Talleyrand was so impressed by the world-compelling character of the
memoirs he had prepared for posterity that he fixed an interdict of more
than fifty years upon the date set for their publication, and when at
last the bulky tomes made their appearance, they excited no especial
interest--certainly created no sensation--and lie for the most part dusty
upon the shelves of the libraries that contain them. For a different
reason, Henry Ward Beecher put a time limit upon the volume, or volumes,
which will tell us, among other things, all about one of the greatest
scandals of modern times; and yet how few people now recall it or care
anything about the dramatis personae and the actual facts! Metternich, next
after Napoleon and Talleyrand, was an important figure in a stirring epoch.
He, too, indicted an autobiography, which is equally neglected among the
books that are sometimes quoted and extolled, but rarely read. Rousseau,
the half insane, and Barras, the wholly vicious, have twenty readers where
Talleyrand and Metternich have one.

From this point of view, the writing of memoirs, excepting those of the
trivial French School or gossiping letters and diaries of the Pepys-Walpole
variety, would seem an unprofitable task for a great man's undertaking.
Boswell certainly did for Johnson what the thunderous old doctor could not
have done for himself. Nevertheless, from the days of Caesar to the days
of Sherman and Lee, the captains of military and senatorial and literary
industry have regaled themselves, if they have not edified the public, by
the narration of their own stories; and, I dare say, to the end of time,
interest in one's self, and the mortal desire to linger yet a little longer
on the scene--now and again, as in the case of General Grant, the assurance
of honorable remuneration making needful provision for others--will move
those who have cut some figure in the world to follow the wandering Celt in
the wistful hope--