The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 17, No. 102, April, 1866 | Page 2

love the artist without
demanding personal perfection. It is rational to conclude that the
loftiest possible genius should be allied to the most perfect specimen of
man, heart holding equal sway with head. A great man, however, need
not be a great artist,--that is, of course, understood; but time ought to
prove that the highest form of art can only emanate from the noblest
type of humanity. The most glorious inspirations must flow through the
purest channels. But this is the genius of the future, as far removed
from what is best known as order is removed from chaos. The genius
most familiar is not often founded on common sense; the plus of one
faculty denotes the minus of another; and matter-of-fact people, who
rule the world,--as they should,--and who have never dreamed of an
inclination from the perpendicular, bestow little patience and less
sympathy on vagaries, moral and mental, than, partly natural, are
aggravated by that "capacity for joy" which "admits temptation."
Landor's characteristic fault, in fact his vice, was that of a temper so
undisciplined and impulsive as to be somewhat hurricanic in its
consequences, though, not unlike the Australian boomerang, it
frequently returned whence it came, and injured no one but the
possessor. Circumstances aggravated, rather than diminished, this
Landorian idiosyncrasy. Born in prosperity, heir to a large landed estate,
and educated in aristocratic traditions, Walter Savage Landor began life
without a struggle, and throughout a long career remained master of the
situation, independent of the world and its favors. Perhaps too much
freedom is as unfortunate in its results upon character as too much
dependence. A nature to be properly developed should receive as well
as give; otherwise it must be an angelic disposition that does not
become tyrannical. All animated nature is despotic, the strong preying
upon the weak. If men and women do not devour one another, it is
merely because they dare not. The law of self-preservation prevents
them from becoming anthropophagi. A knowledge that the eater may in
his turn be eaten, is not appetizing. Materially and professionally
successful, possessed of a physique that did honor to his ancestors and
Nature, no shadows fell on Landor's path to chasten his spirit. Trials he

endured of a private nature grievous in the extreme, yet calculated to
harden rather than soften the heart,--trials of which others were
partially the cause, and which probably need not have been had his
character been understood and rightly dealt with. There is a soothing
system for men as well as horses,--even for human Cruisers,--and the
Rarey who reduces it to a science will deserve the world's everlasting
gratitude. Powerful natures are likely to be as strong in their
weaknesses as in their virtues; this, however, is a reckoning entirely too
rational to be largely indulged in by the packed jury that holds inquest
over the bodies, rather than the souls, of men. In his old age at least,
Landor's irascibility amounted to temporary madness, for which he was
no more responsible than is the sick man for the feverish ravings of
delirium. That miserable law-suit at Bath, which has done so much to
drag the name of Landor into the mire, would never have been
prosecuted had its instigators had any respect for themselves or any
decent appreciation of their victim.
But Landor in his best moods was chivalry incarnate. His courtly
manners toward ladies were particularly noticeable from the rarity of so
much external polish in the new school of Anglo-Saxon gallantry. It
was a pleasure to receive compliments from him; for they generally lay
imbedded in the sauce piquante of a bon mot. Having one day dropped
his spectacles, which were picked up and presented to him by an
American girl, Landor quickly exclaimed, with a grace not to be
translated into words, "Ah, this is not the first time you have caught my
eyes!" It was to the same young lady that he addressed this heretofore
unpublished poem:--
"TO K. F.
"Kisses in former times I've seen, Which, I confess it, raised my spleen;
They were contrived by Love to mock The battledoor and shuttlecock.
Given, returned,--how strange a play, Where neither loses all the day,
And both are, even when night sets in, Again as ready to begin! I am
not sure I have not played This very game with some fair maid. Perhaps
it was a dream; but this I know was not; I know a kiss Was given me in
the sight of more Than ever saw me kissed before. Modest as winged

angels are, And no less brave and no less fair, She came across, nor
greatly feared, The horrid brake of wintry beard.
"WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR.
"Sienna, July, 1860."
The following papers, in so far as they relate to Landor personally, are