IN Carlyle's Journal I find written, on the 10th of October, 1843, the following words :
Some one writes about 'notes for a biography' in a beggarly Spirit of the Age' or other rubbish basket-reected nem. con. What have I to do with their 'Spirits of the Age'? To have my life' surveyed and commented on by all men even wisely is no object with me, but rather the opposite; how much less to have it done unwisely! The world has no business with any life; the world will never know my life, if it should write and read a hundred biographies of me. The main facts of it even are known, and are likely to be known, to myself alone of created men. The 'goose goddess' which they call Fame'! Ach Gott!
And again, December 29, 1848:
Darwin said to Jane the other day, in his quizzing serious manner, 'Who will write Carlyle's life?' The word reported to me set me thinking how impossible it was, and would for ever remain, for any creature to write my life.' The chief elements of my little destiny have all along lain deep below view or surmise, and never will or can be known to any son of Adam. I would say to my biographer, if any fool undertook such a task, Forbear, poor fool! Let no life of me be