in teaching or in the domain of literature. He was nearing old age when he wrote the following about himself:—
"What have I been able to extract from the talents which were given to me, from the peculiar conditions of my half-century life? Are all my scribblings, collected together, my correspondence, these thousands of sincere pages, my lectures, my articles, my verses, my various memoranda, anything else than dry leaves? To whom and to what have I ever been of any use? Will my name last one day longer than I, and will it mean anything to any one?—An empty life."[1]
After Amiel's death two well-known French authors wrote about him and his diary: his friend, the well-known critic, Edmond Schérer, and the philosopher Caro. Curious was the sympathetic but somewhat condescending tone with which these two writers treated Amiel, and they regretted that he lacked the qualities necessary for a perfectly genuine work. But meantime the genuine labors of these two writers—E. Schérer's critical works and Caro's philosophical writings—have barely outlived their authors; while Amiel's unexpected non-genuine work, his diary, remains a book forever alive, necessary for men, fruitfully affecting their lives.
A writer is dear and necessary to us only in proportion as he opens to us the inner laboratory of his soul, it being taken for granted, of course, that his work is new, and not something done before. Whatever he may have written,—a drama, a text-book, a story, a philosophical treatise, a lyrical poem, a criticism, a satire,—we care only for the inner work of his soul as displayed in the production, and not for the architectural construction according to which he arranges his thoughts and feelings, while largely, and I think always, maiming them.
- ↑ ""Est-ce que toutes mes paperasses réunies, ma correspondance, ces milliers de pages intimes, mes fours, mes articles, mes rimes, mes notes diverses sont autre chose que des feuilles sèches? A qui et à quoi aurai-je été utile? Est-ce que man nom durera unjour etsignifier a-t-il quelque chose pour quelqu'un?—Vie nulle. Vol. II., p. 190, 191.
