The Life of John Bunyan [69]
metrical preface he thus
introduces his new work:
"Go now my little book to every place
Where my first Pilgrim has but shown his face.
Call at their door; if any say 'Who's there?'
Then answer thus, 'Christiana is here.'
If they bid thee come in, then enter thou
With all thy boys. And then, as thou know'st how,
Tell who they are, also from whence they came;
Perhaps they'll know them by their looks or name."
But although the Second Part must be pronounced inferior, on the
whole, to the first, it is a work of striking individuality and
graphic power, such as Bunyan alone could have written. Everywhere
we find strokes of his peculiar genius, and though in a smaller
measure than the first, it has added not a few portraits to
Bunyan's spiritual picture gallery we should be sorry to miss, and
supplied us with racy sayings which stick to the memory. The sweet
maid Mercy affords a lovely picture of gentle feminine piety, well
contrasted with the more vigorous but still thoroughly womanly
character of Christiana. Great-Heart is too much of an
abstraction: a preacher in the uncongenial disguise of a knightly
champion of distressed females and the slayer of giants. But the
other new characters have generally a vivid personality. Who can
forget Old Honesty, the dull good man with no mental gifts but of
dogged sincerity, who though coming from the Town of Stupidity,
four degrees beyond the City of Destruction, was "known for a cock
of the right kind," because he said the truth and stuck to it; or
his companion, Mr. Fearing, that most troublesome of pilgrims,
stumbling at every straw, lying roaring at the Slough of Despond
above a month together, standing shaking and shrinking at the
Wicket Gate, but making no stick at the Lions, and at last getting
over the river not much above wetshod; or Mr. Valiant for Truth,
the native of Darkland, standing with his sword drawn and his face
all bloody from his three hours' fight with Wildhead,
Inconsiderate, and Pragmatick; Mr. Standfast, blushing to be found
on his knees in the Enchanted Ground, one who loved to hear his
Lord spoken of, and coveted to set his foot wherever he saw the
print of his shoe; Mr. Feeblemind, the sickly, melancholy pilgrim,
at whose door death did usually knock once a day, betaking himself
to a pilgrim's life because he was never well at home, resolved to
run when he could, and go when he could not run, and creep when he
could not go, an enemy to laughter and to gay attire, bringing up
the rear of the company with Mr. Readytohalt hobbling along on his
crutches; Giant Despair's prisoners, Mr. Despondency, whom he had
all but starved to death - and Mistress Much-afraid his daughter,
who went through the river singing, though none could understand
what she said? Each of these characters has a distinct
individuality which lifts them from shadowy abstractions into
living men and women. But with all its excellencies, and they are
many, the general inferiority of the history of Christiana and her
children's pilgrimage to that of her husband's must be
acknowledged. The story is less skilfully constructed; the
interest is sometimes allowed to flag; the dialogues that interrupt
the narrative are in places dry and wearisome - too much of sermons
in disguise. There is also a want of keeping between the two parts
of the allegory. The Wicket Gate of the First Part has become a
considerable building with a summer parlour in the Second; the
shepherds' tents on the Delectable Mountains have risen into a
palace, with a dining-room, and a looking-glass, and a store of
jewels; while Vanity Fair has lost its former bad character, and
has become a respectable country town, where Christiana and her
family, seeming altogether to forget their pilgrimage, settled down
comfortably, enjoy the society of the good people of the place, and
the sons marry and have children. These same children
introduces his new work:
"Go now my little book to every place
Where my first Pilgrim has but shown his face.
Call at their door; if any say 'Who's there?'
Then answer thus, 'Christiana is here.'
If they bid thee come in, then enter thou
With all thy boys. And then, as thou know'st how,
Tell who they are, also from whence they came;
Perhaps they'll know them by their looks or name."
But although the Second Part must be pronounced inferior, on the
whole, to the first, it is a work of striking individuality and
graphic power, such as Bunyan alone could have written. Everywhere
we find strokes of his peculiar genius, and though in a smaller
measure than the first, it has added not a few portraits to
Bunyan's spiritual picture gallery we should be sorry to miss, and
supplied us with racy sayings which stick to the memory. The sweet
maid Mercy affords a lovely picture of gentle feminine piety, well
contrasted with the more vigorous but still thoroughly womanly
character of Christiana. Great-Heart is too much of an
abstraction: a preacher in the uncongenial disguise of a knightly
champion of distressed females and the slayer of giants. But the
other new characters have generally a vivid personality. Who can
forget Old Honesty, the dull good man with no mental gifts but of
dogged sincerity, who though coming from the Town of Stupidity,
four degrees beyond the City of Destruction, was "known for a cock
of the right kind," because he said the truth and stuck to it; or
his companion, Mr. Fearing, that most troublesome of pilgrims,
stumbling at every straw, lying roaring at the Slough of Despond
above a month together, standing shaking and shrinking at the
Wicket Gate, but making no stick at the Lions, and at last getting
over the river not much above wetshod; or Mr. Valiant for Truth,
the native of Darkland, standing with his sword drawn and his face
all bloody from his three hours' fight with Wildhead,
Inconsiderate, and Pragmatick; Mr. Standfast, blushing to be found
on his knees in the Enchanted Ground, one who loved to hear his
Lord spoken of, and coveted to set his foot wherever he saw the
print of his shoe; Mr. Feeblemind, the sickly, melancholy pilgrim,
at whose door death did usually knock once a day, betaking himself
to a pilgrim's life because he was never well at home, resolved to
run when he could, and go when he could not run, and creep when he
could not go, an enemy to laughter and to gay attire, bringing up
the rear of the company with Mr. Readytohalt hobbling along on his
crutches; Giant Despair's prisoners, Mr. Despondency, whom he had
all but starved to death - and Mistress Much-afraid his daughter,
who went through the river singing, though none could understand
what she said? Each of these characters has a distinct
individuality which lifts them from shadowy abstractions into
living men and women. But with all its excellencies, and they are
many, the general inferiority of the history of Christiana and her
children's pilgrimage to that of her husband's must be
acknowledged. The story is less skilfully constructed; the
interest is sometimes allowed to flag; the dialogues that interrupt
the narrative are in places dry and wearisome - too much of sermons
in disguise. There is also a want of keeping between the two parts
of the allegory. The Wicket Gate of the First Part has become a
considerable building with a summer parlour in the Second; the
shepherds' tents on the Delectable Mountains have risen into a
palace, with a dining-room, and a looking-glass, and a store of
jewels; while Vanity Fair has lost its former bad character, and
has become a respectable country town, where Christiana and her
family, seeming altogether to forget their pilgrimage, settled down
comfortably, enjoy the society of the good people of the place, and
the sons marry and have children. These same children