Going back to Nabokov's "Strong Opinions," when he dismisses Mr.Fulmerford. "With the Devil's connivance I open a newspaper of 2063 and in some article on the books page I find: 'Nobody reads Nabokov and Fulmerford today.' Awful question: Who is this unfortunate Fulmerford?"- and to a similarly connivant devil from a report by Max Beerbohm, whose friend Enoch Soames (a worthy character inspite of a self-effacing manner),had to pay a terrible price to get a glimpse at his place in posterity.
Sir Max B's essay develops this fateful theme and he was inspired by Samuel Johnson's own "strong opinions". Sir Max B. now discurs about the damage Johnson could inflict upon humble souls, like a clergyman's, i9n a century when Johnson's judgement about art carried a tremendous weight to influence the future fame or present well-being of those who fell under his scrutiny.
Vladimir Nabokov's vociferations over Freud or Thomas Mann have also been influential, although not as widely spread as Johnson's, or so I assume.
 
Here are fragments from his 1918 Essay "A Clergyman" (  The Oxford Book of Essays, chosen and edited by John Gross), introducing the dangers of receiving an answer (not that I would particularly mind if any one at the Nab-L once in a while helped me to discover, for example, how to find a copy of Nabokov's Chapter 16 in Speak,Memory)*.  
 
"Boswell: What I want to know is, what sermons afford the best specimen of English pulpit eloquence.
Johnson: We have no sermons addressed to the passions, that are good for anything, if you mean that kind of eloquence.
A Clergyman, whose name I do not recollect: Were not Dodd's sermons addressed to the passions?
Johnson: They were nothing, Sir, be they addressed to what they may." 
 
The suddenness of it! Bang! - and the rabbit that had popped from its burrow was no more...Literate people in those days were comparatively few; but. bating that, one may say that sermons were as much in request as novels are to-day.  I wonder, will mankind continue to be capricious? It is a very solemn thought indeed that no more than a hundred-and-fifty years hence the novelists of our time, with all their moral and political and sociological outlook and influence, will perhaps shine as indistinctly as do those old preachers, with all their elegance, now. 
"Yes,Sir," some great pundit may be telling a disciple at this moment, "Wells is one of the best. Galsworthy is one of the best, if you except his concern for delicacy of style. Mrs Ward has a very firm grasp of problems, but is not very creational. - Caine's books are very edifying. I should like to read all that Caine has written...- And you may add Upton Sinclair.'..
'What I want to know, says the disciple, ' is what English novels my be selected as specially enthralling?'
The pundit answers: "We have no novels addressed to the passions that are good for anything, if you mean that kind of enthralment."
And here some poor wretch (whose name the disciple will not remember) inquires: "Are not Mrs. Glyn's novels addressed to the passions?' and is in due form annihilated....
Every man illustrious in his day, however much he may be gratified by his fame, looks with an eager eye to posterity for a continuance of past favours... 'A Clergyman' never held up his head or smiled again after the brief encounter recorded for us by Boswell... I like to think that he died forgiving Dr. Johnson."  
 
 
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* - "Fragmentary, pale, momentary; almost nothing; glimpsed and gone, as it were, a faint human hand thrust up, never to reappear, from beneath the rolling waters of Time, he forever haunts my memory and solicits my weak imagination. Nothing is told of him but that nce, abruptly, he asked a question, and received an answer."
 
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