Regretting nothing in the past, save those whom I have lost; regretting nothing, not even my first youth; hoping nothing either, I have reached the point at which, worn out by the experience of things, we ask ourselves if life be worth the living.
Amid the ruins that surround me, one strip of wall remains standing, immovable upon its solid base: my passion for scientific truth.

Is that enough, O! my busy insects, to enable me to add yet a few seemly pages to your history?
Will my strength not cheat my good intentions?
Why, indeed, did I forsake you so long?
Friends have reproached me for it.

Ah, tell them, tell those friends, who are yours as well as mine, tell them that it was not forgetfulness on my part, not weariness, nor neglect: I thought of you; I was convinced that the Cerceris' (A species of Digger-wasp .-- Translator's Note.) cave had more fair secrets to reveal to us, that the chase of the Sphex held fresh surprises in store.

But time failed me; I was alone, deserted, struggling against misfortune.

Before philosophizing, one had to live.