No More Learning

The pages abound with quaint, humorous,
and lifelike touches; as where Diabolus stations at Ear-Gate a
guard of deaf men under old Mr. Prejudice, and Unbelief is described
as "a nimble jack whom they could never lay hold of”;- but as
compared with the Pilgrim's Progress the allegory is artificial, its
elaboration of analogies is ponderous and tedious, and its characters
lack solidity and reality.
All these works, however, exhibit a remarkable command of the
inother tongue, a shrewd common-sense and mother wit, a fervid


## p. 2750 (#318) ###########################################

2750
JOHN BUNYAN
spiritual life, and a wonderful knowledge of the English Bible. They
may be likened to more or less submerged wrecks kept from sinking
into utter neglect by the bond of authorship which connects them
with the one incomparable work which floats, unimpaired by time.
on the sea of universal appreciation and favor. Bunyan's unique and
secure position in English literature was gained by the Pilgrim's
Progress,' the first part of which was published in 1678, and the
second in 1685.
The broader, freer conception of the pilgrimage - as old in liter-
ature as the ninetieth Psalm, apt and fond, as innumerable books
show, from De Guileville's "Le Pelerinage de l'Homme) in the four-
teenth century to Patrick's Parable three hundred years later —
took sudden possession of Bunyan's imagination while he was in
prison, and kindled all his finest powers. Then he undertook, poet-
wise, to work out this conception, capable of such diversity of illus-
tration, in a form of literature that has ever been especially congenial
to the human mind. Unguided save by his own consecrated genius,
unaided by other books than his English Bible and Fox's Book of
Martyrs,' he proceeded with a simplicity of purpose and felicity of
expression, and with a fidelity to nature and life, which gave to his
unconsciously artistic story the charm of perfect artlessness as well
as the semblance of reality. When Bunyan's lack of learning and
culture are considered, and also the comparative dryness of his con-
troversial and didactic writings, this efflorescence of a vital spirit of
beauty and of an essentially poetic genius in him seems quite inex-
plicable. The author's rhymed Apology for His Book,' which
usually prefaces the Pilgrim's Progress,' contains many significant
hints as to the way in which he was led to
«Make truth spangle, and its rays to shine. ”
He had no thought of producing a work of literary excellence; but
on the other hand he had not, in writing this book, his customary
purpose of spiritual edification. Indeed, he put his multiplying
thoughts and fancies aside, lest they should interfere with a more
serious and important book which he had in hand!
« I only thought to make
I knew not what: nor did I undertake
Thereby to please my neighbor; no, not 1:
I did it mine own self to gratify.
Thus I set pen to paper with delight,
And quickly had my thoughts in black and white. »


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JOHN BUNYAN
2751
The words are exceedingly suggestive. In writing so aimlessly –
“I knew not what » – to gratify himself by permitting the allegory
into which he had suddenly fallen to take possession of him and
carry him whithersoever it would, while he wrote out with delight
his teeming fancies, was not Bunyan for the first time exercising his
genius in a freedom from all theological and other restraint, and so
in a surpassing range and power? The dreamer and poet supplanted
the preacher and teacher. He yielded to the simple impulse of his
genius, gave his imagination full sweep, and so, as never before or
elsewhere, soared and sang in what seemed to many of his Puritan
friends a questionable freedom and profane inspiration. And yet his
song, or story, was not a creation of mere fancy,-
“It came from my own heart, so to my head,
And thence into my fingers tricklèd ; ».
one
and therefore, we add, it finds its way to the heart of mankind.
Hence the spontaneity of the allegory, its ease and freedom of
movement, its unlabored development, its natural and vital enfolding
of that old pilgrim idea of human life which had so often bloomed
in the literature of all climes and ages, but whose consummate
flower appeared in the book of this inspired Puritan tinker-preacher.
Hence also the dramatic unity and methodic perfectness of the story.
Its byways all lead to its highway; its episodes are as vitally related
to the main theme as are the ramifications of a tree to its central
stem. The great diversities of experience in the true pilgrims are
dominated by
supreme motive.
As for the others, they
appear incidentally to complete the scenes, and make the world and
its life manifold and real. The Pilgrim is a most substantial person,
and once well on the way, the characters he meets, the difficulties
he encounters, the succor he receives, the scenes in which he
mingles, are all, however surprising, most natural. The names, and
one might almost say the forms and faces, of Pliable, Obstinate,
Faithful, Hopeful, Talkative, Mercy, Great-heart, old Honest, Valiant-
for-truth, Feeble-mind, Ready-to-halt, Miss Much-afraid, and many
another, are familiar to us all. Indeed, the pilgrimage is our own
- in many of its phases at least, — and we have met the people
whom Bunyan saw in his dream, and are ourselves they whom he
describes. When Dean Stanley began his course of lectures on
Ecclesiastical History at Oxford, his opening words were those of
the passage where the Pilgrim is taken to the House Beautiful to
“the rarities and histories of that place, both ancient and
modern”; and at the end of the same course, wishing to sketch the
prospects of Christendom, he quoted the words in which, on leaving
the House Beautiful, Christian was shown the distant view of the
Delectable Mountains.
see


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2752
JOHN BUNYAN
But for one glance at Pope and Pagan, there is almost nothing to
indicate the writer's ecclesiastical standing. But for here and there
a marking of time in prosaic passages which have nothing to do
with the story, there is nothing to mar the catholicity of its spirit.
Romanists and Protestants, Anglicans and Puritans, Calvinists and
Arminians, - all communions and sects have edited and circulated it.
It is the completest triumph of truth by fiction in all literature.
More than any other human book, it is "a religious bond to the whole
of English Christendom. ” The second part is perhaps inferior to the
first, but is richer in incident, and some of its characters — Mercy,
old Honest, Valiant-for-truth, and Great-heart, for instance
exquisitely conceived and presented. Here again the reader will do
well to carefully peruse the author's rhymed introduction :
- are
«What Christian left locked up, and went his way,
Sweet Christiana opens with her key. ”
“Go then, my little Book,” he says, “and tell young damsels of
Mercy, and old men of plain-hearted old Honest. Tell people of
Master Fearing, who was a good man, though much down in spirit.
Tell them of Feeble-mind, and Ready-to-halt, and Master Despond-
ency and his daughter, who (softly went but sure. '
«When thou hast told the world of all these things,
Then turn about, my Book, and touch these strings,
Which, if but touched, will such a music make,
They'll make a cripple dance, a giant quake. ”
This second part introduces some new scenes, as well as char-
acters and experiences, but with the same broad sympathy and
humor; and there are closing descriptions not excelled in power and
pathos by anything in the earlier pilgrimage.
In his Apology) Bunyan says:
( This book is writ in such a dialect
As may the minds of listless men affect. ”
The idiom of the book is purely English, acquired by a diligent
study of the English Bible. It is the simplest, raciest, and most
sinewy English to be found in any writer of our language; and Bun-
yan's amazing use of this Saxon idiom for all the purposes of his
story, and the range and freedom of his imaginative genius therein,
like certain of Tennyson's "Idylls,' show it to be an instrument of
symphonic capacity and variety. Bunyan's own maxim is a good
one:-“Words easy to be understood do often hit the mark, when
high and learned ones do only pierce the air. ”
Of the Pilgrim's Progress,' in both its parts, we may say in the
words of Milton :-


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JOHN BUNYAN
2753
« These are works that could not be composed by the invocation of Dame
Memory and her siren daughters, but by devout prayer to that eternal Spirit
who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and send out his Seraphim,
with the hallowed fire of his altar, to touch and purify the lips of whom he
pleases, without reference to station, birth, or education. ”
Let Bunyan speak for his own book:-
“Wouldst thou be in a dream, and yet not sleep?
Or wouldst thou in a moment laugh and weep?
Wouldst thou lose thyself and catch no harm,
And find thyself again, without a charm ?
Wouldst read thyself, and read, thou kn vst not what,
And yet know whether thou art blest or not
By reading the same lines ? ( then come hither!
And lay my book, thy head, and heart together. ”
Bunyan died of fever, in the house of a friend, at London, Au-
gust 12th, 1688, in the sixty-first year of his age. Three of his four
children survived him; the blind daughter, for whom he expressed
such affectionate solicitude during his imprisonment, died before him.
His second wife, Elisabeth, who pleaded for him with so much
dignity and feeling before Judge Hale and other justices, died in
1692. In 1661 a recumbent statue was placed on his tomb in Bun-
hill Fields, and thirteen years later a noble statue was erected in his
honor at Bedford. The church at Elstow is enriched with memorial
windows presenting scenes from the Holy War' and the Pilgrim's
Progress,' and the Bunyan Meeting-House in Bedford has bronze
doors presenting similar scenes.
The great allegory has been translated into almost every lan-
guage and dialect under the sun. The successive editions of it are
almost innumerable; and no other book save the Bible has had an
equally large circulation. The verdict of approval stamped upon
it at first by the common people, has been fully recognized and
accepted by the learned and cultivated.
Edwin P. Parker
V-173


## p. 2754 (#322) ###########################################

2754
JOHN BUNYAN
THE FIGHT WITH APOLLYON
From the Pilgrim's Progress)
BT
Ut now, in this Valley of Humiliation, poor Christian was
hard put to it; for he had gone but a little way before
he espied a foul fiend coming over the field to meet him;
his name is Apollyon. Then did Christian begin to be afraid,
and to cast in his mind whether to go back or to stand his
ground: But he considered again that he had no armor for his
back, and therefore thought that to turn the back to him might
give him the greater advantage with ease to pierce him with his
darts. Therefore he resolved to venture and stand his ground;
for, thought he, had I no more in mine eye than the saving of
my life, 'twould be the best way to stand.
So he went on, and Apollyon met him. Now the monster
was hideous to behold: he was clothed with scales like a fish
(and they are his pride); he had wings like a dragon, feet like a
bear, and out of his belly came fire and smoke; and his mouth
was as the mouth of a lion. When he was come up to Christian,
he beheld him with a disdainful countenance, and thus began to
question with him.
A pollyon — Whence come you ? and whither are you bound ?
Christian — I am come from the City of Destruction, which is
the place of all evil, and am going to the City of Zion.
A pollyon — By this I perceive thou art one of my subjects, for
all that country is mine, and I am the prince and god of it.
How is it then that thou hast run away from thy King ? Were
it not that I hope thou mayest do me more service, I would
strike thee now at one blow to the ground.
Christian-- I was born indeed in your dominions, but your
service was hard, and your wages such as a man could not live
on, “for the wages of sin is death;” therefore when I was come
to years, I did as other considerate persons do— look out, if per-
haps I might mend myself.
A pollyon — There is no prince that will thus lightly lose his
subjects, neither will I as yet lose thee; but since thou complain-
est of thy service and wages, be content to go back; what our
country will afford, I do here promise to give thee.
Christian - But I have let myself to another, even to the King
of Princes, and how can I with fairness go back with thee?


## p. 2755 (#323) ###########################################

JOHN BUNYAN
2755
A pollyon — Thou hast done in this according to the proverb,
changed a bad for a worse; but it is ordinary for those that have
professed themselves his servants, after a while to give him the
slip and return again to me: Do thou so too, and all shall be well.
Christian - I have given him my faith, and sworn my alle-
giance to him: how then can I go back from this, and not be
hanged as a traitor ?
A pollyon Thou didst the same to me, and yet I am willing
to pass by all, if now thou wilt yet turn again and go back.
Christian – What I promised thee was in my nonage; and
besides, I count that the Prince under whose banner now I stand
is able to absolve me; yea, and to pardon also what I did as
to my compliance with thee: and besides, O thou destroying
Apollyon, to speak truth, I like his service, his wages, his ser-
vants, his government, his company and country, better than
thine; and therefore leave off to persuade me further; I am his
servant, and I will follow him.
Apollyon — Consider again when thou art in cool blood, what
thou art like to meet with in the way that thou goest. Thou
knowest that for the most part his servants come to an ill end,
because they are transgressors against me and my ways: How
many of them have been put to shameful deaths; and besides,
thou countest his service better than mine, whereas he never
came yet from the place where he is to deliver any that served
him out of our hands; but as for me, how many times, as all
the world very well knows, have I delivered, either by power or
fraud, those that have faithfully served me, from him and his,
though taken by them; and so I will deliver thee.
Christian -- His forbearing at present to deliver them is on
purpose to try their love, whether they will cleave to him to the
end: and as for the ill end thou sayest they come to, that is
most glorious in their account; for for present deliverance, they
do not much expect it, for they stay for their glory, and then
they shall have it, when their Prince comes in his, and the glory
of the angels.
Apollyon — Thou hast already been unfaithful in thy service to
him, and how dost thou think to receive wages of him ?
Christian - Wherein, O Apollyon, have I been unfaithful to
him ?
A pollyon — Thou didst faint at first setting out, when thou
wast almost choked in the Gulf of Despond; thou didst attempt


## p. 2756 (#324) ###########################################

2756
JOHN BUNYAN
wrong ways to be rid of thy burden, whereas thou shouldst have
stayed till thy Prince had taken it off; thou didst sinfully sleep
and lose thy choice thing; thou wast also almost persuaded to
go back at the sight of the lions; and when thou talkest of
thy journey, and of what thou hast heard and seen, thou art
inwardly desirous of vainglory in all that thou sayest or doest.
Christian All this is true, and much more which thou hast
left out; but the Prince whom I serve and honor is merciful,
and ready to forgive; but besides, these infirmities possessed me
in thy country, for there I sucked them in, and I have groaned
under them, been sorry for them, and have obtained pardon of
my Prince.
A pollyon — Then Apollyon broke out into grievous rage, say-
ing, I am an enemy to this Prince; I hate his person, his laws,
and people: I am come out on purpose to withstand thee.
Christian - Apollyon, beware what you do, for I am in the
King's highway, the way of holiness, therefore take heed to
yourself.
A pollyon — Then Apollyon straddled quite over the whole
breadth of the way, and said, I am void of fear in this matter;
prepare thyself to die; for I swear by my infernal den, that
thou shalt go no further; here will I spill thy soul.
And with that he threw a flaming dart at his breast, but
Christian had a shield in his hand, with which he caught it, and
so prevented the danger of that.
Then did Christian draw, for he saw 'twas time to bestir him:
and Apollyon as fast made at him, throwing darts as thick as
hail; by the which, notwithstanding all that Christian could do
to avoid it, Apollyon wounded him in his head, his hand, and
foot. This made Christian give a little back; Apollyon therefore
followed his work amain, and Christian again took courage, and
resisted as manfully as he could. This sore combat lasted for
above half a day, even till Christian was almost quite spent; for
you must know that Christian, by reason of his wounds, must
needs grow weaker and weaker.
Then Apollyon, espying his opportunity, began to gather up
close to Christian, and wrestling with him, gave him a dreadful
fall; and with that Christian's sword flew out of his hand. Then
said Apollyon, I am sure of thee now; and with that he had
almost pressed him to death, so that Christian began to despair
of life: but as God would have it, while Apollyon was fetching


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JOHN BUNYAN
2757
of his last blow, thereby to make a full end of this good man,
Christian nimbly stretched out his hand for his sword, and
caught it, saying, “Rejoice not against me, o mine enemy!
when I fall I shall arise;" and with that gave him a deadly
thrust, which made him give back, as one that had received his
mortal wound; Christian, perceiving that, made at him again,
saying, “Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors
through him that loved us. ” And with that Apollyon spread
forth his dragon's wings, and sped him away, that Christian for
a season saw him no more.
In this combat no man can imagine, unless he had seen and
heard as I did, what yelling and hideous roaring Apollyon made
all the time of the fight; he spake like a dragon; and on the
other side, what sighs and groans burst from Christian's heart. I
never saw him all the while give so much as one pleasant look,
till he perceived he had wounded Apollyon with his two-edged
sword; then indeed he did smile, and look upward; but 'twas the
dreadfulest sight that ever I saw.
So when the battle was over, Christian said, I will here give
thanks to him that hath delivered me out of the mouth of the
lion, to him that did help me against Apollyon. And so he did,
saying: -
Great Beelzebub, the captain of this fiend,
Designed my ruin; therefore to this end
He sent him harnessed out: and he with rage
That hellish was, did fiercely me engage:
But blessed Michael helped me, and I
By dint of sword did quickly make him fly.
Therefore to him let me give lasting praise,
And thank and bless his holy name always.
Then there came to him a hand, with some of the leaves of
the tree of life, the which Christian took, and applied to the
wounds that he had received in the battle, and was healed imme-
diately. He also sat down in that place to eat bread, and to
drink of the bottle that was given him a little before; so being
refreshed, he addressed himself to his journey, with his sword
drawn in his hand; for he said, I know not but some other enemy
may be at hand.
But he met with no other affront from Apollyon
quite through this valley.


## p. 2758 (#326) ###########################################

2758
JOHN BUNYAN
THE DELECTABLE MOUNTAINS
From the Pilgrim's Progress
THEN
HEY went then till they came to the Delectable Mountains,
which mountains belong to the Lord of that Hill of which
we have spoken before; so they went up to the mountains,
to behold the gardens and orchards, the vineyards and fountains
of water; where also they drank, and washed themselves, and
did freely eat of the vineyards. Now there were on the tops of
these mountains shepherds feeding their flocks, and they stood
by the highway side. The pilgrims therefore went to them, and
leaning upon their staves (as is common with weary pilgrims,
when they stand to talk with any by the way) they asked,
Whose delectable mountains are these? And whose be the sheep
that feed upon them?
Shepherds — These mountains are "Immanuel's Land,” and they
are within sight of his city; and the sheep also are his, and he
laid down his life for them.
Christian - Is this the way to the Celestial City ?
Shepherds – You are just in your way.
Christian How far is it thither?
Shepherds — Too far for any but those that shall get thither
indeed.
Christian — Is the way safe or dangerous ?
Shepherds - Safe for those for whom it is to be safe, “but
transgressors shall fall therein. ”
Christian --- Is there in this place any relief for pilgrims that
are weary and faint in the way ?
Shepherds — The lord of these mountains hath given us a
charge "not to be forgetful to entertain strangers”; therefore the
good of the place is before you.
I saw also in my dream, that when the shepherds perceived
that they were wayfaring men, they also put questions to them
(to which they made answer as in other places), as, Whence came
you ? and, How got you into the way? and, By what means have
you so persevered therein ? For but few of them that begin to
come hither do show their face on these mountains. But when
the shepherds heard their answers, being pleased therewith, they
looked very lovingly upon them, and said, Welcome to the De-
lectable Mountains.


## p. 2759 (#327) ###########################################

JOHN BUNYAN
2759
The shepherds, I say, whose names were Knowledge, Experi-
ence, Watchful, and Sincere, took them by the hand, and had
them to their tents, and made them partake of that which was
ready at present. They said moreover, We would that ye should
stay here a while, to be acquainted with us; and yet more to
solace yourselves with the good of these delectable mountains.
They then told them that they were content to stay; and so
they went to their rest that night, because it was very late.
Then I saw in my dream, that in the morning the shepherds
called up Christian and Hopeful to walk with them upon the
mountains; so they went forth with them, and walked a while,
having a pleasant prospect on every side. Then said the shep-
herds one to another, Shall we show these pilgrims some won-
ders ? So when they had concluded to do it, they had them first
to the top of a hill called Error, which was very steep on the
furthest side, and bid them look down to the bottom. So Christ-
ian and Hopeful looked down, and saw at the bottom several
men dashed all to pieces by a fall that they had from the top.
Then said Christian, What meaneth this? The shepherds an-
swered, Have you not heard of them that were made to err, by
hearkening to Hymeneus and Philetus, as concerning the faith of
the resurrection of the body? They answered, Yes. Then said
the shepherds, Those that you see lie dashed in pieces at the
bottom of this mountain are they; and they have continued to
this day unburied (as you see) for an example to others to take
heed how they clamber too high, or how they come too near the
brink of this mountain.
Then I saw that they had them to the top of another mount-
ain, and the name of that is Caution, and bid them look afar
off; which when they did, they perceived, as they thought, sev-
eral men walking up and down among the tombs that were
there; and they perceived that the men were blind, because they
stumbled sometimes upon the tombs, and because they could not
get out from among them. Then said Christian, What means
this?
The shepherds then answered, Did you not see a little below
these mountains a stile, that led into a meadow, on the left hand
of this way? They answered, Yes. Then said the shepherds,
From that stile there goes a path that leads directly to Doubting
Castle, which is kept by Giant Despair; and these men (pointing
to them among the tombs) came once on pilgrimages as you do


## p. 2760 (#328) ###########################################

2760
JOHN BUNYAN
now, even till they came to that same stile; and because the
right way was rough in that place, and they chose to go out of
it into that meadow, and there were taken by Giant Despair and
cast into Doubting Castle; where, after they had been awhile
kept in the dungeon, he at last did put out their eyes, and led
them among those tombs, where he has left them to wander to
this very day, that the saying of the wise man might be ful-
filled, “He that wandereth out of the way of understanding shall
remain in the congregation of the dead. ” Then Christian and
Hopeful looked upon one another, with tears gushing out, but
yet said nothing to the shepherds.
Then I saw in my dream that the shepherds had them to
another place, in a bottom, where was a door in the side of a
hill, and they opened the door, and bid them look in. They
looked in therefore, and saw that within it was very dark and
smoky; they also thought that they heard there a rumbling
noise as of fire, and a cry as of some tormented, and that they
smelt the scent of brimstone. Then said Christian, What means
this?
The shepherds told them, This is a by-way to hell, a way
that hypocrites go in at; namely, such as sell their birth-right,
with Esau; such as sell their Master, as Judas; such as blas-
pheme the Gospel, with Alexander; and that lie and dissemble,
with Ananias and Sapphira his wife. Then said Hopeful to the
shepherds, I perceive that these had on them, even every one, a
show of pilgrimage, as we have now: had they not?
Shepherds — Yes, and held it a long time too.
Hopeful— How far might they go on in pilgrimage in their
day, since they notwithstanding were thus miserably cast away?
Shepherds - Some further, and some not so far as these mount-
ains.
Then said the pilgrims one to another, We had need to cry to
the Strong for strength.
Shepherds — Ay, and you will have need to use it when you
have it too.
By this time the pilgrims had a desire to go forwards, and
the shepherds a desire they should; so they walked together
towards the end of the mountains. Then said the shepherds one
to another, Let us here show to the pilgrims the gates of the
Celestial City, if they have skill to look through our perspective-
glass. The pilgrims then lovingly accepted the motion; so they


## p. 2761 (#329) ###########################################

JOHN BUNYAN
2761
had them to the top of a high hill, called Clear, and gave them
their glass to look.
Then they essayed to look, but the remembrance of that last
thing that the shepherds had showed them made their hands
shake, by means of which impediment they could not look
steadily through the glass; yet they thought they saw something
like the gate, and also some of the glory of the place.
CHRISTIANA AND HER COMPANIONS ENTER THE CELESTIAL
CITY
From the Pilgrim's Progress
N°"
ow while they lay here and waited for the good hour, there
was a noise in the town that there was a post come from
the Celestial City, with matter of great importance to one
Christiana, the wife of Christian the pilgrim. So inquiry was
made for her, and the house was found out where she was. So
the post presented her with a letter, the contents whereof was,
Hail, good woman, I bring thee tidings that the Master calleth
for thee, and expecteth that thou shouldest stand in his presence
in clothes of immortality, within this ten days.
When he had read this letter to her, he gave her therewith
a sure token that he was a true messenger, and was come to
bid her make haste to be gone. The token was an arrow with
a point sharpened with love, let easily into her heart, which
by degrees wrought so effectually with her, that at the time
appointed she must be gone.
When Christiana saw that her time was come, and that she was
the first of this company that was to go over, she called for Mr.
Great-heart her guide, and told him how matters were.
So he
told her he was heartily glad of the news, and could have been
glad had the post come for him. Then she bid that he should
give advice how all things should be prepared for her journey.
So he told her, saying, Thus and thus it must be, and we that
survive will accompany you to the river-side.
Then she called for her children and gave them her blessing,
and told them that she yet read with comfort the mark that was
set in their foreheads, and was glad to see them with her there,
and that they had kept their garments so white. Lastly, she
bequeathed to the poor that little she had, and commanded her


## p. 2762 (#330) ###########################################

2762
JOHN BUNYAN
sons and daughters to be ready against the messenger should
come for them.
When she had spoken these words to her guide and to her
children, she called for Mr. Valiant-for-truth, and said unto him,
Sir, you have in all places showed yourself true-hearted; be faith-
ful unto death, and my King will give you a crown of life. I
would also entreat you to have an eye to my children, and if at
any time you see them faint, speak comfortably to them. For
my daughters, my sons' wives, they have been faithful, and a ful-
filling of the promise upon them will be their end. But she gave
Mr. Stand-fast a ring.
Then she called for old Mr. Honest and said of him, Behold
an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile. Then said he, I
wish you a fair day when you set out for Mount Sion, and
shall be glad to see that you go over the river dry-shod. But
she answered, Come wet, come dry, I long to be gone, for how-
ever the weather is in my journey, I shall have time enough
when I come there to sit down and rest me and dry me.
Then came in that good man Mr. Ready-to-halt, to see her.
So she said to him, Thy travel hither has been with difficulty,
but that will make thy rest the sweeter. But watch and be
ready, for at an hour when you think not, the messenger may
come.
After him came in Mr. Despondency and his daughter Much-
afraid, to whom she said, You ought with thankfulness forever to
remember your deliverance from the hands of Giant Despair and
out of Doubting Castle. The effect of that mercy is, that you
are brought with safety hither. Be
ye
watchful and cast away
fear, be sober and hope to the end.
Then she said to Mr.
Feeble-mind, Thou wast delivered from
the mouth of Giant Slay-good, that thou mightest live in the
light of the living for ever, and see thy King with comfort.
Only I advise thee to repent thee of thine aptness to fear and
doubt of his goodness before he sends for thee, lest thou shouldest,
when he comes, be forced to stand before him for that fault
with blushing
Now the day drew on that Christiana must be gone. So the
road was full of people to see her take her journey. But behold,
all the banks beyond the river were full of horses and chariots,
which were come down from above to accompany her to the city
gate. So she came forth and entered the river with a beckon of


## p. 2763 (#331) ###########################################

JOHN BUNYAN
2763
farewell to those who followed her to the river-side. The last
words she was heard to say here was, I come, Lord, to be with
thee and bless thee.
So her children and friends returned to their place, for that
those that waited for Christiana had carried her out of their
sight. So she went and called and entered in at the gate with
all the ceremonies of joy that her husband Christian had done
before her. At her departure her children wept, but Mr. Great-
heart and Mr. Valiant played upon the well-tuned cymbal and
harp for joy. So all departed to their respective places.
In process of time there came a post to the town again, and
his business was with Mr. Ready-to-halt. So he inquired him
out, and said to him, I am come to thee in the name of Him
whom thou hast loved and followed, though upon crutches; and
my message is to tell thee that he expects thee at his table to
sup with him in his kingdom the next day after Easter, where-
fore prepare thyself for this journey.
Then he also gave him a token that he was a true messenger,
saying, “I have broken thy golden bowl, and loosed thy silver
cord. ”
you also.
After this Mr. Ready-to-halt called for his fellow pilgrims,
and told them saying, I am sent for, and God shall surely visit
So he desired Mr. Valiant to make his will. And
because he had nothing to bequeath to them that should survive
him but his crutches and his good wishes, therefore thus he said,
These crutches I bequeath to my son that shall tread in my
steps, with a hundred warm wishes that he may prove better
than I have done.
Then he thanked Mr. Great-heart for his conduct and kind-
ness, and so addressed himself to his journey. When he came
at the brink of the river he said, Now I shall have no more need
of these crutches, since yonder are chariots and horses for me to
ride on.
The last words he was heard to say were, Welcome, life.
So he went his way.
After this Mr. Feeble-mind had tidings brought him that the
post sounded his horn at his chamber door. Then he came in
and told him, saying, I am come to tell thee that thy Master
has need of thee, and that in very little time thou must behold
his face in brightness. And take this as a token of the truth of
my message, “Those that look out at the windows shall be
darkened. ”


## p. 2764 (#332) ###########################################

2764
JOHN BUNYAN
Then Mr. Feeble-mind called for his friends, and told them
what errand had been brought unto him, and what token he had
received of the truth of the message.
Then he said, Since I
have nothing to bequeath to any, to what purpose should I make
a will ? As for my feeble mind, that I will leave behind me, for
that I have no need of that in the place whither I go. Nor is
it worth bestowing upon the poorest pilgrim; wherefore when I
am gone, I desire that you, Mr. Valiant, would bury it in a
dung-hill. This done, and the day being come in which he was
to depart, he entered the river as the rest. His last words were,
Hold out faith and patience. So he went over to the other side.
When days had many of them passed away, Mr. Despondency
was sent for. For a post was come, and brought this message
to him, Trembling man, these are to summon thee to be ready
with thy King by the next Lord's day, to shout for joy for thy
deliverance from all thy doubtings.
And said the messenger, That my message is true, take this
for a proof; so he gave him «The grasshopper to be a burden
unto him. ” Now Mr. Despondency's daughter, whose name
was Much-afraid, said when she heard what was done, that she
would
go
with her father. Then Mr. Despondency said to his
friends, Myself and my daughter, you know what we have been,
and how troublesomely we have behaved ourselves in every com-
pany. My will and my daughter's is, that our desponds and
slavish fears be by no man ever received from the day of our
departure for ever, for I know that after my death they will
offer themselves to others. For to be plain with you, they are
ghosts, the which we entertained when we first began to be
pilgrims, and could never shake them off after; and they will
walk about and seek entertainment of the pilgrims, but for our
sakes shut ye the doors upon them.
When the time was come for them to depart, they went to
the brink of the river. The last words of Mr. Despondency
were, Farewell, night; welcome, day. His daughter went through
the river singing, but none could understand what she said.
Then it came to pass a while after, that there was a post in
the town that inquired for Mr. Honest.
When the day
that he was to be gone was come, he addressed himself to go
over the river. Now the river at that time overflowed the banks
in some places, but Mr. Honest in his lifetime had spoken to one
Good-conscience to meet him there, the which he also did, and


## p. 2765 (#333) ###########################################

JOHN BUNYAN
2765
lent him his hand, and so helped him over. The last words of
Mr. Honest were, Grace reigns. So he left the world.
After this it was noised abroad that Mr. Valiant-for-truth was
taken with a summons by the same post as the other, and had
this for a token that the summons was true, « That his pitcher
was broken at the fountain. » When he understood it, he called
for his friends, and told them of it. Then said he, I am going
to my fathers, and though with great difficulty I am got hither,
yet now I do not repent me of all the trouble I have been at to
arrive where I am. My sword I give to him that shall succeed
me in my pilgrimage, and my courage and skill to him that can
get it. My marks and scars I carry with me, to be a witness for
me that I have fought his battles who now will be my rewarder.
When the day that he must go hence was come, many accom-
panied him to the river-side, into which as he went he said,
Death, where is thy sting? And as he went down deeper he
said, Grave, where is thy victory? So he passed over, and all
the trumpets sounded for him on the other side.
Then there came forth a summons for Mr. Stand-fast (this Mr.
Stand-fast was he that the rest of the pilgrims found upon his
knees in the enchanted ground), for the post brought it him open
in his hands. The contents whereof were, that he must prepare
for a change of life, for his Master was not willing that he
should be so far from him any longer. At this Mr. Stand-fast
was put into a muse. Nay, said the messenger, you need not
doubt of the truth of my message, for here is token of the
truth thereof, “Thy wheel is broken at the cistern. ” Then he
called to him Mr. Great-heart, who was their guide, and said unto
him, Sir, although it was not my hap to be much in your good
company in the days of my pilgrimage, yet since the time I
knew you, you have been profitable to me. When I came from
home, I left behind me a wife and five small children: let me
entreat you at your return (for I know that you will go and
return to your Master's house, in hopes that you may yet be a
conductor to more of the holy pilgrims) that you send to my
family, and let them be acquainted with all that hath and shall
happen unto me. Tell them moreover of my happy arrival to
this place, and of the present late blessed condition that I am in.
Tell them also of Christian and Christiana his wife, and how she
and her children came after her husband. Tell them also of
what a happy end she made, and whither she is gone. I have


## p. 2766 (#334) ###########################################

2766
JOHN BUNYAN
little or nothing to send to my family, except it be prayers and
tears for them; of which it will suffice if thou acquaint them, if
peradventure they may prevail.
When Mr. Stand-fast had thus set things in order, and the
time being come for him to haste him away, he also went down
to the river. Now there was a great calm at that time in the
river; wherefore Mr. Stand-fast, when he was about half-way in,
he stood awhile, and talked to his companions that had waited
upon him thither. And he said:
This river has been a terror to many; yea, the thoughts of it
also have often frighted me. But now methinks I stand easy;
my foot is fixed upon that upon which the feet of the priests
that bare the ark of the covenant stood, while Israel went over
this Jordan. The waters indeed are to the palate bitter and to
the stomach cold, yet the thought of what I am going to and of
the conduct that waits for me on the other side, doth lie as a
glowing coal at my heart.
I see myself now at the end of my journey; my toilsome days
are ended. I am going now to see that Head that was crowned
with thorns, and that Face that was spit upon for me.
I have formerly lived by hearsay and faith, but now I go
where I shall live by sight, and shall be with him in whose
company I delight myself.
I have loved to hear my Lord spoken of, and wherever I
have seen the print of his shoe in the earth, there I have coveted
to set my foot too.
His name has been to me as a civet-box, yea, sweeter than
all perfumes. His voice to me has been most sweet, and his
countenance I have more desired than they that have most
desired the light of the sun. His Word I did use to gather for
my food, and for antidotes against my faintings. He has held
me, and I have kept me from mine iniquities; yea, my steps
hath he strengthened in his way.
Now while he was thus in discourse, his countenance changed,
his strong man bowed under him, and after he had said, Take
me, for I come unto thee, he ceased to be seen of them.
But glorious it was to see how the open region was filled
with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, with sing-
ers and players on stringed instruments, to welcome the pilgrims
as they went up, and followed one another in at the beautiful
gate of the city.


## p. 2767 (#335) ###########################################

2767
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
(1747-1794)
HE ballad of Lenore,' upon which Bürger's fame chiefly rests,
was published in 1773. It constituted one of the articles in
that declaration of independence which the young poets of
the time were formulating, and it was more than a mere coincidence
that in the same year Herder wrote his essay on (Ossian and the
(Songs of Ancient Peoples,' nd Goethe unfurled the banner of a
new time in ‘Götz von Berlichingen. The artificial and sentimental
trivialities of the pigtail age were superseded almost at a stroke, and
the petty formalism under which the lit-
erature of Germany was languishing fell
about the powdered wigs of its professional
representatives. The new impulse came
from England. As in France, Rousseau,
preaching the gospel of a return to nature,
found his texts in English writers, so in
Germany the poets who inaugurated the
classic age derived their chief inspiration
from the wholesome heart of England. It
was Shakespeare that inspired Goethe's
Götz'; Ossian and the old English and
GOTTFRIED A. BÜRGER
Scotch folk-songs were Herder's theme; and
Percy's Reliques stimulated and saved the genius of Bürger. This
was the movement which, for lack of a better term, has been called
the naturalistic. Literature once more took possession of the whole
range of human life and experience, descending from her artificial
throne to live with peasant and people. These ardent innovators
spurned all ancient fules and conventions, and in the first ecstasy of
their new-found freedom and unchastened strength it is no wonder
that they went too far. Goethe and Schiller learned betimes the
salutary lesson of artistic restraint. Bürger never learned it.
Bürger was wholly a child of his time. At the age of twenty-six
he wrote Lenore,' and his genius never again attained that height.
Much may be accomplished in the first outburst of youthful energy:
but without the self-control which experience should teach, and with-
out the moral character which is the condition of great achievement,
genius rots ere it is ripe; and this was the case with Bürger. We
are reminded of Burns. Goethe in his seventy-eighth year said to
Eckermann: “What songs Bürger and Voss have written! Who

(


## p. 2768 (#336) ###########################################

2768
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
would say that they are less valuable or less redolent of their native
soil than the exquisite songs of Burns ? » Like Burns, Bürger was of
humble origin; like Burns, he gave passion and impulse the reins and
drove to his own destruction; like Burns, he left behind him a body
of truly national and popular poetry which is still alive in the mouths
of the people.
Bürger was born in the last hour of the year 1747 at Molmerswende.
His father was a country clergyman, and he himself was sent to Halle
at the age of seventeen to study theology. His wild life there led
to his removal to Göttingen, where he took up the study of law. He
became a member and afterwards the leader of the famous “Göttinger
Dichterbund,” and was carried away and for a time rescued from
his evil courses by his enthusiasm for Shakespeare and Percy's Rel-
iques. ' He contributed to the newly established Musenalmanach, and
from 1779 until his death in 1794 he was its editor. In 1787 the uni-
versity conferred an honorary degree upon him, and he was soon after-
ward made a professor without salary, lecturing on Kantian philosophy
and asthetics. Three times he was married; his days were full of
financial struggles and self-wrought misery; there is little in his pri-
vate life that is creditable to record: a dissolute youth was followed
by a misguided manhood, and he died in his forty-seventh year.
It fell to the lot of the young Goethe, then an unknown reviewer,
to write for the Frankfurter Gelehrte Anzeigen in November, 1772, a
notice of some of Bürger's early poems. «The Minnelied' of Mr.
Bürger,” he says, “is worthy of a better age; and if he has more
such happy moments, these efforts of his will be among the most
potent influences to render our sentimental poetasters, with their
gold-paper Amors and Graces and their elysium of benevolence and
philanthropy, utterly forgotten. ” With such clear vision could Goethe
see at the age of twenty-three. But he soon saw also the danger
that lay in unbridled freedom. For the best that was in Bürger
Goethe retained his admiration to the last, but before he was thirty
he felt that their ways had parted. Among the Maxims and Reflec-
tions) we find this note: “It is sad to see how an extraordinary
man may struggle with his time, with his circumstances, often even
with himself, and never prosper. Sad example, Bürger! ”
Doubtless German literature owes less to Bürger than English
owes to Burns, but it owes much. Bürger revived the ballad form
in which so much of the finest German poetry has since been cast.
With his lyric gifts and his dramatic power, he infused a life into
these splendid poems that has made them a part of the folk-lore of
his native land. Lenardo und Blandine,' his own favorite, Des
Pfarrers Tochter von Taubenhain' (The Pastor's Daughter of Tau-
benhain), (Das Lied vom braven Mann' (The Song of the Brave


## p. 2769 (#337) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
2769
Man), Die Weiber von Weinsberg' (The Women of Weinsberg), Der
Kaiser und der Abt' (The Emperor and the Abbot), (Der Wilde
Jäger' (The Wild Huntsman), all belong, like Lenore,' to the lit-
erary inheritance of the German people. Bürger attempted a trans-
lation of the Iliad in iambic blank verse, and a prose translation of
Macbeth. ' To him belongs also the credit of having restored to
German literature the long-disused sonnet. His sonnets are among
the best in the language, and elicited warm praise from Schiller as
« models of their kind. ” Schiller had written a severe criticism of
Bürger's poems, which had inflamed party strife and embittered the
last years of Bürger himself; but even Schiller admits that Bürger
is as much superior to all his rivals as he is inferior to the ideal he
should have striven to attain.
The debt which Bürger owed to English letters was amply repaid.
In Lenore' he showed Percy's Reliques) the compliment of quoting
from the ballad of Sweet William,' which had supplied him with
his theme, the lines:-Is there any room at your head, Willie, or
any room at your feet ? » The first literary work of Walter Scott
was the translation which he made in 1775 of Lenore, under the
title of William and Helen'; this was quickly followed by a trans-
lation of The Wild Huntsman. ' Scott's romantic mind received in
Bürger's ballads and in Goethe's (Götz,' which he translated four
years later, just the nourishment it craved. It is a curious coinci-
dence that another great romantic writer, Alexandre Dumas, should
also have begun his literary career with a translation of Lenore. '
Bürger was not, however, a man of one poem. He filled two goodly
volumes, but the oft-quoted words of his friend Schlegel contain
the essential truth: « Lenore) will always be Bürger's jewel, the
precious ring with which, like the Doge of Venice espousing the sea,
he married himself to the folk-song forever. ”
WILLIAM AND HELEN
WALTER SCOTT'S TRANSLATION OF LENORE)
F
ROM heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:-
Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead? »
With gallant Frederick's princely power
He sought the bold crusade;
But not a word from Judah's wars
Told Helen how he sped.
V-174


## p. 2770 (#338) ###########################################

2770
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
With Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made,
And every knight returned to dry
The tears his love had shed.
Our gallant host was homeward bound
With many a song of joy;
Green waved the laurel in each plume,
The badge of victory.
And old and young, and sire and son,
To meet them crowd the way.
With shouts, and mirth, and melody,
The debt of love to pay.
Full many a maid her true-love met,
And sobbed in his embrace,
And fluttering joy in tears and smiles
Arrayed full. many a face.
Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad;
She sought the host in vain;
For none could tell her William's fate,
If faithless or if slain.
The martial band is past and gone;
She rends her raven hair,
And in distraction's bitter mood
She weeps with wild despair.
rise, my child,” her mother said,
"Nor sorrow thus in vain :
A perjured lover's fleeting heart
No tears recall again. ”
«O mother, what is gone, is gone,
What's lost forever lorn;
Death, death alone can comfort me;
( had I ne'er been born!
“O break, my heart, O break at once!
Drink my life-blood, Despair!
No joy remains on earth for me,
For me in heaven no share. »
«O enter not in judgment, Lord! ”
The pious mother prays;


## p. 2771 (#339) ###########################################

GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
2771
Impute not guilt to thy frail child!
She knows not what she says.
“O say thy paternoster, child !
O turn to God and grace!
His will, that turned thy bliss to bale,
Can change thy bale to bliss. ”
«O mother, mother, what is bliss ?
O mother, what is bale ?
My William's love was heaven on earth;
Without it earth is hell.
«Why should I pray to ruthless Heaven,
Since my loved William's slain ?
I only prayed for William's sake,
And all my prayers were vain. ”
“O take the sacrament, my child,
And check these tears that flow;
By resignation's humble prayer,
O hallowed be thy woe! )
“No sacrament can quench this fire,
Or slake this scorching pain ;
No sacrament can bid the dead
Arise and live again.
“O break, my heart, O break at once!
Be thou my god, Despair!
Heaven's heaviest blow has fallen on me,
And vain each fruitless prayer. ”
“O enter not in judgment, Lord,
With thy frail child of clay!
She knows not what her tongue has spoke;
Impute it not, I pray!
«Forbear, my child, this desperate woe,
And turn to God and grace;
Well can devotion's heavenly glow
Convert thy bale to bliss. ”
«O mother, mother, what is bliss ?
() mother, what is bale ?
Without my William what were heaven,
Or with him what were hell ? »


## p. 2772 (#340) ###########################################

2772
GOTTFRIED AUGUST BÜRGER
Wild she arraigns the eternal doom,
l'pbraids each sacred Power,
Till, spent, she sought her silent room,
All in the lonely tower.
She beat her breast, she wrung her hands
Till sun and day were o'er,
And through the glimmering lattice shone
The twinkling of the star.
Then, crash!