A miserable old spirit now crawled forwards, whose face I thought I had formerly seen near Westminster Abbey. He entertained Minos with a long harangue of what he had done when in the HOUSE; and then proceeded to inform him how much he was worth, without attempting to produce a single instance of any one good action. Minos stopt the career of his discourse, and acquainted him he must take a trip back again. “What! to S – house?” said the spirit in an ecstasy; but the judge, without making him any answer, turned to another, who, with a very solemn air and great dignity, acquainted him he was a duke. “To the right-about, Mr Duke,” cried Minos, “you are infinitely too great a man for Elysium;” and then, giving him a kick on the b – ch, he addressed himself to a spirit who, with fear and trembling, begged he might not go to the bottomless pit: he said he hoped Minos would consider that, though he had gone astray, he had suffered for it – that it was necessity which drove him to the robbery of eighteenpence, which he had committed, and for which he was hanged – that he had done some good actions in his life – that he had supported an aged parent with his labour – that he had been a very tender husband and a kind father – and that he had ruined himself by being bail for his friend. At which words the gate opened, and Minos bid him enter, giving him a slap on the back as he passed by him.
A great number of spirits now came forwards, who all declared they had the same claim, and that the captain should speak for them. He acquainted the judge that they had been all slain in the service of their country. Minos was going to admit them, but had the curiosity to ask who had been the invader, in order, as he said, to prepare the back gate for him. The captain answered they had been the invaders themselves – that they had entered the enemy’s country, and burnt and plundered several cities. “And for what reason?” said Minos. “By the command of him who paid us,” said the captain; “that is the reason of a soldier. We are to execute whatever we are commanded, or we should be a disgrace to the army, and very little deserve our pay.” “You are brave fellows indeed,” said Minos; “but be pleased to face about, and obey my command for once, in returning back to the other world: for what should such fellows as you do where there are no cities to be burnt, nor people to be destroyed? But let me advise you to have a stricter regard to truth for the future, and not call the depopulating other countries the service of your own.” The captain answered in a rage, “D – n me! do you give me the lie?” and was going to take Minos by the nose, had not his guards prevented him, and immediately turned him and all his followers back the same road they came.
Four spirits informed the judge that they had been starved to death through poverty – being the father, mother, and two children; that they had been honest and as industrious as possible, till sickness had prevented the man from labour. “All that is very true,” cried a grave spirit who stood by. “I know the fact; for these poor people were under my cure.” “You was, I suppose, the parson of the parish,” cries Minos; “I hope you had a good living, sir.” “That was but a small one,” replied the spirit; “but I had another a little better.” – “Very well,” said Minos; “let the poor people pass.” At which the parson was stepping forwards with a stately gait before them; but Minos caught hold of him and pulled him back, saying, “Not so fast, doctor – you must take one step more into the other world first; for no man enters that gate without charity.”
A very stately figure now presented himself, and, informing Minos he was a patriot, began a very florid harangue on public virtue and the liberties of his country. Upon which Minos shewed him the utmost respect, and ordered the gate to be opened. The patriot was not contented with this applause; he said he had behaved as well in place as he had done in the opposition; and that, though he was now obliged to embrace the court measures, yet he had behaved very honestly to his friends, and brought as many in as was possible. “Hold a moment,” says Minos: “on second consideration, Mr Patriot, I think a man of your great virtue and abilities will be so much missed by your country, that, if I might advise you, you should take a journey back again. I am sure you will not decline it; for I am certain you will, with great readiness, sacrifice your own happiness to the public good.” The patriot smiled, and told Minos he believed he was in jest; and was offering to enter the gate, but the judge laid fast hold of him and insisted on his return, which the patriot still declining, he at last ordered his guards to seize him and conduct him back.
A spirit now advanced, and the gate was immediately thrown open to him before he had spoken a word. I heard some whisper, “That is our last lord mayor.”
It now came to our company’s turn. The fair spirit which I mentioned with so much applause in the beginning of my journey passed through very easily; but the grave lady was rejected on her first appearance, Minos declaring there was not a single prude in Elysium.
The judge then addressed himself to me, who little expected to pass this fiery trial. I confessed I had indulged myself very freely with wine and women in my youth, but had never done an injury to any man living, nor avoided an opportunity of doing good; that I pretended to very little virtue more than general philanthropy and private friendship. I was proceeding, when Minos bid me enter the gate, and not indulge myself with trumpeting forth my virtues. I accordingly passed forward with my lovely companion, and, embracing her with vast eagerness, but spiritual innocence, she returned my embrace in the same manner, and we both congratulated ourselves on our arrival in this happy region, whose beauty no painting of the imagination can describe.
Chapter viii
WE pursued our way through a delicious grove of orange-trees, where I saw infinite numbers of spirits, every one of whom I knew, and was known by them (for spirits here know one another by intuition). I presently met a little daughter whom I had lost several years before. Good gods! what words can describe the raptures, the melting passionate tenderness, with which we kissed each other, continuing in our embrace, with the most ecstatic joy, a space which, if time had been measured here as on earth, could not be less than half a year.
The first spirit with whom I entered into discourse was the famous Leonidas of Sparta. I acquainted him with the honours which had been done him by a celebrated poet of our nation; to which he answered he was very much obliged to him.
We were presently afterwards entertained with the most delicious voice I had ever heard, accompanied by a violin, equal to Signior Piantinida. I presently discovered the musician and songster to be Orpheus and Sappho.
Old Homer was present at this concert (if I may so call it), and Madam Dacier sat in his lap. He asked much after Mr Pope, and said he was very desirous of seeing him; for that he had read his Iliad in his translation with almost as much delight as he believed he had given others in the original. I had the curiosity to enquire whether he had really writ that poem in detached pieces, and sung it about as ballads all over Greece, according to the report which went of him. He smiled at my question, and asked me whether there appeared any connexion in the poem; for if there did he thought I might answer myself. I then importuned him to acquaint me in which of the cities which contended for the honour of his birth he was really born? To which he answered, “Upon my soul I can’t tell.”
Virgil then came up to me, with Mr Addison under his arm. “Well, sir,” said he, “how many translations have these few last years produced of my Æneid?” I told him I believed several, but I could not possibly remember; for that I had never read any but Dr Trapp’s. “Ay,” said he, “that is a curious piece indeed!” I then acquainted him with the discovery made by Mr Warburton of the Elusinian mysteries couched in his sixth book. “What mysteries?” said Mr Addison. “The Elusinian,” answered Virgil, “which I have disclosed in my sixth book.” “How!” replied Addison. “You never mentioned a word of any such mysteries to me in all our acquaintance.” “I thought it was unnecessary,” cried the other, “to a man of your infinite learning: besides, you always told me you perfectly understood my meaning.” Upon this I thought the critic looked a little out of countenance, and turned aside to a very merry spirit, one Dick Steele, who embraced him, and told him he had been the greatest