One of the most illustrious members of the Institute, Volney, on returning from the New World, said:  “The Anglo-Americans tax the French with lightness, with indiscretion, with chattering.” (Volney, preface to The Table of the Climate of the United States.) Such is the impression, in my opinion very erroneous, at least by comparison, under which the Ambassador Franklin arrived in France.  All the world knows that he halted at Chaillot.  As an inhabitant of the Commune, Bailly thought it his duty to visit without delay the illustrious guest thus received.  He was announced, and Franklin, knowing him by reputation, welcomed him very cordially, and exchanged with his visitor the eight or ten words usual on such occasions.  Bailly seated himself by the American philosopher, and discreetly awaited some question to be put to him.  Half an hour passed, and Franklin had not opened his mouth.  Bailly drew out his snuff-box, and presented it to his neighbour without a word; the traveller signed with his hand that he did not take snuff.  The dumb interview was then prolonged during a whole hour.  Bailly finally rose.  Then Franklin, as if delighted to have found a Frenchman who could remain silent, extended his hand to him, pressed his visitor’s affectionately, exclaiming:  “Very well, Monsr.  Bailly, very well!”

After having recounted the anecdote as our academician used amusingly to relate it, I really fear being asked how I look upon it.  Well, Gentlemen, whenever this question may be put to me, I shall answer that Bailly and Franklin discussing together some scientific question from the moment of their meeting, would have appeared to me much more worthy of each other, than the two actors of the scene at Chaillot.  I will, moreover, grant that we may draw the following inference,—­that even men of genius are liable to cross humours; but I must at the same time add that the example is not dangerous, dumbness not being an efficacious method of making one’s self valued, or of distinguishing ourselves to advantage.

Bailly was nominated member of the French Academy in the place of M. de Tressan, in November, 1783.  The same day, M. de Choiseul Gouffier succeeded to D’Alembert.  Thanks to the coincidence of the two nominations, Bailly escaped the sarcasms which the expectant academicians never fail to pour out, with or without reason, against those who have obtained a double crown.  This time they vented their spleen exclusively on the great man, thus enabling the astronomer to take possession of his new dignity without raising the usual storm.  Let us carefully collect, Gentlemen, from the early years of our academician’s life, all that may appear an anticipated compensation for the cruel trials that we shall have to relate in the sequel.