“You flatter me,” said C., smiling; “the undertaking would be far beyond my power, or, indeed, it would be within the limit of the capabilities but of one man alone. The sole biographer of Prince Talleyrand must be Prince Talleyrand himself. Any clever, well-informed historian might give the facts of the prince’s life, but who but himself could render to posterity a satisfactory account of the _motives_ which had led to action, the _consequences_ which have accrued from the various decisions which he has taken, and which, in most instances, as he himself is always declaring, have been totally in opposition to the results foreseen? Such a biography of himself as _he_ could write, would be a literary monument as lasting as the world itself. It would be the _secret_ history of every government of Europe for the last sixty years—the private memoirs of every distinguished individual would have to be incorporated into such a biography, where, of necessity, every distinguished individual in Europe _must_ be made to play a part. I know that M. de Talleyrand has been for years past compiling his diplomatic memoirs, but, by a singular infatuation, he has proclaimed his intention of not permitting their publication to the world until forty years after his death. This determination, _à la_ Voltaire, is singularly in accordance with the character of the man, who is always repeating so playfully, ‘No one can doubt my powers of waiting.’ “Some of those most interested in the matter, to whom he has communicated his malicious decision, rail loudly against such a determination; whilst others, with perhaps equally good reason, as loudly applaud; so that it is evident to the unconcerned looker-on, that whatever may be his secret motive for thus deciding, it is already justified by the different passions which it has excited. He has in this, as in everything else, displayed the depth of his reflective powers, and refused to sacrifice high interests and grave results to a paltry feeling of _amour propre_. He has reflected that, in those intervening years, all the loud baying pack of fierce detractors of his fame will have yelped forth their calumnies—the smaller fry will also have all expended their puny efforts, and then _he_ will come and call upon posterity to judge between him and them. Doubt it not—posterity will answer the appeal. The next generation will be more just than his own. The fierce passions, the deadly struggles, the political hatreds, amid which his own existence has been passed, will all have died away, and men will sit in calm, unbiassed judgment on the various actions of his life, and will be the better able to pronounce their verdict when they have beheld the _consequences_ of his counsels; when they shall have been enabled to compare his adoration of his country, his indifference to its _rulers_, with the slavish self-interest, the narrow-minded, mercenary views of those with whom he had so often to contend.