Madame Dacier's idolatry he seems to be the god: while the venerable Plutarch objects to him that he carried all his thoughts beyond nature; that he wrote not to men of character but to the mob; that his style is at once obscure, licentious, tragical, pompous and mean—sometimes inflated and serious to bombast—sometimes ludicrous, even to puerility; that he makes none of his personages speak in any distinct character, so that in his scenes the son cannot be known from the father—the citizen from the boor—the hero from the shopkeeper, or the divine from the servant.

Whatever doubts may exist as to his talents there can be none respecting his morals. To admit all that his panegyrists have said of his genius is but to augment his depravity, since by the most wicked and wanton perversion of that genius, he made it the successful instrument of the most base and barbarous purposes. Against all that was great and wise and virtuous he with the most malevolent industry turned the shafts of his poignant wit, his brilliant imagination, and his solid knowledge. Corrupting the comic muse from her legitimate duty he seduced her from the pursuit of her fair game, vice and folly, and made her fasten like a bloodhound upon those who were most eminent for moral and intellectual excellence. His caricaturing of Sophocles and Euripides, and turning their valuable writings into ridicule for the amusement of the mob, may be forgiven—but the death of Socrates will never cease to draw upon Aristophanes the execration of every man who has the slightest pretensions to virtue or honesty.

It is here to be observed that the comedy of Greece is to be ranked under three distinct heads. The plays composed of ribaldry, defamatory licentiousness, indecency and loose jokes, which prevailed on the stage while the supreme power remained in the hands of the multitude, constitute the first of these; and it goes by the name of the old comedy. In those pieces no person whatever was spared. Though they were so modelled and represented as to deserve the name of regular comedy they were obscene, scurrilous, and defamatory. In them the most abominable falsehoods were fearlessly charged upon men and women of all conditions and characters; not under fictitious names, nor by innuendo, but directly and with the real name of the party, while the execrable calumniator, protected by the licentious multitude, boldly defied both the power of the law and the avenging arm of the abused individual. Among that licentious people, nobody, not even the chief magistrate nor the very judges themselves, by whose permission the comedians were permitted to play, received any quarter, but were exposed to public scorn by any merciless wretch of a libeller who chose to sacrifice them. Nor were the bad effects of these calumnies confined to public scorn—they often went to the pecuniary ruin of families; sometimes, as in the case of Socrates, afterwards to the death of their object. At length the miscreants proceeded to open impiety, and held up the gods, no less than men to derision.

These abuses continued to contaminate the people and disgrace the country with daily augmented profligacy till a change took place in the government, which took the administration from the multitude and vested it in a few chosen men. The corruptions of the stage were then attended to, and the poets were restrained by law from mentioning any man's name on the stage. With this law terminated that which is called the old comedy.

So far was this law from producing the salutary effect expected from it, that it rendered the poison more mischievous by depriving it of the grossness which in some degree operated as an antidote to its baleful effects. The poets finding that certain limits were prescribed to them, had recourse to greater ingenuity, and by cunning transgressed the spirit while they obeyed the letter of the law. They fell to work upon well known real characters, concealed under fictitious names; thereby not only exciting in the multitude a keener relish for their slanders, but giving a more wide and extensive scope to the operation of their malice. When the name of the object was openly told, the calumny rested upon him alone—but when a fictitious name was held up, however well known the real object might be, the slander was applied to many, and each spectator fixed it upon that particular person whom stupidity, malice, or personal hatred first suggested to him. Thus the hearts of the people were more corrupted by the more refined malice of guessing the persons intended.

This is what has been denominated the middle comedy. In this particular era it was that Aristophanes flourished, doing more mischief by his labours than all the wit which was lavished upon the Grecian multitude in ages could counterbalance. The virulence of the canker, however, at last enforced the necessity of a resolute cure. The magistrates interdicted the poets and players not only from using real names but from representing real subjects. This admirable refinement produced correspondent effects: comedy assumed a new character, and acquired a new name. The poets being obliged to bring imaginary subjects and fictitious names upon the stage, the safety of individuals from those butcher slanderers was secured, and that safety begat tranquillity—thus the theatre was gradually purified and enriched; and shortly after Menander arose to dignify comedy and rescue the drama, and the public taste of Greece from barbarism. This is the third division alluded to, and is called the new comedy. A sad proof of the danger to a nation of allowing a false or corrupt practice to prevail for any time, arises from the sequel. The Athenians were so vitiated by the old and middle comedy that the new was disagreeable to them, so that it rose to no estimation in the world till it was transferred to Rome.

To his poignant wit, and poisonous malignity, Aristophanes joined great intrepidity of spirit. By the indefatigable exercise of his talents he proceeded, unrestrained by fear, unchecked by conscience, inaccessible to shame or pity, and alike regardless of the anger of foes and the feelings of friends, giving to the middle comedy still more force and acumen than ever belonged to the old. He cajoled the multitude by a plausible affectation of a violent love for Athens, and an inveterate hatred to all on whom he chose to fix the odium of wishing to enslave her. Though he was a Rhodian by birth, he had the address to persuade the Athenian multitude that he was a native of Athens. Wit of a much more obtuse quality than his could not fail of winning the hearts of such a people, if it were employed as his was in calumniating men of wisdom, virtue and dignity.

An instance of his intrepidity is worth relating. The very first man he attacked was a man of vast power in Athens, named Cleo: for the purpose of exposing this man he wrote his comedy of the Equites. He could not, however prevail upon any of the actors to incur the danger of personating Cleo, so much were they intimidated by the man's power, wealth and influence. He therefore resolutely determined to play the character himself; which he did with such diabolical ability that the Athenian multitude compelled the object of his defamation to reward him with no less a sum than five talents; cast flowers upon his head; carried him through the streets, shouting applause, and made a decree that he should be honoured with a crown of the sacred olive in the citadel, as a distinction of the highest kind that could be shown to a citizen.

The greatest admirer of this mischievous man was Madame Dacier, who