Chapter viii.
_The adventures which the author met on his first entrance intoElysium._
We pursued our way through a delicious grove of orange-trees, where Isaw infinite numbers of spirits, every one of whom I knew, and was knownby them (for spirits here know one another by intuition). I presentlymet 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 themost ecstatic joy, a space which, if time had been measured here as onearth, could not be less than half a year.
The first spirit with whom I entered into discourse was the famousLeonidas of Sparta. I acquainted him with the honours which had beendone him by a celebrated poet of our nation; to which he answered he wasvery much obliged to him.
We were presently afterwards entertained with the most delicious voice Ihad ever heard, accompanied by a violin, equal to Signior Piantinida. Ipresently discovered the musician and songster to be Orpheus and Sappho.
Old Homer was present at this concert (if I may so call it), and MadamDacier sat in his lap. He asked much after Mr Pope, and said he was verydesirous of seeing him; for that he had read his Iliad in histranslation with almost as much delight as he believed he had givenothers in the original. I had the curiosity to enquire whether he hadreally writ that poem in detached pieces, and sung it about as balladsall over Greece, according to the report which went of him. He smiled atmy question, and asked me whether there appeared any connexion in thepoem; for if there did he thought I might answer myself. I thenimportuned him to acquaint me in which of the cities which contended forthe honour of his birth he was really born? To which he answered, "Uponmy 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 myAEneid?" I told him I believed several, but I could not possiblyremember; 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 thediscovery made by Mr Warburton of the Elusinian mysteries couched in hissixth book. "What mysteries?" said Mr Addison. "The Elusinian," answeredVirgil, "which I have disclosed in my sixth book." "How!" repliedAddison. "You never mentioned a word of any such mysteries to me in allour acquaintance." "I thought it was unnecessary," cried the other, "toa man of your infinite learning: besides, you always told me youperfectly understood my meaning." Upon this I thought the critic lookeda 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 greatestman upon earth; that he readily resigned up all the merit of his ownworks to him. Upon which Addison gave him a gracious smile, and,clapping him on the back with much solemnity, cried out, "Well said,Dick!"
I then observed Shakspeare standing between Betterton and Booth, anddeciding a difference between those two great actors concerning theplacing an accent in one of his lines: this was disputed on both sideswith a warmth which surprized me in Elysium, till I discovered byintuition that every soul retained its principal characteristic, being,indeed, its very essence. The line was that celebrated one in Othello--
_Put out the light, and then put out the light._
according to Betterton. Mr Booth contended to have it thus:--
_Put out the light, and then put out_ THE _light._
I could not help offering my conjecture on this occasion, and suggestedit might perhaps be--
_Put out the light, and then put out_ THY _light._
Another hinted a reading very sophisticated in my opinion--
_Put out the light, and then put out_ THEE, _light._
making light to be the vocative case. Another would have altered thelast word, and read--
_Put out thy light, and then put out thy sight._
But Betterton said, if the text was to be disturbed, he saw no reasonwhy a word might not be changed as well as a letter, and, instead of"put out thy light," you may read "put out thy eyes." At last it wasagreed on all sides to refer the matter to the decision of Shakspearehimself, who delivered his sentiments as follows: "Faith, gentlemen, itis so long since I wrote the line, I have forgot my meaning. This Iknow, could I have dreamt so much nonsense would have been talked andwrit about it, I would have blotted it out of my works; for I am sure,if any of these be my meaning, it doth me very little honour."
He was then interrogated concerning some other ambiguous passages in hisworks; but he declined any satisfactory answer; saying, if Mr Theobaldhad not writ about it sufficiently, there were three or four more neweditions of his plays coming out, which he hoped would satisfy everyone: concluding, "I marvel nothing so much as that men will girdthemselves at discovering obscure beauties in an author. Certes thegreatest and most pregnant beauties are ever the plainest and mostevidently striking; and when two meanings of a passage can in the leastballance our judgments which to prefer, I hold it matter ofunquestionable certainty that neither of them is worth a farthing."
From his works our conversation turned on his monument; upon which,Shakspeare, shaking his sides, and addressing himself to Milton, criedout, "On my word, brother Milton, they have brought a noble set of poetstogether; they would have been hanged erst have [ere they had] convenedsuch a company at their tables when alive." "True, brother," answeredMilton, "unless we had been as incapable of eating then as we are now."