of the character
of Viola; the same house is big enough to hold Malvolio, the Countess,
Maria, Sir Toby, and Sir Andrew Ague-cheek. For instance, nothing can fall
much lower than this last character in intellect or morals: yet how are
his weaknesses nursed and dandled by Sir Toby into something "high
fantastical," when on Sir Andrew's commendation of himself for dancing and
fencing, Sir Toby answers--"Wherefore are these things hid? Wherefore have
these gifts a curtain before them? Are they like to take dust like
mistress Moll's picture? Why dost thou not go to church in a galliard, and
come home in a coranto? My very walk should be a jig! I would not so much
as make water but in a cinque-pace. What dost thou mean? Is this a world
to hide virtues in? I did think by the excellent constitution of thy leg,
it was framed under the star of a galliard!"--How Sir Toby, Sir Andrew,
and the Clown afterwards _chirp over their cups_, how they "rouse the
night-owl in a catch, able to draw three souls out of one weaver!" What
can be better than Sir Toby's unanswerable answer to Malvolio, "Dost thou
think because thou art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and
ale?"--In a word, the best turn is given to everything, instead of the
worst. There is a constant infusion of the romantic and enthusiastic, in
proportion as the characters are natural and sincere: whereas, in the more
artificial style of comedy, everything gives way to ridicule and
indifference, there being nothing left but affectation on one side, and
incredulity on the other.--Much as we like Shakspeare's comedies, we
cannot agree with Dr. Johnson that they are better than his tragedies; nor
do we like them half so well. If his inclination to comedy sometimes led
him to trifle with the seriousness of tragedy, the poetical and
impassioned passages are the best parts of his comedies. The great and
secret charm of TWELFTH NIGHT is the character of Viola. Much as we like
catches and cakes and ale, there is something that we like better. We have
a friendship for Sir Toby; we patronise Sir Andrew; we have an
understanding with the Clown, a sneaking kindness for Maria and her
rogueries; we feel a regard for Malvolio, and sympathise with his gravity,
his smiles, his cross garters, his yellow stockings, and imprisonment in
the stocks. But there is something that excites in us a stronger feeling
than all this--it is Viola's confession of her love.

"_Duke._ What's her history?