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.