{ A Mysterious Monument at the End of a Plain
  and A Refreshing River provided by The King }

Now I saw that, just on the other side of this plain, the
pilgrims came to a place where stood an old monument, hard by
the highway side, at the sight of which they were both 
concerned, because of the strangeness of the form thereof; for
it seemed to them as if it had been a woman transformed into the 
shape of a pillar; here, therefore they stood looking, and
looking upon it, but could not for a time tell what they should
make thereof. At last Hopeful espied written above the head
thereof, a writing in an unusual hand; but he being no scholar,
called to Christian (for he was learned) to see if he could pick
out the meaning; so he came, and after a little laying of
letters together, he found the same to be this, "Remember Lot's
Wife." So he read it to his fellow; after which they both
concluded that that was the pillar of salt into which Lot's wife
was turned, for her looking back with a covetous heart, when she
was going from Sodom for safety. Which sudden and amazing sight
gave them occasion of this discourse.

CHR. Ah, my brother! this is a seasonable sight; it came
opportunely to us after the invitation which Demas gave us to
come over to view the Hill Lucre; and had we gone over, as he
desired us, and as thou wast inclining to do, my brother, we
had, for aught I know, been made ourselves like this woman, a
spectacle for those that shall come after to behold.

HOPE. I am sorry that I was so foolish, and am made to wonder
that I am not now as Lot's wife; for wherein was the difference
betwixt her sin and mine? She only looked back; and I had a
desire to go see. Let grace be adored, and let me be ashamed
that ever such a thing should be in mine heart.

CHR. Let us take notice of what we see here, for our help for
time to come. This woman escaped one judgment, for she fell not
by the destruction of Sodom; yet she was destroyed by another,
as we see she is turned into a pillar of salt.

HOPE. True; and she may be to us both caution and example;
caution, that we should shun her sin; or a sign of what judgment
will overtake such as shall not be prevented by this caution; so
Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, with the two hundred and fifty men
that perished in their sin, did also become a sign or example to
others to beware. But above all, I muse at one thing, to wit,
how Demas and his fellows can stand so confidently yonder to
look for that treasure, which this woman, but for looking behind
her after (for we read not that she stepped one foot out of the
way) was turned into a pillar of salt; especially since the
judgment which overtook her did make her an example, within
sight of where they are; for they cannot choose but see her, did
they but lift up their eyes.

CHR. It is a thing to be wondered at, and it argueth that their
hearts are grown desperate in the case; and I cannot tell who to
compare them to so fitly, as to them that pick pockets in the
presence of the judge, or that will cut purses under the
gallows. It is said of the men of Sodom, that they were sinners
exceedingly, because they were sinners before the Lord, that is,
in his eyesight, and notwithstanding the kindnesses that he had
shewed them; for the land of Sodom was now like the garden of
Eden heretofore. This, therefore, provoked him the more to
jealousy, and made their plague as hot as the fire of the Lord
out of heaven could make it. And it is most rationally to be
concluded, that such, even such as these are, that shall sin in
the sight, yea, and that too in despite of such examples that
are set continually before them, to caution them to the
contrary, must be partakers of severest judgments.

HOPE. Doubtless thou hast said the truth; but what a mercy is it
that neither thou, but especially I, am not made myself this
example! This ministereth occasion to us to thank God, to fear
before him, and always to remember Lot's wife.


The River and its Green Meadow

I saw, then, that they went on their way to a pleasant river;
which David the king called the river of God, but John, the
river of the water of life. Now their way lay just upon the bank
of the river; here, therefore, Christian and his companion
walked with great delight; they drank also of the water of the
river, which was pleasant, and enlivening to their weary
spirits; besides, on the banks of this river, on either side, 
were green trees, that bore all manner of fruit; and the leaves
of the trees were good for medicine; with the fruit of these
trees they were also much delighted; and the leaves they eat to
prevent surfeits, and other diseases that are incident to those
that heat their blood by travels. On either side of the river
was also a meadow, curiously beautified with lilies, and it was
green all the year long. In this meadow they lay down, and
slept; for here they might lie down safely. When they awoke,
they gathered again of the fruit of the trees, and drank again
of the water of the river, and then lay down again to sleep.
Thus they did several days and nights. Then they sang:

      Behold ye how these crystal streams do glide,
      To comfort pilgrims by the highway side;
      The meadows green, beside their fragrant smell,
      Yield dainties for them; and he that can tell
      What pleasant fruit, yea, leaves, these trees do yield,
      Will soon sell all, that he may buy this field.


So when they were disposed to go on (for they were not, as yet,
at their journey's end), they ate and drank, and departed.

---

{ By-Path Meadow }

Now, I beheld in my dream, that they had not journeyed far, but
the river and the way for a time parted; at which they were not
a little sorry; yet they durst not go out of the way. Now the
way from the river was rough, and their feet tender, by reason
of their travels; so the souls of the pilgrims were much
discouraged because of the way. Wherefore, still as they went
on, they wished for better way. Now, a little before them, there
was on the left hand of the road a meadow, and a stile to go
over into it; and that meadow is called By-path Meadow. Then
said Christian to his fellow, "If this meadow lieth along by our
wayside, let us go over into it." Then he went to the stile to
see, and behold, a path lay along by the way, on the other side
of the fence. "It is according to my wish, said Christian. Here
is the easiest going; come, good Hopeful, and let us go over."

HOPE. But how if this path should lead us out of the way?

CHR. "That is not like," said the other. "Look, doth it not go
along by the wayside?" So Hopeful, being persuaded by his
fellow, went after him over the stile. When they were gone over,
and were got into the path, they found it very easy for their
feet; and withal, they, looking before them, espied a man
walking as they did (and his name was Vain-confidence); so they
called after him, and asked him whither that way led. He said,
"To the Celestial Gate." "Look," said Christian, "did not I tell
you so? By this you may see we are right." So they followed, and
he went before them. But, behold, the night came on, and it grew
very dark; so that they that were behind lost the sight of him
that went before.

He, therefore, that went before, Vain-confidence by name, not
seeing the way before him, fell into a deep pit, which was on
purpose there made, by the Prince of those grounds, to catch
vain-glorious fools withal, and was dashed in pieces with his
fall.

Now Christian and his fellow heard him fall. So they called to
know the matter, but there was none to answer, only they heard
a groaning. Then said Hopeful, "Where are we now?" Then was his
fellow silent, as mistrusting that he had led him out of the
way; and now it began to rain, and thunder, and lighten in a
very dreadful manner; and the water rose amain.

Then Hopeful groaned in himself, saying, "Oh, that I had kept
on my way!"

CHR. Who could have thought that this path should have led us
out of the way?

HOPE. I was afraid on it at the very first, and therefore gave
you that gentle caution. I would have spoken plainer, but that
you are older than I.

CHR. Good brother, be not offended; I am sorry I have brought
thee out of the way, and that I have put thee into such imminent
danger; pray, my brother, forgive me; I did not do it of an evil
intent.

HOPE. Be comforted, my brother, for I forgive thee; and believe,
too, that this shall be for our good.

CHR. I am glad I have with me a merciful brother; but we must
not stand thus: let us try to go back again.

HOPE. But, good brother, let me go before.

CHR. No, if you please, let me go first, that if there be any
danger, I may be first therein, because by my means we are both
gone out of the way.

HOPE. No, said Hopeful, you shall not go first; for your mind
being troubled may lead you out of the way again. Then, for
their encouragement, they heard the voice of one saying, "Set
thine heart toward the highway, even the way which thou wentest;
turn again." But by this time the waters were greatly risen, by
reason of which the way of going back was very dangerous. (Then
I thought that it is easier going out of the way, when we are
in, than going in when we are out.) Yet they adventured to go
back, but it was so dark, and the flood was so high, that in
their going back they had like to have been drowned nine or ten
times.

Neither could they, with all the skill they had, get again to
the stile that night. Wherefore, at last, lighting under a
little shelter, they sat down there until the daybreak; but,
being weary, they fell asleep.

---

{ Giant Despair at Doubting Castle }

Now there was, not far from the place where they lay, a castle
called Doubting Castle, the owner whereof was Giant Despair;
and it was in his grounds they now were sleeping: wherefore he,
getting up in the morning early, and walking up and down in his
fields, caught Christian and Hopeful asleep in his grounds.
Then, with a grim and surly voice, he bid them awake; and asked
them whence they were, and what they did in his grounds. They
told him they were pilgrims, and that they had lost their way.
Then said the Giant, "You have this night trespassed on me, by
trampling in and lying on my grounds, and therefore you must go
along with me." So they were forced to go, because he was
stronger than they. They also had but little to say, for they
knew themselves in a fault. The Giant, therefore, drove them
before him, and put them into his castle, into a very dark
dungeon, nasty and stinking to the spirits of these two men.
Here, then, they lay from Wednesday morning till Saturday
night, without one bit of bread, or drop of drink, or light, or
any to ask how they did; they were, therefore, here in evil
case, and were far from friends and acquaintance. Now in this
place Christian had double sorrow, because it was through his
unadvised counsel that they were brought into this distress.



      The pilgrims now, to gratify the flesh,
      Will seek its ease; but oh! how they afresh
      Do thereby plunge themselves new griefs into!
      Who seek to please the flesh, themselves undo.




Now, Giant Despair had a wife, and her name was Diffidence. So
when he was gone to bed, he told his wife what he had done; to
wit, that he had taken a couple of prisoners and cast them into
his dungeon, for trespassing on his grounds. Then he asked her
also what he had best to do further to them. So she asked him
what they were, whence they came, and whither they were bound;
and he told her. Then she counselled him that when he arose in
the morning he should beat them without any mercy. So, when he
arose, he getteth him a grievous crab-tree cudgel, and goes down
into the dungeon to them, and there first falls to rating of
them as if they were dogs, although they never gave him a word
of distaste. Then he falls upon them, and beats them fearfully,
in such sort that they were not able to help themselves, or to
turn them upon the floor. This done, he withdraws and leaves
them there to condole their misery and to mourn under their
distress. So all that day they spent the time in nothing but
sighs and bitter lamentations. The next night, she, talking with
her husband about them further, and understanding they were yet
alive, did advise him to counsel them to make away themselves.
So when morning was come, he goes to them in a surly manner as
before, and perceiving them to be very sore with the stripes
that he had given them the day before, he told  them, that since
they were never like to come out of that place, their only way
would be forthwith to make an end of themselves, either with
knife, halter, or poison, for why, said he, should you choose
life, seeing it is attended with so much bitterness? But they
desired him to let them go. With that he looked ugly upon them,
and, rushing to them, had doubtless made an end of them himself,
but that he fell into one of his fits (for he sometimes, in
sunshiny weather, fell into fits), and lost for a time the use
of his hand; wherefore he withdrew, and left them as before, to
consider what to do. Then did the prisoners consult between
themselves whether it was best to take his counsel or no; and
thus they began to discourse:

CHR. Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The life that we
now live is miserable. For my part I know not whether is best,
to live thus, or to die out of hand. My soul chooseth strangling
rather than life, and the grave is more easy for me than this
dungeon. Shall we be ruled by the Giant?

HOPE. Indeed, our present condition is dreadful, and death would
be far more welcome to me than thus for ever to abide; but yet,
let us consider, the Lord of the country to which we are going
hath said, Thou shalt do no murder: no, not to another man's
person; much more, then, are we forbidden to take his counsel to
kill ourselves. Besides, he that kills another, can but commit
murder upon his body; but for one to kill himself is to kill
body and soul at once. And, moreover, my brother, thou talkest
of ease in the grave; but hast thou forgotten the hell, whither
for certain the murderers go? For no murderer hath eternal life,
&c. And let us consider, again, that all the law is not in the
hand of Giant Despair. Others, so far as I can understand, have
been taken by him, as well as we; and yet have escaped out of
his hand. Who knows, but the God that made the world may cause
that Giant Despair may die? Or that, at some time or other, he
may forget to lock us in? Or that he may, in a short time, have
another of his fits before us, and may lose the use of his
limbs? And if ever that should come to pass again, for my part,
I am resolved to pluck up the heart of a man, and to try my
utmost to get from under his hand. I was a fool that I did not
try to do it before; but, however, my brother, let us be
patient, and endure a while. The time may come that may give us
a happy release; but let us not be our own murderers. With
these words Hopeful at present did moderate the mind of his
brother; so they continued together (in the dark) that day, in
their sad and doleful condition.

Well, towards evening, the Giant goes down into the dungeon
again, to see if his prisoners had taken his counsel; but when
he came there he found them alive; and truly, alive was all; for
now, what for want of bread and water, and by reason of the
wounds they received when he beat them, they could do little but
breathe. But, I say, he found them alive; at which he fell into
a grievous rage, and told them that, seeing they had disobeyed
his counsel, it should be worse with them than if they had never
been born.

At this they trembled greatly, and I think that Christian fell
into a swoon; but, coming a little to himself again, they
renewed their discourse about the Giant's counsel; and whether
yet they had best to take it or no. Now Christian again seemed
to be for doing it, but Hopeful made his second reply as
followeth:

HOPE. My brother, said he, rememberest thou not how valiant thou
hast been heretofore? Apollyon could not crush thee, nor could
all that thou didst hear, or see, or feel, in the Valley of the
Shadow of Death. What hardship, terror, and amazement hast thou
already gone through! And art thou now nothing but fear! Thou
seest that I am in the dungeon with thee, a far weaker man by
nature than thou art; also, this Giant has wounded me as well as
thee, and hath also cut off the bread and water from my mouth;
and with thee I mourn without the light. But let us exercise a 
little more patience; remember how thou playedst the man at
Vanity Fair, and wast neither afraid of the chain, nor cage, nor
yet of bloody death. Wherefore let us (at least to avoid the
shame, that becomes not a Christian to be found in) bear up with
patience as well as we can.

Now, night being come again, and the Giant and his wife being in
bed, she asked him concerning the prisoners, and if they had
taken his counsel. To which he replied, They are sturdy rogues,
they choose rather to bear all hardship, than to make away
themselves. Then said she, "Take them into the castle-yard
to-morrow, and shew them the bones and skulls of those that thou
hast already despatched, and make them believe, ere a week comes
to an end, thou also wilt tear them in pieces, as thou hast done
their fellows before them."

So when the morning was come, the Giant goes to them again, and
takes them into the castle-yard, and shews them, as his wife had
bidden him. "These," said he, "were pilgrims as you are, once,
and they trespassed in my grounds, as you have done. And when I
thought fit, I tore them in pieces, and so, within ten days, I
will do you. Go, get you down to your den again." And with that
he beat them all the way thither. They lay, therefore, all day
on Saturday in a lamentable case, as before. Now, when night was
come, and when Mrs. Diffidence and her husband, the Giant, were
got to bed, they began to renew their discourse of their
prisoners; and withal the old Giant wondered, that he could
neither by his blows nor his counsel bring them to an end. And
with that his wife replied, "I fear," said she, "that they live
in hope that some will come to relieve them, or that they have
picklocks about them, by the means of which they hope to
escape."  "And sayest thou so, my dear?" said the Giant; "I
will, therefore, search them in the morning."

Well, on Saturday, about midnight, they began to pray, and
continued in prayer till almost break of day.

Now, a little before it was day, good Christian, as one half
amazed, brake out in this passionate speech: "What a fool,"
quoth he, "am I, thus to lie in a stinking dungeon, when I may
as well walk at liberty! I have a key in my bosom, called
Promise, that will, I am persuaded, open any lock in Doubting
Castle." Then said Hopeful, "That is good news, good brother;
pluck it out of thy bosom, and try."

Then Christian pulled it out of his bosom, and began to try at
the dungeon door, whose bolt (as he turned the key) gave back,
and the door flew open with ease, and Christian and Hopeful both
came out. Then he went to the outward door that leads into the
castle-yard, and, with his key, opened that door also. After, he
went to the iron gate, for that must be opened too; but that
lock went damnable hard, yet the key did open it. Then they
thrust open the gate to make their escape with speed, but that
gate, as it opened, made such a creaking, that it waked Giant
Despair, who, hastily rising to pursue his prisoners, felt his
limbs to fail, for his fits took him again, so that he could by
no means go after them. Then they went on, and came to the
King's highway, and so were safe, because they were out of his
jurisdiction.


Now, when they were over the stile, they began to contrive with
themselves what they should do at that stile to prevent those
that should come after from falling into the hands of Giant
Despair. So they consented to erect there a pillar, and to
engrave upon the side thereof this sentence: 'Over this stile
is the way to Doubting Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair,
who despiseth the King of the Celestial Country, and seeks to
destroy his holy pilgrims.' Many, therefore, that followed after
read what was written, and escaped the danger. This done, they
sang as follows:

      Out of the way we went, and then we found
      What 'twas to tread upon forbidden ground;
      And let them that come after have a care,
      Lest heedlessness makes them, as we, to fare.
      Lest they for trespassing his prisoners are,
      Whose castle's Doubting, and whose name's Despair.

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