After this exposition the reader may be surprised at the respectful terms in which we have above spoken of him. But it is pretty certain that he saw clearly the true interests of his country; and there is good ground for thinking that four at least of the eleven plays now extant were written with the express view of improving its policy, or, strange as it may appear, of correcting its morals; while through them all the national faults of the Athenians are lashed with an unsparing and somewhat dangerous severity. To argue this question would transport us far from our subject, from which indeed we have already wandered wide, and far beyond our limits: and is the less necessary because it has already been fully argued in works of easy access (Mitchell, Prelim. Discourse; Schlegel, Lectures on History of Literature, Observer). On the literary merits of Aristophanes all are agreed. For power and variety of versification, he stands unrivalled; for command of the noble language in which he wrote, he is perhaps unmatched, except by Plato. His wit it would be superfluous to praise; unfortunately it is too often exercised on subjects which endure not an English dress. Nothing perhaps approaches so nearly to the usual style of his dialogue as the less refined parts of Shakspere’s comedies, but the latter want that political design which, pervading the Grecian, inclines us to forget the means in the end, and are in other respects scarcely equal to the comparison. But amidst all this ribaldry he often breaks out in a vein of pure and exalted poetry, sufficient to show that he was capable of excelling in the most elegant or dignified departments of the art, had the temper of his countrymen been such as to profit by or allow a hearing to serious admonition.
One of his most celebrated comedies, ‘The Knights,’ is directed expressly to destroy the popularity of Cleon. The danger incurred by the author is evident from an anecdote related by himself, that no maskmaker could be induced to furnish a likeness of the demagogue.[88] And as no actor would perform the part, the poet himself made his first appearance on the stage in it, his face rubbed with vermilion, or the lees of wine, to imitate Cleon’s complexion, and serve in some degree for a disguise. The plot, if we may call it such, is mainly founded on the transactions at Pylos, already related, and the characters are selected accordingly.
Nicias, Demosthenes, and Cleon figure as slaves of Demus, literally “the people,” who represents the Athenian as John Bull does the English nation. The only other character is an itinerant sausage–seller. The chorus is composed of knights or horsemen, the richer class of citizens, who were obliged to keep a horse and be prepared for the cavalry service. Demosthenes and Nicias appear in the first scene, and complain bitterly of a certain Paphlagonian; such is the country which the poet has assigned to Cleon, whom their master has lately brought home, partly, according to the Scholiast (Knights, verse 2), for the sake of an untranslateable pun, partly because the Paphlagonians had the reputation of making the worst–conditioned slaves of all who came to the Athenian market. After some quibbling they agree to submit their case to the spectators, and Demosthenes states it as follows:[89]—
With reverence to your worships, ’tis our fate
To have a testy, cross–grained, bilious, sour
Old fellow for our master; one much given
To a bean diet;[90] somewhat hard of hearing:
Demus his name, sirs, of the parish Pnyx[91] here.
Some three weeks back or so, this lord of ours
Brought back a scoundrel slave from Paphlagonia,
Fresh from the tan–yard, with as foul a mouth
As ever yet paid tribute to the gallows.
This tanner[92] Paphlagonian (for the fellow
Wanted not penetration) bowed and scraped,
And fawned, and wagged his ears and tail dog–fashion,
And thus soon slipped into the old man’s graces.
Occasional douceurs of leather parings,
With speeches to this tune, made all his own:
“Good sir, the court is up—you’ve judged one cause,
‘Tis time to take the bath; allow me, sir—
This cake is excellent—pray sup this broth—
You love an obolus, pray take these three—
Honour me, sir, with your commands for supper.”
Sad times meanwhile for us!—With prying looks
Round comes my man of hides, and if he finds us
Cooking a little something for our master,
Incontinently lays his paw upon it,
And modestly, in his own name, presents it.
It was but t’other day, these hands had mixed
A Spartan pudding for him,—there, at Pylos,
Slily and craftily the knave stole on me,
Ravished the feast, and to my master bore it.
Then none but he, forsooth, must wait at table:
(We dare not come in sight) anon the knave
Chaunts out his oracles, and when he sees
The old man plunged in mysteries to the ears,
And scared from his few senses, marks the time,
And enters on his tricks. False accusations
Now come in troops, and at their heels the whip.
Meanwhile the rascal shuffles in among us,
And begs of one, browbeats another, cheats
A third, and frightens all. “My honest friends,
These cords cut deep, you’ll find it—I say nothing—
Judge you between your purses and your backs;
I could perhaps—“ We take the gentle hint,
And give him all; if not, the old man’s foot
Plays such a tune upon our hinder parts—
Wherefore (to Nicias) befits it that we think what course
To take, or where to look for help.
Mitchell, p. 161–4.
The remedy however baffles their ingenuity, till Demosthenes, through the inspiration of the wine–flask, sends his comrade to steal from Cleon, who is asleep within, a certain book of oracles which he hoards with especial care. They are happily secured and handed over to Demosthenes, whose activity is all along contrasted with the indecision of Nicias. After repeated application for more wine to clear his understanding, he at last condescends to enlighten his companion’s impatience.
Dem. (reading.) So, so, thou varlet of a Paphlagonian!
‘Twas this bred such distrust in thee, and taught
To hoard these prophecies.
Nic.————————Say you?