Plutarch · a new plain-English translation from the Greek
To speak generally and as a whole, he decidedly prefers Menander; but speaking in particular, he adds this as well: "The vulgar," he says, "the theatrical, and the coarse in diction belong to Aristophanes, but to Menander not at all. For the uneducated common man is captivated by what the former says, while the educated man will be offended" — I mean by the antitheses, the matching case-endings, and the plays on words.
For the one [Menander] employs such devices sparingly and with due reason, judging them worthy of care, while the other [Aristophanes] employs them often, at the wrong moment, and coldly. "For he is praised," it is said, "because he 'dipped' the treasurers (tamiai), who are not treasurers but Lamiai [monsters]"; and this fellow "breathes either a north-west gale or slander," and speaks of "belly-blows," and of "the guts" and "the colons," and "from laughter" —
"I shall come to Gela — and what then shall I do to you, wretched jar, cast out like a potsherd?" "For it does us savage harm, women, having itself been raised among wild vegetables." "But indeed moth-eaten things have devoured my crest." "Bring here the gorgon-backed circle of the shield." "And give me too the cheese-backed circle of a cake" — and many things of this kind. Now, in the composition of
his vocabulary there is the tragic, the comic, the pompous, the pedestrian; obscurity and banality; grandiosity and bombast; rambling gossip and seasick nonsense. And though his diction contains so many differences and incongruities, it does not assign to each character what is fitting and proper to it — I mean, grandeur to a king, forcefulness to an orator, simplicity to a woman, plainness to a common man, vulgarity to a market-tradesman. Instead, as if by lot,
he distributes to his characters whatever words come to hand, so that one could not tell whether the speaker is a son or a father, a rustic or a god, an old woman or a hero. "But Menander's diction is so tightly woven and breathes together, blended with itself, that although it moves through many emotions and characters and is fitted to persons of every sort, it still appears as one thing and preserves its consistency,
using words that are common, familiar, and suited to practical use. And if the matter should require some marvel or noise, he draws out, as it were, every stop of the pipe, then quickly and convincingly closes it again and restores his voice to its proper pitch. Though there have been many celebrated craftsmen, no shoemaker has ever made the same sandal, no mask-maker the same mask, nor has anyone made the same cloak fit at once for a man,
a woman, a youth, an old man, and a house-born slave. But Menander so blended his diction that it is fitted to every nature, disposition, and age alike — and this although he took up the craft while still young, and died at the very peak of his powers as a poet and producer, precisely when, as Aristotle says, matters of style make their greatest advance
for writers. If, then, one were to compare the earliest of Menander's plays with the middle ones and the last, one would recognize from them how much more he would have added to them, had he lived longer." Among those who produce plays, some write for the crowd and the common people, others for the few; but it is not easy to say of any of them all that he achieved
what suits both classes at once. Aristophanes, then, is neither pleasing to the many nor tolerable to the sensible, but is like a courtesan of poetry past her prime who then apes a lawful wife: the many cannot bear her self-will, and the dignified loathe her licentiousness and malice. Menander, on the other hand, has made himself, with grace above all, sufficient unto himself — in theaters, in schools, and at symposia — reading matter and study material
and the most universal subject of contest among the fine things Greece has produced, offering his poetry and showing what skill in speech truly was and of what kind, going everywhere with an inescapable persuasiveness and winning over every ear and mind that speaks the Greek tongue. For what else is truly worth an educated man's going to the theater, if not for Menander's sake? When else are the theaters filled with lovers of learning, once a comic mask is put on display? At
symposia, to whom does the table more rightly yield its place, and to whom does Dionysus grant room, than to philosophers and lovers of learning? Just as painters, when their eyes have grown weary from hard labor, turn to fresh, flowery, verdant colors, so Menander is a rest from those unmixed and intense pursuits, receiving the mind as into a meadow in full bloom, shaded and full of breezes. Although this age produced many good and capable comic actors
for the city to enjoy, the comedies of Menander partake of abundant wit and sacred grace, as though born of that very sea from which Aphrodite was born. But Aristophanes' wit, being bitter and harsh, has a sharpness that wounds and bites; and I do not know in what it consists, this cleverness so celebrated in him — whether in his language or in his characters — since indeed even what he has imitated
he has imitated for the worse: the rogue in his hands is not shrewd but malicious, the rustic not artless but stupid, the comic not playful but ridiculous, and the erotic not cheerful but licentious. For the man seems to have written his poetry for no moderate audience at all, but rather the shameful and lewd for the licentious, and the abusive and bitter for
the envious and malicious.