"
His tortured sensuality caricatures her: that "ticklish reader" reveals
him. Mary Fitton was finer than his portraits; we want her soul, and do
not get it even in Cleopatra. It was the consciousness of his own age
and physical inferiority that drove him to jealous denigration of his
mistress.
Mary Fitton did not beguile Shakespeare to "the very heart of loss," as
he cried; but to the innermost shrine of the temple of Fame. It was his
absolute abandonment to passion which made Shakespeare the supreme poet.
If it had not been for his excessive sensuality, and his mad passion for
his "gipsy," we should never have had from him "Hamlet," "Macbeth,"
"Othello," "Antony and Cleopatra," or "Lear." He would still have been a
poet and a dramatic writer of the first rank; but he would not have
stood alone above all others: he would not have been Shakespeare.
His passion for Mary Fitton lasted some twelve years. Again and again he
lived golden hours with her like those Cleopatra boasted of and
regretted. Life is wasted quickly in such orgasms of passion; lust
whipped to madness by jealousy.
Pages:
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545