"Gentlemen, I have finished the task which the customs of the Academy have laid upon me. On the point of ending this speech, I am struck with an idea which saddens me: it is not long since M. Chénier pronounced upon my writings some findings which he was preparing to publish; and to-day it is I who am judging my judge. I say, in all the sincerity of my heart, that I would rather continue exposed to the satire of an enemy, and live peacefully in solitude, than bring home to you, by my presence in your midst, the rapid succession of men upon earth, the sudden apparition of that death which overthrows our projects and our hopes, which snatches us away at a stroke, and which sometimes hands over our memory to men entirely opposed to us in sentiment and principle. This platform is a sort of battle-field in which talents come by turns to shine and die. What diverse geniuses has it not seen pass! Corneille, Racine, Boileau, La Bruyère[73], Bossuet, Fénelon, Voltaire, Buffon[74], Montesquieu.... Who would not be afraid, gentlemen, to think that he is about to form a link in the chain of that illustrious lineage? Overcome by the weight of those immortal names, and unable to make myself recognised through my talents as the lawful heir, I will at least try to prove my descent by my sentiments. "When my turn shall have come to yield my place to the orator who is to speak on my tomb, he may treat my works severely, but he will be obliged to say that I loved my mother-land passionately, that I would have endured a thousand ills rather than cost my country a single tear, that I would without hesitation have made the sacrifice of my days to those noble sentiments which alone give value to life and dignity to death. "But what a moment have I chosen, gentlemen, to speak to you of mourning and obsequies! Are we not surrounded by scenes of festivity? A solitary traveller, I was meditating a few days since on the ruin of the destroyed empires: and now I see a new empire arise. Scarce have I quitted the graves in which the buried nations sleep, and I perceive a cradle laden with the destinies of the future. The acclamations of the soldier resound on every hand. Cæsar mounts to the Capitol; the nations tell of marvels, of monuments upraised, cities beautified, the frontiers of the country bathed by those distant seas which bore the ships of Scipio, and by those remote waters which Germanicus did not see. "While the triumpher advances surrounded by his legions, what shall the tranquil children of the Muses do? They will go before the car to add the olive-branch of peace to the palms of victory, to mingle with the warlike recitals the touching images which caused Æmilius Paulus[75] to weep over the misfortunes of Perseus[76].