GREAT-HEART. I promise you this was enough to discourage, but did they make an end here?
VALIANT. No, stay. They told me also of many that had tried that way of old, and that had gone a great way therein, to see if they could find something of the glory there, that so many had so much talked of from time to time; and how they came back again, and befooled themselves for setting a foot out of doors in that path, to the satisfaction of all the country. And they named several that did so; as Obstinate and Pliable, Mistrust and Timorous, Turn-away and old Atheist, with several more, who, they said, had some of them, gone far to see if they could find; but not one of them found so much advantage by going as amounted to the weight of a feather.
GREAT-HEART. Did they say anything more to discourage you?
VALIANT. Yes. They told me of one Mr. Fearing, who was a pilgrim, and how he found this way so solitary that he never had a comfortable hour therein. Also, that Mr. Despondency had like to have been starved therein; yea, and also, which I had almost forgot, that Christian himself, about whom there has been such a noise, after all his ventures for a celestial crown, was certainly drowned in the Black River, and never went foot further, however it was smothered up.
GREAT-HEART. And did none of these things discourage you?
VALIANT. No, they seemed but as so many nothings to me.
GREAT-HEART. How did that come about?
VALIANT. Why, I still believed what Mr. Tell-true had said, and that carried me beyond them all.
GREAT-HEART. Then this was your victory, even your faith.
VALIANT. It was so. I believed, by the grace of God, and therefore came out, got into the way, fought all that set themselves against me, and, by believing, am come to this place.
Who would true valor see,
Let him come hither;
One here will constantly be,
Come wind, come weather.
There's no discouragement
Shall make him once relent,
His first avow'd intent
To be a pilgrim.
Who so beset him round
With dismal stories,
Do, but themselves confound.
His strength is more.
No lion can frighten him,
He'll be in a giant fight.
But he will have a right
To be a pilgrim.
Hobgoblin nor foul fiend
Can daunt his spirit;
He knows he is at the end
Shall life inherit.
Then fancies fly away,
He'll fear not what men say;
He'll labor night and day
To be a pilgrim.
By this time they were got to the Enchanted Ground, where the air naturally tended to make one drowsy; and that place was all grown over with briars and thorns, excepting here and there, where was an Enchanted Arbour, upon which if a man sits, or in which, if a man sleeps, it is a question, say some, whether ever he shall rise or wake again in this world. Over this forest, therefore, they went, both one and the other, and Mr. Great-heart went before, for that he was the guide; and Mr. Valiant-for-truth came behind, being there a guard, for fear, lest peradventure some fiend, or dragon, or giant, or thief, should fall upon their rear, and so do mischief. They went on here, each man with his sword drawn in his hand, for they knew it was a dangerous place. Also, they cheered up one another as well as they could; Feeble-mind, Mr. Great-heart commanded, should come up after him, and Mr. Despondency was under the eye of Mr. Valiant.
Now they had not gone far, but a great mist and darkness fell upon them all, so that they could scarcely, for a great while, see one another; wherefore they were forced, for some time, to feel for one another by words; for they walked not by sight.
But anyone must think that here was but sorry going for the best of them all; but how much worse for the women and children, who, both of feet and heart, were but tender. Yet so it was that through the encouraging words of he that led in the front, and of him that brought them up behind, they made a pretty good shift to wag along.
The way was also here very wearisome, through dirt and slabbiness. Nor was there on all this ground so much as one inn, or victualling house, therein to refresh the feebler sort. Here, therefore, was grunting, and puffing, and sighing. While one tumbleth over a bush, another sticks fast in the dirt, and the children, some of them, lost their shoes in the mire. While one cries out, I am down; and another, Ho! where are you? And a third, the bushes have got such a fast hold on me, I think I cannot get away from them.
Then they came at an arbor, warm, and promising much refreshing to the Pilgrims; for it was finely wrought above the head, beautified with greens, furnished with benches and settles. It also had in it a soft couch, whereon the weary might lean. This, you must think, all things considered, was tempting; for the Pilgrims already began to be foiled with the badness of the way; but there was not one of them that made so much as a motion to stop there. Yea, for aught I could perceive, they continually gave so good heed to the advice of their guide, and he did so faithfully tell them of dangers, and of the nature of dangers, when they were at them, that usually, when they were nearest to them, they did most pluck up their spirits, and hearten one another to deny the flesh. This arbor was called The Slothful's Friend, on purpose to allure, if it might be, some of the pilgrims there to take up their rest when weary.
I saw them in my dream, that they went on in this their solitary ground, till they came to a place at which a man is apt to lose his way. Now, though when it was light, their guide could well enough tell how to miss those ways that led wrong, yet in the dark he was put to a stand; but he had in his pocket a map of all ways leading to, or from the Celestial City; wherefore he struck a light, for he never goes also without his tinder-box, and takes a view of his book or map, which bids him be careful, in that place, to turn to the right-hand way. And had he not here been careful to look in his map, they had all, in probability, been smothered in the mud; for, just a little before them, and that at the end of the cleanest way too, was a pit, none knows how deep, full of nothing but mud, there made on purpose to destroy the Pilgrims in.
Then thought I with myself, who that goeth on pilgrimage, but would have one of these maps about him, that he may look when he is at a stand, which is the way he must take.
