XVI 



RISE AND PROGRESS 



productions as a whole, and as specimens of the 

 ystem to which they belonged, not only the 

 ancient conception of the comic art, but likewise 

 the character of the Bacchanalian festival must 

 be taken into the account To the more solemn 

 and exalted species of mental inspiration, tragedy 

 was consecrated ; but of that airy and extrava- 

 gant spirit, that intoxication of the soul, of which 

 Bacchus was equally the patron, the Attic come- 

 dy, in its first estate, was at once the triumph 

 and the type. Hence every appearance of fore- 

 thought and laborious preparation was avoided, 

 and the reins were freely given to the utmost 

 license of fable, sentiment, and expression, 

 which an exuberant fancy could supply. On 

 this principle we easily find a reason for the 

 wildest sallies of buffoonery, and a reason too, 

 if not an excuse, for that grossness of language 

 and allusion, which harmonized with the obscene 

 ensign of the original Phallic ceremonies. But, 

 above all, this principle explains to us the gene- 

 ral mea<reness or irregularity of the Aristopha. 

 nic plots. It was impossible often to contend 

 against the humours of the feast. While " laugh- 

 ter holding both his sides " was lord of the 

 ascendant, the poet was ashamed to show himself 

 in earnest. To take anything in earnest was 

 alike foreign to the disposition of his audience. 

 Thus they tolerated the most vehement attacks 

 upon their own faults and follies in a collective 

 capacity ; and permitted the comic author to 

 treat their deities, and tbe religion of the state, 

 with a degree of irreverence, the slightest ap- 

 proach to which, in a writer of tragedy, was 

 visited with severe animadversion. Aristophanes 

 was not behind his brethren in availing himself 

 of some of these professional immunities ; yet, 

 wherever, amid the coarseness, the grotesqueness, 

 and the mockery of the old comic vein, the 

 personal character of the man breaks out, we 

 see that it was not merely his boast, but his real 

 wish and aim, to elevate the tone of his art. 

 The graces of his diction no one will seek to 

 gainsay. He wields the idiomatic powers of the 

 Attic form of speech with a skill unrivalled, 

 except, perhaps, in the dialogues of his admirer 

 Plato. Nor should it be forgotten, that he is at 

 least as much a poet, as a satirist, or a buffoon. 

 Snatches of exquisite poetry are perpetually in- 

 termingled with the passages of a more robust or 

 vulgar quality, like glimpses of an Elysian dis- 

 tance descried from some rugged or revolting 

 foreground. When we add to this, that the 

 patriotism of Aristophanes was of that sterling 

 ore which shines from its own brightness, with- 

 out the adventitious gilding of popular profes- 

 sions, we claim for him the crowning merit of a 



great mind. The last mentioned excellence 

 necessarily involves another that may justly be 

 ascribed to him ; a sound consistent view of the 

 philosophy of morals. Even his memorable 

 assault upon Socrates, however erroneous in the 

 choice of an object, or unwarranted in the extent 

 to which it was carried, must be imputed to no 

 other motive. It was wrong to confound So- 

 crates with the sophists of his day ; but it was 

 right that the practices and doctrines of the 

 sophists should be exposed and reprobated with 

 exemplary rigour. Yet the precipitance with 

 which the poet identified a wise and virtuous 

 humourist with the intellectual empirics around 

 him, has caused his satire, in this instance 

 alone, to recoil upon himself. In all other in- 

 stances the attacks of Aristophanes were as just 

 as they were tremendous ; a fact greatly to the 

 honour of one whose shafts flew so thick on 

 every side, that he might well have exclaim- 

 ed, with a celebrated writer of modern times, 

 " What public question have I declined? what 

 villain have I spared ?" 



Such severe, though wholesome discipline, as 

 that which was exercised by the authors of the 

 old comedy, could coexist with nothing but a 

 state of absolute liberty. When the free spirit 

 of Athens was extinguished, the license of 

 the comic theatre, after languishing through 

 various stages of decline, finally expired. The 

 gradations of the middle comedy, to which some 

 even of the later plays of Aristophanes perhaps 

 belonged, are ill defined; but simultaneously 

 with the overthrow of Athenian independence,' 

 appeared the first distinct specimen of a new 

 species of dramatic poetry, in which the pungent 

 sarcasm, the political heat, and the rampant 

 humour of the Aristophanic muse were exchang- 

 ed for graceful lessons of morality, accurate 

 delineation of character, and the interest ot 

 regular plots. This new kind of comedy was 

 brought to perfection by MKNANDKR,-(- the loss of 

 whose works is imbittered to us by the loud 

 applauses of the ancient critics, and only half- 

 compensated, if we believe Julius Cjesar, by the 

 imitations of Terence. Through all the changes 

 and additions, however, of the Latin imitator, 

 we can perceive the nature of the fables adopted 

 by the new comedy, and that it was, as either 

 Greek modes of life or the rigidness of the 

 dramatic canons forced it to be, rather the 

 comedy of manners than of intrigue. The chief 

 charm of Menander seems to have lain in his 

 delicate portraitures of character ; in the con- 

 summate propriety of his style, still visible in the 



* B. C. 335. t B. C. 342292. 



