The Celestial Railroad
By Nathaniel Hawthorne
THE CITY OF DESTRUCTION
Not a great while ago,
passing through the gate of dreams, I visited that region of the earth in which
lies the famous City of Destruction. It interested me much to learn that by the
public spirit of some of the inhabitants a railroad has recently been
established between this populous and flourishing town and the Celestial City.
Having a little time upon my hands, I resolved to gratify a liberal curiosity
by making a trip thither. Accordingly one fine morning, after paying my bill at
the hotel, and directing the porter to stow my luggage behind a coach, I took
my seat in the vehicle and set out for the station house. It was my good
fortune to enjoy the company of a gentleman – one Mr. Smooth-it-away – who,
though he had never actually visited the Celestial City, yet seemed as well
acquainted with its laws, customs, policy and statistics as with those of the
City of Destruction, of which he was a native townsman. Being, moreover, a
director of the railroad corporation, and one of its largest stockholders, he
had it in his power to give me all desirable information respecting this
praiseworthy enterprise.
THE SLOUGH OF DESPOND
Our coach rattled out of
the city, and at a short distance from its outskirts passed over a bridge of
elegant construction, but somewhat too slight, as I imagined, to sustain any
considerable weight. On both sides lay an extensive quagmire, which could not
have been more disagreeable, either to sight or smell, had all the kennels of
the earth emptied their pollution there.
"This," remarked
Mr. Smooth-it-away, "is the famous Slough of Despond – a disgrace to all
the neighborhood; and the greater that it might so easily be converted into
firm ground."
"I have
understood," said I, "that efforts have been made for that purpose
from time immemorial."
"Very probable – and
what effect could be anticipated from such unsubstantial stuff?" cried Mr.
Smooth-it-away. "You observe this convenient bridge. We obtained a
sufficient foundation for it by throwing into the Slough some editions of books
of morality, volumes of French philosophy and German rationalism, tracts,
sermons, and essays of modern clergymen, extracts from Plato, Confucius, and
various Hindoo sages, together with a few ingenious commentaries upon texts of
Scripture; all of which, by some scientific process, have been converted into a
mass like granite. The whole bog might be filled up with a similar
matter."
It really seemed to me,
however, that he bridge vibrated and heaved up and down in a very formidable
manner; and in spite of Mr. Smooth-it-away’s testimony to the solidity of its
foundation, I should be reluctant to cross it in a crowded omnibus, especially
if each passenger were encumbered with as heavy luggage as that gentleman and
myself.
THE WICKET GATE AND
EVANGELIST
Nevertheless, we got over
without accident, and soon found ourselves at the station little Wicket Gate,
which formerly, as old pilgrims will recollect, stood directly across the
highway, and by its inconvenient narrowness, was a great obstruction to the
traveler of liberal mind and expansive stomach.
A large number of
passengers were already at the station house, awaiting the departure of the
cars. By the aspect and demeanor of the persons, it was easy to judge that the feelings
of the community had undergone a very favorable change, in reference to the
celestial pilgrimage. It would have done Bunyan’s heart good to see it. Instead
of a lonely and ragged man with a huge burden on his back, plodding along
sorrowfully on foot while the whole city hooted after him, here were parties of
the first gentry and most respectable people in the neighborhood, setting
merely a summer tour.
Among the gentlemen were
characters of deserved eminence, magistrates, politicians, and men of wealth,
by whose brethren. In the ladies’ apartment, too, I rejoiced to distinguish
some of most elevated circles of the Celestial City. There was much pleasant
conversation about the news of the day topics of business, politics, or the
lighter matters of amusement; while religion though indubitably the main thing
at heart, was thrown tastefully into the background. Even an infidel would have
heard little or nothing to shock his sensibility.
THE BURDEN OF SIN
One great convenience of
the new method of going on pilgrimage I must not forget to mention. Our
enormous burdens, instead of being carried on our shoulders, as had been the
custom of old, were all snugly deposited in the baggage car, and, as I was
assured, would be delivered to their respective owners at the journey’s end.
Another thing, likewise, the benevolent reader will be delighted to understand.
It may be remembered that there was an ancient feud between Prince Beelzebub
and the keeper of the Wicket Gate, and that the adherents of the former distinguished
personage were accustomed to shoot deadly arrows at honest pilgrims while
knocking at the door.
This dispute, much to the
credit as well as the illustrious potentate above mentioned, as of the worthy
and enlightened directors of the railroad, has been practically arranged upon
the principle of mutual 'compromise'. The Prince’s subjects are now pretty
numerously employed about the station house, some in taking care of the
baggage, others in collecting fuel, feeding the engines, and such congenial occupations;
and I can conscientiously affirm, that persons more generally agreeable to the
passengers, are not to be found on any railroad. Every good heart must surely
exult at so satisfactory an arrangement of an immemorial difficulty.
MR. GREATHEART
"Where is Mr.
Greatheart?" inquired I. "Beyond a doubt the directors have engaged
that famous old champion to be chief conductor of the railroad?"
"Why no," said
Mr. Smooth-it-away, with a dry cough; "he was offered the situation of
brakeman; but to tell you the truth, our friend Greatheart has grown
preposterously stiff and narrow in his old age. He has so often guided pilgrims
over the road on foot, that he considers it a sin to travel in any other
fashion. Besides, the old fellow had entered so heartily into the ancient feud
with Prince Beelzebub, that he would have been perpetually at blows or ill
language with some of the Prince’s subjects, and thus have embroiled us anew.
So, on the whole, we were not sorry when honest Greatheart went off to the
Celestial City in a huff, and left us at liberty to choose a more suitable and
accommodating man. Yonder comes the engineer of the train; you will probably
recognize him at once."
APOLLYON
The engine at this moment
took its station in advance of the cars, looking, I must confess, much more
like a sort of mechanical demon that would hurry us to the infernal regions,
than a laudable contrivance for smoothing our way to the Celestial City. On its
top sat a personage almost enveloped in smoke and flame, which (not to startle
the reader) appeared to gush from his own mouth and stomach as well as from the
engine’s brazen abdomen.
"Do my eyes deceive
me?" cried I. "What on earth is this? A living creature? If so, he is
own brother to the engine he rides upon."
"Poh, poh, you are
snippety," said Mr. Smooth-it-away, with a hearty laugh. "Don’t you
know Apollyon, Christian’s old enemy, with whom he fought so fierce a battle in
the Valley of Humiliation? He was the very fellow to manage the engine, and so
we have reconciled him to the custom of going on pilgrimage, and engaged him as
chief engineer."
"Bravo, bravo!"
exclaimed I, with irrepressible enthusiasm. "This shows the 'liberality'
of the age. This proves, if anything can, that all musty prejudices are in a
fair way to be obliterated. And how will Christian rejoice to hear of this
happy transformation of his old antagonist. I promise myself great pleasure in
informing him of it when we reach the Celestial City."
THE PILGRIMS ON THE OLD
FOOTPATH
The passengers being all
comfortably seated, we now rattled away merrily, accomplishing a greater
distance in ten minutes than Christian probably trudged over in a day. It was
laughable while we glanced along, to observe two dusty foot-travelers in the
old pilgrim guise, with their staffs, and their mystic rolls of parchment in
their hands, and their intolerable burdens on their backs. The preposterous
obstinancy of these honest people in persisting to groan and stumble along the
difficult pathway, rather than take advantage of modern improvements, excited
great mirth among our wiser brotherhood. We greeted the two pilgrims with many
pleasant gibes and a roar of laughter; whereupon they gazed at us with such
woeful and absurdly compassionate visages, that our merriment grew ten-fold
more obstreperous. Apollyon, also, entered heartily into the fun, and contrived
to blow the smoke and flame of the engine, or of his own breath, into their
faces, and envelop them in an atmosphere of scalding steam. These little
practical jokes amused us mightily, and doubtless afforded the pilgrims the
gratification of considering themselves martyrs.
THE INTERPRETER'S HOUSE
At some distance from the
railroad, Mr. Smooth-it-away pointed to a large, antique edifice, which he
observed was a lodge of a long standing, and had formerly been a noted
stopping-place for pilgrims. In Bunyan’s road-book it is mentioned as the
Interpreter’s House.
"I have long had a
curiosity to visit that old mansion," remarked I.
"It is not one of our
stations, as you perceive," said my companion. The keeper was violently
opposed to the railroad; and well he might be, as the track left his house of
instruction on one side, and thus was pretty certain to deprive him of all his
reputable customers. But the foot-path still passes his door, and the old
gentleman now and then receives a call from some simple traveler, and
entertains him with fare as old-fashioned as himself."
THE CROSS
Before our talk on this
subject came to a conclusion, we were rushing by the place where Christian’s
burden fell from his shoulders at the sight of the cross. This served as a
theme from Mr. Smooth-it-away, Mr. Live-for-the-world, Mr.
Hide-sin-in-the-heart and Mr. Scaly-conscience, and a group of gentlemen from
the town of Shun-repentance, to discourse upon the inestimable advantages
resulting from the safety of our baggage. Myself, and all the passengers
indeed, joined with great unanimity in this view of the matter; for our burdens
were rich in many things esteemed precious throughout the world; and
especially, we each of us possessed a great variety of favorite habits, which
we trusted would not be out of fashion, even in the polite circles of the
Celestial City. It would have been a sad spectacle to have seen such an assortment
of valuable articles tumbling into the sepulcher.
THE HILL DIFFICULTY AND
THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION
Thus pleasantly conversing
on the favorable circumstances of our position as compared with those of past
pilgrims, and of narrow-minded ones of the present day, we soon found ourselves
at the foot of the Hill Difficulty. Through the very heart of this rocky
mountain a tunnel has been constructed of most admirable architecture, with a
lofty arch and a spacious double track; so that unless the earth and rocks
should chance to crumble down, it will remain a lasting monument of the
builder’s skill and enterprise. It is a great though incidental advantage that
the materials from the heart of Hill Difficulty have been employed in filling
up the Valley of Humiliation; thus obviating the difficulty of descending into
that disagreeable and unwholesome hollow.
THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL AND
ITS LADIES
"This is a wonderful
improvement indeed," said I. "Yet I would have been glad of an
opportunity to visit the Palace Beautiful, and be introduced to the charming
young ladies – Miss Prudence, Miss Piety, Miss Charity and the rest – who have
had the kindness to entertain pilgrims there."
"Young ladies,"
cried Mr. Smooth-it-away, as soon as he could speak for laughing. "And charming
young ladies! Why, my dear fellow, they are old maids, every one of them –
prim, starched, dry and angular – and not one of them, I will venture to say,
has altered so much as the fashion of her gown since the days of Christian’s
pilgrimage."
"Ah, well," said
I, much comforted, "then I can well dispense with their
acquaintance."
THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
OF DEATH
The respectable Apollyon
was now putting on the steam at a prodigious rate, anxious perhaps to get rid
of the unpleasant reminiscences connected with the spot where he had so
disastrously encountered Christian. Consulting Mr. Bunyan’s road-book, I
perceived that we must now be within a few miles of the Valley of the Shadow of
Death, into which doleful region, at our present speed, we should plunge much
sooner than seemed at all desirable. In truth, I expected nothing better than
to find myself in the ditch on one side, or in the quag on the other. But, on
the communicating my apprehensions to Mr. Smooth-it-away, he assured me that
the difficulties of this passage, even in its worst condition, had been vastly
exaggerated, and that, in its present state of improvement, I might consider
myself as safe as on any railroad in Christendom.
Even while we were
speaking, the train shot into the entrance of this dreaded valley. Though I
plead guilty to some foolish palpitations of the heart during our headlong rush
over the causeway here constructed, yet it were unjust to withhold the highest
acclamation on the boldness of its original conception, and the ingenuity of
those who executed it.
It was gratifying,
likewise, to observe how much care was taken to dispel the everlasting gloom,
and supply the deficit of the cheerful sunshine, not a ray of which has ever
penetrated these awful shadows. For this purpose the inflammable gas, which
exudes plentifully from the soil, is collected by means of pipes, and thence
communicated to a quadruple row of lamps along the whole extent of the passage.
Thus a radiance has been created, even out of the fiery and sulphurous curse
that rests forever upon the valley; a radiance hurtful, however, to the eyes,
and somewhat bewildering, as I discovered by the changes which it wrought in
the visages of my companions.
In this respect, as
compared with natural daylight, there is the same difference as between truth
and falsehood; but if the reader has ever traveled through the dark valley, he
will have learned to be thankful for any light that he could get; if not from
the sky above, then from the blasted earth beneath. Such was the red brilliancy
of these lamps that they appeared to build walls of fire on both sides of the
track, between which we held our course at lightning speed, while a
reverberating thunder filled the valley with its echoes.
Had the engine run off the
track (a catastrophe it is whispered by no means unprecedented), the bottomless
pit, if there be any such place, would undoubtedly have received us. Just as
some dismal fooleries of this kind had made my heart quake, there came a
tremendous shriek careering along which proved to be merely the whistle of the
engine on arriving at a stopping place.
TOPHET
The spot where we had now
paused was the same that our friend Bunyan – a truthful man, but infected with
many absurd notions – has designated, in terms plainer than I like to repeat,
as the mouth of the infernal region. This, however, must be a mistake, inasmuch
as Mr. Smooth-it-away, while we remained in the smoky and ghastly cavern, took
occasion to prove that Tophet has not even a metaphorical existence. The place,
he assured us, is no other than the crater of a half-extinct volcano, in which
the directors had caused iron-forges to be set up for the manufacture of
railroad iron. Hence also is obtained a plentiful supply of fuel for the use of
the engines.
Whoever had gazed into the
dismal obscurity of the broad cavern mouth, whence, ever and anon, darted huge
tongues of dusky flame--and had seen the strange, half-shaped monsters, and
visions of faces horribly grotesque into which the smoke seemed to wreath itself--and
had heard the awful murmurs, and shrieks, and deep shuddering whispers of the
blast, sometimes forming themselves into almost articulate words, would have
seized upon Mr. Smooth-it-away’s comfortable explanation as greedily as we did.
The inhabitants of the
cavern, moreover, were unlovely personages, dark, smoke-begrimed, generally
deformed, with misshapen feet, and a glow of dusky redness in their eyes, as if
their hearts had caught fire, and were blazing out of the upper windows. It
struck me as a peculiarity that the laborers at the forge and those who brought
fuel to the engine, when they began to draw short breath, positively emitted
smoke from their mouth and nostrils.
Among the idlers about the
train, most of whom were puffing cigars which they had lighted at the flame of
the crater, I was perplexed to notice several who, to my certain knowledge, had
before set forth by railroad to the Celestial City. They looked dark, wild and
smoky, with a singular resemblance, indeed, to the native inhabitants, like
whom, also, they had a peevish propensity to ill-natured gibes and sneers, the
habit of which had wrought a settled contortion on their visages. Having been
on speaking terms with one of them – an indolent, good-for-nothing fellow, who
went by the name of Take-it-easy – I called to him, and asked what was his
business there.
"Did you not
start," said I, "for the Celestial City?"
"That’s a fact,"
said Mr. Take-it-easy, carelessly puffing some smoke into my eyes. "But I
heard such bad accounts that I never took pains to climb the hill on which the
city stands. No business doing, no fun going on, nothing to drink and no
smoking allowed, and a thrumming of church music from morning till night. I
would not stay in such a place, if they offered me a free house and
living."
"But, my good Mr.
Take-it-easy," cried I, "why take up your residence here, of all
places in the world?"
"Oh," said the
loafer, with a grin, "it is very warm hereabouts, and I meet with plenty
of old acquaintances, and altogether the place suits me. I hope to see you back
again some day soon. A pleasant journey to you."
While he was speaking the
bell of the engine rang, and we dashed away after dropping a few passengers,
but receiving no new ones. Rattling onward through the valley, we were dazzled
with the fiercely gleaming gas lamps, as before; but sometimes, in the dark or
intense brightness, grim faces, that bore the aspect of individual sins or evil
passions, seemed to thrust themselves through the veil of light, glaring upon
us and stretching forth a great dusky hand, as if to impede our progress. These
were 'freaks of imagination', nothing more, mere delusions, which I ought to be
heartily ashamed of; but all through the dark Valley I was tormented and
pestered, and dolefully bewildered with the same kind of waking dreams. The
noxious gases of that region intoxicate the brain. As the light of the natural
day however began to struggle with the glow of the lanterns, these vain
imaginations lost their vividness, and finally vanished with the first ray of
sunshine that greeted our escape from the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Ere we
had gone a mile beyond it, I could well-nigh have taken my oath that this whole
gloomy passage was a dream.
A MODERN EVIL
At the end of the Valley, as
John Bunyan mentions, a cavern, where, in his days, dwelt two cruel giants,
'Pope' and 'Pagan', who had stewn the ground about their residence with the
bones of slaughtered pilgrims. These vile old cave-dwellers are no longer
there; but into their deserted cave another terrible giant has thrust himself,
and makes it his business to seize upon honest travelers, and fatten them for
his table with plentiful meals of smoke, mist, moonshine, raw potatoes and
sawdust. He is a German by birth, and is called Giant Transcendentalism. But as
to his form, his features, his substance, and his nature generally, it is the
chief peculiarity of this huge scoundrel, that neither he for himself, nor
anybody for him, has ever been able to describe them. As we rushed by the cavern’s
mouth, we caught a hasty glimpse of him, looking somewhat like an
ill-proportioned figure, but considerably more like a heap of fog and
duskiness. He shouted after us, but in so strange a phraseology that we knew
not what he meant, nor whether to be encouraged or affrighted.
VANITY FAIR
It was late in the day
when the train thundered into the ancient city of Vanity, where Vanity Fair is
still at the height of prosperity, and exhibits an epitome of whatever is
brilliant, gay and fascinating beneath the sun. As I proposed to make a
considerable stay here, it gratified me to learn that there is no longer the
lack of harmony between the townspeople and pilgrims, which impelled the former
to such lamentable mistaken measures as the persecution of Christian, and the
fiery martyrdom of Faithful. On the contrary, as the new railroad brings with
it great trade and a constant influx of strangers, the lord of Vanity Fair is
its chief patron, and the capitalists of the city are among the largest
stockholders.
Many passengers stop to
take their pleasure or make their profit in the Fair, instead of going onward
to the Celestial City. Indeed, such are the charms of the place, that the
people often affirm it to be the true and only Heaven; stoutly contending that
there is no other, that those who seek further are mere dreamers, and that, if
the fabled brightness of the Celestial City lay but a bare mile beyond the
gates of Vanity, they would not be fools enough to go thither. Without
subscribing to these, perhaps, exaggerated encomiums, I can truly say that my
abode in Vanity Fair was mainly agreeable, and my converse with the inhabitants
productive of much amusement and instruction.
Being naturally of a
serious turn, my attention was directed to the sold advantages derivable from a
residence here, rather than to the effervescent pleasures, which are the grand
object with too many visitants. The Christian reader, if he have had no
accounts of the city later than Bunyan’s time, will be surprised to hear that
almost every street has its church, and that the reverend clergy are nowhere
held in higher respect than at Vanity Fair. And well do they deserve such
honorable estimation--for the maxims of wisdom and virtue which fall from their
lips, come from as deep a spiritual source, and tend to as lofty a religious
aim, as those of the sagest philosophers of old.
In justification of this
high praise, I need only mention the names of the Rev. Mr. Shallow-deep; the
Rev. Mr. Stumble-at-truth; that fine old clerical character, the Rev. Mr.
This-today, who expects shortly to resign his pulpit to the Rev. Mr.
That-tomorrow; together with the Rev. Mr. Bewilderment; the Rev. Mr.
Clog-the-spirit; and last and greatest, the Rev. Mr. Wind-of-doctrine. The
labors of these eminent divines are aided by those of innumerable lecturers,
who diffuse such a various profundity, in all subjects of human nature or
celestial science, that any man may acquire an extensive knowledge, without the
trouble of even learning to read. Thus literature is etherealized by assuming
for its medium the human voice; and knowledge depositing all its heavier
particles – except, doubtless, its gold – becomes exhaled into a sound, which
forthwith steals into the ever open ear of the community. These ingenious
methods constitute a sort of machinery, by which thought and learning are
conveyed to every person’s mind, without his putting himself to the slightest
inconvenience in the matter.
There is another species
of machine for the wholesale manufacture of individual MORALITY. This excellent
result is effected by societies for all manner of virtuous purposes--with which
a man has merely to connect himself, throwing, as it were, his quota of virtue
into the common stock; and the president and directors will take care that the
aggregate amount be well applied. All these, and other wonderful improvements
in ethics, religion and literature, being made plain to my comprehension by the
ingenious Mr. Smooth-it-away, inspired me with a vast admiration of Vanity
Fair.
It would fill a volume, in
an age of 'pamphlets', were I to record all my observations in this great
capital of human business and pleasure. There was an unlimited range of society
– the powerful, the wise, the witty, and the famous in every walk of life –
princes, presidents, poets, generals, artists, actors and philanthropists, all
making their own market at the Fair, and deeming no price too exorbitant for
such commodities as hit their fancy. It is well worth one’s while, even if he
had no idea of buying or selling, to loiter through the bazaars, and observe
the various sorts of traffic that were going forward.
Some of the purchasers, I
thought, made very foolish bargains. For instance, a young man, having
inherited a splendid fortune, laid out a considerable portion of it in the
purchase of diseases, and finally spent all the rest for a heavy lot of
repentance and a suit of rags. There was a sort of stock, called Conscience,
which seemed to be in great demand, and would purchase almost anything. Indeed
few rich commodities were to be obtained without paying a heavy sum in this
particular stock, as a man’s business was seldom very lucrative, unless he knew
precisely when and how to throw his hoard of Conscience into the market. Yet,
as this stock was the only thing of permanent value, whoever parted with it was
sure to find himself a loser in the long run. Thousands sold their happiness
for a whim.
Gilded chains were in
great demand, and purchased with almost any sacrifice. In truth, those who
desired, according to the old adage, to sell anything valuable for a son, might
find customers all over the Fair; and there were innumerable bowls of pottage,
piping hot, for those who chose to buy them with their birthrights.
A few articles, however,
could not be found genuine at Vanity Fair. If a customer wished to renew his
stock of youth, the dealers offered him a set of false teeth and an auburn wig;
if he demanded peace of mind, they recommended opium or a brandy bottle.
Tracts of land and golden
mansions, situated in the Celestial City, were often exchanged, at very
disadvantageous rates, for a few years’ lease of small, dismal, inconvenient
tenements in Vanity Fair.
Prince Beelzebub himself
took great interest in this sort of traffic, and sometimes condescended to
meddle with small matters. I once had the pleasure to see him bargaining with a
miser for his soul, which, after much ingenious skirmishing on both sides, his
highness succeeded in obtaining for a few dollars. The prince remarked with a
smile, that he was a loser by the transaction.
SIMPLE PILGRIMS AT THE
FAIR
Day after day, as I walked
the streets of Vanity, my manners and deportment became more and more like
those of the inhabitants. The place began to seem like home; the idea of
pursuing my course to the Celestial City was almost obliterated from my mind. I
was reminded of it, however, by the sight of the same pair of simple pilgrims
at whom we had laughed so heartily when Apollyon puffed smoke and steam into
their faces, at the commencement of our journey. There they stood amid the
densest bustle of Vanity – the dealers offering them their purple, and fine
linen, and jewels; the men of wit and humor gibing at them; a pair of
well-proportioned ladies ogling them askance; while the benevolent Mr.
Smooth-it-away whispered some of his wisdom at their elbows, and pointed to a
newly erected temple; but there were these worthy simpletons, making the scene
look wild and monstrous, merely by their sturdy repudiation of all part in its
business or pleasures.
One of them – his name was
Stick-to-the-right – perceived in my face, I suppose, a species of sympathy and
almost admiration, which to my own great surprise, I could not help feeling for
this honest couple. It prompted him to address me.
"Sir," inquired
he, with a sad, yet mild and kindly voice, "do you call yourself a
pilgrim?"
"Yes," I
replied, "my right to that appellation is indubitable. I am merely a
sojourner here in Vanity Fair, being bound to the Celestial City by the new
railroad."
"Alas, friend,"
rejoined Mr. Stick-to-the-right, "I do assure you, and beseech you to
receive the truth of my words, that that whole enterprise is a bubble. You may
travel on it all your lifetime, were you to live thousands of years, and yet
never get beyond the limits of Vanity Fair! Yea, though you should deem
yourself entering the gates of the Blessed City, it will be nothing but a
miserable delusion."
"The Lord of the
Celestial City," began the other pilgrim, whose name was Mr.
Go-the-old-way, "has refused, and will always refuse, to grant an act of
incorporation for this railroad; and unless that be obtained no passenger can
ever hope to enter His dominions. Therefore, every man who buys a ticket must
lay his account with losing the purchase-money – which is the value of his
soul."
"Poh! nonsense!"
said Mr. Smooth-it-away, taking my arm and leading me off; "these fellows
ought to be arrested for libel. If the law stood as it once did in Vanity Fair,
we would see them grinning through the iron bars of the prison window."
This incident made a
considerable impression on my mind, and contributed with other circumstances to
indispose me to a permanent residence in Vanity; although, of course, I was not
simple enough to give up my original plan of gliding along easily and commodiously
by railroad. Still I grew anxious to be gone. There was one strange thing that
puzzled me; amid the occupations and amusements of the Fair, nothing was more
common than for a person – whether at a feast, theatre, or church, or
trafficking for wealth and honors, or whatever he might be doing, and however
unseasonable the interruption – suddenly to vanish like a soap bubble, and be
never more seen of his fellows; and so accustomed were the latter to such
little incidents, that they went on with their business as quietly as if
nothing had happened. But it was otherwise with me.
DEMAS AND LOT'S WIFE
Finally, after a pretty
long residence at the Fair I resumed my journey towards the Celestial City,
still with Mr. Smooth-it-away by my side. At a short distance beyond the
suburbs of Vanity we passed the ancient silver mine, of which Demas was the
first discoverer, and which is now operated to great advantage, supplying
nearly all the coined currency of the world. A little further onward was the
spot where Lot’s wife had stood for ages, under the semblance of a pillar of
salt. Curious travelers have carried it away piecemeal. Had all lapses been
punished as rigorously as this poor dame’s were, my yearnings for the
relinquished delights of Vanity Fair might have produced a similar change in my
own body, and left me a warning to future pilgrims.
DOUBTING CASTLE AND GIANT
DESPAIR
The next remarkable object
was a large edifice, constructed of moss-grown stone, but in a modern and airy
style of architecture. The train came to a pause in its vicinity with its usual
tremendous shriek.
"This was formerly
the castle of the formidable Giant Despair," observed Mr. Smooth-it-away;
"but, since his death, Mr. Flimsy-faith has repaired it, and now keeps an
excellent house of entertainment here. It is one of our stopping places."
"It seems but
slightly put together," remarked I, looking at the frail, yet ponderous
walls. "I do not envy Mr. Flimsy-faith his habitation. Some day it will
thunder down upon the heads of the occupants."
"We shall escape, at
all events," said Mr. Smooth-it-away; "for Apollyon is putting on the
steam again."
THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS
AND THE BY-WAY TO HELL
The road now plunged into
a gorge of the Delectable Mountains, and traversed the field where, in former
ages, the blind men wandered and stumbled among the tombs. One of these ancient
tombstones had been thrust across the track by some malicious person, and gave
the train of cars a terrible jolt. Far up the rugged side of a mountain I
perceived a rusty iron door, half-overgrown with bushes and creeping plants,
but with some smoke issuing from its crevices.
"Is that,"
inquired I, "the very door in the hillside which the shepherds assured
Christian was a by-way to hell?"
"That was a 'joke' on
the part of the shepherds," said Mr. Smooth-it-away, with a smile.
"It is neither more nor less than the door of a cavern, which they use for
a smoke house for the preparation of mutton hams."
THE ENCHANTED GROUND AND
BEULAH LAND
My recollections of the
journey are now, for a little space, dim and confused, inasmuch as a singular
drowsiness here overcame me, owing to the fact that we were now passing over
the enchanted ground, the air of which encourages a disposition to sleep. I awoke,
however, as soon as we crossed over the borders of the pleasant land of Beulah.
All the passengers were rubbing their eyes, comparing watches, and
congratulating one another on the prospect of arriving so seasonably at their
journey’s end. The sweet breezes of this happy climate came refreshingly to our
nostrils; we beheld the glimmering gush of silver fountains, overhung by trees
of beautiful foliage and delicious fruit, which were propagated by grafts from
the celestial gardens.
Once, as we dashed onward
like a hurricane, there was a flutter of wings, and the bright appearance of an
angel in the air, speeding forth on some heavenly mission. The engine now
announced the close vicinity of the final station house, by one last and
horrible scream, in which there seemed to be distinguishable every kind of
wailing and woe, and bitter fierceness of wrath, all mixed up with the wild
laughter of a devil or a madman. All through our journey, at every stopping
place, Apollyon had exercised his ingenuity in wrenching the most abominable
sounds out of the whistle of the steam engine; but in this closing effort he
outdid himself, and created an infernal uproar, which, besides disturbing the
peaceful inhabitants of Beulah, must have sent its discord even through the celestial
gates.
A TRIUMPHANT ARRIVAL
While the horrid clamor
was still ringing in our ears, we heard an exulting strain, as if a thousand
instruments of music, with height, and depth, and sweetness in their tones, at
once tender and triumphant, were struck in unison, to greet the approach of
some illustrious hero, who had fought the good fight and won a glorious
victory, and was come to lay aside his battered arms forever. Looking to
ascertain what might be the occasion of this glad harmony, I perceived, on
alighting from the cars, that a multitude of 'shining ones' had assembled on
the other side of the river to welcome two poor pilgrims who were just emerging
from its depths. They were the same ones whom Apollyon and ourselves had
persecuted with taunts and gibes, and scalding steam, at the commencement of
our journey, the same whose unworldly visage and impressive words had stirred
my conscience amid the wild revelers of Vanity Fair.
"How amazingly well
those men have got on!" cried I to Mr. Smooth-it-away. "I wish we
were secure of so good a reception."
"Never fear, never
fear!" answered my friend. "Come, make haste; the ferry-boat will be
off directly, and in three minutes you will be on the other side of the river.
No doubt you will find coaches to carry you up to the city gates."
CONCLUSION
A steam ferry-boat, the
last improvement on this important route, lay at the river side, puffing,
snorting, and emitting all those other disagreeable utterances, which betoken
the departure to be immediate. I hurried on board with the rest of the
passengers, most of whom were in great uneasiness; some blubbering out for
their baggage; some tearing their hair and declaring the boat would explode or
sink; some already pale with the heaving of the stream; some gazing affrighted
at the ugly visage of the steersman; and some still dizzy with the slumbering
influences of the Enchanted Ground. Looking back to the shore I was amazed to
discern Mr. Smooth-it-away waving his hand in token of farewell.
"Don’t you go over to
the Celestial City?" exclaimed I.
"Oh, no!"
answered he, with a curious smile, and that same disagreeable contortion of
visage which I had remarked in the inhabitants of the Dark Valley. "Oh,
no! I have come thus far only for the sake of your pleasant company. Good-by.
We shall meet again."
And then did my excellent
friend, Mr. Smooth-it-away, laugh out-right, in the midst of which extreme
laughing, a smoke wreath issued from his mouth and nostrils, while a twinkle of
ghastly flame darted out of either eye, proving indubitably that his heart was
all of a red blaze.
The impudent fiend! To
deny the existence of Tophet, when he felt its fiery tortures ringing in his
breast! I rushed to the side of the boat, intending to fling myself on shore;
but the wheels, as they began their revolutions, threw a dash of spray over me
so cold – so deadly cold, with the chill that will never leave those waters
until Death be drowned in his own river, that, with a shiver and a heart-quake,
I awoke.
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