Surely Boswell had a great subject, and he rises to the level of his theme and makes the most of it.  At times I have wondered if Boswell were not really a genius so great and profound that he was willing to play the fool, as Edgar in “Lear” plays the maniac, and allow himself to be snubbed (in print) in order to make his telling point!  Millionaires can well afford to wear ragged coats.  Second-rate man Boswell may have been, as he himself so oft admits, yet as a biographer he stands first in the front rank.  But suppose his extreme ignorance was only the domino disguising a cleverness so subtle that it was not discovered until after his death!  And what if he smiles now, as from out of Elysium he looks and beholds how, as a writer, he has eclipsed old Ursa Major, and thus clipped the claws that were ready for any chance Scot who might pass that way!

John Hay has suggested that possibly the insight, piquancy and calm wisdom of Omar Khayyam are two-thirds essence of FitzGerald.  If so, the joke is on Omar, not on FitzGerald.

A dozen of Johnson’s contemporaries wrote about him, and all make him out a profound scholar, a deep philosopher, a facile writer.  Boswell by his innocent quoting and recounting makes his conversation outstrip all of his other accomplishments.  He reveals the man by the most skilful indirection, and by leaving his guard down, often allows the reader to score a point.  And of all devices of writing folk, none is finer than to please the reader by allowing him to pat himself on the back.

If a writer is too clever he repels.  Shakespeare avoids the difficulty, and proves himself the master by keeping out of sight; Renan wins by a great show of modesty and deferential fairness; Boswell assumes an artlessness and ignorance that were really not parts of his nature.  Every man who reads Boswell considers himself the superior of Boswell, and therefore is perfectly at home.  It is not pleasant to be in the society of those who are much your superiors.  Any man who sits in the company of Samuel Pepys for a half-hour feels a sort of half-patronizing pity for him, and therefore is happy, for to patronize is bliss.

If Boswell has reinforced fact with fiction, and given us art for truth, then his character of Samuel Johnson is the most vividly conceived and deeply etched in all the realm of books.  But if he gives merely the simple facts, then Boswell is no less a genius, for he has omitted the irrelevant and inconsequential, and by playing off the excellent against the absurd, he has placed his subject among the few great wits who have ever lived—­a man who wrote remarkably well, but talked infinitely better.

* * * * *

Montaigne advises young men that if they will fall in love, why, to fall in love with women older than themselves.  His argument is that a young and pretty woman makes such a demand on a man’s time and attention that she is sure, eventually, to wear love to the warp.  So the wise old Gascon suggests that it is the part of wisdom to give your affection to one who is both plain and elderly—­one who is not suffering from a surfeit of love, and one whose head has not been turned by flattery.  “Young women,” says the philosopher, “demand attention as their right and often flout the giver; whereas old women are very grateful.”