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Passage 1
Had Dr. Johnson written his own Life, in
conformity with the opinion which he has given, that
every man's life may be best written by himself; had
he employed in the preservation of his own history,
5 that clearness of narration and elegance of language in
which he has embalmed so many eminent persons, the
world would probably have had the most perfect
example of biography that was ever exhibited. But
although he at different times, in a desultory manner,
10 committed to writing many particulars of the progress
of his mind and fortunes, he never had persevering
diligence enough to form them into a regular
composition. Of these memorials a few have been
preserved; but the greater part was consigned by him
15 to the flames, a few days before his death.
As I had the honour and happiness of enjoying
his friendship for upwards of twenty years; as I had
the scheme of writing his life constantly in view; as
he was well apprised of this circumstance, and from
20 time to time obligingly satisfied my enquiries, by
communicating to me the incidents of his early years;
as I acquired a facility in recollecting, and was very
assiduous in recording, his conversation, of which the
extraordinary vigour and vivacity constituted one of
25 the first features of his character; and as I have spared
no pains in obtaining materials concerning him, from
every quarter where I could discover that they were to
be found, and have been favoured with the most
liberal communications by his friends; I flatter myself
30 that few biographers have entered upon such a work
as this, with more advantages; independent of literary
abilities, in which I am not vain enough to compare
myself with some great names who have gone before
me in this kind of writing.
35 Wherever narrative is necessary to explain,
connect, and supply, I furnish it to the best of my
abilities; but in the chronological series of Johnson's
life, which I trace as distinctly as I can, year by year, I
produce, wherever it is in my power, his own minutes,
40 letters, or conversation, being convinced that this
mode is more lively, and will make my readers better
acquainted with him, than even most of those were
who actually knew him, but could know him only
partially; whereas there is here an accumulation of
45 intelligence from various points, by which his
character is more fully understood and illustrated.
Indeed I cannot conceive a more perfect mode
of writing any man's life, than not only relating all the
most important events of it in their order, but
50 interweaving what he privately wrote, and said, and
thought; by which mankind are enabled as it were to
see him alive, and to 'live over each scene' with him,
as he actually advanced through the several stages of
his life. Had his other friends been as diligent and
55 ardent as I was, he might have been almost entirely
preserved. As it is, I will venture to say that he will be
seen in this work more completely than any man who
has ever yet lived.
And he will be seen as he really was, for I
60 profess to write, not his panegyric, which must be all
praise, but his Life; which, great and good as he was,
must not be supposed to be entirely perfect. To be as
he was, is indeed subject of panegyric enough to any
man in this state of being; but in every picture there
65 should be shade as well as light, and when I delineate
him without reserve, I do what he himself
recommended, both by his precept and his example:
'If the biographer writes from personal
knowledge, and makes haste to gratify the public
70 curiosity, there is danger lest his interest, his fear, his
gratitude, or his tenderness, overpower his fidelity,
and tempt him to conceal, if not to invent. There are
many who think it an act of piety to hide the faults or
failings of their friends, even when they can no longer
75 suffer by their detection; we therefore see whole ranks
of characters adorned with uniform panegyric, and not
to be known from one another but by extrinsic and
casual circumstances. If we owe regard to the memory
of the dead, there is yet more respect to be paid to
80 knowledge, to virtue, and to truth.'
Passage 2
Nobody ever wrote a dull autobiography. If one may
make such a bull, the very dullness would be
interesting. The autobiographer has two qualifications
of supreme importance in all literary work. He is
85 writing about a topic in which he is keenly interested,
and about a topic upon which he is the highest living
authority. It may he reckoned, too, as a special felicity
that an autobiography, alone of all books, may be
more valuable in proportion to the amount of
90 misrepresentation which it contains. We do not
wonder when a man gives a false character to his
neighbour, but it is always curious to see how a man
contrives to present a false testimonial to himself. It is
pleasant to he admitted behind the scenes and trace
95 the growth of that singular phantom which is the
man's own shadow cast upon the coloured and
distorting mists of memory. Autobiography for these
reasons is so generally interesting, that I have
frequently thought with the admirable Benvenuto
100 Cellini that it should be considered as a duty by all
eminent men; and, indeed, by men not eminent. As
every sensible man is exhorted to make his will, he
should also be bound to leave to his descendants some
account of his experience of life. The dullest of us
105 would in spite of themselves say something
profoundly interesting, if only by explaining how they
came to be so dull--a circumstance which is
sometimes in great need of explanation. On reflection,
however, we must admit that autobiography done
110 under compulsion would he in danger of losing the
essential charm of spontaneity. The true
autobiography is written by one who feels an
irresistible longing for confidential expansion; who is
forced by his innate constitution to unbosom himself
115 to the public of the kind of matter generally reserved
for our closest intimacy.
