II. Autobiography and Memoirs
Distinction between autobiography and memoirs
Although the words "autobiography" and "memoirs" are often used interchangeably, the meanings differ somewhat as journal and diary; that is, an autobiography is always written to be read by a public, large or small; memoirs are sometimes secret, like those of Mirabeau when on his mission to Prussia. The two forms are both, however, personal accounts by the writer of his own doings and sayings as well as of the doings and sayings of others connected with him in the same events.
Gibbon has used the word memoirs as a title for what we generally call his autobiography; but critics consider the term "memoirs" strictly as signifying a record of events put down within a limited time in the author's life—or a record of important events that he can "remember," selected out of a long life. Memoirs in the first sense are usually written by persons of large affairs, like Prince von Metternich in the French-Austrian crisis, or Mme. de Staël-Holstein during her ten years of exile, or the Italian poet Silvio Pellico while serving his decade of imprisonment for taking part in the Carbonari movements. Many of the writers other than English seem to try to exclude the personal element from memoirs; though Catherine II of Russia in her account of her life as Grand Duchess is straightforward and intimate enough. Frederick the Great, too, in his memoirs of his military and political campaigns has succeeded in delineating quite exactly his own character as conceived of by others; while Charles V in his "Autobiographical Leaves" (which are memoirs) has revealed to the world an entirely new side of himself.
Cellini, Franklin and others
Autobiography is more extended than memoirs. This "self-life-writing" runs from the birthday of the author to the time of the composition of the narrative. Details are sometimes many, sometimes few, according to the taste and leisure of the recorder, but the account is always complete and unified. One of the greatest autobiographies written is that of Benvenuto Cellini, a Florentine artist of the sixteenth century. Men lived intense and violent lives in those days, fervidly devoted to ideals and grossly material at the same time. Cellini epitomizes them all. His narrative is an Italian classic. A most entertaining English autobiography is Colley Cibber's "Apology for My Life." Actor and dramatist, he too had much to tell. But the American philosopher and statesman, Benjamin Franklin, has carried off the prize for widespread popularity and readableness. The story goes, whether true or not, that his "Autobiography" has been translated into more languages than any other book except the Bible. The narrative is full of shrewd common-sense and practical example. Our fathers used to say that no one is a true American who has not read it. What is of value to us now in the consideration of it is its simplicity both in diction and tone. Franklin was truly a very great man, and nowhere greater than in his unpretentious honesty.
Like a diary, an autobiography should be most genuine and original in content. Sometimes the impulse to record one's life goes even so far as to take the form of confessions, like those of the great Latin father, St. Augustine. Our own English ecclesiastic, Cardinal Newman, defended himself and his faith in his "Apologia." But this that ought to be the truest of the true forms very easily becomes forced and hectic, like Rousseau's. Though a man must be honest, there is no need for him to tell everyone of his inmost thoughts, or mention all his meannesses. De Quincey's "Confessions of an English Opium Eater" long ago justified itself by its high tone, and by the fact that it became the basis of his "Autobiography."
Some points to be observed in writing
It is easy to start an autobiography. Most writers begin with their birth and parentage. To proceed after the first few pages is not so easy perhaps, because of the possibilities. What to choose is the question; for everybody has had more experiences than he could possibly record. Apt selection is what makes a good life history—selection under a governing sense of unity and progression. Moreover, a writer of any chronical story should carefully arrange the transitions. Good including phrases both backward and forward-looking should be used, as well as precise small conjunctions. Such sets as Cellini has, "At this moment the whole world was, etc.," "I am now making a great leap forward when I tell," "Continuing as I did my artillery practice for a whole month," "In the meantime I had," "I must not forget to give some indication of how large the figure was, a thing which I can best do by telling you a very laughable occurrence," "The more I longed for rest the more did troubles spring up," "Before this I should have told of my friendship with, etc." The diction of memoirs is somewhat determined by circumstances and subject; but if you write an autobiography, you should see to it that your words and constructions are unmistakably simple. Be as modest as is consistent with your great deeds, and as cheerful as the fates will allow. If you make yourself out a good fellow, do so by the general impression of your narrative, not by assertion. Set before the reader enough of your actions and he will tabulate your character for you. Your business is to relate; his, to judge. You may, however, disclose some of your motives. The only difficulty here is, that people may not believe you, or you may not have understood yourself at the time. Whatever else you do, be sure to let us see a human being like ourselves, not some impossible creature made out of paper and ink. If you care for an outline, it would not be amiss to follow that prepared for biography.
The Life of David Hume, Esq., Written by Himself
It is difficult for a man to speak long of himself without vanity; therefore, I shall be short. It may be thought an instance of vanity that I pretend at all to write my life; but this narrative shall contain little more than the history of my writings; as indeed almost all my life has been spent in literary pursuits and occupations. The first success of most of my writings was not such as to be an object of vanity.
I was born the twenty-sixth of April, 1711, old style, at Edinburgh. I was of a good family, both by father and mother: my father's family is a branch of the Earl of Home's, or Hume's; and my ancestors had been proprietors of the estate which my brother possesses, for several generations. My mother was daughter of Sir David Falconer, president of the college of justice; the title of Lord Halkerton came by succession to her brother.
My family, however, was not rich, and being myself a younger brother, my patrimony, according to the mode of my country, was, of course, very slender. My father, who passed for a man of parts, died when I was an infant, leaving me, with an elder brother and a sister, under the care of our mother, a woman of singular merit, who, though young and handsome, devoted herself entirely to the rearing and educating of her children. I passed through the ordinary course of education with success, and was seized very early with a passion for literature, which has been the ruling passion of my life and the great source of my enjoyments. My studious disposition, my sobriety and my industry gave my family a notion that the law was the proper profession for me; but I found an insurmountable aversion to everything but the pursuits of philosophy and general learning, and while they fancied I was poring upon Voet and Vinnius, Cicero and Virgil were the authors I was secretly devouring.
My very slender fortune, however, being unsuitable to this plan of life, and my health being a little broken by my ardent application, I was tempted, or rather forced, to make a very feeble trial for entering into a more active scene of life. In 1734 I went to Bristol with some recommendations to several eminent merchants, but in a few months found that scene totally unsuitable to me. I went over to France with a view of prosecuting my studies in a country retreat, and I there laid that plan of life which I have steadily and successfully pursued. I resolved to make a very rigid frugality supply my deficiency of fortune, to maintain unimpaired my independency, and to regard every object as contemptible except the improvement of my talents in literature.
During my retreat in France, first at Rheims, but chiefly at La Fletche, in Anjou, I composed my Treatise of Human Nature. After passing three years very agreeably in that country, I came over to London in 1737. In the end of 1738 I published my treatise, and immediately went down to my mother and my brother, who lived at his country house and was employing himself very judiciously and successfully in the improvement of his fortune.
Never literary attempt was more unfortunate than my Treatise of Human Nature. It fell dead-born from the press, without reaching such distinction as even to excite a murmur among the zealots. But being naturally of a cheerful and sanguine temper, I very soon recovered the blow and prosecuted with great ardor my studies in the country. In 1742 I printed at Edinburgh the first part of my Essays. The work was favorably received and soon made me entirely forget my former disappointment. I continued with my mother and brother in the country, and in that time recovered the knowledge of the Greek language, which I had too much neglected in my early life.
In 1745 I received a letter from the Marquis of Annandale, inviting me to come and live with him in England; I found also that the friends and family of that young nobleman were desirous of putting him under my care and direction, for the state of his mind and health required it. I lived with him a twelve-month. My appointments during that time made a considerable accession to my small fortune. I then received an invitation from General St. Clair to attend him as a secretary to his expedition, which was at first meant against Canada, but ended in an incursion on the coast of France. Next year, to wit, 1747, I received an invitation from the general to attend him in the same station in his military embassy to the courts of Vienna and Turin. I then wore the uniform of an officer and was introduced at these courts as aide-de-camp to the general, along with Sir Harry Erkine and Captain Grant, now General Grant. These two years were almost the only interruptions which my studies have received during the course of my life: I passed them agreeably and in good company; and my appointments, with my frugality, had made me reach a fortune which I called independent, the most of my friends were inclined to smile when I said so: in short, I was now master of near a thousand pounds.
I had always entertained a notion that my want of success in publishing the Treatise of Human Nature had proceeded more from the manner than the matter, and that I had been guilty of a very usual indiscretion in going to the press too early. I, therefore, cast the first part of the work anew in the Inquiry concerning Human Understanding while I was at Turin. But this piece was at first little more successful than the Treatise of Human Nature. On my return from Italy I had the mortification to find all England in a ferment on account of Dr. Middleton's Free Inquiry, while my performance was entirely overlooked and neglected. A new edition, which had been published at London, of my Essays, moral and political, met not with a much better reception.
Such is the force of natural temper that these disappointments made little or no impression on me. I went down, in 1749, and lived two years with my brother at his country house, for my mother was now dead. I there composed the second part of my Essay, which I called Political Discourses, and also my Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, which is another part of my Treatise that I cast anew. Meanwhile my bookseller, A. Millar, informed me that my former publications (all but the unfortunate Treatise) were beginning to be the subject of conversation; that the sale of them was gradually increasing and that new editions were demanded. Answers by reverends and right reverends came out two or three in a year, and I found by Dr. Warburton's railing that the books were beginning to be esteemed in good company. However, I had fixed a resolution, which I inflexibly maintained, never to reply to anybody, and not being very irascible in my temper, I have easily kept myself dear of all literary squabbles. These symptoms of a rising reputation gave me encouragement, as I was ever more disposed to see the favorable than unfavorable side of things, a turn of mind which it is more happy to possess than to be born to an estate of ten thousand a year.
In 1751 I removed from the country to the town, the true scene for a man of letters. In 1752 were published at Edinburgh, where I then lived, my Political Discourses, the only work of mine that was successful on its first publication. It was well received at home and abroad. In the same year was published at London my Inquiry concerning the Principles of Morals, which, in my own opinion (who ought not to judge on that subject), is, of all my writings, historical, philosophical or literary, incomparably the best. It came unnoticed and unobserved into the world.
In 1752 the Faculty of Advocates chose me their librarian, an office from which I received little or no emolument, but which gave me the command of a large library. I then formed the plan of writing the History of England, but, being frightened with the notion of continuing a narrative through a period of seventeen hundred years, I commenced with the accession of the house of Stuart, an epoch when, I thought, the misrepresentations of faction began chiefly to take place. I was, I own, sanguine in my expectations of the success of this work. I thought that I was the only historian that had at once neglected present power, interest and authority and the cry of popular prejudices, and as the subject was suited to every capacity, I expected proportional applauses. But miserable was my disappointment; I was asailed by one cry of reproach, disapprobation, and even detestation; English, Scotch and Irish, Whig and Tory, churchman and sectary, free thinker and religionist, patriot and courtier, united in their rage against the man who had presumed to shed a generous tear for the fate of Charles I and the Earl of Strafford; and after the first ebullitions of their fury were over, what was still more mortifying, the book seemed to sink into oblivion. Mr. Millar told me that in a twelve-month he had sold only forty-five copies of it. I scarcely, indeed, heard of one man in the three kingdoms, considerable for rank or letters, that could endure the book. I must only except the primate of England, Dr. Herring, and the primate of Ireland, Dr. Stone, which seemed two odd exceptions. These dignified prelates separately sent me messages not to be discouraged.
I was, however, I confess, discouraged; and had not the war been at that time breaking out between France and England, I had certainly retired to some provincial town of the former kingdom, have changed my name and never more have returned to my native country. But as this scheme was not now practicable, and the subsequent volume was considerably advanced, I resolved to pick up courage and to persevere.
In this interval I published at London my Natural History, of Religion, along with some other small pieces. Its public entry was rather obscure, except only that Dr. Hurd wrote a pamphlet against it, with all the illiberal petulance, arrogance and scurrility which distinguished the Warburtonian school; This pamphlet gave me some consolation for the otherwise indifferent reception of my performance.
In 1756, two years after the fall of the first volume, was published the second volume of my history, containing the period from the death of Charles I till the revolution. This performance happened to give less displeasure to the Whigs and was better received. It not only rose, itself, but helped to buoy up its unfortunate brother.
But though I had been taught by experience that the Whig party were in possession of bestowing all places, both in the state and in literature, I was so little inclined to yield to their senseless clamor that in above a hundred alterations, which study, reading or reflection engaged me to make in the reigns of the two first Stuarts, I have made all of them invariably on the Tory side. It is ridiculous to consider the English constitution before that period as a regular plan of liberty.
In 1759, I published my history of the house of Tudor. The clamor against this performance was almost equal to that against the history of the two first Stuarts. The reign of Elizabeth was particularly obnoxious. But I was now callous against the impressions of public folly and continued very peaceably and contentedly, in my retreat at Edinburgh, to finish in two volumes the more early part of the English history, which I gave to the public in 1761 with tolerable, and but tolerable, success.
But, notwithstanding this variety of winds and seasons, to which my writings had been exposed, they had still been making such advances that the copy money given me by the book-sellers much exceeded anything formerly known in England; I was become not only independent but opulent. I retired to my native country of Scotland, determined never more to set my foot out of it; and retaining the satisfaction of never having preferred a request to one great man or ever making advances of friendship to any of them. As I was now turned of fifty, I thought of passing all the rest of my life in this philosophical manner, when I received, in 1763, an invitation' from the earl of Hertford, with whom I was not in the least acquainted, to attend him on his embassy to Paris, with a near prospect of being appointed secretary to the embassy, and in the meanwhile of performing the functions of that office. This offer, however inviting, I at first declined; both because I was reluctant to begin connections with the great, and because I was afraid that the civilities and gay company of Paris would prove disagreeable to a person of my age and humor; but on his lordship's repeating the invitation I accepted of it. I have every reason, both of pleasure and interest, to think myself happy in my connections with that nobleman, as well as afterwards with his brother, General Conway.
Those who have not seen the strange effects of modes will never imagine the reception I met with at Paris, from men and women of all ranks and stations. The more I recoiled from their excessive civilities, the more I was loaded with them. There is, however, a real satisfaction in living at Paris, from the great number of sensible, knowing and polite company with which that city abounds above all places in the universe. I thought once of settling there for life.
I was appointed secretary to the embassy; and in summer, 1765, Lord Hertford left me, being appointed lord lieutenant of Ireland. I was chargé d'affaires till the arrival of the Duke of Richmond, towards, the end of the year. In the beginning of 1766 I left Paris, and next summer went to Edinburgh, with the same view as formerly of burying myself in a philosophical retreat. I returned to that place, not rich but with much more money, and a much larger income by means of Lord Hertford's friendship, than I left it; and I was desirous of trying what superfluity could produce; as I had formerly made an experiment of a competency. But in 1767 I received from Mr. Conway an invitation to be an undersecretary, and this invitation both the character of the person and my connections with Lord Hertford prevented me from declining. I returned to Edinburgh in 1768, very opulent (for I possessed a revenue of one thousand pounds a year), healthy and, though somewhat stricken in years, with the prospect of enjoying long my ease and of seeing the increase of my reputation.
In spring, 1775, I was struck with a disorder of the bowels, which at first occasioned no alarm, but has since, as I apprehended it, become mortal and incurable. I now reckon upon a speedy dissolution. I have suffered very little pain from my disorder, and, what is more strange, have, notwithstanding the great decline of my person, never suffered a moment's abatement of my spirits; insomuch that were I to name a period of my life which I should most choose to pass over again, I might be tempted to point to this later period. I possess the same ardor as ever in study and the same gayety in company. I consider, besides, that a man of sixty-five, by dying cuts off only a few years of infirmities; and though I see many symptoms of my literary reputation's breaking out at last with additional luster, I know that I could have but few years to enjoy it. It is difficult to be more detached from life than I am at the present time.
To conclude historically with my own character: I am, or rather was (for that is the style I must now use in speaking of myself, which emboldens me the more to speak my sentiments); I was, I say, a man of mild disposition, of command of temper, of an open, social and cheerful humor, capable of attachment, but little susceptible of enmity, and of great moderation in all my passions. Even my love of literary fame, my ruling passion, never soured my temper, notwithstanding my frequent disappointments. My company was not unacceptable to the young and careless, as well as to the studious and literary; and as I took a particular pleasure in the company of modest women, I had no reason to be displeased with the reception I met with from them. In a word, though most men anywise eminent have found reason to complain of Calumny, I never was touched or even attacked by her baleful tooth; and though I wantonly exposed myself to the rage of both civil and religious factions, they seemed to be disarmed in my behalf of their wonted fury. My friends never had occasion to vindicate any one circumstance of my character and conduct; not but that the zealots, we may well suppose, would have been glad to invent and propagate any story to my disadvantage, but they could never find any which they thought would wear the face of probability. I cannot say that there is no vanity in making this funeral oration of myself, but I hope it is not a misplaced one, and this is a matter of fact which is easily cleared and ascertained.
April 18, 1776.
Autobiography
I was born on the twentieth of December in the year 1887, in Gapan, province of Nueva Ecija.
My mother, Manuela Tinio, died when I was but two years of age, and I was left to the care of my beloved grandfather, Esteban Tinio, uncle Quintin Tinio and my aunts Paula and Felipa Tinio. I had two brothers and three sisters, but all of them died except one of my brothers, Valentin, who is now attending the Philippine Medical School. My uncle Valentin was one of the active leaders of the revolutionary movement in Nueva Ecija. He bore a deadly hatred against the Spaniards. On several occasions secret meetings were held in our house shortly before the uprising of the people. When the revolution broke out unexpectedly in 1896 he was forced to flee to the mountain, where he was captured afterwards, and was finally shot. My grandfather died in 1903 in his eighty-ninth year, and thus I was left to the care of my father, Francisco Guanio, and my two aunts, Paula and Felipa, who are still unmarried. Altho my aunts are over sixty years of age, yet they are still strong, active and diligent women. They have never wasted their time in idleness, and are always at work from morning till night. To them who are more than mothers to me I owe my present education.
I was born in the most extraordinary period of Philippine history. I lived to see the days when our fathers were struggling hard against Spain. During my boyhood I saw men imprisoned, exiled and executed for no offense whatever. I have heard the voice of the oppressed people crying for justice. I have seen men, rich and poor, wise and ignorant, fighting for the common cause of the Filipino people. I witnessed one of the fierce attacks of our patriots upon the Spanish regiment at Gapan. When I was twelve years old many towns were entirely depopulated; churches, and schoolhouses converted into hospitals; men and women impelled by fear to flee from their homes with their children. I once enjoyed seeing the humiliating race-distinction effaced. Early one morning I was awakened from my sleep by the loud booming of cannon and by the shouting of the once happy and satisfied people, inaugurating the short-lived Philippine republic. These past events changed my gentle nature entirely. It has been my ambition ever since to make the most of myself for my country's sake.
I attended the public school at Gapan in 1894. Here I learned the alphabet and catechism. At that time Spanish was taught in nearly all the schools of the Islands. The sudden outbreak of the revolution of 1896 brought about the closing of the schools for a short time. And altho they were soon reopened, yet there was not the same enthusiasm for learning among the great mass of students as had been previously shown. They attended schools simply because they were compelled to do so by the government (for education was compulsory under the Spanish administration in these islands). In 1898 I attended school very irregularly on account of the revolution. Then in the beginning of the year 1899 schools were closed on account of the troubles which the Filipinos had had with the Americans, and consequently I had to stay at home for two years. In October, 1901, I entered the Gapan Intermediate School, which was then under the supervision of an American teacher. On January 1, 1904, I left the school of Gapan and attended the S. Isidro High School. In June, 1905, I was transferred to the Philippine Normal School, where I have stayed since then.
My uncle Quintin's plan was to make me a lawyer, but his unexpected death prevented his desire. My father and my two aunts, Paula and Felipa, allowed me to pursue any course I liked. It is their wish to give me a good and thorough education.
My own plan is different from that of my uncle Quintin. I desire to complete the high school course first, then the college course, and finish with the engineering course.
—Domingo T. Guanio.
What I Remember of the Coming of the Americans
In the afternoon of November 15, 1900, while I was at a small private school conducted by an educated woman, the wife of the colonel in Ponciano's army, one of my classmates called my attention to the running of men and women up and down the street.
"What is the matter? Why are those people running?" asked our teacher of her husband, who was then entering the gate.
"They say there is a casco of rice in Laguna de Bay. I do not know what kind of casco it is; it has a flag. Send all the children home," said the colonel.
"The class is dismissed," said our teacher to us.
She had scarcely spoken these words when we jumped to our feet and ran as fast as we could to our homes.
"Have you not seen your father? Where is he?" said my mother as soon as she caught sight of me. I looked back and saw my father coming.
"Here he comes," I said to my mother.
"Prepare yourself, Leopoldo. We will go to the mountain," said my mother.
"Why? There is a casco of rice coming," I answered.
"No, that is not a casco of rice. If that is a casco of rice, the people on the beach wouldn't run away to the mountain. Get yourself ready, quick," replied my mother.
It was a cloudy afternoon. The wind blew hard. Nothing could be heard but the moaning of the wind on the trees and houses, the running of men and women along the streets and the crying of babies. The streets were full of people, all running in the same direction. Some carried trunks on their heads, others had bundles of clothes on their backs. Some carried infants in their arms, others had them on their hips. The little boys and girls ran beside their parents. It was indeed a piteous sight!
While my father and mother were busy putting our things in a carreton I was going up and down the stairs every ten minutes. I did not know what to do. When I was upstairs I wanted to go downstairs. When I was downstairs I wanted to go up. I wished to carry with me my shoes because I knew I needed them on the mountain. But I also wanted to carry my black coat. At last I thought of the bread that my mother had bought that morning. I took it all. Just then my father and mother had put our trunks, in the carreton. We all got into the carreton—my father, my mother, my little brother, my sister, and myself. My father was the driver. We left our home, our minds full of the gloomiest forebodings.
We had not gone very far from the town when we heard per-r-rrok-rok-pook-pook-pook-pok—bung.
"Jesus, Maria, y Josep!" exclaimed my mother.
We all looked at each other speechless. At a distance we heard a cry, "Nacu! nanay co."
"Perhaps a bullet struck that man," I said to myself.
In a few minutes we arrived at the Lecheria hill. It was already dark. There was a moon, but it was hidden behind the clouds. At the bottom of the hill was a large house made of nipa and bamboo. The house was very dark. When we came to it a voice inside said, "Who is that? Aniceto?"
"Yes," answered my father.
"Why are you late? Have you eaten your supper?" asked the voice.
"No, but we have to go now. The bullets will reach us here. We can eat our supper in the carreton," replied my father.
All the people in the house silently went down to the ground. They got into their carts and we began our journey. There were four vehicles in all. One was loaded with rice. Uncle Paulino and his family were in one. The other one was occupied by Grandmother Tereza and her four sons. We traveled over low hills and valleys beneath the outspreading branches of the wild trees and over thick cogon grasses. The moon had gained full brightness, but the night was cold. After I had eaten my supper I fell asleep. My mother wrapped me in her blanket. When I awoke I found that we were in Pasong Calabaw. It was four o'clock in the morning. We had been traveling all night.
—Leopoldo Faustino.