But the Duke in "Twelfth Night" reveals himself as it were
accidentally; we know little more of him than that he loves music and
love, books and flowers, and that he despises wealth and company;
accordingly, when he contradicts himself, we may suspect that
Shakespeare is letting himself speak freely without much care for the
coherence of characterization. And the result of this frankness is that
he has given a more intimate, a more confidential, sketch of himself in
Duke Orsino of "Twelfth Night" than he has given us in any play except
perhaps "Hamlet" and "Macbeth."
I hardly need to prove that Shakespeare in his earliest plays, as in his
latest, in his Sonnets as in his darkest tragedy, loved flowers and
music. In almost every play he speaks of flowers with affection and
delight. One only needs to recall the song in "A Midsummer's Night's
Dream," "I know a bank," or Perdita's exquisite words:
"Daffodils,
That come before the swallow dares, and take
The winds of March with beauty; violets dim,
But sweeter than the lids of Juno's eyes
Or Cytherea's breath; pale primroses,
That die unmarried ere they can behold
Bright Phoebus in his strength, a malady
Most incident to maids; bold oxlips, and
The crown-imperial; lilies of all kinds,
The flower-de-luce being one";
or Arviragus' praise of Imogen:
"Thou shalt not lack
The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor
The azured harebell like thy veins; no, nor
The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander
Outsweetened not thy breath.
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