The Parable of the Pilgrim, Parable · Chapter 39
CAP. XXXIX.
The joy which the Pilgrim conceived in this diſcourſe: and how much he applauded his happineſs in having ſuch a Friend. The Serenity of his Condition after all theſe Clouds. And how nothing troubled him but only that he could do ſo little to teſtifie his love to his Guide: who eaſily gave him ſatisfaction by ſhewing the true grounds of Friendſhip.
IT is not to be expreſſed what contentment the Man took in this diſcourſe, for which he rendred him a thouſand thanks: profeſſing that he had learnt a great deal in a little time; and that though he never intended leſs than to become a Good man by Faith in Chriſt, yet he did not ſo well underſtand till now how to go about the buſineſs. But the Joy of our Pilgrim was far greater both for this acquaintance of his, and for himſelf. He thought that all his life would be little enough wherein to thank him; that he had turned the mention of his weakneſſes and frailties, into the occaſion of ſo great a benefit unto them both. I was going to tell you (ſaid he, when the Father had done) that I knew not whether I ſhould begin to thank our Lord or you firſt for this great kindneſs to me. But I think I need not ſtand in doubt, for you are ſo like him, that if I commend your Charity, and render you thanks for it; I do a real honour thereby to him. You have been the Eaſe of mine heart; the Guide of my mind; the Pilot of my ſoul; the ſecurity and ſtay of my life; my ſecond and better ſelf; my Tutelar Angel whereby I have been defended from innumerable dangers. And when I ſay ſo, I acknowledge God to have been all this, who by your hands hath imparted theſe favours to me. I know that I ſtand indebted to his Fatherly Goodneſs for ſo many Bleſſings that I know not where to end the account. But for the beginning; I cannot but next to the favours his Son hath brought us, place the gift of your Friendſhip. You will ſuffer me now ſure to pleaſe my ſelf a little, and to glory in it; though heretofore you ſuppreſſed my thoughts as they were iſſuing forth. I know very well at what rate my neighbours eſteem riches, and how proud they grow if they can ſhew you Gold and Jewels. But if Heaven had aſked me what Jewel it pleaſed me to be preſented withall; I would have anſwered, Give me a Friend: Send me an honeſt Friend. This is my Riches, my Treaſures, my moſt precious Jewel. It is not poſſible there ſhould be any thing given me of equal value. I am ſo proud of it, that it tempts me to be vain-glorious, and to proclaim to the World how wealthy I am. And if we may judge of the price of things by their ſcarcity, am I not in the right? What is there more rare than this pure Friendſhip? Where ſhall we find two men that have one heart; and love without any intereſt? Muſt we not go back to the Golden Times, and have recourſe to the Age of Poetry, to find ſuch an happy pair? What place is not filled with that old complaint, O Friends, no body is a Friend? There are few hearts that are not double; few tongues that are not cloven. They that are not treacherous are too weak; and they that are not weak, yet are too wiſe, to be tyed in this Sacred Bond. How can you blame me then that I think my ſelf ſome-body now that I am poſſeſſed of ſo great a Treaſure; which beſides its rarity, is to be highly eſteemed for its ſtability and laſting nature. It is not ſubject to the change of fortune, nor the ruſt of time, nor the violence of men: nor can it be loſt by my own negligence, for a ſmall care will ſerve to keep a true friend. Let others go and beg of great Men their favour: let others glory in the preferment they already enjoy; I envy not their happineſs, may heaven but pleaſe to preſerve my Friend. It is the cuſtom of many I ſee to fetch the cauſes of their felicity or unhappineſs from the heavenly bodies; and to aſcribe what they ſuffer or enjoy here below to ſome good or malignant influences from above. But as for me I do not think there is any Planet ſo lucky as a faithful friend; as on the contrary none ſo malitious as a falſe-hearted companion. Let them who liſt then obſerve the ſtars and their favourable aſpects, I will ſeek upon earth for that which muſt make me happy. Let them obſerve how Jupiter and Mercury look upon them in all their affairs; it imports moſt to me to mark what men I converſe withall. And you are the perſon Sir whom I ſix my eye upon and whoſe good aſpect and charitable influence I ſtill implore. Do you accompany me alwayes in my travels; be you my Mercury in my journey; and in this conjunction I ſhall not fear any evil that may threaten me, nor deſpair any more of finiſhing that which is ſo happily begun. This is the ſum of my deſires that you would ever exerciſe your wonted pitty towards me and pardon my follies. For the whole ſtock of comfort that I am furniſhed withall can only ſerve for a meaner affliction then the loſs of your love would prove unto me. And yet I hope that I ſhall not be altogether ſo troubleſome to you in the reſt of my journey; but rather become your joy. It ſhall be my daily petition that I may ſpend my dayes in that evenneſs and ſteadineſs of mind wherein I find my ſelf fixed by your means. That I may be humble, and wait patiently upon the Lord, and be of good courage; believing that he will ſtrengthen mine heart, and that one day I ſhall in Sion appear before God.
To which good prayer the Father inſtantly ſaid, Amen, wiſhing that he might ever find him in this good temper, and that he would likewiſe remember the counſel of the Apoſtle who bids us Rejoyce in the Lord alwayes. For there is not a more evident token and apparent ſign of true Wiſdom and profiting in Vertue, then a conſtant ſerenity and unconſtrained rejoycing. And truly, ſaid he, I think I need not do ſo little as deſire this for you, but may be bold to turn my wiſh into a confidence; for I am apt to propheſie that after ſo many conflicts you will go in more peace to Jeruſalem. And ſo it proved as I have ſince heard, and after this he every day had a view of that bleſſed place. The ſky indeed was ſometimes a little cloudy, which rendred the ſight of it more duſkiſh and obſcure; yet he kept a calm in his mind in his greateſt dulneſs, and hoped for Sun-ſhine dayes; which came a great deal ſooner, by not raiſing a new and thicker cloud, through the ſtorms of his own paſſions. But I cannot ſay for the preſent what the enſuing part of their travels were, my own obſervation here having an end. Only thus much I obſerved before I parted, that he who once was afraid that he loved his friend too much, fell into a ſuſpition of himſelf that he did not embrace him with ſuch an affection as he deſerved. And that after all theſe contrary humours, the temper of their friendſhip was ſo excellent, of ſuch conſiſtency and ſo well ſetled; that as nothing could diſorder it, ſo nothing but death alone could divide it; and death it ſelf they were confident could never put an end to it. And indeed this was the thing that I left them in expectation of, and which they were conſtantly indeavouring to prepare themſelves for; as that which would not deſtroy, but perfect their love. This they often talkt of; knowing that it would never come the ſooner for their thinking and ſpeaking of it. This they lookt upon as a common friend to both; that would tranſlate them to thoſe happy regions where friendſhip is in its Kingdom and raigns over every heart. All the favour they would have beg'd, if it were wont to grant any petitions; was, that with one ſtroke it would arreſt them both and carry them thither together. And if any body could have made good the Paracelſian promiſe of ſpinning out the life of man to a length equal with the clue of time, and making our vital oil of the ſame durable temper with that which feeds the Lamps of Heaven; All things were ſo in common between them, that I verily think one of them would not have accepted of ſuch a courteſie, on condition to injoy it alone without the other. No, they rather deſired as I ſaid that the one might not ſee the other expire; but that the ſame hand might cut off both their threds at once, and that one moment might put out thoſe Lamps which were not willing to burn aſunder.
All the wiſhes that our Pilgrim made beſides this, was only that they might live ſo long, till he could give ſome remarkable proof of his affection to his Guide. For though he knew that he loved him above all things, and could contradict even his former wiſhes by dying for him; yet it did ſometimes a little diſcontent him that he was in no capacity to ſhow his tenderneſs but only by words and proteſtations. Though the wiſdom of his Conductor had ſtood him in ſo great ſtead, and he could not well ſpare any of it; yet he was ſo fooliſh now and then as to think that if he had been leſs wiſe he himſelf had been more happy: Becauſe then he might have ſtood in need to receive thoſe counſels, which now he only gave; and been requited for thoſe courteſies, which now he made him a pure debtor for. Many other benefits alſo that are uſually communicated between friends he found himſelf utterly deſtitute of all means to confer; they being either not in his power, or his Guide in no need of them. This ſometimes raiſed a ſmall diſquiet in his mind; and one day I remember he could not contain himſelf, but he began a diſcourſe to this purpoſe, which ſhall put an end to this preſent Relation.
I ſhould think my ſelf, ſaid he, the happieſt man alive was I but able to correſpond with you in the duties and offices of friendſhip; and were I not conſtrain'd to return you only a weak and fruitleſs paſſion, for that efficacious love which hath done me ſo many ſervices. It troubles me a little to find that my paſſion is as uſeleſs as it is extream: and as void of benefit to you as it is violent in it ſelf. It is no leſs barren then I doubt it may be burdenſome; and hath as little profit as I ſee it hath brought you much trouble. Though the honour be very great you have done me in beſtowing ſuch a place upon me in your heart; yet I know not ſometimes whether I ſhould not complain in the enjoyment of a favour, which as it was not in my hands to deſerve, ſo I cannot poſſibly requite. True indeed it is that I have given my ſelf to you; but that is no more than ſtrict Juſtice exacts, ſince I have received your ſelf as a gift to me. Friendſhip they ſay is a commutation of hearts; and therefore it is but fit that you ſhould have mine in room of your own. And yet alas! mine is of ſuch ſmall value, that I doubt you will be wholly a loſer by the change. Is there no means for me to do you ſervice, or to reſt content with a will to ſerve you? Cannot you either ſhew me how I may be uſeful to you; or ſhew your ſelf a diſpoſition to it in that heart which I have given you? I ſhould be ſatisfied I think if you knew my will as well as my ſelf. It remains in your power, not my own, to ſettle my mind in peace; if you will firſt believe I love you, and then ſet a value upon that Love, which you know is the cauſe of all well-doing; and ought not to be blamed for want of power.
Very true, ſaid his Guide, who laid hold of that word, I think that I have found a treaſure in your Love; and I will have it paſs for currant payment, though it cannot expreſs it ſelf in ſuch ſenſible effects as you would have it. It is enough to me that you have ſuch a paſſionate affection for me; though it could never find the means to do any thing, but only tell me how hearty it is. I am pleaſed with the intentions and deſires which you have to do me any good. It is an extraordinary contentment to me to contemplate the imaginations which are in your mind of what you would do for me; could power be courted by your will to come and joyn it ſelf unto it. They are the Vulgar who call nothing benefits, but what they can feel with their fingers. It is the portion of groſs Souls to be inſenſible; unleſs your courteſies, to come at their hearts, paſs through their hands. The purer and more refined Spirits touch the very Souls of their Friends, and feel the kindneſs which lyes in their breaſts. They are ſo ſubtil as to ſee a courteſie while it is ſo young, as to be but only in deſign. They touch it before it be cloathed in matter, or have paſſed beyond the confines of thoughts. They meet it in the firſt rudiments, and embrace it while it is only in meaning and drawn in the imagination. They receive theſe inward acts of Love as moſt pure and ſpiritual; being ſeparate from all the terreſtrial part which affect the vulgar minds. And in one word there is not any thing dearer to them than thoſe motions of the Soul, which finding nothing they can do correſpondent to their own greatneſs and force; do terminate in themſelves. They are pleaſed to ſee them ſtay there and go no further; becauſe there is nothing fairer than themſelves to be met withall, wherein to end and reſt.
Do not depretiate your affection therefore, nor vilifie it in that manner you are wont; as though it were not worthy my acknowledgement. Do not tell me any more that it is no valuable Love which doth not ſerve our Friends: for this ſervice depends upon occaſions; and they depend on an higher Being, and are only in the diſpoſe of Providence. All that I can be beholden to you for, I have received already from you; and for the reſt, if it could be beſtowed, I muſt make my acknowledgements to ſomething elſe. Be contented then that you give all that is in your hands; and that if it were in them to make occaſions, you would ſtill let thoſe be wanting, which moſt of all prove a friend. Nay let me tell you, I am ſo favourable in my opinion to your affection, and ſo apt to give it the beſt advantage; that I am not yet reſolved, but there may be as much nobleneſs in the handſome acknowledgement of a kindneſs, as there is in the conferring of that which deſerves ſuch acknowledgement. But beſides all this, let me aſk you a Queſtion (for I am reſolved to ferret this ſcruple out of the bottom of your heart) ſhould you not love me unleſs I had done you benefits? Tell me the truth; is there any great dearneſs think you created in peoples hearts towards each other by this means? For my part I have often found the obſervation true; that the remembrance of benefits wears out of mens minds, as grief doth out of the heart of afflicted perſons; from which every moment ſteals a part. Time hath power over the one as well as the other; and it diminiſhes the affection which is the fruit of favours, as it doth the ſorrow which is produced by loſſes and calamities. Nay, ſo little power have benefits to make a friend, that they ſometimes make a foe. There are ſome men, the more they owe, the more they hate. A little debt makes a man a debtor, but a great one makes him an enemy. What is it then that produces a durable Friendſhip? Nothing ſure but worth and deſert; together with the agreeableneſs of a perſon to our humour, and his reſemblance to our diſpoſition. The impreſſion which theſe make can never be blotted out. Time which wipes away the remembrance of benefits, can never efface the ſenſe of worth and merit. We alwayes carry in our minds the amiable perfections, and accompliſhed qualities of worthy perſons. We alwayes think of thoſe who have touched our inclinations by their agreeable nature. And I appeal to you whether you could refuſe me your Love, though you were not ſo much beholden to me as you now acknowledge. And whether all the kindneſſes in the world would produce a Friendſhip with me, if you ſaw not ſomething elſe to woe your affection. No, no, my Friend, it is Gratitude, not Friendſhip which is the proper effect of benefits. They ought to diſpoſe us to ſuitable returns, and an hearty acknowledgement; but they cannot oblige us to entertain him for a Friend who is bountiful toward us. They may poſſibly make our Friendſhip grow, but they cannot beget it. They may give it ſome nouriſhment, but they cannot produce and bring it forth. It depends upon an higher cauſe, it owes its Original to ſome nobler thing; to that from whence all benefits and good offices ought to come, I mean a great love and a ſincere affection; which if deſerts be not wanting, is more powerful to move than all the gifts in the world; and is able without them all to tye us faſt to a worthy perſon. Be ſo juſt then to your ſelf and to me, as to think that I am your Friend; though you do not beſtow thoſe benefits on me which you deſire; ſince they can ſerve only (as I ſaid) to make me thankful, but not your Friend. I eſteem you very highly for your ſelf, and upon the account of your own proper worth, which I am ſure doth put me into the next diſpoſition to be your Friend. And ſince you have added to your own deſert, a very great Love to me; that cannot but compleat it, and make me perfectly yours. This Love alone hath been thought ſufficient to make a Friend; and indeed is more powerful than any benefits. According to that of Hecaton; Wouldſt thou know how to get a Friend? I will ſhew thee, and thou ſhalt uſe neither Medicament, Herb, or Inchantment to produce the affection thou deſireſt. If thou wilt be beloved; Love. When Vertue then and it have made a league; and ſhews it ſelf in a ſubject whoſe qualities alſo are worthy to be embraced; its force muſt needs be irreſiſtible, and leave us no power to withſtand its deſires.
The poor Pilgrim remained aſtoniſhed a while at the kindneſs of this diſcourſe: And finding himſelf overwhelmed with the weight of ſuch Love, was fain to ſtrive very much to recover a power of making this ſhort reply unto it. I am utterly ignorant, ſaid he, what worth it is that you aſcribe to me, which hath brought me into your good eſteem, and obtained me the noble title of your Friend. I ſee that I pleaſe you, but I know not what it is that ſhould give you that pleaſure. I find my ſelf very happy; but what hath advanced me to this felicity I cannot define. And truly ſince it is your will to have me ſo, I will not be too buſie and curious in examining the cauſes of my good fortune; nor will I ſeek to leſſen my worth, leſt in ſo doing I ſhould upbraid you with a bad foundation of your Love. No, I will rather think I am worth ſomething, than render your judgement nothing worth. I will think of my ſelf as you would have me, that you may not ſeem to be miſtaken. There is nothing elſe can make me of any value; unleſs it be that I had the wit to judge of the deſervings of ſuch a perſon as your ſelf. It is a mark they ſay of ſome ſufficiency to be able to diſcern an able perſon from a flaſhy wit. It is a note I have heard of great wiſdom to chuſe an excellent Friend. By this I am told a man is known to others, and I have little elſe whereby to know my ſelf. This is the chiefeſt thing that makes me ſee I am not ſo unfortunate as I thought. I perceive I am worthy of ſome eſteem, becauſe I had the judgement to ſet ſuch an eſteem upon your ſelf. For I muſt needs confeſs that though your favours could have impoſed a greater neceſſity upon me of loving than you will allow; yet I feel that I am not beholden to them for my Inclination to love you. That is ſomething more antient than any benefits you can beſtow; and depends only on your own merits. And let it not be judged an amplification to ſay, that they are ſo great, that they will not leave it to my choice either whether I will love you or no, or how much I will love you; but they conſtrain me to love you as much as I can. It is a conſtraint indeed to which I am very willing, there being no violence offered but of what my own judgement is the cauſe: yet it is irreſiſtable; and I can never be of any other mind, nor have a will to diſpoſe of my affections otherwayes. Nay I cannot for my life but think that your favours are a part of your deſerts; and that there is ſomething peculiar in them to merit mine affection. They flow purely from your own goodneſs, and owe not themſelves ſo much as to my entreaties. You have not put me to the trouble of begging your kindneſſes, but they ran to me of their own accord. I did but aſk; and you were pleaſed to open your heart, and make me a liberal gift. I did but ſhew my need; and you inſtantly inriched me with your ſelf. And ever ſince I have not had ſo great a care to conceal my griefs, as you have taken to find them out. Nor have you ſuffered my troubles to ſpeak, before you ſaw them in my looks. All your favours likewiſe have flowed ſo freely from you, that there was no hope they ſhould return again. They have brought me a great deal of happineſs, but could not be thought to come to fetch any to him that ſent them. This adds exceeding much to the eſteem I have conceived for you. This will ever make me to propound you as the pattern of an excellent Friend. And if I were now to dye, it would be one of the laſt words I ſhould ſpeak to thoſe that love me. Remember that thoſe will be your worſt enemies; not to whom you have done evil, but who have done evil to you: and thoſe will be your beſt Friends; not to whom you have done good, but who have done good to you.
The End.
End of the text · Simon Patrick, The Parable of the Pilgrim (1665)