dramatist than in the actors. Lyly's mind was in all probability
altogether of too superficial a nature for a sympathetic analysis of the
human soul. That at least is how I interpret his character. All his work
was more "art than nature," some of it was "more labour than art." On
the technical side his dramatic advance is immense, but we may look in
vain in his dramas for any of that appreciation of the elemental facts
of human nature which can alone create enduring art. In their
characterization, Lyly's plays do little more than form a link between
Shakespeare and the old _morality_. This comes out most strongly in
their peculiar method of character grouping. By a very natural process
the _moral_ type is split up with the intention of giving it life and
variety. Thus we have those groups of pages, of maids-in-waiting, of
shepherds, of deities, etc., which are so characteristic of Lyly's
plays. There is no real distinction between page and page, and between
nymph and nymph; but their merry conversations give a piquancy and
colour to the drama which make up for, and in part conceal, the absence
of character. All that was necessary for the creation of character was
to fit these pieces of the _moral_ type together again in a different
way, and to breathe the spirit of genius into the new creation. We can
see Lyly feeling towards this solution of the problem in his portrayal
of Gunophilus, the clown of _The Woman in the Moon_. This character,
which anticipates the immortal clowns of Shakespeare, is formed by an
amalgamation of the pages in the previous plays into one comic figure.
But Lyly also attempts to create single figures, in addition to these
group characters which for the most part have little to do with the
action. Often he helps out his poverty of invention by placing
descriptions of one character in the mouth of another. "How stately she
passeth bye, yet how soberly!" exclaims Alexander watching Campaspe at a
distance, "a sweet consent in her countenance with a chaste disdaine,
desire mingled with coyness, and I cannot tell how to tearme it, a curst
yeelding modestie!"--an excellent piece of description, and one which is
very necessary for the animation of the shadowy Campaspe. At times
however Lyly can dispense with such adventitious aids. Pipenetta, the
fascinating little wench in _Midas_ and one of our dramatist's most
successful creations, needs no other illumination than her own pert
speeches. Diogenes again