It was only in the house of his friends the B.’s that Elie felt at his ease. He was devotedly fond of their children, whom he used to take for walks on Sundays and to the theatre now and then; he was always ready to read to them and to indulge them in every possible way.

He continued to entertain the dream of marrying one of them some day, and was particularly interested in the eldest, a girl of thirteen, intelligent, gifted, and lively; however, as he knew her better, he realised the incompatibility of their respective tempers, an incompatibility which brought about frequent disputes. These were generally smoothed down by a mutual friend, Mlle. FÉdorovitch, who invariably showed Elie a marked and cordial sympathy. He became ill at this juncture and she nursed him with a devotion which brought them together even more, as will be seen from the following letter to his mother:

Mlle. FÉdorovitch became ill in her turn; the sympathy which Elie showed her on this occasion brought them still nearer to each other, and he soon decided to marry her. He informed his mother of this; much alarmed, she tried to dissuade him, for she feared that by marrying a girl in delicate health, her son would be assuming too heavy a task in his difficult circumstances.

He answered as follows:

Soon after that, he wrote the following letter to his mother:

As Elie learnt to know his fiancÉe better, he became more and more attached to her. Their happiness seemed likely to be complete, but a cruel Fate had decided otherwise. The girl’s health was not improving: her supposed bronchitis was assuming a chronic character. Yet the marriage was not postponed, and the bride had to be carried to the church in a chair for the ceremony, being too breathless and too weak to walk so far.

Elie did his utmost to procure comforts for his wife, and hoped that she could still be saved by care and a rational treatment. It was the beginning of an hourly struggle against disease and poverty; his means being insufficient, he tried to eke them out by writing translations. His eyesight weakened again from overwork, and it was with atropin in his eyes that he sat up night after night, translating. There was but one well-lighted room in his flat, and he turned it into a small laboratory for the use of his pupils; his own researches he had to give up, his time being entirely taken up by teaching and translations.

He hid his precarious position from his parents in order not to add to their heavy expenses nor to confirm their previsions concerning his marriage. His wife’s illness, the impossibility of carrying on scientific work, the lack of friendly sympathy to which he thought himself entitled, all this weighed on him, making him bitter, suspicious, and distrustful; he thought himself persecuted. The situation became intolerable and, in spite of his pride, he forced himself to apply for a subsidy to take his wife abroad and to go on with his researches. Having obtained it in 1869, he immediately left Petersburg, which he now hated.

Youth is elastic: the young couple started full of joy, gay as children, and ready to forget all their trials. Alas, it was not for long: having halted at Vilna in order that the patient should have a rest, she had an attack of hÆmorrhage of the lungs, to the great alarm of her husband, who nevertheless did his best to reassure her. They continued the journey as soon as her condition allowed it, only to be interrupted by another relapse. At last they reached Spezzia, chosen on account of the climate and the marine fauna.

Little by little, Ludmilla Metchnikoff’s health improved and her husband was able to resume work. He studied aquatic animals in view of the genealogy of inferior groups, and, amongst others, studied the Tornaria, which was believed to be the larva of the star-fish. However, to his astonishment, he ascertained that, in spite of great similarity, it was not the larva of an Echinoderm, but that of one of the Balanoglossi, of the worm type. This fact established a link between the Echinodermata and worms, a very important result from the point of view of the continuity of animal types.

Metchnikoff felt his courage returning and also his natural high spirits. His wife, who was a clever draughtswoman, helped him with the drawings for his memoir, and both felt happy and contented; this stay at Spezzia was a real oasis in their life.

When the heat became excessive they went to Reichenhall, a summer resort prescribed by the doctor. There, Metchnikoff completed his previous researches on the development of the scorpion, and finally established the fact that this animal possesses the three embryonic layers which correspond to those of the Vertebrates.

As his young wife’s health was still too precarious to allow her to spend the winter in Russia, Metchnikoff, obliged to return to Petersburg, installed her at Montreux and asked his sister-in-law, Mlle. FÉdorovitch, to stay with her. The enforced separation deeply grieved the young couple, whose only consolation was daily correspondence.

Metchnikoff resumed a life of hard work; he was now an agrÉgÉ at the Petersburg University and had to leave the School of Mines; this diminished his resources, but at the same time he obtained an extra salary of 800 roubles as Extraordinary Professor. His position in the University was nevertheless very difficult, for his situation was coveted by different parties with which he had nothing to do. They wanted it for one of their adherents. His devoted friend SetchÉnoff, Professor of Physiology, then thought of proposing him to the Faculty of Medicine as a Lecturer in Zoology, and whilst Metchnikoff awaited the result of his efforts, he obtained leave to go to the seaside to do research work.

He joined his wife and took her to San Remo and to Villafranca. Her health had improved and she was even able to take part in his work. He was engaged in studying MedusÆ and Siphonophora, animals which interested him, not only from the point of view of the origin of embryonic layers, but also from that of general morphology, for he was still pursuing the problem of genetic links between animals. He had already been able to prove the presence of embryonic layers in many inferior animals; moreover, he had found, while studying the metamorphoses of Echinodermata, the proof that the structural plan, hitherto considered immutable, could become transformed in course of development. Thus the bilateral plan of the larva of Echinoderma becomes a radial plan in the adult. The structural plan therefore is not an absolutely differentiating character, since specimens of the same type can show a different plan according to their stage of development. One of the genetic questions still unsolved was that of the body cavity. Always present in higher animals, it is totally absent in certain lower groups, such as Sponges, Polypi, and MedusÆ. It was being questioned whether their dissimilar morphological characters did not correspond with a duality of origin separating animals which possessed a body cavity (Coelomata) from those which did not (Acoelomata).

Kovalevsky, it is true, had observed that the body cavity of many animals (Amphioxus, Sagitta, Brachiopoda) took its origin in the lateral sacs of the digestive cavity, sacs which detach themselves from it in order to form the body cavity. But, in order to establish a genetic connection between those animals that have a body cavity and those which are devoid of it, it was necessary to show the homology of corresponding organs in both groups.

Through his researches on the development of Coelomata (Echinodermata) on the one hand and Acoelomata (Ctenophora and MedusÆ) on the other, Metchnikoff succeeded in proving that the lateral sacs of the digestive cavity which give birth to the body cavity of the Coelomata (Echinodermata) correspond to the canals and vaso-digestive sacs of the Acoelomata (Ctenophora and MedusÆ). The difference consists in that the latter do not detach themselves in order to form a body cavity, which is therefore lacking.

The result of his researches satisfied Metchnikoff; moreover, he began to feel again hopeful of his wife’s recovery. The only dark spot was that SetchÉnoff’s efforts had failed. Metchnikoff was not appointed by the Faculty of Medicine, for it was found advisable to replace the Chair of Zoology by one on Venereal Diseases. On the other hand, he was nominated for the Odessa University, supported by Cienkovsky and unanimously elected.

As he only had to go to his new post in the autumn, he went for the summer to St. Vaast in Normandy to study Lucernaria; unfortunately the stay was not a success; the weather was cold and the sea very rough, which made the Lucernaria impossible to find. Life conditions were very difficult, all the male population being at sea and the women being in the fields. In order not to waste this journey he studied Ascidians, and found that he had previously been mistaken at Naples when he thought that the nervous system of those animals originated from the lower embryonic layer. Kovalevsky had been right in affirming the contrary, and Elie hastened to write to tell him so.

St. Vaast, open to every wind, was not favourable to the patient, and Metchnikoff had to take her away. They went to Russia to stay with her parents and then to Panassovka. The doctors having advised a course of treatment by “koumiss,” or fermented mare’s milk prepared in a special way by the Tartars, Elie engaged a Tartar servant specially for that purpose, but in vain. In spite of every treatment, his wife’s health was steadily growing worse. The cold at St. Vaast had been followed by such a dry heat in Russia that, in order to procure a little coolness for the patient, they had to spread wet sheets around her. She constantly had high temperatures and frequent attacks of hÆmorrhage. It was obvious that she must leave Russia, and Metchnikoff, obliged to rejoin his post at Odessa, asked Mlle. FÉdorovitch to go with her to Montreux.

The separation was all the harder that all hope of recovery was beginning to wane. The patient, however, had been told of the magical effect of Madeira in cases of tuberculosis, and she clung to the idea as to a plank of safety. Elie resolved to take her there. He set to work with renewed ardour in order to obtain the sum necessary for the journey; in spite of all his self-denial, his normal resources would not have sufficed, and he had recourse to translations and literary articles. He had a theme ready, which he developed in a paper called Education from the Anthropological Point of View—in fact a preliminary sketch of his ideas on the disharmonies in human nature. In it, he analysed the disharmonies due to the great difference of development between the child and the adult: whilst the young of animals are very rapidly able to imitate the adults and to live like them, the man-child is incapable of it. His brain, especially in civilised races, demands a long period of development in order to equal that of the adult, whilst certain instincts in the organism mature, on the contrary, long before their function is possible. Moreover, a child’s sensibility is extremely developed whilst his will is by no means so. These causes provoke suffering and a series of regrettable consequences.

Apart from frenzied efforts and unceasing labour, Metchnikoff was going through a painful moral crisis, due to the impossibility of making his conduct accord with his convictions. Party intrigues continued to be rife at the Odessa University: Poles were being persecuted by Nationalists; one professor was refused admission on account of his Polish nationality, and Cienkovsky resigned by way of protest. Metchnikoff shared his views and longed to follow his example, but was prevented by his lack of means and felt it deeply. It also went against his conscience to ask for leave as frequently as his wife’s condition made it necessary.

She wished to see her parents once again before going to Madeira, and he took her to Russia for the last time: she never saw her family again.

At last they were able to start. The long journey was very fatiguing, the sea voyage was rough, but, when she landed in Madeira, the patient thought herself saved. The very next morning Metchnikoff started feverishly on a voyage of discovery. Nature on the island was extremely beautiful; alone the sight of numerous sick people reminded him of suffering and death. The words “a flower-decked grave” haunted his mind, and a growing despondency warned him that he had nothing to expect from this luxuriant spot. From the aspect of the rocky coast, beaten by the waves, he realised that the beach fauna must be very poor; his only refuge, research work, was likely to be denied him.

He was advised to hire a small house, which would be cheaper than a boarding-house, and he did find a pretty furnished villa with a garden; it was beyond his means, but a young Russian named Mertens, who had been a fellow-traveller, proposed to share it with them. The arrangement proved highly satisfactory, and Mertens, at first merely an agreeable neighbour, became a close friend.

Before leaving for Madeira, Metchnikoff had obtained a scientific mission and a subsidy from the Society of Natural Science Lovers of Moscow, and felt it a moral obligation to obtain some results. The scantiness of the marine fauna was a bitter disappointment; he had to fall back upon what little he found, and embarked on the study, hitherto unknown, of the embryology of Myriapoda. But this research work brought him a new source of torment instead of satisfaction: he could not master the technique, which proved to be very difficult, and this irritated him; his failures disappointed him, made him vexed with himself; his nerves, already strung to the highest point by suffering and anxiety, made the disappointment unbearable. On the other hand, the external aspect of life formed a striking contrast with the state of his mind. A wealth of natural beauty, all flowers and perfumes, in an incomparable site, congenial surroundings and home comforts formed the frame for these two young lives, of which one was waning whilst the other was spent in a useless struggle to save it.

Metchnikoff’s natural pessimism was growing under the influence of these painful circumstances. His conception of life was a sombre one; he said to himself that the “disharmonies” of human nature must infallibly end in a general decadence of humanity. He set forth his reflections in an article entitled The Time for Marriage, in which he discussed the following concrete fact: With the progress of civilisation and culture, the time for marriage recedes gradually, whereas puberty remains as early as before; the result is that the time between puberty and marriage is becoming longer and longer, and constitutes a growing period in which there is no harmony. The statistics of suicides prove that there is a close connection between them and the period of disharmonies.

Whilst he worked, his wife tried to make use of her leisure: she interested herself in poor children, sketched flowers, read novels ... life flowed peacefully in spite of the underlying drama.

Yet the thought that he was not fulfilling his obligations was intolerable to Metchnikoff. He thought of resigning and founding a small book-shop at Madeira in order to be independent and not obliged to leave his wife, but lack of funds made this plan impossible. In his search for new resources, he went to Teneriffe to look for a subject for an article. He met with several disappointments on this trip; yet he saw the Villa Orotava, with its celebrated giant dragon-tree, which had already then been brought down by a storm. He also visited the Caves of the Guancios, the primitive inhabitants of the Canary Islands. Having gathered the necessary observations, he hastened to return to Madeira, where months passed without bringing any change.

The book-shop idea was abandoned as being impracticable and Metchnikoff had to return to Odessa, asking his sister-in-law to come to Madeira in his place. When she had arrived, he confided the two girls to Mertens and to the care of the devoted Dr. Goldschmidt, and went away conscious of the uselessness of his efforts and more deeply pessimistic than ever.

When he reached Odessa, in October 1872, he found there his friend SetchÉnoff, whom he had previously proposed for a Physiology Lecturer’s chair, and whose affection was a great comfort to him at this sad time. The correspondence between him and his wife during that period is full of an infinite tenderness, as if they felt the supreme separation coming near, and yearned to express their mutual love.

At the end of January 1873, between two classes, Metchnikoff received a letter from his sister-in-law telling him to come in haste if he wished to find his wife still living. He delivered his lecture like an automaton, then went to obtain his leave and hurried off. He accomplished the whole journey without a break. On arriving at Madeira he found his wife so changed that he scarcely knew her, and it was only through sheer force of will that he kept his alarm from her. She suffered so much that she had to be given morphia constantly and could no longer leave her bed.

Metchnikoff himself was in very poor health; his eyes were so sensitive from overwork that he had to remain in the dark, only going into the garden at dusk to observe spiders and snails. Time was progressing slowly and miserably, and bringing nothing but anxiety as to the means to support this sad existence. Metchnikoff had hoped to receive the Baer prize for a zoological work, but did not obtain it: it was refused on the pretext that his memoir had been presented in manuscript instead of being printed. In reality, the German party had wished to give it to a fellow-German.

A friend of his, who sent him the bad news, offered to lend him 300 roubles, and Metchnikoff accepted; he could now think of nothing but holding out till the end.

One morning the patient’s condition suddenly became much worse. The doctor was sent for in a hurry and declared that it was now a question of a few hours.... When Metchnikoff went back to his wife he found her with eyes wide open and so full of mortal anguish and utter despair that he could bear it no longer and went out hastily, not to show her his dismay.

This was his last impression; he never saw her again.

Only half conscious, he walked up and down the drawing-room, opening and closing books without seeing them, his mind full of disconnected pictures; he wondered to himself how his family would hear the news. Time passed without his realising it. Then his sister-in-law came to tell him that all was over. This was on the 20th April 1873.

Metchnikoff’s feelings were complex: a mixture of crushing despair and of relief at the thought that the terrible agony was at last ended.... During the whole of the sad first night he sat with his sister-in-law in a distant room, talking of those things which are only mentioned in moments such as these. When Dr. Goldschmidt came in the morning to offer Metchnikoff his sympathy and help he found him apparently almost calm. Metchnikoff asked him to make a post-mortem examination of the deceased and to look after her sister. A Scottish minister came to bring religious comfort and to exhort him to look there for consolation. Metchnikoff thanked him, but firmly assured him that it was not possible to him.

The funeral took place two days later; he did not attend it and did not see the corpse. Immediately after the funeral he left Madeira with his sister-in-law. Being no longer anxious to economise, he took with him a sick young Russian who wished to see his mother again and could not afford the journey.

After the catastrophe, Metchnikoff felt incapable of thinking of the future, his life seemed cut off at one blow; he destroyed his papers and reserved a phial of morphia, without any settled intention. They journeyed back through Spain; it was during the Carlist insurrection, and several episodes on the way distracted their attention. Elie and his sister-in-law reached Geneva, where they found Leo Metchnikoff and several relations, among whom he seems to have recovered himself. He even related some of their travelling experiences, meetings with Carlists, frontier incidents, etc., with some spirit. But his apparent calm concealed black despair.

He said to himself: “Why live? My private life is ended; my eyes are going; when I am blind I can no longer work, then why live?” Seeing no issue to his situation, he absorbed the morphia. He did not know that too strong a dose, by provoking vomiting, eliminates the poison. Such was the case with him. He fell into a sort of torpor, of extraordinary comfort and absolute rest; in spite of this comatose state he remained conscious and felt no fear of death. When he became himself again, it was with a feeling of dismay. He said to himself that only a grave illness could save him, either by ending in death or by awaking the vital instinct in him. In order to attain his object, he took a very hot bath and then exposed himself to cold. As he was coming back by the Rhone bridge, he suddenly saw a cloud of winged insects flying around the flame of a lantern. They were PhryganidÆ, but in the distance he took them for EphemeridÆ, and the sight of them suggested the following reflection: “How can the theory of natural selection be applied to these insects? They do not feed and only live a few hours; they are therefore not subject to the struggle for existence, they do not have time to adapt themselves to surrounding conditions.”

His thoughts turned towards Science; he was saved; the link with life was re-established.