CHAPTER X

THE MAGNUM OPUS

THERE is a certain kind of reader who vexes himself and teases the critic with the question whether the author of a great classic really put into it all that an enthusiastic reader asserts that he finds. Is it a conscious art, or has all the greatness, all the subtlety and meaning of it, been thrust upon it by the critic? A suspicious reader can usually be set right by passages in which the author himself has spoken of his art. A critic is as little likely to see more than he was intended to see as a stream is likely to rise above its source. If anybody doubts whether Boswell meant to produce the effects for which he is famous, let him gather up everything that the man said about his art, about Johnson's theory of biography, and, above all, everything that he said about his own books, and he will convince himself that Boswell's effects were all calculated.

I have analysed elsewhere the characteristics which, in my opinion, distinguish the "Life of Johnson," and account for the supreme position to which it has been universally assigned. That analysis I do not propose to repeat. It may suf

fice to say that Boswell's general notion was to defy the very powers of oblivion and to preserve his friend as complete and as vivid as he had been in the flesh. With a sufficient amount of assiduity from a sufficient number of people, such a result, he thought, might almost have been attained. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps, on the other hand, he failed to reckon with the fact that not everyone who might feel inclined to record Dr. Johnson had the genius of a Boswell for doing it.

In all Boswell's complacent references to himself, in the whole range of his pomposity and selfconceit, he never once called himself that which in fullest truth he was a genius. I doubt whether Boswell ever guessed that he was a genius. His fault was vanity - conceit, if you will rather than pride. I mean that he loved to talk about himself, loved to dream of becoming a "great man," strutted and put on airs, but never, so far as I am aware, really overestimated his own powers or his own achievement. He was modest in his own despite, though having no intention whatever of being so. In the group of quotations about the "Life of Johnson" that follow, there is much vanity, and a great deal more of self-assertion than there should be; but there is nothing in all his references to himself that can for a moment compare with Macaulay's famous summary, to

which, I fancy, every critic would now assent: "Homer is not more decidedly the first of heroic poets, Shakespeare is not more decidedly the first of dramatists, Demosthenes is not more decidedly the first of orators, than Boswell is the first of biographers. He has no second. He has distanced all his competitors so decidedly that it is not worth while to place them. Eclipse is first, and the rest nowhere." And again, “He has, in an important department of literature, immeasurably surpassed such writers as Tacitus, Clarendon, Alfieri, and his own idol Johnson." Had Boswell read such sentences as these about himself he would have swooned with amazement.

The three passages which I here adduce were all written in the early months of the year 1788. The first is from a letter to Bishop Percy, thanking him for the assistance which he had given.

Procrastination, we all know, increases in a proportionate ratio the difficulty of doing that which might have once been done very easily. I am really uneasy to think how long it is since I was favoured with your Lordship's communications concerning Dr. Johnson, which, though few, are valuable, and will contribute to increase my store. I am ashamed that I have yet seven years to write of his life. I do it chronologically, giving year by year his publications, if there were any; his letters, his conversations, and every thing else that I can collect. It appears to me that mine is the best

plan of biography that can be conceived; for my readers will, as near as may be, accompany Johnson in his progress, and, as it were, see each scene as it happened. I am of opinion that my delay will be for the advantage of the work, though perhaps not for the advantage of the author, both because his fame may suffer from too great expectation, and the sale may be worse from the subject being comparatively old. But I mean to do my duty as well as I can.

Some six weeks later he wrote to Temple:

Mason's "Life of Gray" is excellent, because it is interspersed with letters which show us the Man. His "Life of Whitehead" is not a Life at all; for there is neither a letter nor a saying from first to last. I am absolutely certain that my mode of biography, which gives not only a history of Johnson's visible progress through the world, and of his publications, but a view of his mind, in his letters and conversations, is the most perfect that can be conceived, and will be more of a Life than any work that has ever yet appeared.

In April he wrote to Miss Anna Seward (the "Swan of Lichfield"), in reference to the various works on Johnson that had appeared: Hawkins's "Life," Mrs. Thrale's "Anecdotes," her "Letters of Samuel Johnson," Tyers's biographical sketch, Towers's essay, "Last Words of Samuel Johnson, and "More Last Words":

What a variety of publications have there been concerning Johnson. Never was there a man whose repu

tation remained so long in such luxuriant freshness as his does. How very envious of this do the "little stars" of literature seem to be, though bright themselves in their due proportion. My Life of that illustrious man has been retarded by several avocations, as well as by depression of mind. But I hope to have it ready for the press next month. I flatter myself it will exhibit him more completely than any person, ancient or modern, has yet been preserved, and whatever merit I may be allowed, the world will at least owe to my assiduity the possession of a rich intellectual treasure.

It will be seen from the last sentence that Boswell made a distinction in his own mind between the importance of the principles which he had discovered and the particular biography which he had written; and in drawing this distinction the present writer may hope to avoid the charge of inconsistency. Boswell had full confidence in the method which he had adopted, and counted on it to help him write "more of a Life than any that has ever yet appeared"; but that he had not only found the method but also written the classic example of it, that he was, to speak temperately, as illustrious a writer as Johnson, - this, luckily, he did not see. Plainly, it is of his “assiduity” rather than his genius that he boasts.

To Boswell, I suppose, the task seemed to make a special demand upon one's assiduity. The work