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 till
the day brake; but being weary, they fell asleep. 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.
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 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
counseled him, that when he arose in the morning he should beat them without
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 gave him never 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 further about them,
and understanding that they were yet alive, did advise him to counsel them to
make away with 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 to live, 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 hands; 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:
Christian:
Brother, said Christian, what shall we do? The life that we now live is
miserable. For my part, I know not whether it 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?
Hopeful: 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,” etc.
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 hands. Who knows but that God, who 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.
