The Works of Samuel Johnson in Nine Volumes by Samuel Johnson

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"Among us, nobody has carried ridicule in comedy farther than Moliere.
Our ancient comick writers brought no characters higher than servants to
make sport upon the theatre; but we are diverted upon the theatre of
Moliere by marquises and people of quality. Others have exhibited, in
comedy, no species of life above that of a citizen; but Moliere shows us
all Paris, and the court. He is the only man amongst us, who has laid
open those features of nature by which he is exactly marked, and may be
accurately known. The beauties of his pictures are so natural, that they
are felt by persons of the least discernment, and his power of
pleasantry received half its force from his power of copying. His
Misanthrope is, in my opinion, the most complete, and, likewise, the
most singular character that has ever appeared upon the stage: but the
disposition of his comedies is always defective some way or another.
This is all which we can observe, in general, upon comedy."

Such are the thoughts of one of the most refined judges of works of
genius, from which, though they are not all oraculous, some advantages
may be drawn, as they always make some approaches to truth.

Madame Dacier[26], having her mind full of the merit of Aristophanes,
expresses herself in this manner: "No man had ever more discernment than
him, in finding out the ridiculous, nor a more ingenious manner of
showing it to others. His remarks are natural and easy, and, what very
rarely can be found, with great copiousness, he has great delicacy. To
say all at once, the Attick wit, of which the ancients made such boast,
appears more in Aristophanes than in any other that I know of in
antiquity. But what is most of all to be admired in him is, that he is
always so much master of the subject before him, that, without doing any
violence to himself, he finds a way to introduce, naturally, things
which, at first, appeared most distant from his purpose; and even the
most quick and unexpected of his desultory sallies appear the necessary
consequence of the foregoing incidents. This is that art which sets the
dialogues of Plato above imitation, which we must consider as so many
dramatick pieces, which are equally entertaining by the action, and by
the dialogue. The style of Aristophanes is no less pleasing than his
fancy; for, besides its clearness, its vigour and its sweetness, there
is in it a certain harmony, so delightful to the ear, that there is no
pleasure equal to that of reading it. When he applies himself to vulgar
mediocrity of style, he descends without meanness; when he attempts the
sublime, he is elevated without obscurity; and no man has ever had the
art of blending all the different kinds of writing so equally together.
After having studied all that is left us of Grecian learning, if we have
not read Aristophanes, we cannot yet know all the charms and beauties of
that language."

9. PLUTARCH'S SENTIMENTS UPON ARISTOPHANES AND MENANDER.

This is a pompous eulogium; but let us suspend our opinion, and hear
that of Plutarch, who, being an ancient, well deserves our attention, at
least, after we have heard the moderns before him. This is then the sum
of his judgment concerning Aristophanes and Menander. To Menander he
gives the preference, without allowing much competition. He objects to
Aristophanes, that he carries all his thoughts beyond nature; that he
writes rather to the crowd than to men of character; that he affects a
style obscure and licentious; tragical, pompous, and mean, sometimes
serious, and sometimes ludicrous, even to puerility; that he makes none
of his personages speak according to 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 serving-man.
Whereas, the diction of Menander, which is always uniform and pure, is
very justly adapted to different characters, rising, when it is
necessary, to vigorous and sprightly comedy, yet without transgressing
the proper limits, or losing sight of nature, in which Menander, says
Plutarch, has attained a perfection to which no other writer has
arrived. For, what man, besides himself, has ever found the art of
making a diction equally suitable to women and children, to old and
young, to divinities and heroes? Now Menander has found this happy
secret, in the equality and flexibility of his diction, which, though
always the same, is, nevertheless, different upon different occasions;
like a current of clear water, (to keep closely to the thoughts of
Plutarch,) which running through banks differently turned, complies with
all their turns backward and forward, without changing any thing of its
nature or its purity. Plutarch mentions it, as a part of the merit of
Menander, that he began very young, and was stopped only by old age, at
a time when he would have produced the greatest wonders, if death had
not prevented him. This, joined to a reflection, which he makes as he
returns to Aristophanes, shows that Aristophanes continued a long time
to display his powers: for his poetry, says Plutarch, is a strumpet that
affects sometimes the airs of a prude, but whose impudence cannot be
forgiven by the people, and whose affected modesty is despised by men of
decency. Menander, on the contrary, always shows himself a man agreeable
and witty, a companion desirable upon the stage, at table, and in gay
assemblies; an extract of all the treasures of Greece, who deserves
always to be read, and always to please. His irresistible power of
persuasion, and the reputation which he has had, of being the best
master of language of Greece, sufficiently shows the delightfulness of
his style. Upon this article of Menander, Plutarch does not know how to
make an end; he says, that he is the delight of philosophers, fatigued
with study; that they use his works as a meadow enamelled with flowers,
where a purer air gratifies the sense; that, notwithstanding the powers
of the other comick poets of Athens, Menander has always been considered
as possessing a salt peculiar to himself, drawn from the same waters
that gave birth to Venus. That, on the contrary, the salt of
Aristophanes is bitter, keen, coarse, and corrosive; that one cannot
tell whether his dexterity, which has been so much boasted, consists not
more in the characters than in the expression, for he is charged with
playing often upon words, with affecting antithetical allusions; that he
has spoiled the copies which he endeavoured to take after nature; that
artifice in his plays is wickedness, and simplicity brutishness; that
his jocularity ought to raise hisses rather than laughter; that his
amours have more impudence than gaiety; and that he has not so much
written for men of understanding, as for minds blackened with envy, and
corrupted with debauchery.

10. THE JUSTIFICATION OF ARISTOPHANES.

After such a character there seems no need of going further; and one
would think, that it would be better to bury, for ever, the memory of so
hateful a writer, that makes us so poor a recompense for the loss of
Menander, who cannot be recalled. But, without showing any mercy to the
indecent or malicious sallies of Aristophanes, any more than to Plautus,
his imitator, or, at least, the inheritor of his genius, may it not be
allowed us to do, with respect to him, what, if I mistake not,
Lucretius[27] did to Ennius, from whose muddy verses he gathered jewels,
"Enni de stercore gemmas?"

Besides, we must not believe that Plutarch, who lived more than four
ages after Menander, and more than five after Aristophanes, has passed
so exact a judgment upon both, but that it may be fit to reexamine it.
Plato, the contemporary of Aristophanes, thought very differently, at
least, of his genius; for, in his piece called the Entertainment, he
gives that poet a distinguished place, and makes him speak, according to
his character, with Socrates himself, from which, by the way, it is
apparent that this dialogue of Plato was composed before the time that
Aristophanes wrote his Clouds, against Socrates. Plato is, likewise,
said to have sent a copy of Aristophanes to Dionysius the tyrant, with
advice to read it diligently, if he would attain a complete judgment of
the state of the Athenian republick[28].

Many other scholars have thought that they might depart somewhat from
the opinion of Plutarch. Frischlinus, for example, one of the
commentators upon Aristophanes, though he justly allows his taste to be
less pure than that of Menander, has yet undertaken his defence against
the outrageous censure of the ancient critick. In the first place, he
condemns, without mercy, his ribaldry and obscenity. But this part, so
worthy of contempt, and written only for the lower people, according to
the remark of Boivin, bad as it is, after all, is not the chief part
which is left of Aristophanes. I will not say, with Frischlinus, that
Plutarch seems in this to contradict himself, and, in reality, commends
the poet when he accuses him of having adapted his language to the
stage; by the stage, in this place, he meant the theatre of farces, on
which low mirth and buffoonery was exhibited. This plea of Frischlinus
is a mere cavil; and though the poet had obtained his end, which was to
divert a corrupted populace, he would not have been less a bad man, nor
less a despicable poet, notwithstanding the excuse of his defender. To
be able, in the highest degree, to divert fools and libertines, will not
make a poet: it is not, therefore, by this defence that we must justify
the character of Aristophanes. The depraved taste of the crowd, who once
drove away Cratinus and his company, because the scenes had not low
buffoonery enough for their taste, will not justify Aristophanes, since
Menander found a way of changing the taste by giving a sort of comedy,
not, indeed, so modest as Plutarch represents it, but less licentious
than before. Nor is Aristophanes better justified, by the reason which
he himself offers, when he says, that he exhibited debauchery upon the
stage, not to corrupt the morals, but to mend them. The sight of gross
faults is rather a poison than a remedy[29].

The apologist has forgot one reason, which appears to me to be essential
to a just account. As far as we can judge by appearance, Plutarch had in
his hands all the plays of Aristophanes, which were at least fifty in
number.

In these he saw more licentiousness than has come to our hands, though,
in the eleven that are still remaining, there is much more than could be
wished.

Plutarch censures him, in the second place, for playing upon words; and
against this charge Frischlinus defends him with less skill. It is
impossible to exemplify this in French. But, after all, this part is so
little, that it deserved not so severe a reprehension, especially since,
amongst those sayings, there are some so mischievously malignant, that
they became proverbial, at least by the sting of their malice, if not by
the delicacy of their wit. One example will be sufficient: speaking of
the tax-gatherers, or the excisemen of Athens, he crushes them at once,
by observing, non quod essent [Greek: tamiai], sed [Greek: lamiai]. The
word _lamiae_ signified, walking spirits, which, according to the vulgar
notion, devoured men; this makes the spirit of the sarcasm against the
tax-gatherers. This cannot be rendered in our language; but if any thing
as good had been said in France, on the like occasion, it would have
lasted too long, and, like many other sayings amongst us, been too well
received. The best is that Plutarch himself confesses that it was
extremely applauded.

The third charge is, a mixture of tragick and comick style. This
accusation is certainly true; Aristophanes often gets into the buskin;
but we must examine upon what occasion. He does not take upon him the
character of a tragick writer; but, having remarked that his trick of
parody was always well received, by a people who liked to laugh at that
for which they had been just weeping, he is eternally using the same
craft; and there is scarcely any tragedy or striking passage known by
memory, by the Athenians, which he does not turn into merriment, by
throwing over it a dress of ridicule and burlesque, which is done
sometimes by changing or transposing the words, and sometimes by an
unexpected application of the whole sentence. These are the shreds of
tragedy, in which he arrays the comick muse, to make her still more
comick. Cratinus had before done the same thing; and we know that he
made a comedy called Ulysses, to burlesque Homer and his Odyssey; which
shows, that the wits and poets are, with respect to one another, much
the same at all times, and that it was at Athens as here. I will prove
this system by facts, particularly with respect to the merriment of
Aristophanes, upon our three celebrated tragedians. This being the case,
the mingled style of Aristophanes will, perhaps, not deserve so much
censure as Plutarch has vented. We have no need of the travesty of
Virgil, nor the parodies of our own time, nor of the Lutrin of Boileau,
to show us, that this medly may have its merit upon particular
occasions.

The same may be said, in general, of his obscurity, his meannesses, and
his high flights, and of all the seeming inequality of style, which puts
Plutarch in a rage. These censures can never be just upon a poet, whose
style has always been allowed to be perfectly attick, and of an atticism
which made him extremely delightful to the lovers of the Athenian taste.
Plutarch, perhaps, rather means to blame the choruses, of which the
language is sometimes elevated, sometimes burlesque, always very
poetical, and, therefore, in appearance, not suitable to comedy. But the
chorus, which had been borrowed from tragedy, was then all the fashion,
particularly for pieces of satire, and Aristophanes admitted them, like
the other poets of the old, and, perhaps, of the middle comedy; whereas
Menander suppressed them, not so much in compliance with his own
judgment, as in obedience to the publick edicts. It is not, therefore,
this mixture of tragick and comick that will place Aristophanes below
Menander.

The fifth charge is, that he kept no distinction of character; that, for
example, he makes women speak like orators, and orators like slaves: but
it appears, by the characters which he ridicules, that this objection
falls of itself. It is sufficient to say, that a poet who painted not
imaginary characters, but real persons, men well known, citizens whom he
called by their names, and showed in dresses like their own, and masks
resembling their faces, whom he branded in the sight of a whole city
extremely haughty and full of derision; it is sufficient to say, that
such a poet could never be supposed to miss his characters. The applause
which his licentiousness produced, is too good a justification; besides,
if he had not succeeded, he exposed himself to the fate of Eupolis, who,
in a comedy called the Drowned Man, having imprudently pulled to pieces
particular persons, more powerful than himself, was laid hold of, and
drowned more effectually than those he had drowned upon the open stage.

The condemnation of the poignancy of Aristophanes, as having too much
acrimony, is better founded. Such was the turn of a species of comedy,
in which all licentiousness was allowed; in a nation which made every
thing a subject of laughter, in its jealousy of immoderate liberty, and
its enmity, to all appearance, of rule and superiority; for the genius
of independency, naturally produces a kind of satire, more keen than
delicate, as may be easily observed in most of the inhabitants of
islands. If we do not say, with Longinus, that a popular government
kindles eloquence, and that a lawful monarchy stifles it; at least it is
easy to discover, by the event, that eloquence in different governments
takes a different appearance. In republicks it is more sprightly and
violent, and in monarchies more insinuating and soft. The same thing may
be said of ridicule; it follows the cast of genius, as genius follows
that of government. Thus the republican raillery, particularly of the
age which we are now considering, must have been rougher than that of
the age which followed it, for the same reason that Horace is more
delicate, and Lucilius more pointed. A dish of satire was always a
delicious treat to human malignity; but that dish was differently
seasoned, as the manners were polished more or less. By polished manners
I mean that good-breeding, that art of reserve and self-restraint, which
is the consequence of dependance. If one was to determine the preference
due to one of those kinds of pleasantry, of which both have their value,
there would not need a moment's hesitation: every voice would join in
favour of the softer, yet without contempt of that which is rough.
Menander will, therefore, be preferred, but Aristophanes will not be
despised, especially since he was the first who quitted that wild
practice of satirizing at liberty right or wrong, and by a comedy of
another cast, made way for the manner of Menander, more agreeable yet,
and less dangerous. There is, yet, another distinction to be made
between the acrimony of the one, and the softness of the other; the
works of the one are acrimonious, and of the other soft, because, the
one exhibited personal, and the other, general characters; which leaves
us still at liberty to examine, if these different designs might not be
executed with equal delicacy.

We shall know this by a view of the particulars; in this place we say
only that the reigning taste, or the love of striking likenesses, might
justify Aristophanes for having turned, as Plutarch says, art into
malignity, simplicity into brutality, merriment into farce, and amour
into impudence; if, in any age, a poet could be excused for painting
publick folly and vice, in their true colours.

There is a motive of interest, at the bottom, which disposed Elian,
Plutarch, and many others, to condemn this poet without appeal.
Socrates, who is said to have been destroyed by a poetical attack, at
the instigation of two wretches[30], has too many friends among good
men, to have pardon granted to so horrid a crime. This has filled them
with an implacable hatred against Aristophanes, which is mingled with
the spirit of philosophy; a spirit, wherever it comes, more dangerous
than any other. A common enemy will confess some good qualities in his
adversary; but a philosopher, made partial by philosophy, is never at
rest till he has totally destroyed him who has hurt the most tender part
of his heart; that is, has disturbed him in his adherence to some
character, which, like that of Socrates, takes possession of the mind.
The mind is the freest part of man, and the most tender of its
liberties; possessions, life, and reputation may be in another's power,
but opinion is always independent. If any man can obtain that gentle
influence, by which he ingratiates himself with the understanding, and
makes a sect in a commonwealth, his followers will sacrifice themselves
for him, and nobody will be pardoned that dares to attack him, justly or
unjustly, because that truth, real or imaginary, which he maintained, is
now become an idol. Time will do nothing for the extinction of this
hatred; it will be propagated from age to age; and there is no hope that
Aristophanes will ever be treated with tenderness by the disciples of
Plato, who made Socrates his hero. Every body else may, perhaps,
confess, that Aristophanes, though in one instance a bad man, may,
nevertheless, be a good poet; but distinctions, like these, will not be
admitted by prejudice and passion, and one or other dictates all
characters, whether good or bad.

As I add my own reasons, such as they are, for or against Aristophanes,
to those of Frischlinus, his defender, I must not omit one thing which
he has forgot, and which, perhaps, without taking in the rest, put
Plutarch out of humour, which is that perpetual farce which goes through
all the comedies of Aristophanes, like the character of harlequin on the
Italian theatre. What kind of personages are clouds, frogs, wasps, and
birds? Plutarch, used to a comick stage of a very different appearance,
must have thought them strange things; and, yet stranger must they
appear to us, who have a newer kind of comedy, with which the Greeks
were unacquainted. This is what our poet may be charged with, and what
may be proved beyond refutation. This charge comprises all the rest, and
against this I shall not pretend to justify him. It would be of no use
to say, that Aristophanes wrote for an age that required shows which
filled the eye, and grotesque paintings in satirical performances; that
the crowds of spectators, which sometimes neglected Cratinus to throng
Aristophanes, obliged him, more and more, to comply with the ruling
taste, lest he should lose the publick favour by pictures more delicate
and less striking; that, in a state, where it was considered as policy
to lay open every thing that had the appearance of ambition,
singularity, or knavery, comedy was become a haranguer, a reformer, and
a publick counsellor, from whom the people learned to take care of their
most valuable interests; and that this comedy, in the attempt to lead,
and to please the people, claimed a right to the strongest touches of
eloquence, and had, likewise, the power of personal painting, peculiar
to herself. All these reasons, and many others, would disappear
immediately, and my mouth would be stopped with a single word, with
which every body would agree: my antagonist would tell me that such an
age was to be pitied, and, passing on from age to age, till he came to
our own, he would conclude flatly, that we are the only possessours of
common sense; a determination with which the French are too much
reproached, and which overthrows all the prejudice in favour of
antiquity. At the sight of so many happy touches, which one cannot help
admiring in Aristophanes, a man might, perhaps, be inclined to lament
that such a genius was thrown into an age of fools; but what age has
been without them? And have not we ourselves reason to fear, lest
posterity should judge of Moliere and his age, as we judge of
Aristophanes? Menander altered the taste, and was applauded in Athens,
but it was after Athens was changed. Terence imitated him at Rome, and
obtained the preference over Plautus, though Caesar called him but a
demi-Menander, because he appears to want that spirit and vivacity which
he calls the vis comica. We are now weary of the manner of Menander and
Terence, and leave them for Moliere, who appears like a new star in a
new course. Who can answer, that in such an interval of time as has
passed between these four writers, there will not arise another author,
or another taste, that may bring Moliere, in his turn, into neglect?
Without going further, our neighbours, the English, think he wants force
and fire. Whether they are right, or no, is another question; all that I
mean to advance is, that we are to fix it as a conclusion, that comick
authors must grow obsolete with the modes of life, if we admit any one
age, or any one climate, for the sovereign rule of taste. But let us
talk with more exactness, and endeavour, by an exact analysis, to find
out what there is in comedy, whether of Aristophanes and Plautus, of
Menander and Terence, of Moliere and his rivals, which is never
obsolete, and must please all ages and all nations.

11. REMARKABLE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE STATE OF COMEDY, AND OTHER WORKS
OF GENIUS, WITH REGARD TO THEIR DURATION.

I now speak particularly of comedy; for we must observe that between
that and other works of literature, especially tragedy, there is an
essential difference, which the enemies of antiquity will not
understand, and which I shall endeavour palpably to show.

All works show the age in which they are produced; they carry its stamp
upon them; the manners of the times are impressed by indelible marks. If
it be allowed, that the best of past times were rude in comparison with
ours, the cause of the ancients is decided against them; and the want of
politeness, with which their works are charged, in our days, must be
generally confessed. History alone seems to claim exemption from this
accusation. Nobody will dare to say of Herodotus or Thucydides, of
Livius or Tacitus, that which has been said, without scruple, of Homer
and the ancient poets. The reason is, that history takes the nearest way
to its purpose, and gives the characters and practices of nations, be
they what they will; it has no dependance upon its subject, and offers
nothing to examination, but the art of the narrative. An history of
China, well written, would please a Frenchman, as well as one of France.
It is otherwise with mere works of genius, they depend upon their
subjects, and, consequently, upon the characters and practices of the
times in which they were written; this, at least, is the light in which
they are beheld. This rule of judgment is not equitable; for, as I have
said, over and over, all the orators and the poets are painters, and
merely painters. They exhibit nature, as it is before them, influenced
by the accidents of education, which, without changing it entirely, yet
give it, in different ages and climates, a different appearance; but we
make their success depend, in a great degree, upon their subject, that
is, upon circumstances which we measure by the circumstances of our own
days. According to this prejudice, oratory depends more upon its subject
than history, and poetry yet more than oratory. Our times, therefore,
show more regard to Herodotus and Suetonius, than to Demosthenes and
Cicero, and more to all these than to Homer or Virgil. Of this
prejudice, there are regular gradations; and to come back to the point
which we have left, we show, for the same imperceptible reason, less
regard to tragick poets than to others. The reason is, that the subjects
of their paintings are more examined than the art. Thus comparing the
Achilles and Hippolytus of Euripides, with those of Racine, we drive
them off the stage, without considering that Racine's heroes will be
driven off, in a future age, if the same rule of judgment be followed,
and one time be measured by another.

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