;and the governor of the gaol is reported to have said to him, 'You maygo out when you please, for you know better when to return than I cantell you. ' Parliament might pass laws, but the execution of themdepended on the local authorities. Before the Declaration ofIndulgence, the Baptist church in Bedford was reopened. Bunyan, whilestill nominally in confinement, attended its meetings. In 1671 hebecame an Elder; in December of that year he was chosen Pastor. Thequestion was raised whether, as a prisoner, he was eligible. Theobjection would not have been set aside had he been unable toundertake the duties of the office. These facts prove conclusivelythat, for a part at least of the twelve years, the imprisonment waslittle more than formal. He could not have been in the Bridge Gaolwhen he had sixty fellow-prisoners, and was able to preach to them inprivate. It is unlikely that at any time he was made to suffer anygreater hardships than were absolutely inevitable. 

But whether Bunyan's confinement was severe or easy, it was otherwiseof inestimable value to him. It gave him leisure to read and reflect. Though he preached often, yet there must have been intervals, perhapslong intervals, of compulsory silence. The excitement of perpetualspeech-making is fatal to the exercise of the higher qualities. Theperiods of calm enabled him to discover powers in himself of which hemight otherwise have never known the existence. Of books he had butfew; for a time only the Bible and Foxe's 'Martyrs. ' But the Biblethoroughly known is a literature of itself--the rarest and the richestin all departments of thought or imagination which exists. Foxe's'Martyrs, ' if he had a complete edition of it, would have given him avery adequate knowledge of history. With those two books he had nocause to complain of intellectual destitution. He must have read more, however. He knew George Herbert--perhaps Spenser--perhaps 'ParadiseLost. ' But of books, except of the Bible, he was at no time a greatstudent. Happily for himself, he had no other book of Divinity, and heneeded none. His real study was human life as he had seen it, and thehuman heart as he had experienced the workings of it. Though he nevermastered successfully the art of verse, he had other gifts whichbelong to a true poet. He had imagination, if not of the highest, yetof a very high order. He had infinite inventive humour, tenderness, and, better than all, powerful masculine sense. To obtain the use ofthese faculties he needed only composure, and this his imprisonmentsecured for him. He had published several theological compositionsbefore his arrest, which have relatively little value. Those which hewrote in prison--even on theological subjects--would alone have madehim a reputation as a Nonconformist divine. In no other writings arethe peculiar views of Evangelical Calvinism brought out more clearly, or with a more heartfelt conviction of their truth. They havefurnished an arsenal from which English Protestant divines have eversince equipped themselves. The most beautiful of them, 'GraceAbounding to the Chief of Sinners, ' is his own spiritual biography, which contains the account of his early history. The first part of the'Pilgrim's Progress' was composed there as an amusement. To this, andto his other works which belong to literature, I shall return in afuture chapter. 

Visitors who saw him in the gaol found his manner and presence asimpressive as his writings. 'He was mild and affable in conversation, 'says one of them, 'not given to loquacity or to much discourse, unlesssome urgent occasion required. It was observed he never spoke ofhimself or of his talents, but seemed low in his own eyes. He wasnever heard to reproach or revile any, whatever injury he received, but rather rebuked those who did so. He managed all things with suchexactness as if he had made it his study not to give offence. '

The final 'Declaration of Indulgence' came at last, bringing with itthe privilege for which Bunyan had fought and suffered. Charles II. Cared as little for liberty as his father or his brother, but hewished to set free the Catholics, and as a step towards it he concededa general toleration to the Protestant Dissenters. Within two years ofthe passing of the Conventicle Act of 1670, this and every other penallaw against Nonconformists was suspended. They were allowed to opentheir 'meeting houses' for 'worship and devotion, ' subject only to afew easy conditions. The localities were to be specified in whichchapels were required, and the ministers were to receive theirlicenses from the Crown. To prevent suspicions, the Roman Catholicswere for the present excluded from the benefit of the concession. Masscould be said, as before, only in private houses. A year later theProclamation was confirmed by Act of Parliament. 

Thus Bunyan's long imprisonment was ended. The cause was won. He hadbeen its foremost representative and champion, and was one of thefirst persons to receive the benefit of the change of policy. He wasnow forty-four years old. The order for his release was signed on May8, 1672. His license as pastor of the Baptist chapel at Bedford wasissued on the 9th. He established himself in a small house in thetown. 'When he came abroad, ' says one, 'he found his temporal affairswere gone to wreck, and he had as to them to begin again as if he hadnewly come into the world. But yet he was not destitute of friends whohad all along supported him with necessaries, and had been very goodto his family: so that by their assistance, getting things a littleabout him again, he resolved, as much as possible, to decline worldlybusiness, and give himself wholly up to the service of God. ' As muchas possible; but not entirely. In 1685, being afraid of a return ofpersecution, he made over, as a precaution, his whole estate to hiswife; 'All and singular his goods, chattels, debts, ready money, plate, rings, household stuff, apparel, utensils, brass, pewter, bedding, and all his other substance. ' In this deed he still describeshimself as a brazier. The language is that of a man in easy, if notample circumstances. 'Though by reason of losses which he sustained byimprisonment, ' says another biographer, 'his treasures swelled not toexcess, he always had sufficient to live decently and creditably. ' Hiswritings and his sufferings had made him famous throughout England. Hebecame the actual head of the Baptist community. Men called him, halfin irony, half in seriousness, Bishop Bunyan, and he passed the restof his life honourably and innocently, occupied in writing, preaching, district visiting, and opening daughter churches. Happy in his work, happy in the sense that his influence was daily extending--spreadingover his own country, and to the far-off settlements in America, hespent his last years in his own land of Beulah, Doubting Castle out ofsight, and the towers and minarets of Emmanuel Land growing nearer andclearer as the days went on. 

He had not detected, or at least, at first, he did not detect, thesinister purpose which lay behind the Indulgence. The exception of theRoman Catholics gave him perfect confidence in the Government, andafter his release he published a 'Discourse upon Antichrist, ' with apreface, in which he credited Charles with the most righteousintentions, and urged his countrymen to be loyal and faithful to him. His object in writing it, he said, 'was to testify his loyalty to theKing, his love to the brethren, and his service to his country. 'Antichrist was of course the Pope, the deadliest of all enemies tovital Christianity. To its kings and princes England owed its pastdeliverance from him. To kings England must look for his finaloverthrow. 

'As the noble King Henry VIII. Did cast down the Antichristianworship, so he cast down the laws that held it up; so also did thegood King Edward his son. The brave Queen Elizabeth, also, the sisterof King Edward, left of things of this nature to her lasting famebehind her. ' Cromwell he dared not mention--perhaps he did not wish tomention him. But he evidently believed that there was better hope inCharles Stuart than in conspiracy and revolution. 

'Kings, ' he said, 'must be the men that shall down with Antichrist, and they shall down with her in God's time. God hath begun to draw thehearts of some of them from her already, and He will set them in timeagainst her round about. If, therefore, they do not that work so fastas we would have them, let us exercise patience and hope in God. 'Tisa wonder they go as fast as they do since the concerns of wholekingdoms lie upon their shoulders, and there are so many Sanballatsand Tobias's to flatter them and misinform them. Let the King havevisibly a place in your hearts, and with heart and mouth give Godthanks for him. He is a better Saviour of us than we may be aware of, and hath delivered us from more deaths than we can tell how to think. We are bidden to give God thanks for all men, and in the first placefor kings, and all that are in authority. Be not angry with them, nonot in thy thought. But consider if they go not in the work ofReformation so fast as thou wouldest they should, the fault may bethine. Know that thou also hast thy cold and chill frames of heart, and sittest still when thou shouldest be up and doing. Pray for thelong life of the King. Pray that God would give wisdom and judgment tothe King. Pray that God would discern all plots and conspiraciesagainst his person and government. I do confess myself one of theold-fashioned professors that wish to fear God and honour the King. Iam also for blessing them that curse me, for doing good to them thathate me, and for praying for them that despitefully use me andpersecute me; and I have had more peace in the practice of thesethings than all the world are aware of. '

The Stuarts, both Charles and James, were grateful for Bunyan'sservices. The Nonconformists generally went up and down in Royalfavour; lost their privileges and regained them as their help wasneeded or could be dispensed with. But Bunyan was never more molested. He did what he liked. He preached where he pleased, and no onetroubled him or called him to account. He was not insincere. Hisconstancy in enduring so long an imprisonment which a word from himwould have ended, lifts him beyond the reach of unworthy suspicions. But he disapproved always of violent measures. His rule was to submitto the law; and where, as he said, he could not obey actively, then tobear with patience the punishment that might be inflicted on him. Perhaps he really hoped, as long as hope was possible, that good mightcome out of the Stuarts. 

CHAPTER VII. 

LIFE AND DEATH OF MR. BADMAN. 

To his contemporaries Bunyan was known as the Nonconformist Martyr, and the greatest living Protestant preacher. To us he is mainlyinteresting through his writings, and especially through the'Pilgrim's Progress. ' Although he possessed, in a remarkable degree, the gift of expressing himself in written words, he had himself novalue for literature. He cared simply for spiritual truth, andliterature in his eyes was only useful as a means of teaching it. Every thing with which a reasonable man could concern himself wasconfined within the limits of Christian faith and practice. Ambitionwas folly. Amusement was idle trifling in a life so short as man's, and with issues so far-reaching depending upon it. To understand, andto make others understand, what Christ had done, and what Christrequired men to do, was the occupation of his whole mind, and noobject ever held his attention except in connection with it. With apurpose so strict, and a theory of religion so precise, there isusually little play for imagination or feeling. Though we readProtestant theology as a duty, we find it as dry in the mouth assawdust. The literature which would please must represent nature, andnature refuses to be bound into our dogmatic systems. No object can bepictured truly, except by a mind which has sympathy with it. Shakespeare no more hates Iago than Iago hates himself. He allows Iagoto exhibit himself in his own way, as nature does. Every character, ifjustice is to be done to it, must be painted at its best, as itappears to itself; and a man impressed deeply with religiousconvictions is generally incapable of the sympathy which would givehim an insight into what he disapproves and dislikes. And yet Bunyan, intensely religious as he was, and narrow as his theology was, isalways human. His genius remains fresh and vigorous under the leastpromising conditions. All mankind being under sin together, he has nofavourites to flatter, no opponents to misrepresent. There is akindliness in his descriptions, even of the Evil One's attacks uponhimself. 

The 'Pilgrim's Progress, ' though professedly an allegoric story of theProtestant plan of salvation, is conceived in the large, wide spiritof humanity itself. Anglo-Catholic and Lutheran, Calvinist and Deistcan alike read it with delight, and find their own theories in it. Even the Romanist has only to blot out a few paragraphs, and candiscover no purer model of a Christian life to place in the hands ofhis children. The religion of the 'Pilgrim's Progress' is the religionwhich must be always and everywhere, as long as man believes that hehas a soul and is responsible for his actions; and thus it is that, while theological folios once devoured as manna from Heaven now lie onthe bookshelves dead as Egyptian mummies, this book is wrought intothe mind and memory of every well-conditioned English or Americanchild; while the matured man, furnished with all the knowledge whichliterature can teach him, still finds the adventures of Christian ascharming as the adventures of Ulysses or Ĉneas. He sees there thereflexion of himself, the familiar features of his own nature, whichremain the same from era to era. Time cannot impair its interest, orintellectual progress make it cease to be true to experience. 

But the 'Pilgrim's Progress, ' though the best known, is not the onlywork of imagination which Bunyan produced; he wrote another religiousallegory, which Lord Macaulay thought would have been the best of itskind in the world if the 'Pilgrim's Progress' had not existed. The'Life of Mr. Badman, ' though now scarcely read at all, contains avivid picture of rough English life in the days of Charles II. Bunyanwas a poet, too, in the technical sense of the word, and though hedisclaimed the name, and though rhyme and metre were to him as Saul'sarmour to David, the fine quality of his mind still shows itself inthe uncongenial accoutrements. 

It has been the fashion to call Bunyan's verse doggerel; but no verseis doggerel which has a sincere and rational meaning in it. Goethe, who understood his own trade, says that the test of poetry is thesubstance which remains when the poetry is reduced to prose. Bunyanhad infinite invention. His mind was full of objects which he hadgathered at first hand, from observation and reflection. He hadexcellent command of the English language, and could express what hewished with sharp, defined outlines, and without the waste of a word. The rhythmical structure of his prose is carefully correct. Scarcely asyllable is ever out of place. His ear for verse, though less true, isseldom wholly at fault, and whether in prose or verse, he had thesuperlative merit that he could never write nonsense. If one of themotives of poetical form be to clothe thought and feeling in the dressin which it can lie most easily remembered, Bunyan's lines are oftenas successful as the best lines of Quarles or George Herbert. Who, forinstance, could forget these?--

 Sin is the worm of hell, the lasting fire: Hell would soon lose its heat should sin expire; Better sinless in hell than to be where Heaven is, and to be found a sinner there. 

Or these, on persons whom the world calls men of spirit:--

 Though you dare crack a coward's crown, Or quarrel for a pin, You dare not on the wicked frown, Or speak against their sin. 

The 'Book of Ruth' and the 'History of Joseph' done into blank verseare really beautiful idylls. The substance with which he worked, indeed, is so good that there would be a difficulty in spoiling itcompletely; but the prose of the translation in the English Bible, faultless as it is, loses nothing in Bunyan's hands, and if we foundthese poems in the collected works of a poet laureate, we shouldconsider that a difficult task had been accomplished successfully. Bunyan felt, like the translators of the preceding century, that thetext was sacred, that his duty was to give the exact meaning of it, without epithets or ornaments, and thus the original grace iscompletely preserved. 

Of a wholly different kind, and more after Quarles's manner, is acollection of thoughts in verse, which he calls a book for boys andgirls. All his observations ran naturally in one direction; to mindspossessed and governed by religion, nature, be their creed what itmay, is always a parable reflecting back their own views. 

But how neatly expressed are these 'Meditations upon an Egg':--

 The egg's no chick by falling from a hen, Nor man's a Christian till he's born again; The egg's at first contained in the shell, Men afore grace in sin and darkness dwell; The egg, when laid, by warmth is made a chicken, And Christ by grace the dead in sin doth quicken; The egg when first a chick the shell's its prison, So flesh to soul who yet with Christ is risen. 

Or this, 'On a Swallow':--

 This pretty bird! Oh, how she flies and sings; But could she do so if she had not wings? Her wings bespeak my faith, her songs my peace; When I believe and sing, my doubtings cease. 

Though the Globe Theatre was, in the opinion of Nonconformists, 'theheart of Satan's empire, ' Bunyan must yet have known something ofShakespeare. In the second part of the 'Pilgrim's Progress' we find:--

 Who would true valour see, Let him come hither; One here will constant be, Come wind, come weather. 

The resemblance to the song in 'As You Like It' is too near to beaccidental:--

 Who doth ambition shun, And loves to be in the sun; Seeking the food he eats, And pleased with what he gets, Come hither, come hither, come hither. Here shall be no enemy, Save winter and rough weather. 

Bunyan may, perhaps, have heard the lines, and the rhymes may haveclung to him without his knowing whence they came. But he would neverhave been heard of outside his own communion, if his imagination hadfound no better form of expression for itself than verse. His especialgift was for allegory, the single form of imaginative fiction which hewould not have considered trivial, and his especial instrument wasplain, unaffected Saxon prose. 'The Holy War' is a people's ParadiseLost and Paradise Regained in one. The 'Life of Mr. Badman' is adidactic tale, describing the career of a vulgar, middle-class, unprincipled scoundrel. 

These are properly Bunyan's 'works, ' the results of his life so far asit affects the present generation of Englishmen; and as they arelittle known, I shall give an account of each of them. 

The 'Life of Badman' is presented as a dialogue between Mr. Wisemanand Mr. Attentive. Mr. Wiseman tells the story, Mr. Attentive commentsupon it. The names recall Bunyan's well-known manner. The figuresstand for typical characters; but as the _dramatis personĉ_ of manywriters of fiction, while professing to be beings of flesh and bloodare no more than shadows, so Bunyan's shadows are solid men whom wecan feel and handle. 

Mr. Badman is, of course, one of the 'reprobate. ' Bunyan consideredtheoretically that a reprobate may to outward appearance have thegraces of a saint, and that there may be little in his conduct to markhis true character. A reprobate may be sorry for his sins, he mayrepent and lead a good life. He may reverence good men and may try toresemble them; he may pray, and his prayers may be answered; he mayhave the spirit of God, and may receive another heart, and yet he maybe under the covenant of works, and may be eternally lost. ThisBunyan could say while he was writing theology; but art has its rulesas well as its more serious sister, and when he had to draw a livingspecimen, he drew him as he had seen him in his own Bedfordneighbourhood. 

Badman showed from childhood a propensity for evil. He was so'addicted to lying that his parents could not distinguish when he wasspeaking the truth. He would invent, tell, and stand to the lies whichhe invented, with such an audacious face, that one might read in hisvery countenance the symptoms of a hard and desperate heart. It wasnot the fault of his parents; they were much dejected at thebeginnings of their son, nor did he want counsel and correction, ifthat would have made him better: but all availed nothing. '

Lying was not Badman's only fault. He took to pilfering and stealing. He robbed his neighbours' orchards. He picked up money if he found itlying about. Especially, Mr. Wiseman notes that he hated Sundays. 'Reading Scriptures, godly conferences, repeating of sermons andprayers, were things that he could not away with. ' 'He was an enemy tothat day, because more restraint was laid upon him from his own waysthan was possible on any other. ' Mr. Wiseman never doubts that thePuritan Sunday ought to have been appreciated by little boys. If achild disliked it, the cause could only be his own wickedness. YoungBadman 'was greatly given also to swearing and cursing. ' 'He made nomore of it' than Mr. Wiseman made 'of telling his fingers. ' 'Hecounted it a glory to swear and curse, and it was as natural to him asto eat, drink, or sleep. ' Bunyan, in this description, is supposed tohave taken the picture from himself. But too much may be made of this. He was thinking, perhaps, of what he might have been if God's gracehad not preserved him. He himself was saved. Badman is represented asgiven over from the first. Anecdotes, however, are told ofcontemporary providential judgments upon swearers, which had muchimpressed Bunyan. One was of a certain Dorothy Mately, a woman whosebusiness was to wash rubbish at the Derby lead mines. Dorothy (it wasin the year when Bunyan was first imprisoned), had stolen twopencefrom the coat of a boy who was working near her. When the boy taxedher with having robbed him, she wished the ground might swallow her upif she had ever touched his money. Presently after, some children whowere watching her, saw a movement in the bank on which she wasstanding. They called to her to take care, but it was too late. Thebank fell in, and she was carried down along with it. A man ran tohelp her, but the sides of the pit were crumbling round her: a largestone fell on her head; the rubbish followed, and she was overwhelmed. When she was dug out afterwards, the pence were found in her pocket. Bunyan was perfectly satisfied that her death was supernatural. Todiscover miracles is not peculiar to Catholics. They will be foundwherever there is an active belief in immediate providentialgovernment. 

Those more cautious in forming their conclusions will think, perhaps, that the woman was working above some shaft in the mine, that thecrust had suddenly broken, and that it would equally have fallen inwhen gravitation required it to fall, if Dorothy Mately had been asaint. They will remember the words about the Tower of Siloam. But toreturn to Badman. 

His father, being unable to manage so unpromising a child, bound himout as an apprentice. The master to whom he was assigned was as gooda man as the father could find: uptight, Godfearing, and especiallyconsiderate of his servants. He never worked them too hard. He leftthem time to read and pray. He admitted no light or mischievous bookswithin his doors. He was not one of those whose religion 'hung as acloke in his house, and was never seen on him when he went abroad. 'His household was as well fed and cared for as himself, and herequired nothing of others of which he did not set them an example inhis own person. 

This man did his best to reclaim young Badman, and was particularlykind to him. But his exertions were thrown away. The good-for-nothingyouth read filthy romances on the sly. He fell asleep in church, ormade eyes at the pretty girls. He made acquaintance with lowcompanions. He became profligate, got drunk at alehouses, sold hismaster's property to get money, or stole it out of the cashbox. Thricehe ran away and was taken back again. The third time he was allowed togo. 'The House of Correction would have been the most fit for him, butthither his master was loath to send him, for the love he bore hisfather. '

He was again apprenticed; this time to a master like himself. Beingwicked he was given over to wickedness. The ways of it were notaltogether pleasant. He was fed worse and he was worked harder than hehad been before; when he stole, or neglected his business, he wasbeaten. He liked his new place, however, better than the old. 'Atleast, there was no godliness in the house, which he hated worst ofall. '

So far, Bunyan's hero was travelling the usual road of the IdleApprentice, and the gallows would have been the commonplace ending ofit. But this would not have answered Bunyan's purpose. He wished torepresent the good-for-nothing character, under the more instructiveaspect of worldly success, which bad men may arrive at as well asgood, if they are prudent and cunning. Bunyan gives his hero everychance. He submits him from the first to the best influences; hecreates opportunities for repentance at every stage of a longcareer--opportunities which the reprobate nature cannot profit by, yetincreases its guilt by neglecting. 

Badman's term being out, his father gives him money and sets him up asa tradesman on his own account. Mr. Attentive considers this to havebeen a mistake. Mr. Wiseman answers that even in the most desperatecases, kindness in parents is more likely to succeed than severity, and if it fails they will have the less to reproach themselves with. The kindness is, of course, thrown away. Badman continues a looseblackguard, extravagant, idle and dissolute. He comes to the edge ofruin. His situation obliges him to think; and now the interest of thestory begins. He must repair his fortune by some means or other. Theeasiest way is by marriage. There was a young orphan lady in theneighbourhood, who was well off and her own mistress. She was a'professor' eagerly given to religion, and not so wise as she ought tohave been. Badman pretends to be converted. He reforms, or seems toreform. He goes to meeting, sings hymns, adopts the most correct formof doctrine, tells the lady that he does not want her money, but thathe wants a companion who will go with him along the road to Heaven. Hewas plausible, good-looking, and, to all appearance, as absorbed asherself in the one thing needful. The congregation warn her, but to nopurpose. She marries him, and finds what she has done too late. Inher fortune he has all that he wanted. He swears at her, treats herbrutally, brings prostitutes into his house, laughs at her religion, and at length orders her to give it up. When she refuses, Bunyanintroduces a special feature of the times, and makes Badman threatento turn informer, and bring her favourite minister to gaol. Theinformers were the natural but most accursed products of theConventicle Acts. Popular abhorrence relieved itself by legends of thedreadful judgments which had overtaken these wretches. 

In St. Neots an informer was bitten by a dog. The wound gangrened andthe flesh rotted off his bones. In Bedford 'there was one W. S. '(Bunyan probably knew him too well), 'a man of very wicked life, andhe, when there seemed to be countenance given to it, would needs turninformer. Well, so he did, and was as diligent in his business as mostof them could be. He would watch at nights, climb trees and range thewoods of days, if possible to find out the meeters, for then they wereforced to meet in the fields. Yea, he would curse them bitterly, andswore most fearfully what he would do to them when he found them. Well, after he had gone on like a Bedlam in his course awhile, and haddone some mischief to the people, he was stricken by the hand of God. He was taken with a faltering in his speech, a weakness in the backsinews of his neck, that ofttimes he held up his head by strength ofhand. After this his speech went quite away, and he could speak nomore than a swine or a bear. Like one of them he would gruntle andmake an ugly noise, according as he was offended or pleased, or wouldhave anything done. He walked about till God had made a sufficientspectacle of his judgments for his sin, and then, on a sudden, he wasstricken, and died miserably. '

Badman, says Mr. Wiseman, 'had malice enough in his heart' to turninformer, but he was growing prudent and had an eye to the future. Asa tradesman he had to live by his neighbours. He knew that they wouldnot forgive him, so 'he had that wit in his anger that he did it not. 'Nothing else was neglected to make the unfortunate wife miserable. Shebore him seven children, also typical figures. 'One was a verygracious child, that loved its mother dearly. This child Mr. Badmancould not abide, and it oftenest felt the weight of its father'sfingers. Three were as bad as himself. The others that remained becamea kind of mongrel professors, not so bad as their father nor so goodas their mother, but betwixt them both. They had their mother'snotions and their father's actions. Their father did not like thembecause they had their mother's tongue. Their mother did not like thembecause they had their father's heart and life, nor were they fitcompany for good or bad. They were forced with Esau to join inaffinity with Ishmael, to wit, to look out for a people that werehypocrites like themselves, and with them they matched and lived anddied. '

Badman meanwhile, with the help of his wife's fortune, grew into animportant person, and his character becomes a curious study. 'Hewent, ' we are told, 'to school with the Devil, from his childhood tothe end of his life. ' He was shrewd in matters of business, began toextend his operations, and 'drove a great trade. ' He carried a doubleface. He was evil with the evil. He pretended to be good with thegood. In religion he affected to be a freethinker, careless of deathand judgment, and ridiculing those who feared them 'as frighted withunseen bugbears. ' But he wore a mask when it suited him, and admiredhimself for the ease with which he could assume whatever aspect wasconvenient. 'I can be religious and irreligious, ' he said; 'I can beanything or nothing. I can swear and speak against swearing. I can lieand speak against lying. I can drink, wench, be unclean, and defraud, and not be troubled for it. I can enjoy myself and am master of my ownways, not they of me. This I have attained with much study, care, andpains. ' 'An Atheist Badman was, if such a thing as an Atheist couldbe. He was not alone in that mystery. There was abundance of men ofthe same mind and the same principle. He was only an arch or chief oneamong them. '

Mr. Badman now took to speculation, which Bunyan's knowledge ofbusiness enabled him to describe with instructive minuteness. Hisadventures were on a large scale, and by some mistakes and by personalextravagance he had nearly ruined himself a second time. In thiscondition he discovered a means, generally supposed to be a moremodern invention, of 'getting money by hatfuls. '

'He gave a sudden and great rush into several men's debts to the valueof four or five thousand pounds, driving at the same time a very greattrade by selling many things for less than they cost him, to get himcustom and blind his creditors' eyes. When he had well feathered hisnest with other men's goods and money, after a little while he breaks;while he had by craft and knavery made so sure of what he had, thathis creditors could not touch a penny. He sends mournful sugaredletters to them, desiring them not to be severe with him, for he boretowards all men an honest mind, and would pay them as far as he wasable. He talked of the greatness of the taxes, the badness of thetimes, his losses by bad debts, and he brought them to a compositionto take five shillings in the pound. His release was signed andsealed, and Mr. Badman could now put his head out of doors again, andbe a better man than when he shut up shop by several thousands ofpounds. '

Twice or three times he repeated the same trick with equal success. Itis likely enough that Bunyan was drawing from life and perhaps from amember of his own congregation; for he says that 'he had known aprofessor do it. ' He detested nothing so much as sham religion whichwas put on as a pretence. 'A professor, ' he exclaims, 'and practisesuch villanies as these! Such an one is not worthy the name. Goprofessors, go--leave off profession unless you will lead your livesaccording to your profession. Better never profess than makeprofession a stalking horse to sin, deceit, the devil, and hell. '

Bankruptcy was not the only art by which Badman piled up his fortune. The seventeenth century was not so far behind us as we sometimespersuade ourselves. 'He dealt by deceitful weights and measures. Hekept weights to buy by and weights to sell by, measures to buy by andmeasures to sell by. Those he bought by were too big, and those hesold by were too little. If he had to do with other men's weights andmeasures, he could use a thing called sleight of hand. He had the artbesides to misreckon men in their accounts, whether by weight ormeasure or money; and if a question was made of his faithful dealing, he had his servants ready that would vouch and swear to his look orword. He would sell goods that cost him not the best price by far, foras much as he sold his best of all for. He had also a trick to minglehis commodity, that that which was bad might go off with the leastmistrust. If any of his customers paid him money, he would call forpayment a second time, and if they could not produce good andsufficient ground of the payment, a hundred to one but they paid itagain. '

'To buy in the cheapest market and sell in the dearest' was Mr. Badman's common rule in business. According to modern politicaleconomy, it is the cardinal principle of wholesome trade. In Bunyan'sopinion it was knavery in disguise, and certain to degrade anddemoralise everyone who acted upon it. Bunyan had evidently thought onthe subject. Mr. Attentive is made to object:--

'But you know that there is no settled price set by God upon anycommodity that is bought or sold under the sun; but all things that webuy and sell do ebb and flow as to price like the tide. How then shalla man of tender conscience do, neither to wrong the seller, buyer, norhimself in the buying and selling of commodities?'

Mr. Wiseman answers in the spirit of our old Acts of Parliament, before political economy was invented:--

'Let a man have conscience towards God, charity to his neighbours, andmoderation in dealing. Let the tradesman consider that there is notthat in great gettings and in abundance which the most of men dosuppose; for all that a man has over and above what serves for hispresent necessity and supply, serves only to feed the lusts of theeye. Be thou confident that God's eyes are upon thy ways; that Hemarks them, writes them down, and seals them up in a bag against thetime to come. Be sure that thou rememberest that thou knowest not theday of thy death. Thou shalt have nothing that thou mayest so much ascarry away in thy hand. Guilt shall go with thee if thou hast gottenthy substance dishonestly, and they to whom thou shalt leave it shallreceive it to their hurt. These things duly considered, I will shewthee how thou should'st live in the practical part of this art. Artthou to buy or sell? If thou sellest do not commend. If thou buyest donot dispraise, any otherwise but to give the thing that thou hast todo with its just value and worth. Art thou a seller and do things growcheap? set not thy hand to help or hold them up higher. Art thou abuyer and do things grow dear? use no cunning or deceitful language topull them down. Leave things to the Providence of God, and do thouwith moderation submit to his hand. Hurt not thy neighbour by cryingout Scarcity, scarcity! beyond the truth of things. Especially takeheed of doing this by way of a prognostic for time to come. Thiswicked thing may be done by hoarding up (food) when the hunger andnecessity of the poor calls for it. If things rise do thou be grieved. Be also moderate in all thy sellings, and be sure let the poor have apennyworth, and sell thy corn to those who are in necessity; whichthou wilt do when thou showest mercy to the poor in thy selling tohim, and when thou undersellest the market for his sake because he ispoor. This is to buy and sell with a good conscience. The buyer thouwrongest not, thy conscience thou wrongest not, thyself thou wrongestnot, for God will surely recompense with thee. '

These views of Bunyan's are at issue with modern science, but hisprinciples and ours are each adjusted to the objects of desire whichgood men in those days and good men in ours have respectively setbefore themselves. If wealth means money, as it is now assumed to do, Bunyan is wrong and modern science right. If wealth means moralwelfare, then those who aim at it will do well to follow Bunyan'sadvice. It is to be feared that this part of his doctrine is lessfrequently dwelt upon by those who profess to admire and follow him, than the theory of imputed righteousness or justification by faith. 

Mr. Badman by his various ingenuities became a wealthy man. Hischaracter as a tradesman could not have been a secret from hisneighbours, but money and success coloured it over. The world spokewell of him. He became 'proud and haughty, ' took part in publicaffairs, 'counted himself as wise as the wisest in the country, asgood as the best, and as beautiful as he that had the most of it. ' 'Hetook great delight in praising himself, and as much in the praisesthat others gave him. ' 'He could not abide that any should thinkthemselves above him, or that their wit and personage should be byothers set before his. ' He had an objection, nevertheless, to beingcalled proud, and when Mr. Attentive asked why, his companion answeredwith a touch which reminds us of De Foe, that 'Badman _did not tellhim the reason_. He supposed it to be that which was common to allvile persons. They loved their vice, but cared not to bear its name. 'Badman said he was unwilling to seem singular and fantastical, and inthis way he justified his expensive and luxurious way of living. Singularity of all kinds he affected to dislike, and for that reasonhis special pleasure was to note the faults of professors. 'If hecould get anything by the end that had scandal in it, if it did buttouch professors, however falsely reported, oh, then he would glory, laugh and be glad, and lay it upon the whole party. Hang these rogues, he would say, there is not a barrel better herring in all the holybrotherhood of them. Like to like, quoth the Devil to the collier. This is your precise crew, and then he would send them all home with acurse. '

Thus Bunyan developed his specimen scoundrel, till he brought him tothe high altitudes of worldly prosperity; skilful in every villanousart, skilful equally in keeping out of the law's hands, and feared, admired and respected by all his neighbours. The reader who desires tosee Providence vindicated would now expect to find him detected insome crimes by which justice could lay hold, and poetical retributionfall upon him in the midst of his triumph. An inferior artist wouldcertainly have allowed his story to end in this way. But Bunyan, satisfied though he was that dramatic judgments did overtake offendersin this world with direct and startling appropriateness, was yet awarethat it was often otherwise, and that the worst fate which could beinflicted on a completely worthless person was to allow him to workout his career unvisited by any penalties which might have disturbedhis conscience and occasioned his amendment. He chose to make hisstory natural, and to confine himself to natural machinery. Thejudgment to come Mr. Badman laughed at 'as old woman's fable, ' but hiscourage lasted only as long as he was well and strong. One night as hewas riding home drunk, his horse fell and he broke his leg. 'You wouldnot think, ' says Mr. Wiseman, 'how he swore at first. Then coming tohimself, and finding he was badly hurt, he cried out, after the mannerof such, Lord help me; Lord have mercy on me; good God deliver me, andthe like. He was picked up and taken home, where he lay some time. Inhis pain he called on God, but whether it was that his sin might bepardoned and his soul saved, or whether to be rid of his pain, ' Mr. Wiseman 'could not determine. ' This leads to several stories ofdrunkards which Bunyan clearly believed to be literally true. Suchfacts or legends were the food on which his mind had been nourished. They were in the air which contemporary England breathed. 

'I have read in Mr. Clarke's Looking-glass for Sinners, ' Mr. Wisemansaid, 'that upon a time a certain drunken fellow boasted in his cupsthat there was neither heaven nor hell. Also he said he believed thatman had no soul, and that for his own part he would sell his soul toany that would buy it. Then did one of his companions buy it of himfor a cup of wine, and presently the devil, in man's shape, bought itof that man again at the same price; and so in the presence of themall laid hold of the soul-seller, and carried him away through the airso that he was no more heard of. '

Again:

'There was one at Salisbury drinking and carousing at a tavern, and hedrank a health to the devil, saying that if the devil would not comeand pledge him, he could not believe that there was either God ordevil. Whereupon his companions, stricken with fear, hastened out ofthe room, and presently after, hearing a hideous noise and smelling astinking savour, the vintner ran into the chamber, and coming in hemissed his guest, and found the window broken, the iron bars in itbowed and all bloody, but the man was never heard of afterwards. '

These visitations were answers to a direct challenge of the evilspirit's existence, and were thus easy to be accounted for. But nodevil came for Mr. Badman. He clung to his unfortunate neglected wife. 'She became his dear wife, his godly wife, his honest wife, his duck, his dear and all. ' He thought he was dying, and hell and all itshorrors rose up before him. 'Fear was in his face, and in his tossingsto and fro he would often say I am undone, I am undone, my vile lifehath undone me. ' Atheism did not help him. It never helped anyone insuch extremities Mr. Wiseman said; as he had known in anotherinstance:--

'There was a man dwelt about twelve miles off from us, ' he said, 'thathad so trained up himself in his Atheistical notions, that at last heattempted to write a book against Jesus Christ and the Divineauthority of the Scriptures. I think it was not printed. Well, aftermany days God struck him with sickness whereof he died. So being sick, and musing of his former doings, the book that he had written tore hisconscience as a lion would tear a kid. Some of my friends went to seehim, and as they were in his chamber one day he hastily called for penand ink and paper, which, when it was given to him, he took it andwrit to this purpose. "I such an one in such a town must go to hellfire for writing a book against Jesus Christ. " He would have leapedout of the window to have killed himself, but was by them prevented ofthat, so he died in his bed by such a death as it was. '

Badman seemed equally miserable. But deathbed repentances, as Bunyansensibly said, were seldom of more value than 'the howling of a dog. 'The broken leg was set again. The pain of body went, and with it thepain of mind. He was assisted out of his uneasiness, says Bunyan, witha characteristic hit at the scientific views then coming into fashion, 'by his doctor, ' who told him that his alarms had come 'from anaffection of the brain, caused by want of sleep;' 'they were nothingbut vapours and the effects of his distemper. ' He gathered his spiritstogether, and became the old man once more. His poor wife, who hadbelieved him penitent, broke her heart, and died of thedisappointment. The husband gave himself up to loose connections withabandoned women, one of whom persuaded him one day, when he was drunk, to make her a promise of marriage, and she held him to his word. Thenretribution came upon him, with the coarse, commonplace, yet rigidjustice which fact really deals out. The second bad wife avenged thewrongs of the first innocent wife. He was mated with a companion 'whocould fit him with cursing and swearing, give him oath for oath, andcurse for curse. They would fight and fly at each other like cat anddog. ' In this condition--for Bunyan, before sending his hero to hisaccount, gave him a protracted spell of earthly discomforts--theylived sixteen years together. Fortune, who had so long favoured hisspeculations, turned her back upon him. Between them they 'sinned allhis wealth away, ' and at last parted 'as poor as howlets. '

Then came the end. Badman was still in middle life, and had naturallya powerful constitution; but his 'cups and his queans' had underminedhis strength. Dropsy came, and gout, with worse in his bowels, and 'onthe top of them all, as the captain of the men of death that came totake him away, ' consumption. Bunyan was a true artist, though he knewnothing of the rules, and was not aware that he was an artist at all. He was not to be tempted into spoiling a natural story with themelodramatic horrors of a sinner's deathbed. He had let his victim'howl' in the usual way, when he meant him to recover. He had nowsimply to conduct him to the gate of the place where he was to receivethe reward of his iniquities. It was enough to bring him thither stillimpenitent, with the grave solemnity with which a felon is taken toexecution. 

'As his life was full of sin, ' says Mr. Wiseman, 'so his death waswithout repentance. He had not, in all the time of his sickness, asight and a sense of his sins; but was as much at quiet as if he hadnever sinned in his life: he was as secure as if he had been sinlessas an angel. When he drew near his end, there was no more alterationin him than what was made by his disease upon his body. He was theselfsame Mr. Badman still, not only in name, but in condition, andthat to the very day of his death and the moment in which he died. There seemed not to be in it to the standers by so much as a strongstruggle of nature. He died like a lamb, or, as men call it, like achrisom child, quietly and without fear. '

To which end of Mr. Badman Bunyan attaches the following remarks: 'Ifa wicked man, if a man who has lived all his days in notorious sin, dies quietly, his quiet dying is so far from being a sign of his beingsaved that it is an incontestable proof of his damnation. No man canbe saved except he repents; nor can he repent that knows not that heis a sinner: and he that knows himself to be a sinner will, I warranthim, be molested for his knowledge before he can die quietly. I am noadmirer of sick-bed repentance; for I think verily it is seldom goodfor anything. But I see that he that hath lived in sin and profanenessall his days, as Badman did, and yet shall die quietly, that is, without repentance steps in between his life and his death, isassuredly gone to hell. When God would show the greatness of his angeragainst sin and sinners in one word, He saith, Let them alone! Letthem, alone--that is, disturb them not. Let them go on withoutcontrol: Let the devil enjoy them peaceably. Let him carry them out ofthe world unconverted quietly. This is the sorest of judgments. I donot say that all wicked men that are molested at their death with asense of sin and fear of hell do therefore go to heaven; for some aremade to see and are left to despair. But I say there is no surer signof a man's damnation than to die quietly after a sinful life, than tosin and die with a heart that cannot repent. The opinion, therefore, of the common people of this kind of death is frivolous and vain. '

So ends this very remarkable story. It is extremely interesting, merely as a picture of vulgar English life in a provincial town suchas Bedford was when Bunyan lived there. The drawing is so good, thedetails so minute, the conception so unexaggerated, that we aredisposed to believe that we must have a real history before us. Butsuch a supposition is only a compliment to the skill of the composer. Bunyan's inventive faculty was a spring that never ran dry. He had amanner, as I said, like De Foe's, of creating the illusion that we arereading realities, by little touches such as 'I do not know, ' 'He didnot tell me this, ' or the needless introduction of particularsirrelevant to the general plot such as we always stumble on in life, and writers of fiction usually omit. Bunyan was never prosecuted forlibel by 'Badman's' relations, and the character is the correspondingcontrast to Christian in the 'Pilgrim's Progress, ' the pilgrim'sjourney being in the opposite direction to the other place. Throughoutwe are on the solid earth, amidst real experiences. No demand is madeon our credulity by Providential interpositions, except in theintercalated anecdotes which do not touch the story itself. The wickedman's career is not brought to the abrupt or sensational issues somuch in favour with ordinary didactic tale-writers. Such issues arethe exception, not the rule, and the edifying story loses its effectwhen the reader turns from it to actual life, and perceives that themajority are not punished in any such way. Bunyan conceals nothing, assumes nothing, and exaggerates nothing. He makes his bad man sharpand shrewd. He allows sharpness and shrewdness to bring him therewards which such qualities in fact command. Badman is successful, heis powerful; he enjoys all the pleasures which money can buy; his badwife helps him to ruin, but otherwise he is not unhappy, and he diesin peace. Bunyan has made him a brute, because such men do becomebrutes. It is the real punishment of brutal and selfish habits. Therethe figure stands; a picture of a man in the rank of English life withwhich Bunyan was most familiar, travelling along the primrose path tothe everlasting bonfire, as the way to Emmanuel's Land was through theSlough of Despond and the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Pleasures areto be found among the primroses, such pleasures as a brute can begratified by. Yet the reader feels that even if there was no bonfire, he would still prefer to be with Christian. 

CHAPTER VIII. 

THE HOLY WAR. 

The supernatural has been successfully represented in poetry, painting, or sculpture, only at particular periods of human history, and under peculiar mental conditions. The artist must himself believein the supernatural, or his description of it will be a sham, withoutdignity and without credibility. He must feel himself able at the sametime to treat the subject which he selects with freedom, throwing hisown mind boldly into it, or he will produce, at best, the hard andstiff forms of literal tradition. When Benvenuto Cellini was preparingto make an image of the Virgin, he declares gravely that Our Ladyappeared to him that he might know what she was like; and so real wasthe apparition that for many months after, he says that his friendswhen the room was dark could see a faint aureole about his head. YetBenvenuto worked as if his own brain was partly the author of what heproduced, and, like other contemporary artists, used his mistressesfor his models, and was no servile copyist of phantoms seen invisions. There is a truth of the imagination, and there is a truth offact, religion hovering between them, translating one into the other, turning natural phenomena into the activity of personal beings; orgiving earthly names and habitations to mere creatures of fancy. Imagination creates a mythology. The priest takes it and fashions outof it a theology, a ritual, or a sacred history. So long as the priestcan convince the world that he is dealing with literal facts, he holdsreason prisoner, and imagination is his servant. In the twilight whendawn is coming near but has not yet come; when the uncertain nature ofthe legend is felt, though not intelligently discerned; imagination isthe first to resume its liberty; it takes possession of its owninheritance, it dreams of its gods and demigods, as Benvenuto dreamtof the Virgin, and it re-shapes the priest's traditions in noble andbeautiful forms. Homer and the Greek dramatists would not have daredto bring the gods upon the stage so freely, had they believed Zeus andApollo were living persons, like the man in the next street, who mightcall the poet to account for what they were made to do and say; butneither, on the other hand, could they have been actively consciousthat Zeus and Apollo were apparitions, which had no existence, exceptin their own brains. 

The condition is extremely peculiar. It can exist only in certainepochs, and in its nature is necessarily transitory. Where belief isconsciously gone the artist has no reverence for his work, andtherefore can inspire none. The greatest genius in the world could notreproduce another Athene like that of Phidias. But neither must thebelief be too complete. The poet's tongue stammers when he would bringbeings before us who, though invisible, are awful personal existences, in whose stupendous presence we one day expect to stand. As long asthe conviction survives that he is dealing with literal truths, he issafe only while he follows with shoeless feet the letter of thetradition. He dares not step beyond, lest he degrade the Infinite tothe human level, and if he is wise he prefers to content himself withhumbler subjects. A Christian artist can represent Jesus Christ as aman because He was a man, and because the details of the Gospelhistory leave room for the imagination to work. To represent Christ asthe Eternal Son in heaven, to bring before us the Persons of theTrinity consulting, planning, and reasoning, to take us into theireverlasting Council Chamber, as Homer takes us into Olympus, will bepossible only when Christianity ceases to be regarded as a history oftrue facts. Till then it is a trespass beyond the permitted limits, and revolts us by the inadequacy of the result. Either the artistfails altogether by attempting the impossible, or those whom headdresses are themselves intellectually injured by an unreal treatmentof truths hitherto sacred. They confound the representation with itsobject, and regard the whole of it as unreal together. 

These observations apply most immediately to Milton's 'Paradise Lost, 'and are meant to explain the unsatisfactoriness of it. Milton himselfwas only partially emancipated from the bondage of the letter; half inearth, half 'pawing to get free' like his own lion. The war in heaven, the fall of the rebel angels, the horrid splendours of Pandemoniumseem legitimate subjects for Christian poetry. They stand forsomething which we regard as real, yet we are not bound to any actualopinions about them. Satan has no claim on reverential abstinence; andParadise and the Fall of Man are perhaps sufficiently mythic to permitpoets to take certain liberties with them. But even so far Milton hasnot entirely succeeded. His wars of the angels are shadowy. They haveno substance like the battles of Greeks and Trojans, or Centaurs andLapithĉ; and Satan could not be made interesting without touches of anobler nature, that is, without ceasing to be the Satan of theChristian religion. But this is not his worst. When we are carried upinto heaven and hear the persons of the Trinity conversing on themischiefs which have crept into the universe, and planning remediesand schemes of salvation like Puritan divines, we turn awayincredulous and resentful. Theologians may form such theories forthemselves, if not wisely, yet without offence. They may study theworld in which they are placed, with the light which can be thrownupon it by the book which they call the Word of God. They may formtheir conclusions, invent their schemes of doctrine, and commend totheir flocks the interpretation of the mystery at which they havearrived. The cycles and epicycles of the Ptolemaic astronomers wereimperfect hypotheses, but they were stages on which the mind couldrest for a more complete examination of the celestial phenomena. Butthe poet does not offer us phrases and formulas; he presents to uspersonalities living and active, influenced by emotions and reasoningfrom premises; and when the unlimited and incomprehensible Being whoseattributes are infinite, of whom from the inadequacy of our ideas wecan only speak in negatives, is brought on the stage to talk like anordinary man, we feel that Milton has mistaken the necessary limits ofhis art. 

When Faust claims affinity with the Erdgeist, the spirit tells him toseek affinities with beings which he can comprehend. The commandmentwhich forbade the representation of God in a bodily form, forbids thepoet equally to make God describe his feelings and his purposes. Wherethe poet would create a character he must himself comprehend it firstto its inmost fibre. He cannot comprehend his own Creator. Admire aswe may 'Paradise Lost;' try as we may to admire 'Paradise Regained;'acknowledge as we must the splendour of the imagery and the statelymarch of the verse; there comes upon us irresistibly a sense of theunfitness of the subject for Milton's treatment of it. If the storywhich he tells us is true, it is too momentous to be played with inpoetry. We prefer to hear it in plain prose, with a minimum ofornament and the utmost possible precision of statement. Miltonhimself had not arrived at thinking it to be a legend, a picture likea Greek Mythology. His poem falls between two modes of treatment andtwo conceptions of truth; we wonder, we recite, we applaud, butsomething comes in between our minds and a full enjoyment, and it willnot satisfy us better as time goes on. 

The same objection applies to 'The Holy War' of Bunyan. It is as Isaid, a people's version of the same series of subjects--the creationof man, the fall of man, his redemption, his ingratitude, his lapse, and again his restoration. The chief figures are the same, the actionis the same, though more varied and complicated, and the generaleffect is unsatisfactory from the same cause. Prose is less ambitiousthan poetry. There is an absence of attempts at grand effects. Thereis no effort after sublimity, and there is consequently a lightersense of incongruity in the failure to reach it. On the other hand, there is the greater fulness of detail so characteristic of Bunyan'smanner; and fulness of detail on a theme so far beyond ourunderstanding is as dangerous as vague grandiloquence. In 'ThePilgrim's Progress' we are among genuine human beings. The readerknows the road too well which Christian follows. He has struggledwith him in the Slough of Despond. He has shuddered with him in theValley of the Shadow of Death. He has groaned with him in the dungeonsof Doubting Castle. He has encountered on his journey the samefellow-travellers. Who does not know Mr. Pliable, Mr. Obstinate, Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Feeble Mind, and all the rest? They arerepresentative realities, flesh of our flesh and bone of our bone. 'Ifwe prick them they bleed, if we tickle them they laugh, ' or they makeus laugh. 'They are warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer'as we are. The human actors in 'The Holy War' are parts ofmen--special virtues, special vices: allegories in fact as well as inname, which all Bunyan's genius can only occasionally substantiateinto persons. The plot of 'The Pilgrim's Progress' is simple. 'TheHoly War' is prolonged through endless vicissitudes, with a doubtfulissue after all, and the incomprehensibility of the Being who allowsSatan to defy him so long and so successfully is unpleasantly andharshly brought home to us. True it is so in life. Evil remains afterall that has been done for us. But life is confessedly a mystery. 'TheHoly War' professes to interpret the mystery, and only restates theproblem in a more elaborate form. Man Friday on reading it would haveasked even more emphatically, 'Why God not kill the Devil?' andRobinson Crusoe would have found no assistance in answering him. Forthese reasons, I cannot agree with Macaulay in thinking that if therehad been no 'Pilgrim's Progress, ' 'The Holy War' would have been thefirst of religious allegories. We may admire the workmanship, but thesame undefined sense of unreality which pursues us through Milton'sepic would have interfered equally with the acceptance of this. Thequestion to us is if the facts are true. If true they require noallegories to touch either our hearts or our intellects. 

'The Holy War' would have entitled Bunyan to a place among the mastersof English literature. It would never have made his name a householdword in every English-speaking family on the globe. 

The story which I shall try to tell in an abridged form is introducedby a short prefatory poem. Works of fancy, Bunyan tells us, are ofmany sorts, according to the author's humour. For himself he says tohis reader:

 I have something else to do Than write vain stories thus to trouble you. What here I say some men do know too well; They can with tears and joy the story tell. The town of Mansoul is well known to many, Nor are her troubles doubted of by any That are acquainted with those histories That Mansoul and her wars anatomize. 

 Then lend thine ears to what I do relate Touching the town of Mansoul and her state, How she was lost, took captive, made a slave, And how against him set that should her save, Yea, how by hostile ways she did oppose Her Lord and with his enemy did close, For they are true; he that will them deny Must needs the best of records vilify. 

 For my part, I myself was in the town Both when 'twas set up and when pulling down. I saw Diabolus in his possession, And Mansoul also under his oppression: Yea I was there when she him owned for Lord, And to him did submit with one accord. 

 When Mansoul trampled upon things divine, And wallowed in filth as doth a swine, When she betook herself unto his arms, Fought her Emmanuel, despised his charms; Then was I there and did rejoice to see Diabolus and Mansoul so agree. 

 Let no man count me then a fable maker, Nor make my name or credit a partaker Of their derision. What is here in view Of mine own knowledge I dare say is true. 

At setting out we are introduced into the famous continent of'Universe, ' a large and spacious country lying between the twopoles--'the people of it not all of one complexion nor yet of onelanguage, mode or way of religion; but differing as much as theplanets themselves, some right, some wrong, even as it may happen tobe. '

In this country of 'Universe' was a fair and delicate town andcorporation called 'Mansoul, ' a town for its building so curious, forits situation so commodious, for its privileges so advantageous, thatwith reference to its original (state) there was not its equal underheaven. The first founder was Shaddai, who built it for his owndelight. In the midst of the town was a famous and stately palacewhich Shaddai intended for himself. [3] He had no intention of allowingstrangers to intrude there. And the peculiarity of the place was thatthe walls of Mansoul[4] could never be broken down or hurt unless thetownsmen consented. Mansoul had five gates which in like manner couldonly be forced if those within allowed it. These gates were Eargate, Eyegate, Mouthgate, Nosegate, and Feelgate. Thus provided, Mansoulwas at first all that its founder could desire. It had the mostexcellent laws in the world. There was not a rogue or a rascal insideits whole precincts. The inhabitants were all true men. 

[Footnote 3: Bunyan says in a marginal note, that by this palace hemeans the heart. ]

[Footnote 4: The body. ]

Now there was a certain giant named Diabolus--king of the blacks ornegroes, as Bunyan noticeably calls them--the negroes standing forsinners or fallen angels. Diabolus had once been a servant of Shaddai, one of the chief in his territories. Pride and ambition had led him toaspire to the crown which was settled on Shaddai's Son. He had formeda conspiracy and planned a revolution. Shaddai and his Son, 'being alleye, ' easily detected the plot. Diabolus and his crew were bound inchains, banished, and thrown into a pit, there to 'abide for ever. 'This was their sentence; but out of the pit, in spite of it, they insome way contrived to escape. They ranged about full of malice againstShaddai, and looking for means to injure him. They came at last onMansoul. They determined to take it, and called a council to considerhow it could best be done. Diabolus was aware of the condition that noone could enter without the inhabitants' consent. Alecto, Apollyon, Beelzebub, Lucifer (Pagan and Christian demons intermixedindifferently) gave their several opinions. Diabolus at length atLucifer's suggestion decided to assume the shape of one of thecreatures over which Mansoul had dominion; and he selected as thefittest that of a snake, which at that time was in great favour withthe people as both harmless and wise. 

The population of Mansoul were simple, innocent folks who believedeverything that was said to them. Force, however, might be necessaryas well as cunning, and the Tisiphone, a fury of the Lakes, wasrequired to assist. The attempt was to be made at Eargate. A certainCaptain Resistance was in charge of this gate, whom Diabolus fearedmore than any one in the place. Tisiphone was to shoot him. 

The plans being all laid, Diabolus in his snake's dress approached thewall, accompanied by one 'Ill Pause, ' a famous orator, the Furyfollowing behind. He asked for a parley with the heads of the town. Captain Resistance, two of the great nobles, Lord 'Innocent, ' and Lord'Will be Will, ' with Mr. Conscience, the Recorder, and LordUnderstanding, the Lord Mayor, came to the gate to see what he wanted. Lord 'Will be Will' plays a prominent part in the drama both for goodand evil. He is neither Free Will, nor Wilfulness, nor Inclination, but the quality which metaphysicians and theologians agree indescribing as 'the Will. ' 'The Will' simply--a subtle something ofgreat importance; but what it is they have never been able to explain. 

Lord Will be Will inquired Diabolus's business. Diabolus, 'meek as alamb, ' said he was a neighbour of theirs. He had observed withdistress that they were living in a state of slavery, and he wished tohelp them to be free. Shaddai was no doubt a great prince, but he wasan arbitrary despot. There was no liberty where the laws wereunreasonable, and Shaddai's laws were the reverse of reasonable. Theyhad a fruit growing among them, in Mansoul, which they had but to eatto become wise. Knowledge was well known to be the best ofpossessions. Knowledge was freedom; ignorance was bondage; and yetShaddai had forbidden them to touch this precious fruit. 

At that moment Captain Resistance fell dead, pierced by an arrow fromTisiphone. Ill Pause made a flowing speech, in the midst of whichLord Innocent fell also, either through a blow from Diabolus, or'overpowered by the stinking breath of the old villain Ill Pause. ' Thepeople flew upon the apple tree; Eargate and Eyegate were thrown open, and Diabolus was invited to come in; when at once he became King ofMansoul and established himself in the castle. [5]

[Footnote 5: The heart. ]

The magistrates were immediately changed. Lord Understanding ceased tobe Lord Mayor. Mr. Conscience was no longer left as Recorder. Diabolusbuilt up a wall in front of Lord Understanding's palace, and shut offthe light, 'so that till Mansoul was delivered the old Lord Mayor wasrather an impediment than, an advantage to that famous town. ' Diabolustried long to bring 'Conscience' over to his side, but never quitesucceeded. The Recorder became greatly corrupted, but he could not beprevented from now and then remembering Shaddai; and when the fit wason him he would shake the town with his exclamations. Diabolustherefore had to try other methods with him. 'He had a way to make theold gentleman when he was merry unsay and deny what in his fits he hadaffirmed, and this was the next way to make him ridiculous and tocause that no man should regard him. ' To make all secure Diabolusoften said, 'Oh, Mansoul, consider that, notwithstanding the oldgentleman's rage and the rattle of his high thundering words, you hearnothing of Shaddai himself. ' The Recorder had pretended that the voiceof the Lord was speaking in him. Had this been so, Diabolus arguedthat the Lord would have done more than speak. 'Shaddai, ' he said, 'valued not the loss nor the rebellion of Mansoul, nor would hetrouble himself with calling his town to a reckoning. '

In this way the Recorder came to be generally hated, and more thanonce the people would have destroyed him. Happily his house was acastle near the waterworks. When the rabble pursued him, he would pullup the sluices, [6] let in the flood, and drown all about him. 

[Footnote 6: Fears. ]

Lord Will be Will, on the other hand, 'as high born as any inMansoul, ' became Diabolus's principal minister. He had been the firstto propose admitting Diabolus, and he was made Captain of the Castle, Governor of the Wall, and Keeper of the Gates. Will be Will had aclerk named Mr. Mind, a man every way like his master, and Mansoul wasthus brought 'under the lusts' of Will and Intellect. Mr. Mind had inhis house some old rent and torn parchments of the law of Shaddai. TheRecorder had some more in his study; but to these Will be Will paid noattention, and surrounded himself with officials who were all inDiabolus's interest. He had as deputy one Mr. Affection, 'muchdebauched in his principles, so that he was called Vile Affection. 'Vile Affection married Mr. Mind's daughter, Carnal Lust, by whom hehad three sons--Impudent, Black Mouth, and Hate Reproof; and threedaughters--Scorn Truth, Slight Good, and Revenge. All traces ofShaddai were now swept away. His image, which had stood in themarket-place, was taken down, and an artist called Mr. No Truth wasemployed to set up the image of Diabolus in place of it. LordLustings--'who never savoured good, but evil'--was chosen for the newLord Mayor. Mr. Forget Good was appointed Recorder. There were newburgesses and aldermen, all with appropriate names, for which Bunyanwas never at a loss--Mr. Incredulity, Mr. Haughty, Mr. Swearing, Mr. Hardheart, Mr. Pitiless, Mr. Fury, Mr. No Truth, Mr. Stand to Lies, Mr. Falsepeace, Mr. Drunkenness, Mr. Cheating, Mr. Atheism, andanother; thirteen of them in all. Mr. Incredulity was the eldest, Mr. Atheism the youngest in the company--a shrewd and correct arrangement. Diabolus, on his part, set to work to fortify Mansoul. He built threefortresses--'The Hold of Defiance' at Eyegate, that the light might bedarkened there;' 'Midnight Hold' near the old Castle, to keep Mansoulfrom knowledge of itself; and 'Sweet Sin Hold' in the market-place, that there might be no desire of good there. These strongholds beingestablished and garrisoned, Diabolus thought that he had made hisconquest secure. 

So far the story runs on firmly and clearly. It is vivid, consistentin itself, and held well within the limits of human nature andexperience. But, like Milton, Bunyan is now, by the exigencies of thesituation, forced upon more perilous ground. He carries us into thepresence of Shaddai himself, at the time when the loss of Mansoul wasreported in heaven. 

The king, his son, his high lords, his chief captains and nobles wereall assembled to hear. There was universal grief, in which the kingand his son shared or rather seemed to share--for at once the drama ofthe Fall of mankind becomes no better than a Mystery Play. 'Shaddaiand his son had foreseen it all long before, and had provided for therelief of Mansoul, though they told not everybody thereof--but becausethey would have a share in condoling of the misery of Mansoul theydid, and that at the rate of the highest degree, bewail the losing ofMansoul'--'thus to show their love and compassion. '

'Paradise Lost' was published at the time that Bunyan wrote thispassage. If he had not seen it, the coincidences of treatment aresingularly curious. It is equally singular, if he had seen it, thatMilton should not here at least have taught him to avoid making theAlmighty into a stage actor. The Father and Son consult how 'to dowhat they had designed before. ' They decide that at a certain time, which they preordain, the Son, 'a sweet and comely person, ' shall makea journey into the Universe and lay a foundation there for Mansoul'sdeliverance. Milton offends in the scene less than Bunyan; but Miltoncannot persuade us that it is one which should have been representedby either of them. They should have left 'plans of salvation' toeloquent orators in the pulpit. 

Though the day of deliverance by the method proposed was as yet faroff, the war against Diabolus was to be commenced immediately. TheLord Chief Secretary was ordered to put in writing Shaddai'sintentions, and cause them to be published. [7] Mansoul, it wasannounced, was to be put into a better condition than it was in beforeDiabolus took it. 

[Footnote 7: The Scriptures. ]

The report of the Council in Heaven was brought to Diabolus, who tookhis measures accordingly, Lord Will be Will standing by him andexecuting all his directions Mansoul was forbidden to read Shaddai'sproclamation. Diabolus imposed a great oath on the townspeople neverto desert him; he believed that if they entered into a covenant ofthis kind Shaddai could not absolve them from it. They 'swallowed theengagement as if it had been a sprat in the mouth of a whale. ' Beingnow Diabolus's trusty children, he gave them leave 'to do whatevertheir appetites prompted to do. ' They would thus involve themselves inall kinds of wickedness, and Shaddai's son 'being Holy' would be lesslikely to interest himself for them. When they had in this way putthemselves, as Diabolus hoped, beyond reach of mercy, he informedthem that Shaddai was raising an army to destroy the town. No quarterwould be given, and unless they defended themselves like men theywould all be made slaves. Their spirit being roused, he armed themwith the shield of unbelief, 'calling into question the truth of theWord. ' He gave them a helmet of hope--'hope of doing well at last, whatever lives they might lead'; for a breastplate a heart as hard asiron, 'most necessary for all that hated Shaddai;' and another pieceof most excellent armour, 'a drunken and prayerless spirit thatscorned to cry for mercy. ' Shaddai on his side had also prepared hisforces. He will not as yet send his son. The first expedition was tofail and was meant to fail. The object was to try whether Mansoulwould return to obedience. And yet Shaddai knew that it would notreturn to obedience. Bunyan was too ambitious to explain theinexplicable. Fifty thousand warriors were collected, all chosen byShaddai himself. There were four leaders--Captain Boanerges, CaptainConviction, Captain Judgment, and Captain Execution--the martialsaints, with whom Macaulay thinks Bunyan made acquaintance when heserved, if serve he did, with Fairfax. The bearings on their bannerswere three black thunderbolts--the Book of the Law, wide open, with aflame of fire bursting from it; a burning, fiery furnace; and afruitless tree with an axe at its root. These emblems represent theterrors of Mount Sinai, the covenant of works which was not toprevail. 

The captains come to the walls of Mansoul, and summon the town tosurrender. Their words 'beat against Eargate, but without force tobreak it open. ' The new officials answer the challenge with defiance. Lord Incredulity knows not by what right Shaddai invades theircountry. Lord Will be Will and Mr. Forget Good warn them to be offbefore they rouse Diabolus. The townspeople ring the bells and danceon the walls. Will be Will double-bars the gates. Bunyan's genius isat its best in scenes of this kind. 'Old Mr. Prejudice, with sixtydeaf men, ' is appointed to take charge of Eargate. At Eargate, too, are planted two guns, called Highmind, and Heady, 'cast in the earthby Diabolus's head founder, whose name was Mr. Puffup. '

The fighting begins, but the covenant of works makes little progress. Shaddai's captains, when advancing on Mansoul, had fallen in with'three young fellows of promising appearance' who volunteered to gowith them--Mr. Tradition, Mr. Human Wisdom, and Mr. Man's Invention. 'They were allowed to join, and were placed in positions of trust, thecaptains of the covenant being apparently wanting in discernment. Theywere taken prisoners in the first skirmish, and immediately changedsides and went over to Diabolus. More battles follow. The roof of theLord Mayor's house is beaten in. The law is not wholly ineffectual. Six of the Aldermen, the grosser moral sins--Swearing, Stand to Lies, Drunkenness, Cheating, and others--are overcome and killed. Diabolusgrows uneasy and loses his sleep. Old Conscience begins to talk again. A party forms in the town in favour of surrender, and Mr. Parley issent to Eargate to treat for terms. The spiritual sins--False Peace, Unbelief, Haughtiness, Atheism--are still unsubdued and vigorous. Theconditions offered are that Incredulity, Forget Good, and Will be Willshall retain their offices; Mansoul shall be continued in all theliberties which it enjoys under Diabolus; and a further touch is addedwhich shows how little Bunyan sympathised with modern notions of thebeauty of self-government. No new law or officer shall have any powerin Mansoul without the people's consent. 

Boanerges will agree to no conditions with rebels. Incredulity andWill be Will advise the people to stand by their rights, and refuse tosubmit to 'unlimited' power. The war goes on, and Incredulity is madeDiabolus's universal deputy. Conscience and Understanding, the oldRecorder and Mayor, raise a mutiny, and there is a fight in thestreets. Conscience is knocked down by a Diabolonian called 'Mr. Benumming. ' Understanding had a narrow escape from being shot. On theother hand Mr. Mind, who had come over to the Conservative side, laidabout bravely, tumbled old Mr. Prejudice into the dirt, and kicked himwhere he lay. Even Will be Will seemed to be wavering in hisallegiance to Diabolus. 'He smiled and did not seem to take one sidemore than another. ' The rising, however, is put down--Understandingand Conscience are imprisoned, and Mansoul hardens its heart, chiefly'being in dread of slavery, ' and thinking liberty too fine a thing tobe surrendered. 

Shaddai's four captains find that they can do no more. The covenant ofworks will not answer. They send home a petition, 'by the hand of that goodman Mr. Love to Mansoul, ' to beg that some new general may come to leadthem. The preordained time has now arrived, and Emmanuel himself is to takethe command. He, too, selects his captains--Credence and Good Hope, Charity, and Innocence, and Patience; and the captains have their squires, the counterparts of themselves--Promise and Expectation, Pitiful, Harmless, and Suffer Long. Emmanuel's armour shines like the sun. He has forty-fourbattering rams and twenty-two slings--the sixty-six books of theBible--each made of pure gold. He throws up mounds and trenches, and armsthem with his rams, five of the largest being planted on Mount Hearken, over against Eargate. Bunyan was too reverent to imitate the Mystery Plays, and introduce a Mount Calvary with the central sacrifice upon it. Thesacrifice is supposed to have been already offered elsewhere. Emmanueloffers mercy to Mansoul, and when it is rejected he threatens judgment andterror. Diabolus, being wiser than man, is made to know that his hour isapproaching. He goes in person to Mouthgate to protest and remonstrate. Heasks why Emmanuel is come to torment him. Mansoul has disowned Shaddai andsworn allegiance to himself. He begs Emmanuel to leave him to rule his ownsubjects in peace. 

Emmanuel tells him 'he is a thief and a liar. ' 'When, ' Emmanuel ismade to say, 'Mansoul sinned by hearkening to thy lie, I put in andbecame a surety to my Father, body for body, soul for soul, that Iwould make amends for Mansoul's transgressions, and my Father didaccept thereof. So when the time appointed was come, I gave body forbody, soul for soul, life for life, blood for blood, and so redeemedmy beloved Mansoul. My Father's law and justice, that were bothconcerned in the threatening upon transgression, are both nowsatisfied, and very well content that Mansoul should be delivered. '

Even against its deliverers, Mansoul was defended by the originalcondition of its constitution. There was no way into it but throughthe gates. Diabolus, feeling that Emmanuel still had difficultiesbefore him, withdrew from the wall, and sent a messenger, Mr. Loth toStoop, to offer alternative terms, to one or other of which hethought Emmanuel might consent. Emmanuel might be titular sovereignof all Mansoul, if Diabolus might keep the administration of part ofit. If this could not be, Diabolus requested to be allowed to residein Mansoul as a private person. If Emmanuel insisted on his ownpersonal exclusion, at least he expected that his friends and kindredmight continue to live there, and that he himself might now and thenwrite them letters, and send them presents and messages, 'inremembrance of the merry times they had enjoyed together. ' Finally, hewould like to be consulted occasionally when any difficulties arose inMansoul. 

It will be seen that in the end Mansoul was, in fact, left liable tocommunications from Diabolus very much of this kind. Emmanuel'sanswer, however, is a peremptory No. Diabolus must take himself away, and no more must be heard of him. Seeing that there was no otherresource, Diabolus resolves to fight it out. There is a great battleunder the walls, with some losses on Emmanuel's side, even CaptainConviction receiving three wounds in the mouth. The shots from thegold slings mow down whole ranks of Diabolonians. Mr. Love no Good andMr. Ill Pause are wounded. Old Prejudice and Mr. Anything run away. Lord Will be Will, who still fought for Diabolus, was never so dauntedin his life: 'he was hurt in the leg, and limped. '

Diabolus, when the fight was over, came again to the gate with freshproposals to Emmanuel. 'I, ' he said, 'will persuade Mansoul to receivethee for their Lord, and I know that they will do it the sooner whenthey understand that I am thy deputy. I will show them wherein theyhave erred, and that transgression stands in the way to life. I willshow them the Holy law to which they must conform, even that whichthey have broken. I will press upon them the necessity of areformation according to thy law. At my own cost I will set up andmaintain a sufficient ministry, besides lecturers, in Mansoul. ' Thisobviously means the Established Church. Unable to keep mankinddirectly in his own service, the Devil offers to entangle them in thecovenant of works, of which the Church of England was therepresentative. Emmanuel rebukes him for his guile and deceit. 'I willgovern Mansoul, ' he says, 'by new laws, new officers, new motives, andnew ways. I will pull down the town and build it again, and it shallbe as though it had not been, and it shall be the glory of the wholeuniverse. '

A second battle follows. Eargate is beaten in. The Prince's armyenters and advances as far as the old Recorder's house, where theyknock and demand entrance. 'The old gentleman, not fully knowing theirdesign, had kept his gates shut all the time of the fight. He as yetknew nothing of the great designs of Emmanuel, and could not tell whatto think. ' The door is violently broken open, and the house is madeEmmanuel's head-quarters. The townspeople, with Conscience andUnderstanding at their head, petition that their lives may be spared;but Emmanuel gives no answer, Captain Boanerges and Captain Convictioncarrying terror into all hearts. Diabolus, the cause of all themischief, had retreated into the castle. [8] He came out at last, andsurrendered, and in dramatic fitness he clearly ought now to have beenmade away with in a complete manner. Unfortunately, this could not bedone. He was stripped of his armour, bound to Emmanuel's chariotwheels, and thus turned out of Mansoul 'into parched places in a saltland, where he might seek rest and find none. ' The salt land provedas insecure a prison, for this embarrassing being as the pit where hewas to have abode for ever. 

[Footnote 8: The heart. ]

Meanwhile, Mansoul being brought upon its knees, the inhabitants weresummoned into the castle yard, when Conscience, Understanding, andWill be Will were committed to ward. They and the rest again prayedfor mercy, but again without effect. Emmanuel was silent. They drewanother petition, and asked Captain Conviction to present it for them. Captain Conviction declined to be an advocate for rebels, and advisedthem to send it by one of themselves, with a rope about his neck. Mr. Desires Awake went with it. The Prince took it from his hands, andwept as Desires Awake gave it in. Emmanuel bade him go his way tillthe request could be considered. The unhappy criminals knew not how totake the answer. Mr. Understanding thought it promised well. Conscience and Will be Will, borne down by shame for their sins, looked for nothing but immediate death. They tried again. They threwthemselves on Emmanuel's mercy. They drew up a confession of theirhorrible iniquities. This, at least, they wished to offer to himwhether he would pity them or not. For a messenger some of themthought of choosing one Old Good Deed. Conscience, however, said thatwould never do. Emmanuel would answer, 'Is Old Good Deed yet alive inMansoul? Then let Old Good Deed save it. ' Desires Awake went againwith the rope on his neck, as Captain Conviction recommended. Mr. WetEyes went with him, wringing his hands. 

Emmanuel still held out no comfort; he promised merely that in thecamp the next morning he would give such an answer as should be to hisglory. Nothing but the worst was now looked for. Mansoul passed thenight in sackcloth and ashes. When day broke, the prisoners dressedthemselves in mourning, and were carried to the camp in chains, withropes on their necks, beating their breasts. Prostrate beforeEmmanuel's throne, they repeated their confession. They acknowledgedthat death and the bottomless pit would be no more than a justretribution for their crimes. As they excused nothing and promisednothing, Emmanuel at once delivered them their pardons sealed withseven seals. He took off their ropes and mourning, clothed them inshining garments, and gave them chains and jewels. 

Lord Will be Will 'swooned outright. ' When he recovered, 'the Prince'embraced and kissed him. The bells in Mansoul were set ringing. Bonfires blazed. Emmanuel reviewed his army; and Mansoul, ravished atthe sight, prayed him to remain and be their King for ever. He enteredthe city again in triumph, the people strewing boughs and flowersbefore him. The streets and squares were rebuilt on a new model. LordWill be Will, now regenerate, resumed the charge of the gates. The oldLord Mayor was reinstated. Mr. Knowledge was made Recorder, 'not outof contempt for old Conscience, who was by-and-bye to have anotheremployment. ' Diabolus's image was taken down and broken to pieces, andthe inhabitants of Mansoul were so happy that they sang of Emmanuel intheir sleep. 

Justice, however, remained to be done on the hardened and impenitent. 

There were 'perhaps necessities in the nature of things, ' as BishopButler says, and an example could not be made of the principaloffender. But his servants and old officials were lurking in the lanesand alleys. They were apprehended, thrown into gaol, and brought toformal trial. Here we have Bunyan at his best. The scene in the courtrises to the level of the famous trial of Faithful in Vanity Fair. Theprisoners were Diabolus's Aldermen, Mr. Atheism, Mr. Incredulity, Mr. Lustings, Mr. Forget Good, Mr. Hardheart, Mr. Falsepeace, and therest. The proceedings were precisely what Bunyan must have witnessedat a common English Assizes. The Judges were the new Recorder and thenew Mayor. Mr. Do-right was Town Clerk. A jury was empanelled in theusual way. Mr. Knowall, Mr. Telltrue, and Mr. Hatelies were theprincipal witnesses. 

Atheism was first brought to the bar, being charged 'with havingpertinaciously and doltingly taught that there was no God. ' He pleadedNot Guilty. Mr. Knowall was placed in the witness-box and sworn. 

'My Lord, ' he said, 'I know the prisoner at the bar. I and he wereonce in Villains Lane together, and he at that time did briskly talkof diverse opinions. And then and there I heard him say that for hispart he did believe that there was no God. "But, " said he, "I canprofess one and be religious too, if the company I am in and thecircumstances of other things, " said he, "shall put me upon it. '"

Telltrue and Hatelies were next called. 

 _Telltrue. _ My Lord, I was formerly a great companion of the prisoner's, for the which I now repent me; and I have often heard him say, and with very great stomach-fulness, that he believed there was neither God, Angel, nor Spirit. 

 _Town Clerk. _ Where did you hear him say so?

 _Telltrue. _ In Blackmouth Lane and in Blasphemers Row, and in many other places besides. 

 _Town Clerk. _ Have you much knowledge of him?

 _Telltrue. _ I know him to be a Diabolonian, the son of a Diabolonian, and a horrible man to deny a Deity. His father's name was Never be Good, and he had more children than this Atheism. 

 _Town Clerk. _ Mr. Hatelies. Look upon the prisoner at the bar. Do you know him?

 _Hatelies. _ My Lord, this Atheism is one of the vilest wretches that ever I came near or had to do with in my life. I have heard him say that there is no God. I have heard him say that there is no world to come, no sin, nor punishment hereafter; and, moreover, I have heard him say that it was as good to go to a bad-house as to go to hear a sermon. 

 _Town Clerk. _ Where did you hear him say these things?

 _Hatelies. _ In Drunkards Row, just at Rascal Lane's End, at a house in which Mr. Impiety lived. 

The next prisoner was Mr. Lustings, who said that he was of high birthand 'used to pleasures and pastimes of greatness. ' He had always beenallowed to follow his own inclinations, and it seemed strange to himthat he should be called in question for things which not only he butevery man secretly or openly approved. 

When the evidence had been heard against him he admitted frankly itsgeneral correctness. 

'I, ' he said, 'was ever of opinion that the happiest life that a mancould live on earth was to keep himself back from nothing that hedesired; nor have I been false at any time to this opinion of mine, but have lived in the love of my notions all my days. Nor was I everso churlish, having found such sweetness in them myself, as to keepthe commendation of them from others. '

Then came Mr. Incredulity. He was charged with having encouraged thetown of Mansoul to resist Shaddai. Incredulity too had the courage ofhis opinions. 

'I know not Shaddai, ' he said. 'I love my old Prince. I thought it myduty to be true to my trust, and to do what I could to possess theminds of the men of Mansoul to do their utmost to resist strangers andforeigners, and with might to fight against them. Nor have I norshall I change my opinion for fear of trouble, though you at presentare possessed of place and power. '

Forget Good pleaded age and craziness. He was the son of a Diaboloniancalled Love Naught. He had uttered blasphemous speeches in AllbaseLane, next door to the sign of 'Conscience Seared with a Hot Iron;'also in Flesh Lane, right opposite the Church; also in NauseousStreet; also at the sign of the 'Reprobate, ' next door to the 'Descentinto the Pit. '

Falsepeace insisted that he was wrongly named in the indictment. Hisreal name was Peace, and he had always laboured for peace. When warbroke out between Shaddai and Diabolus, he had endeavoured toreconcile them, &c. Evidence was given that Falsepeace was his rightdesignation. His father's name was Flatter. His mother, before shemarried Flatter, was called Mrs. Sootheup. When her child was born shealways spoke of him as Falsepeace. She would call him twenty times aday, my little Falsepeace, my pretty Falsepeace, my sweet rogueFalsepeace! &c. 

The court rejected his plea. He was told 'that he had wickedlymaintained the town of Mansoul in rebellion against its king, in afalse, lying, and damnable peace, contrary to the law of Shaddai. Peace that was not a companion of truth and holiness, was an accursedand treacherous peace, and was grounded on a lie. '

No Truth had assisted with his own hands in pulling down the image ofShaddai. He had set up the horned image of the beast Diabolus at thesame place, and had torn and consumed all that remained of the laws ofthe king. 

Pitiless said his name was not Pitiless, but Cheer Up. He disliked tosee Mansoul inclined to melancholy, and that was all his offence. Pitiless, however, was proved to be the name of him. It was a habit ofthe Diabolonians to assume counterfeit appellations. Covetousnesscalled himself Good Husbandry; Pride called himself Handsome; and soon. 

Mr. Haughty's figure is admirably drawn in a few lines. Mr. Haughty, when arraigned, declared 'that he had carried himself bravely, notconsidering who was his foe, or what was the cause in which he wasengaged. It was enough for him if he fought like a man and came offvictorious. '

The jury, it seems, made no distinctions between opinions and acts. They did not hold that there was any divine right in man to think whathe pleased, and to say what he thought. Bunyan had suffered as amartyr; but it was as a martyr for truth, not for general licence. Thegenuine Protestants never denied that it was right to prohibit menfrom teaching lies, and to punish them if they disobeyed. Thepersecution of which they complained was the persecution of the honestman by the knave. 

All the prisoners were found guilty by a unanimous verdict. Even Mr. Moderate, who was one of the jury, thought a man must be wilfullyblind who wished to spare them. They were sentenced to be executed thenext day. Incredulity contrived to escape in the night. Search wasmade for him, but he was not to be found in Mansoul. He had fledbeyond the walls, and had joined Diabolus near Hell Gate. The rest, weare told, were crucified--crucified by the hands of the men of Mansoulthemselves. They fought and struggled at the place of execution soviolently that Shaddai's secretary was obliged to send assistance. But justice was done at last, and all the Diabolonians, exceptIncredulity, were thus made an end of. 

They were made an end of for a time only. Mansoul, by faith in Christ, and by the help of the Holy Spirit, had crucified all manner of sin inits members. It was faith that had now the victory. Unbelief had, unfortunately, escaped. It had left Mansoul for the time, and had goneto its master the Devil. But unbelief, being intellectual, had notbeen crucified with the sins of the flesh, and thus could come back, and undo the work which faith had accomplished. I do not know how farthis view approves itself to the more curious theologians. Unbeliefitself is said to be a product of the will; but an allegory must notbe cross-questioned too minutely. 

The cornucopia of spiritual blessings was now opened on Mansoul. Alloffences were fully and completely forgiven. A Holy Law and Testamentwas bestowed on the people for their comfort and consolation, with aportion of the grace which dwelt in the hearts of Shaddai and Emmanuelthemselves. They were to be allowed free access to Emmanuel's palaceat all seasons, he himself undertaking to hear them and redress theirgrievances, and they were empowered and enjoined to destroy allDiabolonians who might be found at any time within their precincts. 

These grants were embodied in a charter which was set up in goldletters on the castle door. Two ministers were appointed to carry onthe government--one from Shaddai's court; the other a native ofMansoul. The first was Shaddai's chief secretary, the Holy Spirit. He, if they were obedient and well-conducted, would be 'ten times betterto them than the whole world. ' But they were cautioned to be carefulof their behaviour, for if they grieved him he would turn againstthem, and the worst might then be looked for. The second minister wasthe old Recorder, Mr. Conscience, for whom, as was said, a new officehad been provided. The address of Emmanuel to Conscience in handinghis commission to him contains the essence of Bunyan's creed. 

'Thou must confine thyself to the teaching of moral virtues, to civiland natural duties. But thou must not attempt to presume to be arevealer of those high and supernatural mysteries that are kept closein the bosom of Shaddai, my father. For those things knows no man; norcan any reveal them but my father's secretary only. .. . In all high andsupernatural things, thou must go to him for information andknowledge. Wherefore keep low and be humble; and remember that theDiabolonians that kept not their first charge, but left their ownstanding, are now made prisoners in the pit. Be therefore content withthy station. I have made thee my father's vicegerent on earth in thethings of which I have made mention before. Take thou power to teachthem to Mansoul; yea, to impose them with whips and chastisements ifthey shall not willingly hearken to do thy commandments. .. . And onething more to my beloved Mr. Recorder, and to all the town of Mansoul. You must not dwell in nor stay upon anything of that which he hath incommission to teach you, as to your trust and expectation of the nextworld. Of the next world, I say; for I purpose to give another toMansoul when this is worn out. But for that you must wholly and solelyhave recourse to and make stay upon the doctrine of your teacher ofthe first order. Yea, Mr. Recorder himself must not look for life fromthat which he himself revealeth. His dependence for that must befounded in the doctrine of the other preacher. Let Mr. Recorder alsotake heed that he receive not any doctrine or points of doctrine thatare not communicated to him by his superior teacher, nor yet withinthe precincts of his own formal knowledge. '

Here, as a work of art, the 'Holy War' should have its natural end. Mansoul had been created pure and happy. The Devil plotted against it, took it, defiled it. The Lord of the town came to the rescue, drovethe Devil out, executed his officers and destroyed his works. Mansoul, according to Emmanuel's promise, was put into a better condition thanthat in which it was originally placed. New laws was drawn for it. Newministers were appointed to execute them. Vice had been destroyed. Unbelief had been driven away. The future lay serene and bright beforeit; all trials and dangers being safely passed. Thus we have all theparts of a complete drama--the fair beginning, the perils, thestruggles, and the final victory of good. At this point, for purposesof art, the curtain ought to fall. 

For purposes of art--not, however, for purposes of truth. For thedrama of Mansoul was still incomplete, and will remain incomplete tillman puts on another nature or ceases altogether to be. Christianitymight place him in a new relation to his Maker, and, according toBunyan, might expel the Devil out of his heart. But for practicalpurposes, as Mansoul too well knows, the Devil is still in possession. At intervals--as in the first centuries of the Christian era, for aperiod in the middle ages, and again in Protestant countries foranother period at the Reformation--mankind made noble efforts to drivehim out, and make the law of God into reality. But he comes backagain, and the world is again as it was. The vices again flourishwhich had been nailed to the Cross. The statesman finds it as littlepossible as ever to take moral right and justice for his rule inpolitics. The Evangelical preacher continues to confess and deplorethe desperate wickedness of the human heart. The Devil had beendeposed, but his faithful subjects have restored him to his throne. The stone of Sisyphus has been brought to the brow of the hill only torebound again to the bottom. The old battle has to be fought a secondtime, and, for all we can see, no closing victory will ever be in'this country of Universe. ' Bunyan knew this but too well. He tries toconceal it from himself by treating Mansoul alternately as the soul ofa single individual from which the Devil may be so expelled as neverdangerously to come back, or as the collective souls of the Christianworld. But, let him mean which of the two he will, the overpoweringfact remains that, from the point of view of his own theology, thegreat majority of mankind are the Devil's servants through life, andare made over to him everlastingly when their lives are over; whilethe human race itself continues to follow its idle amusements and itssinful pleasures as if no Emmanuel had ever come from heaven to rescueit. Thus the situation is incomplete, and the artistic treatmentnecessarily unsatisfactory--nay in a sense even worse thanunsatisfactory, for the attention of the reader, being reawakened bythe fresh and lively treatment of the subject, refuses to be satisfiedwith conventional explanatory commonplaces. His mind is puzzled; hisfaith wavers in its dependence upon a Being who can permit His work tobe spoilt, His power defied, His victories even, when won, madeuseless. 

Thus we take up the continuation of the 'Holy War' with a certainweariness and expectation of disappointment. The delivery of Mansoulhas not been finished after all, and, for all that we can see, thestruggle between Shaddai and Diabolus may go on to eternity. Emmanuel, before he withdraws his presence, warns the inhabitants that manyDiabolonians are still lurking about the outside walls of the town. [9]The names are those in St. Paul's list--Fornication, Adultery, Murder, Anger, Lasciviousness, Deceit, Evil Eye, Drunkenness, Revelling, Idolatry, Witchcraft, Variance, Emulation, Wrath, Strife, Sedition, Heresy. If all these were still abroad, not much had been gained bythe crucifixion of the Aldermen. For the time, it was true, they didnot show themselves openly. Mansoul after the conquest was clothed inwhite linen, and was in a state of peace and glory. But the linen wasspeedily soiled again. Mr. Carnal Security became a great person inMansoul. The Chief Secretary's functions fell early into abeyance. Hediscovered the Recorder and Lord Will be Will at dinner in Mr. CarnalSecurity's parlour, and ceased to communicate with them. Mr. GodlyFear sounded an alarm, and Mr. Carnal Security's house was burnt bythe mob; but Mansoul's backslidings grew worse. It had its fits ofrepentance, and petitioned Emmanuel, but the messenger could have noadmittance. The Lusts of the Flesh came out of their dens. They held ameeting in the room of Mr. Mischief, and wrote to invite Diabolus toreturn. Mr. Profane carried their letter to Hell Gate. Cerberus openedit, and a cry of joy ran through the prison. Beelzebub, Lucifer, Apollyon, and the rest of the devils came crowding to hear the news. Deadman's bell was rung. Diabolus addressed the assembly, putting themin hopes of recovering their prize. 'Nor need you fear, he said, thatif ever we get Mansoul again, we after that shall be cast out anymore. It is the law of that Prince that now they own, that if we getthem a second time they shall be ours for ever. ' He returned a warmanswer to his friend, 'which was subscribed as given at the Pit'smouth, by the joint consent of all the Princes of Darkness, by me, Diabolus. ' The plan was to corrupt Mansoul's morals, and three devilsof rank set off disguised to take service in the town, and make theirway into the households of Mr. Mind, Mr. Godly Fear, and Lord Will beWill. Godly Fear discovered his mistake and turned the devil out. Theother two established themselves successfully, and Mr. Profane wassoon at Hell Gate again to report progress. Cerberus welcomed him witha 'St. Mary, I am glad to see thee. ' Another council was held inPandemonium, and Diabolus was impatient to show himself again on thescene. Apollyon advised him not to be in a hurry. 'Let our friends, 'he said, 'draw Mansoul more and more into sin--there is nothing likesin to devour Mansoul;' but Diabolus would not wait for so slow aprocess, and raised an army of Doubters 'from the land of Doubting onthe confines of Hell Gate Hill. ' 'Doubt, ' Bunyan always admitted, hadbeen his own most dangerous enemy. 

[Footnote 9: The Flesh. ]

Happily the townspeople became aware of the peril which threatenedthem. Mr. Prywell, a great lover of Mansoul, overheard someDiabolonians talking about it at a place called Vile Hill. He carriedhis information to the Lord Mayor; the Recorder rang the Alarm Bell;Mansoul flew to penitence, held a day of fasting and humiliation, andprayed to Shaddai. The Diabolonians were hunted out, and all thatcould be found were killed. So far as haste and alarm would permit, Mansoul mended its ways. But on came the Doubting army, led byIncredulity, who had escaped crucifixion--'none was truer to Diabolusthan he'--on they came under their several captains, VocationDoubters, Grace Doubters, Salvation Doubters, &c. --figures now gone toshadow; then the deadliest foes of every English Puritan soul. Mansoulappealed passionately to the Chief Secretary; but the Chief Secretary'had been grieved, ' and would have nothing to say to it. The townlegions went out to meet the invaders with good words, Prayer, andsinging of Psalms. The Doubters replied with 'horrible objections, 'which were frightfully effective. Lord Reason was wounded in the headand the Lord Mayor in the eye; Mr. Mind received a shot in thestomach, and Conscience was hit near the heart; but the wounds werenot mortal. Mansoul had the best of it in the first engagement. Terrorwas followed by boasting and self-confidence; a night sally wasattempted--night being the time when the Doubters were strongest. Thesally failed, and the men of Mansoul were turned to rout. Diabolus'sarmy attacked Eargate, stormed the walls, forced their way into thetown, and captured the whole of it except the castle. Then 'Mansoulbecame a den of dragons, an emblem of Hell, a place of totaldarkness. ' 'Mr. Conscience's wounds so festered that he could have norest day or night. ' 'Now a man might have walked for days together inMansoul, and scarce have seen one in the town that looked like areligious man. Oh, the fearful state of Mansoul now!' 'Now everycorner swarmed with outlandish Doubters; Red Coats and Black Coatswalked the town by clusters, and filled the houses with hideousnoises, lying stories, and blasphemous language against Shaddai andhis Son. '

This is evidently meant for fashionable London in the time of CharlesII. Bunyan was loyal to the King. He was no believer in moralregeneration through political revolution. But none the less he couldsee what was under his eyes, and he knew what to think of it. 

All was not lost, for the castle still held out. The only hope was inEmmanuel, and the garrison proposed to petition again in spite of theill reception of their first messengers. Godly Fear reminded them thatno petition would be received which was not signed by the LordSecretary, and that the Lord Secretary would sign nothing which he hadnot himself drawn up. The Lord Secretary, when appealed to in theproper manner, no longer refused his assistance. Captain Credence flewup to Shaddai's court with the simple words that Mansoul renounced alltrust in its own strength and relied upon its Saviour. This time itsprayer would be heard. 

The devils meanwhile, triumphant though they were, discovered thatthey could have no permanent victory unless they could reduce thecastle. 'Doubters at a distance, ' Beelzebub said, 'are but likeobjections repelled by arguments. Can we but get them into the hold, and make them possessors of that, the day will be our own. ' The objectwas, therefore, to corrupt Mansoul at the heart. 

Then follows a very curious passage. Bunyan had still his eye onEngland, and had discerned the quarter from which her real dangerwould approach. Mansoul, the Devil perceived, 'was a market town, muchgiven to commerce. ' 'It would be possible to dispose of some of theDevil's wares there. ' The people would be filled full, and made rich, and would forget Emmanuel. 'Mansoul, ' they said, 'shall be so cumberedwith abundance, that they shall be forced to make their castle awarehouse. ' Wealth once made the first object of existence, 'Diabolus's gang will have easy entrance, and the castle will be ourown. '

Political economy was still sleeping in the womb of futurity. Diaboluswas unable to hasten its birth, and an experiment which Bunyan thoughtwould certainly have succeeded was not to be tried. The _Deus exMachinâ_ appeared with its flaming sword. The Doubting army was cut topieces, and Mansoul was saved. Again, however, the work wasimperfectly done. Diabolus, like the bad genius in the fairy tale, survived for fresh mischief. Diabolus flew off again to Hell Gate, andwas soon at the head of a new host; part composed of fugitive Doubterswhom he rallied, and part of a new set of enemies called _Bloodmen_, by whom we are to understand persecutors, 'a people from a land thatlay under the Dog Star. ' 'Captain Pope' was chief of the Bloodmen. Hisescutcheon 'was the stake, the flame, and good men in it. ' TheBloodmen had done Diabolus wonderful service in time past. 'Once theyhad forced Emmanuel out of the Kingdom of the Universe, and why, thought he, might they not do it again?'

Emmanuel did not this time go in person to the encounter. It wasenough to send his captains. The Doubters fled at the first onset. 'The Bloodmen, when they saw that no Emmanuel was in the field, concluded that no Emmanuel was in Mansoul. Wherefore, they, lookingupon what the captains did to be, as they called it, a fruit of theextravagancy of their wild and foolish fancies, rather despised themthan feared them. ' 'They proved, nevertheless, chicken-hearted, whenthey saw themselves matched and equalled. ' The chiefs were takenprisoners, and brought to trial like Atheism and his companions, andso, with an address from the Prince, the story comes to a close. 

Thus at last the 'Holy War' ends or seems to end. It is as if Bunyanhad wished to show that though the converted Christian was stillliable to the assaults of Satan, and even to be beaten down andovercome by him, his state was never afterwards so desperate as it hadbeen before the redemption, and that he had assistance ready at handto save him when near extremity. But the reader whose desire it isthat good shall triumph and evil be put to shame and overthrownremains but partially satisfied; and the last conflict and its issuesleave Mansoul still subject to fresh attacks. Diabolus was still atlarge. Carnal Sense broke prison and continued to lurk in the town. Unbelief 'was a nimble Jack: him they could never lay hold of, thoughthey attempted to do it often. ' Unbelief remained in Mansoul till thetime that Mansoul ceased to dwell in the country of the Universe; andwhere Unbelief was Diabolus would not be without a friend to open thegates to him. Bunyan says, indeed, that 'he was stoned as often as heshowed himself in the streets. ' He shows himself in the streets muchat his ease in these days of ours after two more centuries. 

Here lies the real weakness of the 'Holy War. ' It may be looked ateither as the war in the soul of each sinner that is saved, or as thewar for the deliverance of humanity. Under the first aspect it leavesout of sight the large majority of mankind who are not supposed to besaved, and out of whom, therefore, Diabolus is not driven at all. Under the other aspect the struggle is still unfinished; the last actof the drama has still to be played, and we know not what theconclusion is to be. 

To attempt to represent it, therefore, as a work of art, with abeginning, a middle, and an end, is necessarily a failure. Themysteries and contradictions which the Christian revelation leavesunsolved are made tolerable to us by Hope. We are prepared to find inreligion many things which we cannot understand; and difficulties donot perplex us so long as they remain in a form to which we areaccustomed. To emphasise the problem by offering it to us in anallegory, of which we are presumed to possess a key, serves only torevive Man Friday's question, or the old dilemma which neitherintellect nor imagination has ever dealt with successfully. 'Deus autnon vult tollere mala, aut nequit. Si non vult non est bonus. Sinequit non est omnipotens. ' It is wiser to confess with Butler that'there may be necessities in the nature of things which we are notacquainted with. '

CHAPTER IX. 

THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS. 

If the 'Holy War' is an unfit subject for allegorical treatment, the'Pilgrim's Progress' is no less perfectly adapted for it. The 'HolyWar' is a representation of the struggle of human nature with evil, and the struggle is left undecided. The 'Pilgrim's Progress' is arepresentation of the efforts of a single soul after holiness, whichhas its natural termination when the soul quits its mortal home andcrosses the dark river. Each one of us has his own life battle tofight out, his own sorrows and trials, his own failures or successes, and his own end. He wins the game, or he loses it. The account iswound up, and the curtain falls upon him. Here Bunyan had a materialas excellent in itself as it was exactly suited to his peculiargenius; and his treatment of the subject from his own point ofview--that of English Protestant Christianity--is unequalled and neverwill be equalled. I may say never, for in this world of change thepoint of view alters fast, and never continues in one stay. As we areswept along the stream of time, lights and shadows shift their places, mountain plateaus turn to sharp peaks, mountain ranges dissolve intovapour. The river which has been gliding deep and slow along theplain, leaps suddenly over a precipice and plunges foaming down asunless gorge. In the midst of changing circumstances the centralquestion remains the same--What am I? what is this world in which Iappear and disappear like a bubble? who made me? and what am I to do?Some answer or other the mind of man demands and insists on receiving. Theologian or poet offers at long intervals explanations which areaccepted as credible for a time. They wear out, and another follows, and then another. Bunyan's answer has served average English men andwomen for two hundred years, but no human being with Bunyan'sintellect and Bunyan's sincerity can again use similar language; andthe 'Pilgrim's Progress' is and will remain unique of its kind--animperishable monument of the form in which the problem presenteditself to a person of singular truthfulness, simplicity, and piety, who after many struggles accepted the Puritan creed as the adequatesolution of it. It was composed exactly at the time when it waspossible for such a book to come into being; the close of the periodwhen the Puritan formula was a real belief, and was about to changefrom a living principle into an intellectual opinion. So long as areligion is fully alive, men do not talk about it or make allegoriesabout it. They assume its truth as out of reach of question, and theysimply obey its precepts as they obey the law of the land. It becomesa subject of art and discourse only when men are unconsciously ceasingto believe, and therefore the more vehemently think that they believe, and repudiate with indignation the suggestion that doubt has found itsway into them. After this religion no longer governs their lives. Itgoverns only the language in which they express themselves, and theypreserve it eagerly, in the shape of elaborate observances or in theagreeable forms of art and literature. 

The 'Pilgrim's Progress' was written before the 'Holy War, ' whileBunyan was still in prison at Bedford, and was but half conscious ofthe gifts which he possessed. It was written for his ownentertainment, and therefore without the thought--so fatal in itseffects and so hard to be resisted--of what the world would say aboutit. It was written in compulsory quiet, when he was comparativelyunexcited by the effort of perpetual preaching, and the shapes ofthings could present themselves to him as they really were, undistorted by theological narrowness. It is the same story which hehas told of himself in 'Grace Abounding, ' thrown out into an objectiveform. 

He tells us himself, in a metrical introduction, the circumstancesunder which it was composed:--

 When at the first I took my pen in hand, Thus for to write, I did not understand That I at all should make a little book In such a mode. Nay, I had undertook To make another, which when almost done, Before I was aware I this begun. 

 And thus it was. --I writing of the way And race of saints in this our Gospel day, Fell suddenly into an Allegory About the journey and the way to glory In more than twenty things which I set down. This done, I twenty more had in my crown, And these again began to multiply, Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly. Nay then, thought I, if that you breed so fast I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last Should prove _ad Infinitum_, and eat out The book that I already am about. 

 Well, so I did; but yet I did not think To show to all the world my pen and ink In such a mode. I only thought to make, I knew not what. Nor did I undertake Merely to please my neighbours; no, not I. I did it mine own self to gratify. 

 Neither did I but vacant seasons spend In this my scribble; nor did I intend But to divert myself in doing this From worser thoughts which make me do amiss. Thus I set pen to paper with delight, And quickly had my thoughts in black and white; For having now my method by the end, Still as I pulled it came; and so I penned It down: until at last it came to be For length and breadth the bigness which you see. 

 Well, when I had thus put my ends together, I showed them others, that I might see whether They would condemn them or them justify. And some said, Let them live; some, Let them die; Some said, John, print it; others said, Not so; Some said it might do good; others said, No. 

 Now was I in a strait, and did not see Which was the best thing to be done by me. At last I thought, since you are thus divided, I print it will; and so the case decided. 

The difference of opinion among Bunyan's friends is easily explicable. The allegoric representation of religion to men profoundly convincedof the truth of it might naturally seem light and fantastic, and thebreadth of the conception could not please the narrow sectarians whoknew no salvation beyond the lines of their peculiar formulas. ThePilgrim though in a Puritan dress is a genuine man. His experience isso truly human experience, that Christians of every persuasion canidentify themselves with him; and even those who regard Christianityitself as but a natural outgrowth of the conscience and intellect, and yet desire to live nobly and make the best of themselves, canrecognise familiar foot-prints in every step of Christian's journey. Thus the 'Pilgrim's Progress' is a book, which, when once read, cannever be forgotten. We too, every one of us, are pilgrims on the sameroad, and images and illustrations come back upon us from so faithfulan itinerary, as we encounter similar trials, and learn for ourselvesthe accuracy with which Bunyan has described them. There is nooccasion to follow a story minutely which memory can so universallysupply. I need pause only at a few spots which are too charming topass by. 

How picturesque and vivid are the opening lines:

'As I walked through the wilderness of this world I lighted on acertain place where there was a den, [10] and I laid me down in thatplace to sleep, and as I slept I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, andbehold I saw a man, a man clothed in rags, standing with his face fromhis own home with a book in his hand, and a great burden upon hisback. '

[Footnote 10: The Bedford Prison. ]

The man is Bunyan himself as we see him in 'Grace Abounding. ' His sinsare the burden upon his back. He reads his book and weeps andtrembles. He speaks of his fears to his friends and kindred. Theythink 'some frenzy distemper has got into his head. ' He meets a man inthe fields whose name is Evangelist. Evangelist tells him to flee fromthe City of Destruction. He shows him the way by which he must go, andpoints to the far-off light which will guide him to the wicket-gate. He sets off, and his neighbours of course think him mad. The worldalways thinks men mad who turn their backs upon it. Obstinate andPliable (how well we know them both!) follow to persuade him toreturn. Obstinate talks practical common sense to him, and as it hasno effect, gives him up as a fantastical fellow. Pliable thinks thatthere may be something in what he says, and offers to go with him. 

Before they can reach the wicket-gate, they fall into a 'miry slough. 'Who does not know the miry slough too? When a man begins for the firsttime to think seriously about himself, the first thing that risesbefore him is a consciousness of his miserable past life. Amendmentseems to be desperate. He thinks it is too late to change for anyuseful purpose, and he sinks into despondency. 

Pliable finding the road disagreeable has soon had enough of it. Hescrambles out of the slough 'on the side which was nearest to his ownhouse' and goes home. Christian struggling manfully is lifted out 'bya man whose name was Help, ' and goes on upon his journey, but theburden on his back weighs him down. He falls in with Mr. WorldlyWiseman who lives in the town of Carnal Policy. Mr. Worldly Wiseman, who looks like a gentleman, advises him not to think about his sins. If he has done wrong he must alter his life and do better for thefuture. He directs him to a village called Morality, where he willfind a gentleman well known in those parts, who will take his burdenoff--Mr. Legality. Either Mr. Legality will do it himself, or it canbe done equally well by his pretty young son, Mr. Civility. 

The way to a better life does not lie in a change of outward action, but in a changed heart. Legality soon passes into civility, accordingto the saying that vice loses half its evil when it loses itsgrossness. Bunyan would have said that the poison was the more deadlyfrom being concealed. Christian after a near escape is set straightagain. He is admitted into the wicket-gate and is directed how he isto go forward. He asks if he may not lose his way. He is answered Yes, 'There are many ways (that) butt down on this and they are crooked andwide. But thus thou mayest know the right from the wrong, that onlybeing straight and narrow. '

Good people often suppose that when a man is once 'converted, ' as theycall it, and has entered on a religious life, he will find everythingmade easy. He has turned to Christ, and in Christ he will find restand pleasantness. The path of duty is unfortunately not strewed withflowers at all. The primrose road leads to the other place. As on allother journeys, to persevere is the difficulty. The pilgrim's feetgrow sorer the longer he walks. His lower nature follows him like ashadow watching opportunities to trip him up, and ever appearing insome new disguise. In the way of comfort he is allowed only certainresting places, quiet intervals of peace when temptation is absent, and the mind can gather strength and encouragement from a sense of theprogress which it has made. 

The first of these resting places at which Christian arrives is the'Interpreter's House. ' This means, I conceive, that he arrives at aright understanding of the objects of human desire as they really are. He learns to distinguish there between passion and patience, passionwhich demands immediate gratification, and patience which can wait andhope. He sees the action of grace on the heart, and sees the Devillabouring to put it out. He sees the man in the iron cage who was oncea flourishing professor, but had been tempted away by pleasure and hadsinned against light. He hears a dream too--one of Bunyan's own earlydreams, but related as by another person. The Pilgrim himself wasbeyond the reach of such uneasy visions. But it shows how profoundlythe terrible side of Christianity had seized on Bunyan's imaginationand how little he was able to forget it. 

'This night as I was in my sleep I dreamed, and behold the heavensgrew exceeding black: also it thundered and lightened in most fearfulwise, that it put me into an agony; so I looked up in my dream and sawthe clouds rack at an unusual rate, upon which I heard a great soundof a trumpet, and saw also a man sit upon a cloud attended with thethousands of heaven. They were all in a flaming fire, and the heavenalso was in a burning flame. I heard then a voice, saying, Arise yedead and come to judgment; and with that the rocks rent, the gravesopened, and the dead that were therein came forth. Some of them wereexceeding glad and looked upward, some sought to hide themselves underthe mountains. Then I saw the man that sate upon the cloud open thebook and bid the world draw near. Yet there was, by reason of a fierceflame that issued out and came from before him, a convenient distancebetwixt him and them, as betwixt the judge and the prisoners at thebar. I heard it also proclaimed to them that attended on the man thatsate on the cloud, Gather together the tares, the chaff, and thestubble, and cast them into the burning lake. And with that thebottomless pit opened just whereabouts I stood, out of the mouth ofwhich there came in an abundant manner smoke and coals of fire withhideous noises. It was also said to the same persons, Gather the wheatinto my garner. And with that I saw many catched up and carried awayinto the clouds, but I was left behind. I also sought to hide myself, but I could not, for the man that sate upon the cloud still kept hiseye upon me. My sins also came into my mind, and my conscience didaccuse me on every side. I thought the day of judgment was come and Iwas not ready for it. '

The resting time comes to an end. The Pilgrim gathers himselftogether, and proceeds upon his way. He is not to be burdened for everwith the sense of his sins. It fell from off his back at the sight ofthe cross. Three shining ones appear and tell him that his sins areforgiven; they take off his rags and provide him with a new suit. 

He now encounters fellow-travellers; and the seriousness of the story isrelieved by adventures and humorous conversations. At the bottom of a hillhe finds three gentlemen asleep, 'a little out of the way. ' These wereSimple, Sloth, and Presumption. He tries to rouse them, but does notsucceed. Presently two others are seen tumbling over the wall into theNarrow Way. They are come from the land of Vain Glory, and are calledFormalist and Hypocrisy. Like the Pilgrim, they are bound for Mount Zion;but the wicket-gate was 'too far about, ' and they had come by a short cut. 'They had custom for it a thousand years and more; and custom being of solong standing would be admitted legal by any impartial judge. ' Whetherright or wrong they insist that they are in the way, and no more is to besaid. But they are soon out of it again. The hill is the hill Difficulty, and the road parts into three. Two go round the bottom, as modern engineerswould make them. The other rises straight over the top. Formalist andHypocrisy choose the easy ways, and are heard of no more. Pilgrim climbsup, and after various accidents comes to the second resting-place, thePalace Beautiful, built by the Lord of the Hill to entertain strangers in. The recollections of Sir Bevis of Southampton furnished Bunyan with hisframework. Lions guard the court. Fair ladies entertain him as if he hadbeen a knight-errant in quest of the Holy Grail. The ladies, of course, areall that they ought to be: the Christian graces--Discretion, Prudence, Piety, and Charity. He tells them his history. They ask him if he hasbrought none of his old belongings with him. He answers yes; but greatlyagainst his will: his inward and carnal cogitations, with which hiscountrymen, as well as himself, were so much delighted. Only in goldenhours they seemed to leave him. Who cannot recognise the truth of this? Whohas not groaned over the follies and idiocies that cling to us like thedoggerel verses that hang about our memories? The room in which he sleepsis called Peace. In the morning he is shown the curiosities, chieflyScripture relics, in the palace. He is taken to the roof, from which hesees far off the outlines of the Delectable Mountains. Next, the ladiescarry him to the armoury, and equip him for the dangers which lie nextbefore him. He is to go down into the Valley of Humiliation, and passthence through the Valley of the Shadow of Death. 

Bunyan here shows the finest insight. To some pilgrims the Valley ofHumiliation was the pleasantest part of the journey. Mr. Feeblemind, in the second part of the story, was happier there than anywhere. ButChristian is Bunyan himself; and Bunyan had a stiff self-willednature, and had found his spirit the most stubborn part of him. Downhere he encounters Apollyon himself, 'straddling quite over the wholebreadth of the way'--a more effective devil than the Diabolus of the'Holy War. ' He fights him for half-a-day, is sorely wounded in head, hand, and foot, and has a near escape of being pressed to death. Apollyon spreads his bat wings at last, and flies away; but thereremains the Valley of the Shadow of Death, the dark scene of lonelyhorrors. Two men meet him on the borders of it. They tell him thevalley is full of spectres; and they warn him, if he values his life, to go back. Well Bunyan knew these spectres, those dreary misgivingsthat he was toiling after an illusion; that 'good' and 'evil' had nomeaning except on earth, and for man's convenience; and that hehimself was but a creature of a day, allowed a brief season of what iscalled existence, and then to pass away and be as if he had neverbeen. It speaks well for Bunyan's honesty that this state of mindwhich religious people generally call wicked is placed directly in hisPilgrim's path, and he is compelled to pass through it. In the valley, close at the road-side, there is a pit, which is one of the mouths ofhell. A wicked spirit whispers to him as he goes by. He imagines thatthe thought had proceeded out of his own heart. 

The sky clears when he is beyond the gorge. Outside it are the caveswhere the two giants, Pope and Pagan, had lived in old times. Paganhad been dead many a day. Pope was still living, 'but he had grown socrazy and stiff in his joints that he could now do little more thansit in his cave's mouth, grinning at pilgrims as they went by, andbiting his nails because he could not come at them. '

Here he overtakes 'Faithful, ' a true pilgrim like himself. Faithfulhad met with trials; but his trials have not resembled Christian's. Christian's difficulties, like Bunyan's own, had been all spiritual. 'The lusts of the flesh' seem to have had no attraction for him. Faithful had been assailed by 'Wanton, ' and had been obliged to flyfrom her. He had not fallen into the slough; but he had been beguiledby the Old Adam, who offered him one of his daughters for a wife. Inthe Valley of the Shadow of Death he had found sunshine all the way. Doubts about the truth of religion had never troubled the simplernature of the good Faithful. 

Mr. Talkative is the next character introduced, and is one of the bestfigures which Bunyan has drawn; Mr. Talkative, with Scripture at hisfingers' ends, and perfect master of all doctrinal subtleties, ready'to talk of things heavenly or things earthly, things moral or thingsevangelical, things sacred or things profane, things past or things tocome, things foreign or things at home, things essential or thingscircumstantial, provided that all be done to our profit. '

This gentleman would have taken in Faithful, who was awed by such arush of volubility. Christian has seen him before, knows him well, andcan describe him. 'He is the son of one Saywell. He dwelt in PratingRow. He is for any company and for any talk. As he talks now with youso will he talk when on the ale-bench. The more drink he hath in hiscrown, the more of these things he hath in his mouth. Religion hath noplace in his heart, or home, or conversation; all that he hath liethin his tongue, and his religion is to make a noise therewith. '

The elect, though they have ceased to be of the world, are still inthe world. They are still part of the general community of mankind, and share, whether they like it or not, in the ordinary activities oflife. Faithful and Christian have left the City of Destruction. Theyhave shaken off from themselves all liking for idle pleasures. Theynevertheless find themselves in their journey at Vanity Fair, 'a fairset up by Beelzebub 5000 years ago. ' Trade of all sorts went on atVanity Fair, and people of all sorts were collected there: cheats, fools, asses, knaves, and rogues. Some were honest, many weredishonest; some lived peaceably and uprightly, others robbed, murdered, seduced their neighbours' wives, or lied and perjuredthemselves. Vanity Fair was European society as it existed in the daysof Charles II. Each nation was represented. There was British Row, French Row, and Spanish Row. 'The wares of Rome and her merchandisewere greatly promoted at the fair, only the English nation with someothers had taken a dislike to them. ' The pilgrims appear on the sceneas the Apostles appeared at Antioch and Rome, to tell the people thatthere were things in the world of more consequence than money andpleasure. The better sort listen. Public opinion in general calls themfools and Bedlamites. The fair becomes excited, disturbances arefeared, and the authorities send to make inquiries. Authoritiesnaturally disapprove of novelties; and Christian and Faithful arearrested, beaten, and put in the cage. Their friends insist that theyhave done no harm, that they are innocent strangers teaching only whatwill make men better instead of worse. A riot follows. The authoritiesdetermine to make an example of them, and the result is theever-memorable trial of the two pilgrims. They are brought in ironsbefore my Lord Hategood, charged with 'disturbing the trade of thetown, creating divisions, and making converts to their opinions incontempt of the law of the Prince. '

Faithful begins with an admission which would have made it difficultfor Hategood to let him off, for he says that the Prince they talkedof, being Beelzebub, the enemy of the Lord, he defied him and all hisangels. Three witnesses were then called: Envy, Superstition, andPickthank. 

Envy says that Faithful regards neither prince nor people, but doesall he can to possess men with disloyal notions, which he callprinciples of faith and holiness. 

Superstition says that he knows little of him, but has heard him saythat 'our religion is naught, and such by which no man can please God, from which saying his Lordship well knows will follow that we are yetin our sins, and finally shall be damned. '

Pickthank deposes that he has heard Faithful rail on Beelzebub, andspeak contemptuously of his honourable friends my Lord Old Man, myLord Carnal Delight, my Lord Luxurious, my Lord Desire of Vain Glory, my Lord Lechery, Sir Having Greedy, and the rest of the nobility, besides which he has railed against his lordship on the bench himself, calling him an ungodly villain. 

The evidence was perfectly true, and the prisoner, when called on forhis defence, confirmed it. He says (avoiding the terms in which he wassaid to rail and the like) that 'the Prince of the town, with all therabblement of his attendants by this gentleman named, are more fit fora being in hell than in this town or country. '

Lord Hategood has been supposed to have been drawn from one or otherof Charles II. 's judges, perhaps from either Twisden or Chester, whohad the conversation with Bunyan's wife. But it is difficult to seehow either one or the other could have acted otherwise than they did. Faithful might be quite right. Hell might be and probably was theproper place for Beelzebub, and for all persons holding authorityunder him. But as a matter of fact, a form of society did for somepurpose or other exist, and had been permitted to exist for 5000years, owning Beelzebub's sovereignty. It must defend itself, or mustcease to be, and it could not be expected to make no effort atself-preservation. Faithful had come to Vanity Fair to make arevolution--a revolution extremely desirable, but one which it wasunreasonable to expect the constituted authorities to allow to goforward. It was not a case of false witness. A prisoner who admitsthat he has taught the people that their Prince ought to be in hell, and has called the judge an ungodly villain, cannot complain if he isaccused of preaching rebellion. 

Lord Hategood charges the jury, and explains the law. 'There was anAct made, ' he says, 'in the days of Pharaoh the Great, servant to ourPrince, that lest those of a contrary religion should multiply andgrow too strong for him, their males should be thrown into the river. There was also an Act made in the days of Nebuchadnezzar the Great, that whoever would not fall down and worship his golden image shouldbe thrown into a fiery furnace. There was also an Act made in the daysof Darius that whoso for some time called upon any God but him shouldbe cast into the lion's den. Now the substance of these laws thisrebel hath broken, not only in thought (which is not to be borne), butalso in word and deed, which must, therefore, be intolerable. For thatof Pharaoh, his law was made upon a supposition to prevent mischief, no crime being yet apparent. For the second and third you see hisdisputations against our religion, and for the treason he hathconfessed he deserveth to die the death. '

'Then went the jury out, whose names were Mr. Blindman, Mr. Nogood, Mr. Malice, Mr. Lovelust, Mr. Liveloose, Mr. Heady, Mr. Highmind, Mr. Enmity, Mr. Liar, Mr. Cruelty, Mr. Hatelight, and Mr. Implacable, whoevery one gave in his private verdict against him among themselves, and afterwards unanimously concluded to bring him in guilty before thejudge. And first, Mr. Blindman, the foreman, said: I see clearly thatthis man is a heretic. Then said Mr. No Good, Away with such a fellowfrom the earth. Aye, said Mr. Malice, I hate the very looks of him. Then said Mr. Lovelust, I could never endure him. Nor I, said Mr. Liveloose, for he would always be condemning my way. Hang him, hanghim, said Mr. Heady. A sorry scrub, said Mr. Highmind. My heart risethagainst him, said Mr. Enmity. He is a rogue, said Mr. Liar. Hanging istoo good for him, said Mr. Cruelty. Let us despatch him out of theway, said Mr. Hatelight. Then, said Mr. Implacable, might I have allthe world given me, I could not be reconciled to him; therefore, letus forthwith bring him in guilty of death. '

Abstract qualities of character were never clothed in more substantialflesh and blood than these jurymen. Spenser's knights in the 'FairyQueen' are mere shadows to them. Faithful was, of course, condemned, scourged, buffeted, lanced in his feet with knives, stoned, stabbed, at last burned, and spared the pain of travelling further on thenarrow road. A chariot and horses were waiting to bear him through theclouds, the nearest way to the Celestial Gate. Christian, who it seemshad been remanded, contrives to escape. He is joined by Hopeful, aconvert whom he has made in the town, and they pursue their journey incompany. A second person is useful dramatically, and Hopeful takesFaithful's place. Leaving Vanity Fair, they are again on the Pilgrim'sroad. There they encounter Mr. Bye-ends. Bye-ends comes from the townof Plain-Speech, where he has a large kindred, My Lord Turnabout, myLord Timeserver, Mr. Facing-both-ways, Mr. Two Tongues, the parson ofthe parish. Bye-ends himself was married to a daughter of LadyFeignings. Bunyan's invention in such things was inexhaustible. 

They have more trials of the old kind with which Bunyan himself was sofamiliar. They cross the River of Life and even drink at it, yet forall this and directly after, they stray into Bye Path Meadow. Theylose themselves in the grounds of Doubting Castle, and are seized uponby Giant Despair--still a prey to doubt--still uncertain whetherreligion be not a dream, even after they have fought with wild beastsin Vanity Fair and have drunk of the water of life. Nowhere doesBunyan show better how well he knew the heart of man. Christian eventhinks of killing himself in the dungeons of Doubting Castle. Hopefulcheers him up, they break their prison, recover the road again, andarrive at the Delectable Mountains in Emmanuel's own land. There itmight be thought the danger would be over, but it is not so. Even inEmmanuel's Land there is a door in the side of a hill which is abyeway to hell, and beyond Emmanuel's Land is the country of conceit, a new and special temptation for those who think that they are nearsalvation. Here they encounter 'a brisk lad of the neighbourhood, 'needed soon after for a particular purpose, who is a good liver, praysdevoutly, fasts regularly, pays tithes punctually, and hopes thateveryone will get to heaven by the religion which he professes, provided he fears God and tries to do his duty. The name of this brisklad is Ignorance. Leaving him, they are caught in a net by Flatterer, and are smartly whipped by 'a shining one, ' who lets them out of it. False ideas and vanity lay them open once more to their most dangerousenemy. They meet a man coming towards them from the direction in whichthey are going. They tell him that they are on the way to Mount Zion. He laughs scornfully and answers:--

'There is no such place as you dream of in all the world. When I wasat home in my own country, I heard as you now affirm, and from hearingI went out to see; and have been seeking this city these twenty years, but I find no more of it than I did the first day I went out. I amgoing back again and will seek to refresh myself with things which Ithen cast away for hopes of that which I now see is not. '

Still uncertainty--even on the verge of eternity--strange, doubtless, and reprehensible to Right Reverend persons, who never 'cast away'anything; to whom a religious profession has been a highway topleasure and preferment, who live in the comfortable assurance that asit has been in this life so it will be in the next. Only moralobliquity of the worst kind could admit a doubt about so excellent areligion as this. But Bunyan was not a Right Reverend. Christianityhad brought him no palaces and large revenues, and a place among thegreat of the land. If Christianity was not true his whole life wasfolly and illusion, and the dread that it might be so clung to hisbelief like its shadow. 

The way was still long. The pilgrims reach the Enchanted Ground andare drowsy and tired. Ignorance comes up with them again. He talksmuch about himself. He tells them of the good motives that come intohis mind and comfort him as he walks. His heart tells him that he hasleft all for God and Heaven. His belief and his life agree together, and he is humbly confident that his hopes are well-founded. When theyspeak to him of Salvation by Faith and Conviction by Sin, he cannotunderstand what they mean. As he leaves them they are reminded of oneTemporary, 'once a forward man in religion. ' Temporary dwelt inGraceless, 'a town two miles from Honesty, next door to one Turnback. 'He 'was going on pilgrimage, but became acquainted with one Save Self, and was never more heard of. '

These figures all mean something. They correspond in part to Bunyan'sown recollection of his own trials. Partly he is indulging his humourby describing others who were more astray than he was. It was over atlast: the pilgrims arrive at the land of Beulah, the beautiful sunsetafter the storms were all past. Doubting Castle can be seen no more, and between them and their last rest there remains only the deep riverover which there is no bridge, the river of Death. On the hill beyondthe waters glitter the towers and domes of the Celestial City; butthrough the river they must first pass, and they find it deeper orshallower according to the strength of their faith. They go through, Hopeful feeling the bottom all along; Christian still in character, not without some horror, and frightened by hobgoblins. On the otherside they are received by angels, and are carried to their final home, to live for ever in the Prince's presence. Then follows the onlypassage which the present writer reads with regret in this admirablebook. It is given to the self-righteous Ignorance who, doubtless, hadbeen provoking with 'his good motives that comforted him as hewalked;' but Bunyan's zeal might have been satisfied by inflicting alighter chastisement upon him. He comes up to the river. He crosseswithout the difficulties which attended Christian and Hopeful. 'Ithappened that there was then at the place one Vain Hope, a Ferryman, that with his boat' (some viaticum or priestly absolution) 'helped himover. ' He ascends the hill, and approaches the city, but no angels arein attendance, 'neither did any man meet him with the leastencouragement. ' Above the gate there was the verse written--'Blessedare they that do His commandments that they may have right to the Treeof Life, and may enter in through the gate into the city. ' Bunyan, whobelieved that no man could keep the commandments, and had no right toanything but damnation, must have introduced the words as if to mockthe unhappy wretch who, after all, had tried to keep the commandmentsas well as most people, and was seeking admittance, with a consciencemoderately at ease. 'He was asked by the men that looked over thegate--Whence come you and what would you have?' He answered, 'I haveeaten and drunk in the presence of the King, and he has taught in ourstreet. ' Then they asked him for his certificate, that they might goin and show it to the king. So he fumbled in his bosom for one andfound none. Then said they, 'Have you none?' But the man answerednever a word. So they told the king but he would not come down to seehim, but commanded the two shining ones that conducted Christian andHopeful to the city to go out and take Ignorance and bind him hand andfoot, and have him away. Then they took him up and carried him throughthe air to the door in the side of the hill, and put him in there. 'Then, ' so Bunyan ends, 'I saw that there was a way to Hell even fromthe gates of Heaven, as well as from the City of Destruction; so Iawoke, and behold it was a dream!'

Poor Ignorance! Hell--such a place as Bunyan imagined Hell to be--wasa hard fate for a miserable mortal who had failed to comprehend thetrue conditions of justification. We are not told that he was a vainboaster. He could not have advanced so near to the door of Heaven ifhe had not been really a decent man, though vain and silly. Behold, itwas a dream! The dreams which come to us when sleep is deep on thesoul may be sent direct from some revealing power. When we are nearwaking, the supernatural insight may be refracted through humantheory. 

Charity will hope that the vision of Ignorance cast bound into themouth of Hell, when he was knocking at the gate of Heaven, camethrough Homer's ivory gate, and that Bunyan here was a mistakeninterpreter of the spiritual tradition. The fierce inferences ofPuritan theology are no longer credible to us; yet nobler men than thePuritans are not to be found in all English history. It will be wellif the clearer sight which enables us to detect their errors, enablesus also to recognise their excellence. 

The second part of the 'Pilgrim's Progress, ' like most second parts, is but a feeble reverberation of the first. It is comforting, nodoubt, to know that Christian's wife and children were not left totheir fate in the City of Destruction. But Bunyan had given us allthat he had to tell about the journey, and we do not need a repetitionof it. Of course there, are touches of genius. No writing of Bunyan'scould be wholly without it. But the rough simplicity is gone, andinstead of it there is a tone of sentiment which is almost mawkish. Giants, dragons, and angelic champions carry us into a spurious fairyland, where the knight-errant is a preacher in disguise. Fair ladiesand love matches, however decorously chastened, suit ill with thesternness of the mortal conflict between the soul and sin. Christianaand her children are tolerated for the pilgrim's sake to whom theybelong. Had they appealed to our interest on their own merits, wewould have been contented to wish them well through theirdifficulties, and to trouble ourselves no further about them. 

CHAPTER X. 

LAST DAYS AND DEATH. 

Little remains to be told of Bunyan's concluding years. No friendspreserved his letters. No diaries of his own survive to gratifycuriosity. Men truly eminent think too meanly of themselves or theirwork to care much to be personally remembered. He lived for sixteenyears after his release from the gaol, and those years were spent inthe peaceful discharge of his congregational duties, in writing, invisiting the scattered members of the Baptist communion, or inpreaching in the villages and woods. His outward circumstances wereeasy. He had a small but well-provided house in Bedford, into which hecollected rare and valuable pieces of old furniture and plate, andother articles--presents, probably, from those who admired him. Hevisited London annually to preach in the Baptist churches. The'Pilgrim's Progress' spread his fame over England, over Europe, andover the American settlements. It was translated into many languages;and so catholic was its spirit, that it was adapted with a fewalterations for the use even of the Catholics themselves. Heabstained, as he had done steadily throughout his life, from allinterference with politics, and the Government in turn never againmeddled with him. He even received offers of promotion to largerspheres of action which might have tempted a meaner nature. But hecould never be induced to leave Bedford, and there he quietly stayedthrough changes of ministry, Popish plots, and Monmouth rebellions, while the terror of a restoration of Popery was bringing on theRevolution; careless of kings and cabinets, and confident that GiantPope had lost his power for harm, and thenceforward could only bitehis nails at the passing pilgrims. Once only, after the failure of theExclusion Bill, he seems to have feared that violent measures mightagain be tried against him. It is even said that he was threatenedwith arrest, and it was on this occasion that he made over hisproperty to his wife. The policy of James II. , however, transparentlytreacherous though it was, for the time gave security to theNonconformist congregations, and in the years which immediatelypreceded the final expulsion of the Stuarts, liberty of conscience wasunder fewer restrictions than it had been in the most rigorous days ofthe Reformation, or under the Long Parliament itself. Thus the anxietypassed away, and Bunyan was left undisturbed to finish his earthlywork. 

He was happy in his family. His blind child, for whom he had been sotouchingly anxious, had died while he was in prison. His otherchildren lived and did well; and his brave companion, who had spokenso stoutly for him to the judges, continued at his side. His health, it was said, had suffered from his confinement; but the only seriousillness which we hear of, was an attack of 'sweating sickness, ' whichcame upon him in 1687, and from which he never thoroughly recovered. He was then fifty-nine, and in the next year he died. 

His end was characteristic. It was brought on by exposure when he wasengaged in an act of charity. A quarrel had broken out in a family atReading with which Bunyan had some acquaintance. A father had takenoffence at his son, and threatened to disinherit him. Bunyan undertooka journey on horseback from Bedford to Reading in the hope ofreconciling them. He succeeded, but at the cost of his life. Returningby London he was overtaken on the road by a storm of rain, and waswetted through before he could find shelter. The chill, falling on aconstitution already weakened by illness, brought on fever. He wasable to reach the house of Mr. Strudwick, one of his London friends;but he never left his bed afterwards. In ten days he was dead. Theexact date is uncertain. It was towards the end of August 1688, between two and three months before the landing of King William. Hewas buried in Mr. Strudwick's vault in the Dissenters' burying-groundat Bunhill Fields. His last words were 'Take me, for I come to Thee. '

So ended, at the age of sixty, a man who, if his importance may bemeasured by the influence which he has exerted over succeedinggenerations, must be counted among the most extraordinary persons whomEngland has produced. It has been the fashion to dwell on thedisadvantages of his education, and to regret the carelessness ofnature which brought into existence a man of genius in a tinker's hutat Elstow. Nature is less partial than she appears, and all situationsin life have their compensations along with them. 

Circumstances, I should say, qualified Bunyan perfectly well for thework which he had to do. If he had gone to school, as he said, withAristotle and Plato; if he had been broken in at a university and beenturned into a bishop; if he had been in any one of the learnedprofessions, he might easily have lost or might have never known thesecret of his powers. He was born to be the Poet-apostle of theEnglish middle classes, imperfectly educated like himself; and, beingone of themselves, he had the key of their thoughts and feelings inhis own heart. Like nine out of ten of his countrymen, he came intothe world with no fortune but his industry. He had to work with hishands for his bread, and to advance by the side of his neighboursalong the road of common business. His knowledge was scanty, though ofrare quality. He knew his Bible probably by heart. He had studiedhistory in Foxe's 'Martyrs, ' but nowhere else that we can trace. Therest of his mental furniture was gathered at first hand from hisconscience, his life, and his occupations. Thus every idea which hereceived falling into a soil naturally fertile, sprouted up fresh, vigorous, and original. He confessed to have felt--(as a man of hispowers could hardly have failed to feel)--continued doubts about theBible and the reality of the Divine government. It has been well saidthat when we look into the world to find the image of God, it is as ifwe were to stand before a looking-glass expecting to see ourselvesreflected there, and to see nothing. Education scarcely improves ourperception in this respect; and wider information, wider acquaintancewith the thoughts of other men in other ages and countries, might aseasily have increased his difficulties as have assisted him inovercoming them. He was not a man who could have contented himselfwith compromises and half-convictions. No force could have subdued himinto a decent Anglican divine--a 'Mr. Two Tongues, parson of theparish. ' He was passionate and thorough-going. The authority ofconscience presented itself to him only in the shape of religiousobligation. Religion once shaken into a 'perhaps, ' would have had noexistence to him; and it is easy to conceive a university-bred Bunyan, an intellectual meteor, flaring uselessly across the sky anddisappearing in smoke and nothingness. 

Powerful temperaments are necessarily intense. Bunyan, born a tinker, had heard right and wrong preached to him in the name of the Christiancreed. He concluded after a struggle that Christianity was true, andon that conviction he built himself up into what he was. It might havebeen the same perhaps with Burns had he been born a century before. Given Christianity as an unquestionably true account of the situationand future prospects of man, the feature of it most appalling to theimagination is that hell-fire--a torment exceeding the most horriblewhich fancy can conceive, and extending into eternity--awaits theenormous majority of the human race. The dreadful probability seizedhold on the young Bunyan's mind. He shuddered at it when awake. In thevisions of the night it came before him in the tremendous details ofthe dreadful reality. It became the governing thought in his nature. 

Such a belief, if it does not drive a man to madness, will at leastcure him of trifling. It will clear his mind of false sentiment, takethe nonsense out of him, and enable him to resist vulgar temptation asnothing else will. The danger is that the mind may not bear thestrain, that the belief itself may crack and leave nothing. Bunyan washardly tried, but in him the belief did not crack. It spread over hischaracter. It filled him first with terror; then with a loathing ofsin, which entailed so awful a penalty; then, as his personal fearswere allayed by the recognition of Christ, it turned to tendernessand pity. 

There was no fanaticism in Bunyan; nothing harsh or savage. Hisnatural humour perhaps saved him. His few recorded sayings all referto the one central question; but healthy seriousness often bestexpresses itself in playful quaintness. He was once going somewheredisguised as a waggoner. He was overtaken by a constable who had awarrant to arrest him. The constable asked him if he knew that devilof a fellow Bunyan. 'Know him!' Bunyan said. 'You might call him adevil if you knew him as well as I once did. '

A Cambridge student was trying to show him what a divine thing reasonwas--'reason, the chief glory of man which distinguished him from abeast, ' &c. , &c. 

Bunyan growled out: 'Sin distinguishes man from beast. Is sin divine?'

He was extremely tolerant in his terms of Church membership. Heoffended the stricter part of his congregation by refusing even tomake infant baptism a condition of exclusion. The only persons withwhom he declined to communicate were those whose lives were openlyimmoral. His chief objection to the Church of England was theadmission of the ungodly to the Sacraments. He hated party titles andquarrels upon trifles. He desired himself to be called a Christian ora Believer, or 'any name which was approved by the Holy Ghost. 'Divisions, he said, were to Churches like wars to countries. Those whotalked most about religion cared least for it; and controversies aboutdoubtful things, and things of little moment, ate up all zeal forthings which were practicable and indisputable. 

'In countenance, ' wrote a friend, 'he appeared to be of a stern andrough temper, but in his conversation mild and affable; not given toloquacity or to much discourse in company unless some urgent occasionrequired it; observing never to boast of himself or his parts, butrather to seem low in his own eyes, and submit himself to the judgmentof others; abhorring lying and swearing, being just, in all that layin his power, to his word; not seeming to revenge injuries, loving toreconcile differences and make friendships with all. He had a sharpquick eye, with an excellent discerning of persons, being of goodjudgment and quick wit. ' 'He was tall of stature, strong boned, thoughnot corpulent, somewhat of a ruddy face, with sparkling eyes, wearinghis hair on his upper lip; his hair reddish, but in his later daystime had sprinkled it with grey; his nose well set, but not decliningor bending; his mouth moderate large, his forehead something high, andhis habit always plain and modest. '

He was himself indifferent to advancement, and he did not seek it forhis family. A London merchant offered to take his son into his house. 'God, ' he said, 'did not send me to advance my family, but to preachthe Gospel. ' He had no vanity--an exemption extremely rare in thosewho are personally much before the public. The personal popularity wasin fact the part of his situation which he least liked. When he was topreach in London, 'if there was but one day's notice the meeting housewas crowded to overflowing. ' Twelve hundred people would be foundcollected before seven o'clock on a dark winter's morning to hear alecture from him. In Zoar Street, Southwark, his church was sometimesso crowded that he had to be lifted to the pulpit stairs over thecongregation's heads. It pleased him, but he was on the watch againstthe pleasure of being himself admired. A friend complimented him onceafter service, on 'the sweet sermon' which he had delivered. 'You neednot remind me of that, ' he said. 'The Devil told me of it before I wasout of the pulpit. '

'Conviction of sin' has become a conventional phrase, shallow andineffective even in those who use it most sincerely. Yet moral evil isstill the cause of nine-tenths of the misery in the world, and it isnot easy to measure the value of a man who could prolong the conscioussense of the deadly nature of it, even under the forms of adecomposing theology. Times are changing. The intellectual current isbearing us we know not where, and the course of the stream is in adirection which leads us far from the conclusions in which Bunyan andthe Puritans established themselves; but the truths which are mostessential for us to know cannot be discerned by speculative arguments. Chemistry cannot tell us why some food is wholesome and other food ispoisonous. That food is best for us which best nourishes the body intohealth and strength; and a belief in a Supernatural Power which hasgiven us a law to live by and to which we are responsible for ourconduct, has alone, of all the influences known to us, succeeded inennobling and elevating the character of man. The particular theorieswhich men have formed about it have often been wild and extravagant. Imagination, agitated by fear or stimulated by pious enthusiasm, haspeopled heaven with demigods and saints--creations of fancy, humanforms projected upon a mist and magnified into celestial images. Howmuch is true of all that men have believed in past times and have nowceased to believe, how much has been a too eager dream, no one now cantell. It may be that other foundations may be laid hereafter for humanconduct on which an edifice can be raised no less fair and beautiful;but no signs of it are as yet apparent. 

So far as we yet know, morality rests upon a sense of obligation; andobligation has no meaning except as implying a Divine command, withoutwhich it would cease to be. Until 'duty' can be presented to us in ashape which will compel our recognition of it with equal or superiorforce, the passing away of 'the conviction of sin' can operate only toobscure our aspirations after a high ideal of life and character. Thescientific theory may be correct, and it is possible that we may bestanding on the verge of the most momentous intellectual revolutionwhich has been experienced in the history of our race. It may be so, and also it may not be so. It may be that the most important factorsin the scientific equation are beyond the reach of human intellect. However it be, the meat which gives strength to the man is poison tothe child; and as yet we are still children, and are likely to remainchildren. 'Every relief from outward restraint, ' says one who was notgiven to superstition, 'if it be not attended with increased power ofself-command, is simply fatal. ' Men of intelligence, therefore, towhom life is not a theory, but a stern fact, conditioned round withendless possibilities of wrong and suffering, though they may neveragain adopt the letter of Bunyan's creed, will continue to see inconscience an authority for which culture is no substitute; they willconclude that in one form or other responsibility is not a fiction buta truth; and, so long as this conviction lasts, the 'Pilgrim'sProgress' will still be dear to all men of all creeds who share in it, even though it pleases the 'elect' modern philosophers to describe itsauthor as a 'Philistine of genius. '

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