he wrote the lousy Lucy lines or
not, and does not really matter at all whether he got drunk when he
made a night of it with Jonson and Drayton, the sonnets raise an
unpleasant question which does matter a good deal; and the refusal of
the academic Bardolaters to discuss or even mention this question has
had the effect of producing a silent verdict against Shakespear. Mr
Harris tackles the question openly, and has no difficulty whatever in
convincing us that Shakespear was a man of normal constitution
sexually, and was not the victim of that most cruel and pitiable of
all the freaks of nature: the freak which transposes the normal aim
of the affections. Silence on this point means condemnation; and the
condemnation has been general throughout the present generation,
though it only needed Mr Harris's fearless handling of the matter to
sweep away what is nothing but a morbid and very disagreeable modern
fashion. There is always some stock accusation brought against
eminent persons. When I was a boy every well-known man was accused of
beating his wife. Later on, for some unexplained reason, he was
accused of psychopathic derangement. And this fashion is
retrospective. The cases of Shakespear and Michel Angelo are cited as
proving that every genius of the first magnitude was a sufferer; and
both here and in Germany there are circles in which such derangement
is grotesquely reverenced as part of the stigmata of heroic powers.
All of which is gross nonsense. Unfortunately, in Shakespear's case,
prudery, which cannot prevent the accusation from being whispered,
does prevent the refutation from being shouted. Mr Harris, the
deep-voiced, refuses to be silenced. He dismisses with proper
contempt the stupidity which places an outrageous construction on
Shakespear's apologies in the sonnets for neglecting that "perfect
ceremony" of love which consists in returning calls and making
protestations and giving presents and paying the trumpery attentions
which men of genius always refuse to bother about, and to which touchy
people who have no genius attach so much importance. No leader who
had not been tampered with by the psychopathic monomaniacs could ever
put any construction but the obvious and innocent one on these
passages. But the general vocabulary of the sonnets to Pembroke (or
whoever "Mr W. H." really was) is so overcharged according to modern
ideas that a reply on the general case is necessary.

Shakespear