Aristophanes as a poet is in a very different category. Every now and then in a parabasis he turns to talk to his audience, so to speak, in his own person, dropping for the moment into serious vein. In such passages he is often superb.
In the following dialogue from “The Frogs” we have an interesting and characteristic piece of literary criticism. Aristophanes is, as we have seen, a Tory. The Athenian he loves is remarkably like the John Bull of our national ideal. Here Æschylus as the poet of the old order is at issue with Euripides, and Dionysus himself is there to umpire, disguised as an irrelevant Philistine. The spirited and very free translation is by Hookham Frere. Euripides has already expounded his principles, and Æschylus now takes his turn.
“Observe then, and mark, what our citizens were, When first from my care they were trusted to you; Not scoundrel informers, or paltry buffoons, Evading the services due to the State; But with hearts all on fire, for adventure and war, Distinguished for hardiness, stature, and strength, Breathing forth nothing but lances and darts, Arms, and equipment, and battle array, Bucklers, and shields, and habergeons, and hauberks, Helmets, and plumes, and heroic attire.
“But how did you manage to make ’em so manly? What was the method, the means that you took?
“Speak, Æschylus, speak, and behave yourself better, And don’t, in your rage, stand so silent and stern.
[Illustration: Plate 56.--Red-figured Vase; and Pyxis]
“‘The Chiefs against Thebes,’ That inspired each spectator with martial ambition, Courage, and ardour, and prowess, and pride.
“But you did very wrong to encourage the Thebans. Indeed you deserve to be punished, you do, For the Thebans are grown to be capital soldiers. You’ve done us a mischief by that very thing.
“The fault was your own, if you took other courses; The lesson I taught was directed to you; Then I gave you the glorious theme of ‘The Persians,’ Replete with sublime patriotical strains, The record and example of noble achievement, The delight of the city, the pride of the stage.
“I rejoiced, I confess, when the tidings were carried To old King Darius, so long dead and buried, And the chorus in concert kept wringing their hands, Weeping and wailing, and crying, Alas!