But Wordsworth lived his sweet and
pious life without in any way offending against the moral law. We must
have done with all talk about the privileges of irregular genius; a
clever man must be made to see that, while he may be as independent as
he likes, he cannot be left free to offend either the sense or the
sensibility of his neighbours. The genius must learn to conduct himself
in accordance with rational and seemly custom, or he must be brought to
his senses. When a great man's ways are merely innocently different from
those of ordinary people, by all means let him alone. For instance,
Leonardo da Vinci used often to buy caged wild-birds from their captors
and let them go free. What a lovely and lovable action! He hurt no one;
he restored the joy of life to innocent creatures, and no one could find
fault with his sweet fancy. In the same way, when Samuel Johnson chose
to stalk ponderously along the streets, stepping on the edges of the
paving-stones, or even when he happened to roar a little loudly in
conversation, who could censure him seriously? His heart was as a little
child's: his deeds were saintly; and we perhaps love him all the more
for his droll little ways. But, when Shelley outrages decency and the
healthy sense of manliness by his peculiar escapades, it is not easy to
pardon him; the image of that drowned child rises before us, and we are
apt to forget the pretty verses.
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