Pasteur was in the midst of some new experiments when he heard that the date of the election to the AcadÉmie FranÇaise was fixed for December 8. Certain candidates spent half their time in fiacres, paying the traditional calls, counting the voters, calculating their chances, and taking every polite phrase for a promise. Pasteur, with perfect simplicity, contented himself with saying to the Academicians whom he went to see, “I had never in my life contemplated the great honour of entering the AcadÉmie FranÇaise. People have been kind enough to say to me, ‘Stand and you will be elected.’ It is impossible to resist an invitation so glorious for Science and so flattering to myself.”

One member of the AcadÉmie, Alexandre Dumas, refused to let Pasteur call on him. “I will not allow him to come and see me,” he said; “I will myself go and thank him for consenting to become one of us.” He agreed with M. Grandeau, who wrote to Pasteur that “when Claude Bernard and Pasteur consent to enter the ranks of a Society, all the honour is for the latter.”

When Pasteur was elected, his youthfulness of sentiment was made apparent; it seemed to him an immense honour to be one of the Forty. He therefore prepared his reception speech with the greatest care, without however allowing his scientific work to suffer. The life of his predecessor interested him more and more; to work in the midst of family intimacy had evidently been LittrÉ’s ideal of happiness.

Few people, beyond LittrÉ’s colleagues, know that his wife and daughter collaborated in his great work; they looked out the quotations necessary to that Dictionary, of which, if laid end to end, the columns would reach a length of thirty-seven kilometres. The Dictionary, commenced in 1857, when LittrÉ was almost sixty years old, was only interrupted twice: in 1861, when Auguste Comte’s widow asked LittrÉ for a biography of the founder of positive philosophy; and in 1870, when the life of France was compromised and arrested during long months.

LittrÉ, poor and disinterested as he was, had been able to realize his only dream, which was to possess a house in the country. Pasteur, bringing to bear in this, as in all things, his habits of scrupulous accuracy, left his laboratory for one day, and visited that villa, situated near Maisons-Laffitte.

The gardener who opened the door to him might have been the owner of that humble dwelling; the house was in a bad state of repair, but the small garden gave a look of comfort to the little property. It had been the only luxury of the philosopher, who enjoyed cultivating vegetables while quoting Virgil, Horace or La Fontaine, and listened to the nightingale when early dawn found him still sitting at his work.

After visiting this house and garden, reflecting as they did the life of a sage, Pasteur said sadly, “Is it possible that such a man should have been so misjudged!”

A crucifix, hanging in the room where LittrÉ’s family were wont to work, testified to his respect for the beliefs of his wife and daughter. “I know too well,” he said one day, “what are the sufferings and difficulties of human life, to wish to take from any one convictions which may comfort them.”

Pasteur also studied the Positivist doctrine of which Auguste Comte had been the pontiff and LittrÉ the prophet. This scientific conception of the world affirms nothing, denies nothing, beyond what is visible and easily demonstrated. It suggests altruism, a “subordination of personality to sociability,” it inspires patriotism and the love of humanity. Pasteur, in his scrupulously positive and accurate work, his constant thought for others, his self-sacrificing devotion to humanity, might have been supposed to be an adept of this doctrine. But he found it lacking in one great point. “Positivism,” he said, “does not take into account the most important of positive notions, that of the Infinite.” He wondered that Positivism should confine the mind within limits; with an impulse of deep feeling, Pasteur, the scientist, the slow and precise observer, wrote the following passage in his speech: “What is beyond? the human mind, actuated by an invincible force, will never cease to ask itself: What is beyond?... It is of no use to answer: Beyond is limitless space, limitless time or limitless grandeur; no one understands those words. He who proclaims the existence of the Infinite—and none can avoid it—accumulates in that affirmation more of the supernatural than is to be found in all the miracles of all the religions; for the notion of the Infinite presents that double character that it forces itself upon us and yet is incomprehensible. When this notion seizes upon our understanding, we can but kneel.... I see everywhere the inevitable expression of the Infinite in the world; through it, the supernatural is at the bottom of every heart. The idea of God is a form of the idea of the Infinite. As long as the mystery of the Infinite weighs on human thought, temples will be erected for the worship of the Infinite, whether God is called Brahma, Allah, Jehovah, or Jesus; and on the pavement of those temples, men will be seen kneeling, prostrated, annihilated in the thought of the Infinite.”

At that time, when triumphant Positivism was inspiring many leaders of men, the very man who might have given himself up to what he called “the enchantment of Science” proclaimed the Mystery of the universe; with his intellectual humility, Pasteur bowed before a Power greater than human power. He continued with the following words, worthy of being preserved for ever, for they are of those which pass over humanity like a Divine breath: “Blessed is he who carries within himself a God, an ideal, and who obeys it; ideal of art, ideal of science, ideal of the gospel virtues, therein lie the springs of great thoughts and great actions; they all reflect light from the Infinite.”

Pasteur concluded by a supreme homage to LittrÉ. “Often have I fancied him seated by his wife, as in a picture of early Christian times: he, looking down upon earth, full of compassion for human suffering; she, a fervent Catholic, her eyes raised to heaven: he, inspired by all earthly virtues; she, by every Divine grandeur; uniting in one impulse and in one heart the twofold holiness which forms the aureole of the Man-God, the one proceeding from devotion to humanity, the other emanating from ardent love for the Divinity: she a saint in the canonic sense of the word, he a lay-saint. This last word is not mine; I have gathered it on the lips of all those that knew him.”

The two colleagues whom Pasteur had chosen for his Academic sponsors were J. B. Dumas and Nisard. Dumas, who appreciated more than any one the scientific progress due to Pasteur, and who applauded his brilliant success, was touched by the simplicity and modesty which his former pupil showed, now as in the distant past, when the then obscure young man sat taking notes on the Sorbonne benches.

Their mutual relationship had remained unchanged when Pasteur, accompanied by one of his family, rang at Dumas’ door in March, 1882, with the manuscript of his noble speech in his pocket; he seemed more like a student, respectfully calling on his master, than like a savant affectionately visiting a colleague.

Dumas received Pasteur in a little private study adjoining the fine drawing-room where he was accustomed to dispense an elegant hospitality. Pasteur drew a stool up to a table and began to read, but in a shy and hurried manner, without even raising his eyes towards Dumas, who listened, enthroned in his armchair, with an occasional murmur of approbation. Whilst Pasteur’s careworn face revealed some of his ardent struggles and persevering work, nothing perturbed Dumas’ grave and gentle countenance. His smile, at most times prudently affable and benevolent in varying degree, now frankly illumined his face as he congratulated Pasteur. He called to mind his own reception speech at the Academy when he had succeeded Guizot, and the fact that he too had concluded by a confession of faith in his Creator.

Pasteur’s other sponsor, Nisard, almost an octogenarian, was not so happy as Dumas; death had deprived him of almost all his old friends. It was a great joy to him when Pasteur came to see him on the wintry Sunday afternoons; he fancied himself back again at the Ecole Normale and the happy days when he reigned supreme in that establishment. Pasteur’s deference, greater even perhaps than it had been in former times, aided the delightful delusion. Though Nisard was ever inclined to bring a shade of patronage into every intimacy, he was a conversationalist of the old and rare stamp. Pasteur enjoyed hearing Nisard’s recollections and watching for a smile lighting up the almost blind face. Those Sunday talks reminded him of the old delightful conversations with Chappuis at the BesanÇon College when, in their youthful fervour, they read together AndrÉ ChÉnier’s and Lamartine’s verses. Eighteen years later, Pasteur had not missed one of Sainte Beuve’s lectures to the Ecole Normale students; he liked that varied and penetrating criticism, opening sidelights on every point of the literary horizon. Nisard understood criticism rather as a solemn treaty, with clauses and conditions; with his taste for hierarchy, he even gave different ranks to authors as if they had been students before his chair. But, when he spoke, the rigidity of his system was enveloped in the grace of his conversation. Pasteur had but a restricted corner of his mind to give to literature, but that corner was a privileged one; he only read what was really worth reading, and every writer worthy of the name inspired him with more than esteem, with absolute respect. He had a most exalted idea of Literature and its influence on society; he was saying one day to Nisard that Literature was a great educator: “The mind alone can if necessary suffice to Science; both the mind and the heart intervene in Literature, and that explains the secret of its superiority in leading the general train of thought.” This was preaching to an apostle: no homage to literature ever seemed too great in the eyes of Nisard.

He approved of the modest exordium in Pasteur’s speech—

“At this moment when presenting myself before this illustrious assembly, I feel once more the emotion with which I first solicited your suffrages. The sense of my own inadequacy is borne in upon me afresh, and I should feel some confusion in finding myself in this place, were it not my duty to attribute to Science itself the honour—so to speak, an impersonal one—which you have bestowed upon me.”

The Permanent Secretary, Camille Doucet, well versed in the usages of the Institute, and preoccupied with the effect produced, thought that the public would not believe in such self-effacement, sincere as it was, and sent the following letter to Pasteur with the proof-sheet of his speech—

“Dear and honoured colleague, allow me to suggest to you a modification of your first sentence; your modesty is excessive.”

Camille Doucet had struck out the sense of my own inadequacy is borne in upon me afresh, and further so to speak, an impersonal one. Pasteur consulted Nisard, and the sense of my own inadequacy was replaced by the sense of my deficiencies, while Pasteur adhered energetically to so to speak, an impersonal one; he saw in his election less a particular distinction than a homage rendered to Science in general.

A reception at the AcadÉmie FranÇaise is like a sensational first night at a theatre; a special public is interested days beforehand in every coming detail. Wives, daughters, sisters of Academicians, great ladies interested in coming candidates, widows of deceased Academicians, laureates of various Academy prizes—the whole literary world agitates to obtain tickets. Pasteur’s reception promised to be full of interest, some even said piquancy, for it fell to Renan to welcome him.

In order to have a foretaste of the contrast between the two men it was sufficient to recall Renan’s opening speech three years before, when he succeeded Claude Bernard. His thanks to his colleagues began thus—

“Your cenaculum is only reached at the age of Ecclesiastes, a delightful age of serene cheerfulness, when after a laborious prime, it begins to be seen that all is but vanity, but also that some vain things are worthy of being lingeringly enjoyed.”

The two minds were as different as the two speeches; Pasteur took everything seriously, giving to words their absolute sense; Renan, an incomparable writer, with his supple, undulating style, slipped away and hid himself within the sinuosities of his own philosophy. He disliked plain statements, and was ever ready to deny when others affirmed, even if he afterwards blamed excessive negation in his own followers. He religiously consoled those whose faith he destroyed, and, whilst invoking the Eternal, claimed the right of finding fault even there. When applauded by a crowd, he would willingly have murmured Noli me tangere, and even added with his joyful mixture of disdain and good-fellowship, “Let infinitely witty men come unto me.”

On that Thursday, April 27, 1882, the Institute was crowded. When the noise had subsided, Renan, seated at the desk as Director of the Academy between Camille Doucet, the Permanent Secretary, and Maxime du Camp, the Chancellor, declared the meeting opened. Pasteur, looking paler than usual, rose from his seat, dressed in the customary green-embroidered coat of an Academician, wearing across his breast the Grand Cordon of the Legion of Honour. In a clear, grave voice, he began by expressing his deep gratification, and, with the absolute knowledge and sincerity which always compelled the attention of his audience, of whatever kind, he proceeded to praise his predecessor. There was no artifice of composition, no struggle after effect, only a homage to the man, followed almost immediately by a confession of dissent on philosophic questions. He was listened to with attentive emotion, and when he showed the error of Positivism in attempting to do away with the idea of the Infinite, and proclaimed the instinctive and necessary worship by Man of the great Mystery, he seemed to bring out all the weakness and the dignity of Man—passing through this world bowed under the law of Toil and with the prescience of the Ideal—into a startling and consolatory light.

One of the privileges of the Academician who receives a new member is to remain seated in his armchair before a table, and to comfortably prepare to read his own speech, in answer, often in contradiction, to the first. Renan, visibly enjoying the presidential chair, smiled at the audience with complex feelings, understood by some who were his assiduous readers. Respect for so much work achieved by a scientist of the first rank in the world; a gratified feeling of the honour which reverted to France; some personal pleasure in welcoming such a man in the name of the AcadÉmie, and, at the same time, in the opportunity for a light and ironical answer to Pasteur’s beliefs—all these sensations were perceptible in Renan’s powerful face, the benevolence of whose soft blue eyes was corrected by the redoubtable keenness of the smile.

He began in a caressing voice by acknowledging that the Academy was somewhat incompetent to judge of the work and glory of Pasteur. “But,” he added, with graceful eloquence, “apart from the ground of the doctrine, which is not within our attributions, there is, Sir, a greatness on which our experience of the human mind gives us a right to pronounce an opinion; something which we recognize in the most varied applications, which belongs in the same degree to Galileo, Pascal, Michael-Angelo, or MoliÈre; something which gives sublimity to the poet, depth to the philosopher, fascination to the orator, divination to the scientist.

“That common basis of all beautiful and true work, that divine fire, that indefinable breath which inspires Science, Literature, and Art—we have found it in you, Sir—it is Genius. No one has walked so surely through the circles of elemental nature; your scientific life is like unto a luminous tract in the great night of the Infinitesimally Small, in that last abyss where life is born.”

After a brilliant and rapid enumeration of the Pastorian discoveries, congratulating Pasteur on having touched through his art the very confines of the springs of life, Renan went on to speak of truth as he would have spoken of a woman: “Truth, Sir, is a great coquette; she will not be sought with too much passion, but often is most amenable to indifference. She escapes when apparently caught, but gives herself up if patiently waited for; revealing herself after farewells have been said, but inexorable when loved with too much fervour.” And further: “Nature is plebeian, and insists upon work, preferring horny hands and careworn brows.”

He then commenced a courteous controversy. Whilst Pasteur, with his vision of the Infinite, showed himself as religious as Newton, Renan, who enjoyed moral problems, spoke of Doubt with delectation. “The answer to the enigma which torments and charms us will never be given to us.... What matters it, since the imperceptible corner of reality which we see is full of delicious harmonies, and since life, as bestowed upon us, is an excellent gift, and for each of us a revelation of infinite goodness?”

Legend will probably hand to posterity a picture of Renan as he was in those latter days, ironically cheerful and unctuously indulgent. But, before attaining the quizzical tranquillity he now exhibited to the Academy, he had gone through a complete evolution. When about the age of forty-eight, he might bitterly have owned that there was not one basis of thought which in him had not crumbled to dust. Beliefs, political ideas, his ideal of European civilization, all had fallen to the ground. After his separation from the Church, he had turned to historical science; Germany had appeared to him, as once to Madame de StaËl and so many others, as a refuge for thinkers. It had seemed to him that a collaboration between France, England, and Germany would create “An invincible trinity, carrying the world along the road of progress through reason.” But that German faÇade which he took for that of a temple hid behind it the most formidable barracks which Europe had ever known, and beside it were cannon foundries, death-manufactories, all the preparations of the German people for the invasion of France. His awakening was bitter; war as practised by the Prussians, with a method in their cruelty, filled him with grief.

Time passed and his art, like a lily of the desert growing amongst ruins, gave flowers and perfumes to surrounding moral devastation, A mixture of disdain and nobility now made him regard as almost imperceptible the number of men capable of understanding his philosophical elevation. Pasteur had bared his soul; Renan took pleasure in throwing light on the intellectual antithesis of certain minds, and on their points of contact.

“Allow me, Sir, to recall to you your fine discovery of right and left tartaric acids.... There are some minds which it is as impossible to bring together as it is impossible, according to your own comparison, to fit two gloves one into the other. And yet both gloves are equally necessary; they complete each other. One’s two hands cannot be superposed, they may be joined. In the vast bosom of nature, the most diverse efforts, added to each other, combine with each other, and result in a most majestic unity.”

Renan handled the French language, “this old and admirable language, poor but to those who do not know it,” with a dexterity, a choice of delicate shades, of tasteful harmonies which have never been surpassed. Able as he was to define every human feeling, he went on from the above comparison, painting divergent intellectual capabilities, to the following imprecation against death: “Death, according to a thought admired by M. LittrÉ, is but a function, the last and quietest of all. To me it seems odious, hateful, insane, when it lays its cold blind hand on virtue and on genius. A voice is in us, which only great and good souls can hear, and that voice cries unceasingly ‘Truth and Good are the ends of thy life; sacrifice all to that goal’; and when, following the call of that siren within us, claiming to bear the promises of life, we reach the place where the reward should await us, the deceitful consoler fails us. Philosophy, which had promised us the secret of death, makes a lame apology, and the ideal which had brought us to the limits of the air we breathe disappears from view at the supreme hour when we look for it. Nature’s object has been attained; a powerful effort has been realized, and then, with characteristic carelessness, the enchantress abandons us and leaves us to the hooting birds of the night.”

Renan, save in one little sentence in his answer to Pasteur—“The divine work accomplishes itself by the intimate tendency to what is Good and what is True in the universe”—did not go further into the statement of his doctrines. Perhaps he thought them too austere for his audience; he was wont to eschew critical and religious considerations when in a world which he looked upon as frivolous. Moreover, he thought his own century amusing, and was willing to amuse it further. If he raised his eyes to Heaven, he said that we owe virtue to the Eternal, but that we have the right to add to it irony. Pasteur thought it strange that irony should be applied to subjects which have beset so many great minds and which so many simple hearts solve in their own way.

The week which followed Pasteur’s reception at the AcadÉmie FranÇaise brought him a manifestation of applause in the provinces. The town of Aubenas in the ArdÈche was erecting a statue to Olivier de Serres, and desired to associate with the name of the founder of the silk industry in France in the sixteenth century that of its preserver in the nineteenth.

This was the second time that a French town proclaimed its gratitude towards Pasteur. A few months before, the Melun Agricultural Society had held a special meeting in his honour, and had decided “to strike a medal with Pasteur’s effigy on it, in commemoration of one of the greatest services ever rendered by Science to Agriculture.”

But amidst this pÆan of praise, Pasteur, instead of dwelling complacently on the recollection of his experiments at Pouilly le Fort, was absorbed in one idea, characteristic of the man: he wanted to at once begin some experiments on the peripneumonia of horned cattle. The veterinary surgeon, Rossignol, had just been speaking on this subject to the meeting. Pasteur, who had recently been asked by the Committee of Epizootic Diseases to inquire into the mortality often caused by the inoculation of the peripneumonia virus, reminded his hearers in a few words of the variable qualities of virus and how the slightest impurity in a virus may exercise an influence on the effects of that virus.

He and his collaborators had vainly tried to cultivate the virus of peripneumonia in chicken-broth, veal-broth, yeast-water, etc. They had to gather the virus from the lung of a cow which had died of peripneumonia, by means of tubes previously sterilized; it was injected, with every precaution against alteration, under the skin of the tail of the animal, this part being chosen on account of the thickness of the skin and of the cellular tissue. By operating on other parts, serious accidents were apt to occur, the virus being extremely violent, so much so in fact that the local irritation sometimes went so far as to cause the loss of part of the tail. At the end of the same year (1882), Pasteur published in the Recueil de la MÉdecine VÉtÉrinaire a paper indicating the following means of preserving the virus in a state of purity—

“Pure virus remains virulent for weeks and months. One lung is sufficient to provide large quantities of it, and its purity can easily be tested in a stove and even in ordinary temperature. From one lung only, enough can be procured to be used for many animals. Moreover, without having recourse to additional lungs, the provision of virus could be maintained in the following manner; it would suffice, before exhausting the first stock of virus, to inoculate a young calf behind the shoulder. Death speedily supervenes, and all the tissues are infiltrated with a serosity, which in its turn becomes virulent. This also can be collected and preserved in a state of purity.” It remained to be seen whether virus thus preserved would become so attenuated as to lose all degree of virulence.

Aubenas, then, wished to follow the example of Melun. In deference to the unanimous wish of the inhabitants of the little town, Pasteur went there on the 4th of May. His arrival was a veritable triumph; there were decorations at the station, floral arches in the streets, brass and other bands, speeches from the Mayor, presentation of the Municipal Council, of the Chamber of Commerce, etc., etc. Excitement reigned everywhere, and the music of the bands was almost drowned by the acclamations of the people. At the meeting of the Agricultural Society, Pasteur was offered a medal with his own effigy, and a work of art representing genii around a cup, their hands full of cocoons. A little microscope—that microscope which had been called an impracticable instrument, fit for scientists only—figured as an attribute.

“For us all,” said the President of the Aubenas Spinning Syndicate, “you have been the kindly magician whose intervention conjured away the scourge which threatened us; in you we hail our benefactor.”

Pasteur, effacing his own personality as he had done at the AcadÉmie, laid all this enthusiasm and gratitude as an offering to Science.

“I am not its object, but rather a pretext for it,” he said, and continued: “Science has been the ruling passion of my life. I have lived but for Science, and in the hours of difficulty which are inherent to protracted efforts, the thought of France upheld my courage. I associated her greatness with the greatness of Science.

“By erecting a statue to Olivier de Serres, the illustrious son of the Vivarais, you give to France a noble example; you show to all that you venerate great men and the great things they have accomplished. Therein lies fruitful seed; you have gathered it, may your sons see it grow and fructify. I look back upon the time, already distant, when, desirous of responding to the suggestions of a kind and illustrious friend, I left Paris to study in a neighbouring Department the scourge which was decimating your magnaneries. For five years I struggled to obtain some knowledge of the evil and the means of preventing it; and, after having found it, I still had to struggle to implant in other minds the convictions I had acquired.

“All that is past and gone now, and I can speak of it with moderation. I am not often credited with that characteristic, and yet I am the most hesitating of men, the most fearful of responsibility, so long as I am not in possession of a proof. But when solid scientific proofs confirm my convictions, no consideration can prevent me from defending what I hold to be true.

“A man whose kindness to me was truly paternal (Biot) had for his motto: Per vias rectas. I congratulate myself that I borrowed it from him. If I had been more timid or more doubtful in view of the principles I had established, many points of science and of application might have remained obscure and subject to endless discussion. The hypothesis of spontaneous generation would still throw its veil over many questions. Your nurseries of silkworms would be under the sway of charlatanism, with no guide to the production of good seed. The vaccination of charbon, destined to preserve agriculture from immense losses, would be misunderstood and rejected as a dangerous practice.

“Where are now all the contradictions? They pass away, and Truth remains. After an interval of fifteen years, you now render it a noble testimony. I therefore feel a deep joy in seeing my efforts understood and celebrated in an impulse of sympathy which will remain in my memory and in that of my family as a glorious recollection.”

Pasteur was not allowed to return at once to his laboratory. The agricultors and veterinary surgeons of NÎmes, who had taken an interest in all the tests on the vaccination of charbon, had, in their turn, drawn up a programme of experiments.

Pasteur arrived at a meeting of the Agricultural Society of the Gard in time to hear the report of the veterinary surgeons and to receive the congratulations of the Society. The President expressed to him the gratitude of all the cattle-owners and breeders, hitherto powerless to arrest the progress of the disease which he had now vanquished. Whilst a commemoration medal was being offered to him and a banquet being prepared—for Southern enthusiasm always implies a series of toasts—Pasteur thanked these enterprising men who were contemplating new experiments in order to dispel the doubts of a few veterinary surgeons, and especially the characteristic distrust, felt by some of the shepherds, of everything that did not come from the South. Sheep, oxen, and horses, some of them vaccinated, others intact, were put at Pasteur’s disposal; he, with his usual energy, fixed the experiments for the next morning at eight o’clock. After inoculating all the animals with the charbon virus, Pasteur announced that those which had been vaccinated would remain unharmed, but that the twelve unvaccinated sheep would be dead or dying within forty-eight hours. An appointment was made for next day but one, on May 11, at the town knacker’s, near the Bridge of Justice, where post-mortem examinations were made. Pasteur then went on to Montpellier, where he was expected by the HÉrault Central Society of Agriculture, who had also made some experiments and had asked him to give a lecture at the Agricultural School. He entered the large hall, feeling very tired, almost ill, but his face lighted up at the sight of that assembly of professors and students who had hurried from all the neighbouring Faculties, and those agricultors crowding from every part of the Department, all of them either full of scientific curiosity or moved by their agricultural interests. His voice, at first weak and showing marks of weariness, soon became strengthened, and, forgetting his fatigue, he threw himself into the subject of virulent and contagious diseases. He gave himself up, heart and soul, to this audience for two whole hours, inspiring every one with his own enthusiasm. He stopped now and then to invite questions, and his answers to the objectors swept away the last shred of resistance.

“We must not,” said the Vice-President of the Agricultural Society, M. Vialla, “encroach further on the time of M. Pasteur, which belongs to France itself. Perhaps, however he will allow me to prefer a last request: he has delivered us from the terrible scourge of splenic fever; will he now turn to a no less redoubtable infection, viz. rot, which is, so to speak, endemic in our regions? He will surely find the remedy for it.”

“I have hardly finished my experiments on splenic fever,” answered Pasteur gently, “and you want me to find a remedy for rot! Why not for phylloxera as well?” And, while regretting that the days were not longer, he added, with the energy of which he had just given a new proof: “As to efforts, I am yours usque ad mortem.”

He afterwards was the honoured guest at the banquet prepared for him. It was now not only Sericiculture, but also Agriculture, which proclaimed its infinite gratitude to him; he was given an enthusiastic ovation, in which, as usual, he saw no fame for himself, but for work and science only.

On May 11, at nine o’clock in the morning, he was again at NÎmes to meet the physicians, veterinary surgeons, cattle-breeders, and shepherds at the Bridge of Justice. Of the twelve sheep, six were already dead, the others dying; it was easy to see that their symptoms were the same as are characteristic of the ordinary splenic fever. “M. Pasteur gave all necessary explanations with his usual modesty and clearness,” said the local papers.

“And now let us go back to work!” exclaimed Pasteur, as he stepped into the Paris express; he was impatient to return to his laboratory.

In order to give him a mark of public gratitude greater still than that which came from this or that district, the AcadÉmie des Sciences resolved to organize a general movement of Scientific Societies. It was decided to present him with a medal, engraved by AlphÉe Dubois, and bearing on one side Pasteur’s profile and on the other the inscription: “To Louis Pasteur, his colleagues, his friends, and his admirers.”

On June 25, a Sunday, a delegation, headed by Dumas, and composed of Boussingault, Bouley, Jamin, DaubrÉe, Bertin, Tisserand and Davaine arrived at the Ecole Normale and found Pasteur in the midst of his family.

“My dear Pasteur,” said Dumas, in his deep voice, “forty years ago, you entered this building as a student. From the very first, your masters foresaw that you would be an honour to it, but no one would have dared to predict the startling services which you were destined to render to science, France, and the world.”

And after summing up in a few words Pasteur’s great career, the sources of wealth which he had discovered or revived, the benefits he had acquired to medicine and surgery: “My dear Pasteur,” continued Dumas, with an affectionate emotion, “your life has known but success. The scientific method which you use in such a masterly manner owes you its greatest triumphs. The Ecole Normale is proud to number you amongst its pupils; the AcadÉmie des Sciences is proud of your work; France ranks you amongst its glories.

“At this time, when marks of public gratitude are flowing towards you from every quarter, the homage which we have come to offer you, in the name of your admirers and friends, may seem worthy of your particular attention. It emanates from a spontaneous and universal feeling, and it will preserve for posterity the faithful likeness of your features.

“May you, my dear Pasteur, long live to enjoy your fame, and to contemplate the rich and abundant fruit of your work. Science, agriculture, industry, and humanity will preserve eternal gratitude towards you, and your name will live in their annals amongst the most illustrious and the most revered.”

Pasteur, standing with bowed head, his eyes full of tears, was for a few moments unable to reply, and then, making a violent effort, he said in a low voice—

“My dear master—it is indeed forty years since I first had the happiness of knowing you, and since you first taught me to love science.

“I was fresh from the country; after each of your classes, I used to leave the Sorbonne transported, often moved to tears. From that moment, your talent as a professor, your immortal labours and your noble character have inspired me with an admiration which has but grown with the maturity of my mind.

“You have surely guessed my feelings, my dear master. There has not been one important circumstance in my life or in that of my family, either happy or painful, which you have not, as it were, blessed by your presence and sympathy.

“Again to-day, you take the foremost rank in the expression of that testimony, very excessive, I think, of the esteem of my masters, who have become my friends. And what you have done for me, you have done for all your pupils; it is one of the distinctive traits of your nature. Behind the individual, you have always considered France and her greatness.

“What shall I do henceforth? Until now, great praise had inflamed my ardour, and only inspired me with the idea of making myself worthy of it by renewed efforts; but that which you have just given me in the names of the AcadÉmie and of the Scientific Societies is in truth beyond my courage.”

Pasteur, who for a year had been applauded by the crowd, received on that June 25, 1882, the testimony which he rated above every other: praise from his master.

Whilst he recalled the beneficent influence which Dumas had had over him, those who were sitting in his drawing-room at the Ecole Normale were thinking that Dumas might have evoked similar recollections with similar charm. He too had known enthusiasms which had illumined his youth. In 1822, the very year when Pasteur was born, Dumas, who was then living in a student’s attic at Geneva, received the visit of a man about fifty, dressed Directoire fashion, in a light blue coat with steel buttons, a white waistcoat and yellow breeches. It was Alexander von Humboldt, who had wished, on his way through Geneva, to see the young man who, though only twenty-two years old, had just published, in collaboration with PrÉvost, treatises on blood and on urea. That visit, the long conversations, or rather the monologues, of Humboldt had inspired Dumas with the feelings of surprise, pride, gratitude and devotion with which the first meeting with a great man is wont to fill the heart of an enthusiastic youth. When Dumas heard Humboldt speak of Laplace, Berthollet, Gay-Lussac, Arago, Thenard, Cuvier, etc., and describe them as familiarly accessible, instead of as the awe-inspiring personages he had imagined, Dumas became possessed with the idea of going to Paris, knowing those men, living near them and imbibing their methods. “On the day when Humboldt left Geneva,” Dumas used to say, “the town for me became empty.” It was thus that Dumas’ journey to Paris was decided on, and his dazzling career of sixty years begun.

He was now near the end of his scientific career, closing peacefully like a beautiful summer evening, and he was happy in the fame of his former pupil. As he left the Ecole Normale, on that June afternoon, he passed under the windows of the laboratory, where a few young men, imbued with Pasteur’s doctrines, represented a future reserve for the progress of science.

That year 1882 was the more interesting in Pasteur’s life, in that though victory on many points was quite indisputable, partial struggles still burst out here and there, and an adversary often arose suddenly when he had thought the engagement over.

The sharpest attacks came from Germany. The Record of the Works of the German Sanitary Office had led, under the direction of Dr. Koch and his pupils, a veritable campaign against Pasteur, whom they declared incapable of cultivating microbes in a state of purity. He did not even, they said, know how to recognize the septic vibrio, though he had discovered it. The experiments by which hens contracted splenic fever under a lowered temperature after inoculation signified nothing. The share of the earthworms in the propagation of charbon, the inoculation into guinea-pigs of the germs found in the little cylinders produced by those worms followed by the death of the guinea-pigs, all this they said was pointless and laughable. They even contested the preserving influence of vaccination.

Whilst these things were being said and written, the Veterinary School of Berlin asked the laboratory of the Ecole Normale for some charbon vaccine. Pasteur answered that he wished that experiments should be made before a commission nominated by the German Government. It was constituted by the Minister of Agriculture and Forests, and Virchow was one of the members of it. A former student of the Ecole Normale—who, after leaving the school first on the list of competitors for the agrÉgation of physical science, had entered the laboratory—one in whom Pasteur founded many hopes, Thuillier, left for Germany with his little tubes of attenuated virus. Pasteur was not satisfied; he would have liked to meet his adversaries face to face and oblige them publicly to own their defeat. An opportunity was soon to arise. He had come to Arbois, as usual, for the months of August and September, and was having some alterations made in his little house. The tannery pits were being filled up. “It will not improve the house itself,” he wrote to his son, “but it will be made brighter and more comfortable by having a tidy yard and a garden along the riverside.”

The Committee of the International Congress of Hygiene, which was to meet at Geneva, interrupted these peaceful holidays by inviting Pasteur to read a paper on attenuated virus. As a special compliment, the whole of one meeting, that of Tuesday, September 5, was to be reserved for his paper only. Pasteur immediately returned to work; he only consented under the greatest pressure to go for a short walk on the BesanÇon road at five o’clock every afternoon. After spending the whole morning and the whole afternoon sitting at his writing table over laboratory registers, he came away grumbling at being disturbed in his work. If any member of his family ventured a question on the proposed paper, he hastily cut them short, declaring that he must be let alone. It was only when Mme. Pasteur had copied out in her clear handwriting all the little sheets covered with footnotes, that the contents of the paper became known.

When Pasteur entered the Congress Hall, great applause greeted him on every side. The seats were occupied, not only by the physicians and professors who form the usual audience of a congress, but also by tourists, who take an interest in scientific things when they happen to be the fashion.

Pasteur spoke of the invitation he had received. “I hastened to accept it,” he said, “and I am pleased to find myself the guest of a country which has been a friend to France in good as in evil days. Moreover, I hoped to meet here some of the contradictors of my work of the last few years. If a congress is a ground for conciliation, it is in the same degree a ground for courteous discussion. We all are actuated by a supreme passion, that of progress and of truth.”

Almost always, at the opening of a congress, great politeness reigns in a confusion of languages. Men are seen offering each other pamphlets, exchanging visiting cards, and only lending an inattentive ear to the solemn speeches going on. This time, the first scene of the first act suspended all private conversation. Pasteur stood above the assembly in his full strength and glory. Though he was almost sixty, his hair had remained black, his beard alone was turning grey. His face reflected indomitable energy; if he had not been slightly lame, and if his left hand had not been a little stiff, no one could have supposed that he had been struck with paralysis fourteen years before. The feeling of the place France should hold in an International Congress gave him a proud look and an imposing accent of authority. He was visibly ready to meet his adversaries and to make of this assembly a tribunal of judges. Except for a few diplomats who at the first words exchanged anxious looks at the idea of possible polemics, Frenchmen felt happy at being better represented than any other nation. Men eagerly pointed out to each other Dr. Koch, twenty-one years younger than Pasteur, who sat on one of the benches, listening, with impassive eyes behind his gold spectacles.

Pasteur analysed all the work he had done with the collaboration of MM. Chamberland, Roux, and Thuillier. He made clear to the most ignorant among his hearers his ingenious experiments either to obtain, preserve or modify the virulence of certain microbes. “It cannot be doubted,” he said, “that we possess a general method of attenuation.... The general principles are found, and it cannot be disbelieved that the future of those researches is rich with the greatest hopes. But, however obvious a demonstrated truth may be, it has not always the privilege of being easily accepted. I have met in France and elsewhere with some obstinate contradictors.... Allow me to choose amongst them the one whose personal merit gives him the greatest claims to our attention, I mean Dr Koch, of Berlin.”

Pasteur then summed up the various criticisms which had appeared in the Record of the Works of the German Sanitary Office. “Perhaps there may be some persons in this assembly,” he went on, “who share the opinions of my contradictors. They will allow me to invite them to speak; I should be happy to answer them.”

Koch, mounting the platform, declined to discuss the subject, preferring, he said, to make answer in writing later on. Pasteur was disappointed; he would have wished the Congress, or at least a Commission designated by Koch, to decide on the experiments. He resigned himself to wait. On the following days, as the members of the Congress saw him attending meetings on general hygiene, school hygiene, and veterinary hygiene, they hardly recognized in the simple, attentive man, anxious for instruction, the man who had defied his adversary. Outside the arena, Pasteur became again the most modest of men, never allowing himself to criticize what he had not thoroughly studied. But, when sure of his facts, he showed himself full of a violent passion, the passion of truth; when truth had triumphed, he preserved not the least bitterness of former struggles.

That day of the 5th September was remembered in Geneva. “All the honour was for France,” wrote Pasteur to his son; “that was what I had wished.”

He was already keen in the pursuit of another malady which caused great damage, the “rouget” disease or swine fever. Thuillier, ever ready to start when a demonstration had to be made or an experiment to be attempted, had ascertained, in March, 1882, in a part of the Department of the Vienne, the existence of a microbe in the swine attacked with that disease.

In order to know whether this microbe was the cause of the evil, the usual operations of the sovereign method had to be resorted to. First of all, a culture medium had to be found which was suitable to the micro-organism (veal broth was found to be very successful); then a drop of the culture had to be abstracted from the little phials where the microbe was developing and sown into other flasks; lastly the culture liquid had to be inoculated into swine. Death supervened with all the symptoms of swine fever; the microbe was therefore the cause of the evil? Could it be attenuated and a vaccine obtained? Being pressed to study that disease, and to find the remedy for it, by M. Maucuer, a veterinary surgeon of the Department of Vaucluse, living at BollÈne, Pasteur started, accompanied by his nephew, Adrien Loir, and M. Thuillier. The three arrived at BollÈne on September 13.

“It is impossible to imagine more obliging kindness than that of those excellent Maucuers,” wrote Pasteur to his wife the next day. “Where, in what dark corner they sleep, in order to give us two bedrooms, mine and another with two beds, I do not like to think. They are young, and have an eight-year-old son at the Avignon College, for whom they have obtained a half-holiday to-day in order that he may be presented to ‘M. Pasteur.’ The two men and I are taken care of in a manner you might envy. It is colder here and more rainy than in Paris. I have a fire in my room, that green oak-wood fire that you will remember we had at the Pont Gisquet.

“I was much pleased to hear that the swine fever is far from being extinguished. There are sick swine everywhere, some dying, some dead, at BollÈne and in the country around; the evil is disastrous this year. We saw some dead and dying yesterday afternoon. We have brought here a young hog who is very ill, and this morning we shall attempt vaccination at a M. de Ballincourt’s, who has lost all his pigs, and who has just bought some more in the hope that the vaccine will be preservative. From morning till night we shall be able to watch the disease and to try to prevent it. This reminds me of the pÉbrine, with pigsties and sick pigs instead of nurseries full of dying silkworms. Not ten thousand, but at least twenty thousand swine have perished, and I am told it is worse still in the ArdÈche.”

On the 17th, the day was taken up by the inoculation of some pigs on the estate of M. de la Gardette, a few kilometres from BollÈne. In the evening, a former State Councillor, M. de Gaillard, came at the head of a delegation to compliment Pasteur and invite him to a banquet. Pasteur declined this honour, saying he would accept it when the swine fever was conquered. They spoke to him of his past services, but he had no thought for them; like all progress-seeking men, he saw but what was before him. Experiments were being carried out—he had hastened to have an experimental pigsty erected near M. Maucuer’s house—and already, on the 21st, he wrote to Mme. Pasteur, in one of those letters which resembled the loose pages of a laboratory notebook—

“Swine fever is not nearly so obscure to me now, and I am persuaded that with the help of time the scientific and practical problem will be solved.

“Three post-mortem examinations to-day. They take a long time, but that seems of no account to Thuillier, with his cool and patient eagerness.”

Three days later: “I much regret not being able to tell you yet that I am starting back for Paris. It is quite impossible to abandon all these experiments which we have commenced; I should have to return here at least once or twice. The chief thing is that things are getting clearer with every experiment. You know that nowadays a medical knowledge of disease is nothing; it must be prevented beforehand. We are attempting this, and I think I can foresee success; but keep this for yourself and our children. I embrace you all most affectionately.

“P.S.—I have never felt better. Send me 1,000 fr.; I have but 300 fr. left of the 1,600 fr. I brought. Pigs are expensive, and we are killing a great many.”

At last on December 8: “I am sending M. Dumas a note for to-morrow’s meeting at the Academy. If I had time I would transcribe it for the laboratory and for RenÉ.”

“Our researches”—thus ran the report to the Academy—“may be summed up in the following propositions—

“I. The swine fever, or rouget disease, is produced by a special microbe, easy to cultivate outside the animal’s body. It is so tiny that it often escapes the most attentive search. It resembles the microbe of chicken cholera more than any other; its shape is also that of a figure 8, but finer and less visible than that of the cholera. It differs essentially from the latter by its physiological properties; it kills rabbits and sheep, but has no effect on hens.

“II. If inoculated in a state of purity into pigs, in almost inappreciable doses, it speedily brings the fever and death, with all the characteristics usual in spontaneous cases. It is most deadly to the white, so-called improved, race, that which is most sought after by pork-breeders.

“III. Dr. Klein published in London (1878) an extensive work on swine fever which he calls Pneumo-enteritis of Swine; but that author is entirely mistaken as to the nature of the parasite. He has described as the microbe of the rouget a bacillus with spores, more voluminous even than the bacteridium of splenic fever. Dr. Klein’s microbe is very different from the true microbe of swine fever, and has, besides, no relation to the etiology of that disease.

“IV. After having satisfied ourselves by direct tests that the malady does not recur, we have succeeded in inoculating in a benignant form, after which the animal has proved refractory to the mortal disease.

“V. Though we consider that further control experiments are necessary, we have already great confidence in this, that, dating from next spring, vaccination by the virulent microbe of swine fever, attenuated, will become the salvation of pigsties.”

Pasteur ended thus his letter of December 3: “We shall start to-morrow, Monday. Adrien Loir and I shall sleep at Lyons. Thuillier will go straight to Paris, to take care of ten little pigs which we have bought, and which he will take with him. In this way they will not be kept waiting at stations. Pigs, young and old, are very sensitive to cold; they will be wrapped up in straw. They are very young and quite charming; one cannot help getting fond of them.”

The next day Pasteur wrote to his son: “Everything has gone off well, and we much hope, Thuillier and I, that preventive vaccination of this evil can be established in a practical fashion. It would be a great boon in pork-breeding countries, where terrible ravages are made by the rouget (so called because the animals die covered with red or purple blotches, already developed during the fever which precedes death). In the United States, over a million swine died of this disease in 1879; it rages in England and in Germany. This year, it has desolated the CÔtes-du-Nord, the Poitou, and the departments of the Rhone Valley. I sent to M. Dumas yesterday a rÉsumÉ in a few lines of our results, to be read at to-day’s meeting.”

Pasteur, once more in Paris, returned eagerly to his studies on divers virus and on hydrophobia. If he was told that he over-worked himself, he replied: “It would seem to me that I was committing a theft if I were to let one day go by without doing some work.” But he was again disturbed in the work he enjoyed by the contradictions of his opponents.

Koch’s reply arrived soon after the BollÈne episode. The German scientist had modified his views to a certain extent; instead of denying the attenuation of virus as in 1881, he now proclaimed it as a discovery of the first order. But he did not believe much, he said, in the practical results of the vaccination of charbon.

Pasteur put forward, in response, a report from the veterinary surgeon Boutet to the Chartres Veterinary and Agricultural School, made in the preceding October. The sheep vaccinated in Eure et Loir during the last year formed a total of 79,392. Instead of a mortality which had been more than nine per cent, on the average in the last ten years, the mortality had only been 518 sheep, much less than one per cent; 5,700 sheep had therefore been preserved by vaccination. Amongst cattle 4,562 animals had been vaccinated; out of a similar number 300 usually died every year. Since vaccination, only eleven cows had died.

“Such results appear to us convincing,” wrote M. Boutet. “If our cultivators of the Beauce understand their own interest, splenic fever and malignant pustules will soon remain a mere memory, for charbon diseases never are spontaneous, and, by preventing the death of their cattle by vaccination, they will destroy all possibility of propagation of that terrible disease, which will in consequence entirely disappear.”

Koch continued to smile at the discovery on the earthworms’ action in the etiology of anthrax. “You are mistaken, Sir,” replied Pasteur. “You are again preparing for yourself a vexing change of opinion.” And he concluded as follows: “However violent your attacks, Sir, they will not hinder the success of the method of attenuated virus. I am confidently awaiting the consequences which it holds in reserve to help humanity in its struggle against the diseases which assault it.”

This debate was hardly concluded when new polemics arose at the AcadÉmie de MÉdecine. A new treatment of typhoid fever was under discussion.

In 1870, M. GlÉnard, a Lyons medical student, who had enlisted, was, with many others, taken to Stettin as prisoner of war. A German physician, Dr. Brand, moved with compassion by the sufferings of the vanquished French soldiers, showed them great kindness and devotion. The French student attached himself to him, helped him with his work, and saw him treat typhoid fever with success by baths at 20° C. Brand prided himself on this cold-bath treatment, which produced numerous cures. M. GlÉnard, on his return to Lyons, remembering with confidence this method of which he had seen the excellent results, persuaded the physician of the Croix Rousse hospital, where he resided, to attempt the same treatment. This was done for ten years, and nearly all the Lyons practitioners became convinced that Brand’s method was efficacious. M. GlÉnard came to Paris and read to the Academy of Medicine a paper on the cold-bath treatment of typhoid fever. The Academy appointed a commission, composed of civil and military physicians, and the discussion was opened.

The oratorical display which had struck Pasteur when he first came to the AcadÉmie de MÉdecine was much to the fore on that occasion; the merely curious hearers of that discussion had an opportunity of enjoying medical eloquence, besides acquiring information on the new treatment of typhoid fever. There were some vehement denunciations of the microbe which was suspected in typhoid fever. “You aim at the microbe and you bring down the patient!” exclaimed one of the orators, who added, amidst great applause, that it was time “to offer an impassable barrier to such adventurous boldness and thus to preserve patients from the unforeseen dangers of that therapeutic whirlwind!”

Another orator took up a lighter tone: “I do not much believe in that invasion of parasites which threatens us like an eleventh plague of Egypt,” said M. Peter. And attacking the scientists who meddled with medicine, chymiasters as he called them, “They have come to this,” he said, “that in typhoid fevers they only see the typhoid fever, in typhoid fever, fever only, and in fever, increased heat. They have thus reached that luminous idea that heat must be fought by cold. This organism is on fire, let us pour water over it; it is a fireman’s doctrine.”

Vulpian, whose grave mind was not unlike Pasteur’s, intervened, and said that new attempts should not be discouraged by sneers. Without pronouncing on the merits of the cold-bath method, which he had not tried, he looked beyond this discussion, indicating the road which theoretically seemed to him to lead to a curative treatment. The first thing was to discover the agent which causes typhoid fever, and then, when that was known, attempt to destroy or paralyse it in the tissues of typhoid patients, or else to find drugs capable either of preventing the aggressions of that agent or of annihilating the effects of that aggression, “to produce, relatively to typhoid fever, the effect determined by salicylate of soda in acute rheumatism of the articulations.”

Beyond the restricted audience, allowed a few seats in the AcadÉmie de MÉdecine, the general public itself was taking an interest in this prolonged debate. The very high death rate in the army due to typhoid fever was the cause of this eager attention. Whilst the German army, where Brand’s method was employed, hardly lost five men out of a thousand, the French army lost more than ten per thousand.

Whilst military service was not compulsory, epidemics in barracks were looked upon with more or less compassionate attention. But the thought that typhoid fever had been more destructive within the last ten years than the most sanguinary battle now awakened all minds and hearts. Is then personal fear necessary to awaken human compassion?

Bouley, who was more given to propagating new doctrines than to lingering on such philosophical problems, thought it was time to introduce into the debate certain ideas on the great problems tackled by medicine since the discovery of what might be called a fourth kingdom in nature, that of microbia. In a statement read at the AcadÉmie de MÉdecine, he formulated in broad lines the rÔle of the infinitesimally small and their activity in producing the phenomena of fermentations and diseases. He showed by the parallel works of Pasteur on the one hand, and M. Chauveau on the other, that contagion is the function of a living element. “It is especially,” said Bouley, “on the question of the prophylaxis of virulent diseases that the microbian doctrine has given the most marvellous results. To seize upon the most deadly virus, to submit them to a methodical culture, to cause modifying agents to act upon them in a measured proportion, and thus to succeed in attenuating them in divers degrees, so as to utilize their strength, reduced but still efficacious, in transmitting a benignant malady by means of which immunity is acquired against the deadly disease: what a beautiful dream!! And M. Pasteur has made that dream into a reality!!!...”

The debate widened, typhoid fever became a mere incident. The pathogenic action of the infinitesimally small entered into the discussion; traditional medicine faced microbian medicine. M. Peter rushed once more to the front rank for the fight. He declared that he did not apply the term chymiaster to Pasteur; he recognized that it was but “fair to proclaim that we owe to M. Pasteur’s researches the most useful practical applications in surgery and in obstetrics.” But considering that medicine might claim more independence, he repeated that the discovery of the material elements of virulent diseases did not throw so much light as had been said, either on pathological anatomy, on the evolution, on the treatment or especially on the prophylaxis of virulent diseases. “Those are but natural history curiosities,” he added, “interesting no doubt, but of very little profit to medicine, and not worth either the time given to them or the noise made about them. After so many laborious researches, nothing will be changed in medicine, there will only be a few more microbes.”

A newspaper having repeated this last sentence, a professor of the Faculty of Medicine, M. Cornil, simply recalled how, at the time when the acarus of itch had been discovered, many partisans of old doctrines had probably exclaimed, “What is your acarus to me? Will it teach me more than I know already?” “But,” added M. Cornil, “the physician who had understood the value of that discovery no longer inflicted internal medication upon his patients to cure them of what seemed an inveterate disease, but merely cured them by means of a brush and a little ointment.”

M. Peter, continuing his violent speech, quoted certain vaccination failures, and incompletely reported experiments, saying, grandly: “M. Pasteur’s excuse is that he is a chemist, who has tried, out of a wish to be useful, to reform medicine, to which he is a complete stranger....

“In the struggle I have undertaken the present discussion is but a skirmish; but, to judge from the reinforcements which are coming to me, the mÊlÉe may become general, and victory will remain, I hope, to the larger battalions, that is to say, to the ‘old medicine.’”

Bouley, amazed that M. Peter should thus scout the notion of microbia introduced into pathology, valiantly fought this “skirmish” alone. He recalled the discussions À propos of tuberculosis, so obscure until a new and vivifying notion came to simplify the solution of the problem. “And you reject that solution! You say, ‘What does it matter to me?’... What! M. Koch, of Berlin—who with such discoveries as he has made might well abstain from envy—M. Koch points out to you the presence of bacteria in tubercles, and that seems to you of no importance? But that microbe gives you the explanation of those contagious properties of tuberculosis so well demonstrated by M. Villemin, for it is the instrument of virulence itself which is put under your eyes.”

Bouley then went on to refute the arguments of M. Peter, epitomized the history of the discovery of the attenuation of virus, and all that this method of cultures possible in an extra-organic medium might suggest that was hopeful for a vaccine of cholera and of yellow fever, which might be discovered one day and protect humanity against those terrible scourges. He concluded thus—“Let M. Peter do what I have done; let him study M. Pasteur, and penetrate thoroughly into all that is admirable, through the absolute certainty of the results, in the long series of researches which have led him from the discovery of ferments to that of the nature of virus; and then I can assure him that instead of decrying this great glory of France, of whom we must all be proud, he too will feel himself carried away by enthusiasm and will bow with admiration and respect before the chemist, who, though not a physician, illumines medicine and dispels, in the light of his experiments, a darkness which had hitherto remained impenetrable.”

A year before this (Peter had not failed to report the fact) an experiment of anthrax vaccination had completely failed at the Turin Veterinary School. All the sheep, vaccinated and non-vaccinated, had succumbed subsequently to the inoculation of the blood of a sheep which had died of charbon.

This took place in March, 1882. As soon as Pasteur heard of this extraordinary fiasco, which seemed the counterpart of the Pouilly-le-Fort experiment, he wrote on April 16 to the director of the Turin Veterinary School, asking on what day the sheep had died the blood of which had been used for the virulent inoculation.

The director answered simply that the sheep had died on the morning of March 22, and that its blood had been inoculated during the course of the following day. “There has been,” said Pasteur, “a grave scientific mistake; the blood inoculated was septic as well as full of charbon.”

Though the director of the Turin Veterinary School affirmed that the blood had been carefully examined and that it was in no wise septic, Pasteur looked back on his 1877 experiments on anthrax and septicÆmia, and maintained before the Paris Central Veterinary Society on June 8, 1882, that the Turin School had done wrong in using the blood of an animal at least twenty-four hours after its death, for the blood must have been septic besides containing anthrax. The six professors of the Turin School protested unanimously against such an interpretation. “We hold it marvellous,” they wrote ironically, “that your Illustrious Lordship should have recognized so surely, from Paris, the disease which made such havoc amongst the animals vaccinated and non-vaccinated and inoculated with blood containing anthrax in our school on March 23, 1882.

“It does not seem to us possible that a scientist should affirm the existence of septicÆmia in an animal he has not even seen....”

The quarrel with the Turin School had now lasted a year. On April 9, 1883, Pasteur appealed to the Academy of Sciences to judge of the Turin incident and to put an end to this agitation, which threatened to cover truth with a veil. He read out the letter he had just addressed to the Turin professors.

“Gentlemen, a dispute having arisen between you and myself respecting the interpretation to be given to the absolute failure of your control experiment of March 23, 1882, I have the honour to inform you that, if you will accept the suggestion, I will go to Turin any day you may choose; you shall inoculate in my presence some virulent charbon into any number of sheep you like. The exact moment of death in each case shall be determined, and I will demonstrate to you that in every case the blood of the corpse containing only charbon at the first will also be septic on the next day. It will thus be established with absolute certainty that the assertion formulated by me on June 8, 1882, against which you have protested on two occasions, arises, not as you say, from an arbitrary opinion, but from an immovable scientific principle; and that I have legitimately affirmed from Paris the presence of septicÆmia without it being in the least necessary that I should have seen the corpse of the sheep you utilized for your experiments.

“Minutes of the facts as they are produced shall be drawn up day by day, and signed by the professors of the Turin Veterinary School and by the other persons, physicians or veterinary surgeons, who may have been present at the experiments; these minutes will then be published both at the Academies of Turin and of Paris.”

Pasteur contented himself with reading this letter to the Academy of Sciences. For months he had not attended the Academy of Medicine; he was tired of incessant and barren struggles; he often used to come away from the discussions worn out and excited. He would say to Messrs. Chamberland and Roux, who waited for him after the meetings, “How is it that certain doctors do not understand the range, the value, of our experiments? How is it that they do not foresee the great future of all these studies?”

The day after the AcadÉmie des Sciences meeting, judging that his letter to Turin sufficiently closed the incident, Pasteur started for Arbois. He wanted to set up a laboratory adjoining his house. Where the father had worked with his hands, the son would work at his great light-emitting studies.

On April 3 a letter from M. Peter had been read at the Academy of Medicine, declaring that he did not give up the struggle and that nothing would be lost by waiting.

At the following sitting, another physician, M. Fauvel, while declaring himself an admirer of Pasteur’s work and full of respect for his person, thought it well not to accept blindly all the inductions into which Pasteur might find himself drawn, and to oppose those which were contradictory to acquired facts. After M. Fauvel, M. Peter violently attacked what he called “microbicidal drugs which may become homicidal,” he said. When reading the account of this meeting, Pasteur had an impulse of anger. His resolutions not to return to the Academy of Medicine gave way before the desire not to leave Bouley alone to lead the defensive campaign; he started for Paris.

As his family was then at Arbois, and the doors of his flat at the Ecole Normale closed, the simplest thing for Pasteur was to go to the HÔtel du Louvre, accompanied by a member of his family. The next morning he carefully prepared his speech, and, at three o’clock in the afternoon, he entered the Academy of Medicine. The President, M. Hardy, welcomed him in these words—“Allow me, before you begin to speak, to tell you that it is with great pleasure that we see you once again among us, and that the Academy hopes that, now that you have once more found your way to its precincts, you will not forget it again.”

After isolating and rectifying the points of discussion, Pasteur advised M. Peter to make a more searching inquiry into the subject of anthrax vaccination, and to trust to Time, the only sovereign judge. Should not the recollection of the violent hostility encountered at first by Jenner put people on their guard against hasty judgments? There was not one of the doctors present who could not remember what had been written at one time against vaccination!!!

He went on to oppose the false idea that each science should restrict itself within its own limitations. “What do I, a physician, says M. Peter, want with the minds of the chemist, the physicist and the physiologist?

“On hearing him speak with so much disdain of the chemists and physiologists who touch upon questions of disease, you might verily think that he is speaking in the name of a science whose principles are founded on a rock! Does he want proofs of the slow progress of therapeutics? It is now six months since, in this assembly of the greatest medical men, the question was discussed whether it is better to treat typhoid fever with cold lotions or with quinine, with alcohol or salicylic acid, or even not to treat it at all.

“And, when we are perhaps on the eve of solving the question of the etiology of that disease by a microbe, M. Peter commits the medical blasphemy of saying, ‘What do your microbes matter to me? It will only be one microbe the more!’”

Amazed that sarcasm should be levelled against new studies which opened such wide horizons, he denounced the flippancy with which a professor of the Faculty of Medicine allowed himself to speak of vaccinations by attenuated virus.

He ended by rejoicing once more that this great discovery should have been a French one.

Pasteur went back to Arbois for a few days. On his return to Paris, he was beginning some new experiments, when he received a long letter from the Turin professors. Instead of accepting his offer, they enumerated their experiments, asked some questions in an offended and ironical manner, and concluded by praising an Italian national vaccine, which produced absolute immunity in the future—when it did not kill.

“They cannot get out of this dilemma,” said Pasteur; “either they knew my 1877 notes, unravelling the contradictory statements of Davaine, Jaillard and Leplat, and Paul Bert, or they did not know them. If they did not know them on March 22, 1882, there is nothing more to say; they were not guilty in acting as they did, but they should have owned it freely. If they did know them, why ever did they inoculate blood taken from a sheep twenty-four hours after its death? They say that this blood was not septic; but how do they know? They have done nothing to find out. They should have inoculated some guinea-pigs, by choice, and then tried some cultures in a vacuum to compare them with cultures in contact with air. Why will they not receive me? A meeting between truth-seeking men would be the most natural thing in the world!”

Still hoping to persuade his adversaries to meet him at Turin and be convinced, Pasteur wrote to them. “Paris, May 9, 1883. Gentlemen—Your letter of April 30 surprises me very much. What is in question between you and me? That I should go to Turin, if you will allow me, to demonstrate that sheep, dead of charbon, as numerous as you like, will, for a few hours after their death, be exclusively infected with anthrax, and that the day after their death they will present both anthrax and septic infection; and that therefore, when, on March 23, 1882, wishing to inoculate blood infected with anthrax only into sheep vaccinated and non-vaccinated, you took blood from a carcase twenty-four hours after death, you committed a grave scientific mistake.

“Instead of answering yes or no, instead of saying to me ‘Come to Turin,’ or ‘Do not come,’ you ask me, in a manuscript letter of seventeen pages, to send you from Paris, in writing, preliminary explanations of all that I should have to demonstrate in Turin.

“Really, what is the good? Would not that lead to endless discussions? It is because of the uselessness of a written controversy that I have placed myself at your disposal.

“I have once more the honour of asking you to inform me whether you accept the proposal made to you on April 9, that I should go to Turin to place before your eyes the proofs of the facts I have just mentioned.

“P.S.—In order not to complicate the debate, I do not dwell upon the many erroneous quotations and statements contained in your letter.”

M. Roux began to prepare an interesting curriculum of experiments to be carried out at Turin. But the Turin professors wrote a disagreeable letter, published a little pamphlet entitled Of the Scientific Dogmatism of the Illustrious Professor Pasteur, and things remained as they were.

All these discussions, renewed on so many divers points, were not altogether a waste of time; some of them bore fruitful results by causing most decisive proofs to be sought for. It has also made the path of Pasteur’s followers wider and smoother that he himself should have borne the brunt of the first opposition.

In the meanwhile, testimonials of gratitude continued to pour in from the agricultors and veterinary surgeons who had seen the results of two years’ practice of the vaccination against anthrax.

In the year 1882, 613,740 sheep and 83,946 oxen had been vaccinated. The Department of the Cantal which had before lost about 3,000,000 fr. every year, desired in June, 1883, on the occasion of an agricultural show, to give M. Pasteur a special acknowledgement of their gratitude. It consisted of a cup of silver-plated bronze, ornamented with a group of cattle. Behind the group—imitating in this the town of Aubenas, who had made a microscope figure as an attribute of honour—was represented, in small proportions, an instrument which found itself for the first time raised to such an exalted position, the little syringe used for inoculations.

Pasteur was much pressed to come himself and receive this offering from a land which would henceforth owe its fortune to him. He allowed himself to be persuaded, and arrived, accompanied as usual by his family.

The Mayor, surrounded by the municipal councillors, greeted him in these words: “Our town of Aurillac is very small, and you will not find here the brilliant population which inhabits great cities; but you will find minds capable of understanding the scientific and humanitarian mission which you have so generously undertaken. You will also find hearts capable of appreciating your benefits and of preserving the memory of them; your name has been on all our lips for a long time.”

Pasteur, visiting that local exhibition, did not resemble the official personages who listen wearily to the details given them by a staff of functionaries. He thought but of acquiring knowledge, going straight to this or that exhibitor and questioning him, not with perfunctory politeness, but with a real desire for practical information; no detail seemed to him insignificant. “Nothing should be neglected,” he said; “and a remark from a rough labourer who does well what he has to do is infinitely precious.”

After visiting the products and agricultural implements, Pasteur was met in the street by a peasant who stopped and waved his large hat, shouting, “Long live Pasteur!”... “You have saved my cattle,” continued the man, coming up to shake hands with him.

Physicians in their turn desired to celebrate and to honour him who, though not a physician, had rendered such service to medicine. Thirty-two of them assembled to drink his health. The head physician of the Aurillac Hospital, Dr. Fleys, said in proposing the toast: “What the mechanism of the heavens owes to Newton, chemistry to Lavoisier, geology to Cuvier, general anatomy to Bichat, physiology to Claude Bernard, pathology and hygiene will owe to Pasteur. Unite with me, dear colleagues, and let us drink to the fame of the illustrious Pasteur, the precursor of the medicine of the future, a benefactor to humanity.”

This glorious title was now associated with his name. In the first rank of his enthusiastic admirers came the scientists, who, from the point of view of pure science, admired the achievements, within those thirty-five years, of that great man whose perseverance equalled his penetration. Then came the manufacturers, the sericicultors, and the agricultors, who owed their fortune to him who had placed every process he discovered into the public domain. Finally, France could quote the words of the English physiologist, Huxley, in a public lecture at the London Royal Society: “Pasteur’s discoveries alone would suffice to cover the war indemnity of five milliards paid by France to Germany in 1870.”

To that capital was added the inestimable price of human lives saved. Since the antiseptic method had been adopted in surgical operations, the mortality had fallen from 50 per 100 to 5 per 100.

In the lying-in hospitals, more than decimated formerly (for the statistics had shown a death-rate of not only 100 but 200 per 1,000), the number of fatalities was now reduced to 3 per 1,000 and soon afterwards fell to 1 per 1,000. And, in consequence of the principles established by Pasteur, hygiene was growing, developing, and at last taking its proper place in the public view. So much progress accomplished had brought Pasteur a daily growing acknowledgment of gratitude, his country was more than proud of him. His powerful mind, allied with his very tender heart, had brought to French glory an aureole of charity.

The Government of the Republic remembered that England had voted two national rewards to Jenner, one in 1802 and one in 1807, the first of £10,000, and the second of £20,000. It was at the time of that deliberation that Pitt, the great orator, exclaimed, “Vote, gentlemen, your gratitude will never reach the amount of the service rendered.”

The French Ministry proposed to augment the 12,000 fr. pension accorded to Pasteur in 1874 as a national recompense, and to make it 25,000 fr., to revert first to Pasteur’s widow, and then to his children. A Commission was formed and Paul Bert again chosen to draw up the report.

On several occasions at the meetings of the commission one of its members, Benjamin Raspail, exalted the parasitic theory propounded in 1843 by his own father. His filial pleading went so far as to accuse Pasteur of plagiarism. Paul Bert, whilst recognizing the share attributed by F. V. Raspail to microscopic beings, recalled the fact that his attempt in favour of epidemic and contagious diseases had not been adopted by scientists. “No doubt,” he said, “the parasitic origin of the itch was now definitely accepted, thanks in a great measure to the efforts of Raspail; but generalizations were considered as out of proportion to the fact they were supposed to rest on. It seemed excessive to conclude from the existence of the acarus of itch, visible to the naked eye or with the weakest magnifying glass, the presence of microscopic parasites in the humours of virulent diseases.... Such hypotheses can be considered but as a sort of intuition.”

“Hypotheses,” said Pasteur, “come into our laboratories in armfuls; they fill our registers with projected experiments, they stimulate us to research—and that is all.” One thing only counted for him: experimental verification.

Paul Bert, in his very complete report, quoted Huxley’s words to the Royal Society and Pitt’s words to the House of Commons. He stated that since the first Bill had been voted, a new series of discoveries, no less marvellous from a theoretical point of view and yet more important from a practical point of view, had come to strike the world of Science with astonishment and admiration.” Recapitulating Pasteur’s works, he said—

“They may be classed in three series, constituting three great discoveries.

“The first one may be formulated thus: Each fermentation is produced by the development of a special microbe.

“The second one may be given this formula: Each infectious disease (those at least that M. Pasteur and his immediate followers have studied) is produced by the development within the organism of a special microbe.

“The third one may be expressed in this way: The microbe of an infectious disease, cultivated under certain detrimental conditions, is attenuated in its pathogenic activity; from a virus it has become a vaccine.

“As a practical consequence of the first discovery, M. Pasteur has given rules for the manufacture of beer and of vinegar, and shown how beer and wine may be preserved against secondary fermentations which would turn them sour, bitter or slimy, and which render difficult their transport and even their preservation on the spot.

“As a practical consequence of the second discovery, M. Pasteur has given rules to be followed to preserve cattle from splenic fever contamination, and silkworms from the diseases which decimated them. Surgeons, on the other hand, have succeeded, by means of the guidance it afforded, in effecting almost completely the disappearance of erysipelas and of the purulent infections which formerly brought about the death of so many patients after operations.

“As a practical consequence of the third discovery, M. Pasteur has given rules for, and indeed has effected, the preservation of horses, oxen, and sheep from the anthrax disease which every year kills in France about 20,000,000 francs’ worth. Swine will also be preserved from the rouget disease which decimates them, and poultry from the cholera which makes such terrible havoc among them. Everything leads us to hope that rabies will also soon be conquered.” When Paul Bert was congratulated on his report, he said, “Admiration is such a good, wholesome thing!!”

The Bill was voted by the Chamber, and a fortnight later by the Senate, unanimously. Pasteur heard the first news through the newspapers, for he had just gone to the Jura. On July 14, he left Arbois for DÔle, where he had promised to be present at a double ceremony.

On that national holiday, a statue of Peace was to be inaugurated, and a memorial plate placed on the house where Pasteur was born; truly a harmonious association of ideas. The prefect of the Jura evidently felt it when, while unveiling the statue in the presence of Pasteur, he said: “This is Peace, who has inspired Genius and the great services it has rendered.” The official procession, followed by popular acclamation, went on to the narrow Rue des Tanneurs. When Pasteur, who had not seen his native place since his childhood, found himself before that tannery, in the low humble rooms of which his father and mother had lived, he felt himself the prey to a strong emotion.

The mayor quoted these words from the resolutions of the Municipal Council: “M. Pasteur is a benefactor of Humanity, one of the great men of France; he will remain for all DÔlois and in particular those who, like him, have risen from the ranks of the people, an object of respect as well as an example to follow; we consider that it is our duty to perpetuate his name in our town.”

The Director of Fine Arts, M. Kaempfen, representing the Government at the ceremony, pronounced these simple words: “In the name of the Government of the Republic, I salute the inscription which commemorates the fact that in this little house, in this little street, was born, on December 27, 1822, he who was to become one of the greatest scientists of this century so great in science, and who has, by his admirable labours, increased the glory of France and deserved well of the whole of humanity.”

The feelings in Pasteur’s heart burst forth in these terms: “Gentlemen, I am profoundly moved by the honour done to me by the town of DÔle; but allow me, while expressing my gratitude, to protest against this excess of praise. By according to me a homage rendered usually but to the illustrious dead, you anticipate too much the judgment of posterity. Will it ratify your decision? and should not you, Mr. Mayor, have prudently warned the Municipal Council against such a hasty resolution?

“But after protesting, gentlemen, against the brilliant testimony of an admiration which is more than I deserve, let me tell you that I am touched, moved to the bottom of my soul. Your sympathy has joined on that memorial plate the two great things which have been the passion and the delight of my life: the love of Science and the cult of the home.

“Oh! my father, my mother, dear departed ones, who lived so humbly in this little house, it is to you that I owe everything. Thy enthusiasm, my brave-hearted mother, thou hast instilled it into me. If I have always associated the greatness of Science with the greatness of France, it is because I was impregnated with the feelings that thou hadst inspired. And thou, dearest father, whose life was as hard as thy hard trade, thou hast shown to me what patience and protracted effort can accomplish. It is to thee that I owe perseverance in daily work. Not only hadst thou the qualities which go to make a useful life, but also admiration for great men and great things. To look upwards, learn to the utmost, to seek to rise ever higher, such was thy teaching. I can see thee now, after a hard day’s work, reading in the evening some story of the battles in the glorious epoch of which thou wast a witness. Whilst teaching me to read, thy care was that I should learn the greatness of France.

“Be ye blessed, my dear parents, for what ye have been, and may the homage done to-day to your little house be yours!

“I thank you, gentlemen, for the opportunity of saying aloud what I have thought for sixty years. I thank you for this fÊte and for your welcome, and I thank the town of DÔle, which loses sight of none of her children, and which has kept such a remembrance of me.”

“Nothing is more exquisite,” wrote Bouley to Pasteur, “than those feelings of a noble heart, giving credit to the parents’ influence for all the glory with which their son has covered their name. All your friends recognized you, and you appeared under quite a new light to those who may have misjudged your heart by knowing of you only the somewhat bitter words of some of your Academy speeches, when the love of truth has sometimes made you forgetful of gentleness.”

It might have seemed that after so much homage, especially when offered in such a delicate way as on this last occasion, Pasteur had indeed reached a pinnacle of fame. His ambition however was not satisfied. Was it then boundless, in spite of the modesty which drew all hearts towards him? What more did he wish? Two great things: to complete his studies on hydrophobia and to establish the position of his collaborators—whose name he ever associated with his work—as his acknowledged successors.

A few cases of cholera had occurred at Damietta in the month of June. The English declared that it was but endemic cholera, and opposed the quarantines. They had with them the majority of the Alexandria Sanitary Council, and could easily prevent sanitary measures from being taken. If the English, voluntarily closing their eyes to the dangers of the epidemic, had wished to furnish a new proof of the importation of cholera, they could not have succeeded better. The cholera spread, and by July 14 it had reached Cairo. Between the 14th and 22nd there were five hundred deaths per day.

Alexandria was threatened. Pasteur, before leaving Paris for Arbois, submitted to the Consulting Committee of Public Hygiene the idea of a French Scientific Mission to Alexandria. “Since the last epidemic in 1865,” he said, “science has made great progress on the subject of transmissible diseases. Every one of those diseases which has been subjected to a thorough study has been found by biologists to be produced by a microscopic being developing within the body of man or of animals, and causing therein ravages which are generally mortal. All the symptoms of the disease, all the causes of death depend directly upon the physiological properties of the microbe.... What is wanted at this moment to satisfy the preoccupations of science is to inquire into the primary cause of the scourge. Now the present state of knowledge demands that attention should be drawn to the possible existence within the blood, or within some organ, of a micro-organism whose nature and properties would account in all probability for all the peculiarities of cholera, both as to the morbid symptoms and the mode of its propagation. The proved existence of such a microbe would soon take precedence over the whole question of the measures to be taken to arrest the evil in its course, and might perhaps suggest new methods of treatment.”

Not only did the Committee of Hygiene approve of Pasteur’s project, but they asked him to choose some young men whose knowledge would be equalled by their devotion. Pasteur only had to look around him. When, on his return to the laboratory, he mentioned what had taken place at the Committee of Hygiene, M. Roux immediately offered to start. A professor at the Faculty of Medicine who had some hospital practice, M. Straus, and a professor at the Alfort Veterinary School, M. Nocard, both of whom had been authorised to work in the laboratory, asked permission to accompany M. Roux. Thuillier had the same desire, but asked for twenty-four hours to think over it.

The thought of his father and mother, who had made a great many sacrifices for his education, and whose only joy was to receive him at Amiens, where they lived, during his short holidays, made him hesitate. But the thought of duty overcame his regrets; he put his papers and notes in order and went to see his dear ones again. He told his father of his intention, but his mother did not know of it. At the time when the papers spoke of a French commission to study cholera, his elder sister, who loved him with an almost motherly tenderness, said to him suddenly, “You are not going to Egypt, Louis? swear that you are not!” “I am not going to swear anything,” he answered, with absolute calm; adding that he might some time go to Russia to proceed to some vaccination of anthrax, as he had done at Buda-Pesth in 1881. When he left Amiens nothing in his farewells revealed his deep emotion; it was only from Marseilles that he wrote the truth.

Administrative difficulties retarded the departure of the Commission, which only reached Egypt on August 15. Dr. Koch had also come to study cholera. The head physician of the European hospital, Dr. Ardouin, placed his wards at the entire disposal of the French savants. In a certain number of cases, it was possible to proceed to post-mortem examinations immediately after death, before putrefaction had begun. It was a great thing from the point of view of the search after a pathogenic micro-organism as well as from the anatomo-pathological point of view.

The contents of the intestines and the characteristic stools of the cholera patients offered a great variety of micro-organisms. But which was really the cause of cholera? The most varied modes of culture were attempted in vain. The same negative results followed inoculations into divers animal species, cats, dogs, swine, monkeys, pigeons, rabbits, guinea-pigs, etc., made with the blood of cholerics or with the contents of their bowels. Experiments were made with twenty-four corpses. The epidemic ceased unexpectedly. Not to waste time, while waiting for a reappearance of the disease, the French Commission took up some researches on cattle plague. Suddenly a telegram from M. Roux informed Pasteur that Thuillier had succumbed to an attack of cholera.

“I have just heard the news of a great misfortune,” wrote Pasteur to J. B. Dumas on September 19; “M. Thuillier died yesterday at Alexandria of cholera. I have telegraphed to the Mayor of Amiens asking him to break the news to the family.

“Science loses in Thuillier a courageous representative with a great future before him. I lose a much-loved and devoted pupil; my laboratory one of its principal supports.

“I can only console myself for this death by thinking of our beloved country and all he has done for it.”

Thuillier was only twenty-six. How had this happened? Had he neglected any of the precautions which Pasteur had written down before the departure of the Commission, and which were so minute as to be thought exaggerated?

Pasteur remained silent all day, absolutely overcome. The head of the laboratory, M. Chamberland, divining his master’s grief, came to Arbois. They exchanged their sorrowful thoughts, and Pasteur fell back into his sad broodings.

A few days later, a letter from M. Roux related the sad story: “Alexandria, September 21. Sir and dear master—Having just heard that an Italian ship is going to start, I am writing a few lines without waiting for the French mail. The telegraph has told you of the terrible misfortune which has befallen us.”

M. Roux then proceeded to relate in detail the symptoms presented by the unfortunate young man, who, after going to bed at ten o’clock, apparently in perfect health, had suddenly been taken ill about three o’clock in the morning of Saturday, September 15. At eight o’clock, all the horrible symptoms of the most violent form of cholera were apparent, and his friends gave him up for lost. They continued their desperate endeavours however, assisted by the whole staff of French and Italian doctors.

“By dint of all our strength, all our energy, we protracted the struggle until seven o’clock on Wednesday morning, the 19th. The asphyxia, which had then lasted twenty-four hours, was stronger than our efforts.

“Your own feelings will help you to imagine our grief.

“The French colony and the medical staff are thunderstruck. Splendid funeral honours have been rendered to our poor Thuillier.

“He was buried at four o’clock on Wednesday afternoon, with the finest and most imposing manifestation Alexandria had seen for a long time.

“One very precious and affecting homage was rendered by the German Commission with a noble simplicity which touched us all very much.

“M. Koch and his collaborators arrived when the news spread in the town. They gave utterance to beautiful and touching words to the memory of our dead friend. When the funeral took place, those gentlemen brought two wreaths which they themselves nailed on the coffin. ‘They are simple,’ said M. Koch, ‘but they are of laurel, such as are given to the brave.’

“M. Koch hold one corner of the pall. We embalmed our comrade’s body; he lies in a sealed zinc coffin. All formalities have been complied with, so that his remains may be brought back to France when the necessary time has expired. In Egypt the period of delay is a whole year.

“The French colony desires to erect a monument to the memory of Louis Thuillier.

“Dear master, how much more I should like to tell you! The recital of the sad event which happened so quickly would take pages. This blow is altogether incomprehensible. It was more than a fortnight since we had seen a single case of cholera; we were beginning to study cattle-plague.

“Of us all, Thuillier was the one who took most precautions; he was irreproachably careful.

“We are writing by this post a few lines to his family, in the names of all of us.

“Such are the blows cholera can strike at the end of an epidemic! Want of time forces me to close this letter. Pray believe in our respectful affection.”

The whole of the French colony, who received great marks of sympathy from the Italians and other foreigners, wished to perpetuate the memory of Thuillier. Pasteur wrote, on October 16, to a French physician at Alexandria, who had informed him of this project:

“I am touched with the generous resolution of the French colony at Alexandria to erect a monument to the memory of Louis Thuillier. That valiant and beloved young man was deserving of every honour. I know, perhaps better than any one, the loss inflicted on science by his cruel death. I cannot console myself, and I am already dreading the sight of the dear fellow’s empty place in my laboratory.”

On his return to Paris, Pasteur read a paper to the Academy of Sciences, in his own name and in that of Thuillier, on the now well-ascertained mode of vaccination for swine-fever. He began by recalling Thuillier’s worth:

“Thuillier entered my laboratory after taking the first rank at the Physical Science AgrÉgation competition at the Ecole Normale. His was a deeply meditative, silent nature; his whole person breathed a virile energy which struck all those who knew him. An indefatigable worker, he was ever ready for self-sacrifice.”

A few days before, M. Straus had given to the Biology Society a summary statement of the studies of the Cholera Commission, concluding thus: “The documents collected during those two months are far from solving the etiological problem of cholera, but will perhaps not be useless for the orientation of future research.”

The cholera bacillus was put in evidence, later on, by Dr. Koch, who had already suspected it during his researches in Egypt.

Glory, which had been seen in the battlefield at the beginning of the nineteenth century, now seemed to elect to dwell in the laboratory, that “temple of the future” as Pasteur called it. From every part of the world, letters reached Pasteur, appeals, requests for consultations. Many took him for a physician. “He does not cure individuals,” answered Edmond About one day to a foreigner who was under that misapprehension; “he only tries to cure humanity.” Some sceptical minds were predicting failure to his studies on hydrophobia. This problem was complicated by the fact that Pasteur was trying in vain to discover and isolate the specific microbe.

He was endeavouring to evade that difficulty; the idea pursued him that human medicine might avail itself of “the long period of incubation of hydrophobia, by attempting to establish, during that interval before the appearance of the first rabic symptoms, a refractory condition in the subjects bitten.”

At the beginning of the year 1884, J. B. Dumas enjoyed following from a distance Pasteur’s readings at the AcadÉmie des Sciences. His failing health and advancing age (he was more than eighty years old) had forced him to spend the winter in the South of France. On January 26, 1884, he wrote to Pasteur for the last time, À propos of a book[32] which was a short summary of Pasteur’s discoveries and their concatenation:

“Dear colleague and friend,—I have read with a great and sincere emotion the picture of your scientific life drawn by a faithful and loving hand.

“Myself a witness and a sincere admirer of your happy efforts, your fruitful genius and your imperturbable method, I consider it a great service rendered to Science, that the accurate and complete whole should be put before the eyes of young people.

“It will make a wholesome impression on the public in general; to young scientists, it will be an initiation, and to those who, like me, have passed the age of labour it will bring happy memories of youthful enthusiasm.

“May Providence long spare you to France, and maintain in you that admirable equilibrium between the mind that observes, the genius that conceives, and the hand that executes with a perfection unknown until now.”

This was a last proof of Dumas’ affection for Pasteur. Although his life was now fast drawing to its close, his mental faculties were in no wise impaired, for we find him three weeks later, on February 20, using his influence as Permanent Secretary of the Academy to obtain the Lacaze prize for M. Cailletet, the inventor of the well-known apparatus for the liquefaction of gases.

J. B. Dumas died on April 11, 1884. Pasteur was then about to start for Edinburgh on the occasion of the tercentenary of the celebrated Scotch University. The “Institut de France,” invited to take part in these celebrations, had selected representatives from each of the five Academies: the AcadÉmie FranÇaise was sending M. Caro; the Academy of Sciences, Pasteur and de Lesseps; the Academy of Moral Sciences, M. GrÉard; the Academy of Inscriptions and Letters, M. Perrot; and the Academy of Fine Arts, M. EugÈne Guillaume. The CollÈge de France sent M. Guillaume Guizot, and the Academy of Medicine Dr. Henry Gueneau de Mussy.

Pasteur much wished to relinquish this official journey; the idea that he would not be able to follow to the grave the incomparable teacher of his youth, the counsellor and confidant of his life, was infinitely painful to him.

He was however reconciled to it by one of his colleagues, M. MÉziÈres, who was going to Edinburgh on behalf of the Minister of Public Instruction, and who pointed out to him that the best way of honouring Dumas’ memory lay in remembering Dumas’ chief object in life—the interests of France. Pasteur went, hoping that he would have an opportunity of speaking of Dumas to the Edinburgh students.

In London, the French delegates had the pleasant surprise of finding that a private saloon had been reserved to take Pasteur and his friends to Edinburgh. This hospitality was offered to Pasteur by one of his numerous admirers, Mr. Younger, an Edinburgh brewer, as a token of gratitude for his discoveries in the manufacture of beer. He and his wife and children welcomed Pasteur with the warmest cordiality, when the train reached Edinburgh; the principal inhabitants of the great Scotch city vied with each other in entertaining the French delegates, who were delighted with their reception.

The next morning, they, and the various representatives from all parts of the world, assembled in the Cathedral of St. Giles, where, with the exalted feeling which, in the Scotch people, mingles religious with political life, the Town Council had decided that a service should inaugurate the rejoicings. The Rev. Robert Flint, mounting that pulpit from which the impetuous John Knox, Calvin’s friend and disciple, had breathed forth his violent fanaticism, preached to the immense assembly with a full consciousness of the importance of his discourse. He spoke of the relations between Science and Faith, of the absolute liberty of science in the realm of facts, of the thought of God considered as a stimulant to research, progress being but a Divine impulse.

In the afternoon, the students imparted life and merriment into the proceedings; they had organized a dramatic performance, the members of the orchestra, even, being undergraduates.

The French delegates took great interest in the system of this University. Accustomed as they were to look upon the State as sole master and dispenser, they now saw an independent institution, owing its fortune to voluntary contributions, revealing in every point the power of private enterprise. Unlike what takes place in France, where administrative unity makes itself felt in the smallest village, the British Government effaces itself, and merely endeavours to inspire faith in political unity. Absolutely her own mistress, the University of Edinburgh is free to confer high honorary degrees on her distinguished visitors. However, these honorary diplomas are but of two kinds, viz.: Doctor of Divinity (D.D.) and Doctor of Laws (LL.D.). In 1884, seventeen degrees of D.D. and 122 degrees of LL.D. were reserved for the various delegates. “The only laws I know,” smilingly said the learned Helmholtz, “are the laws of Physics.”

The solemn proclamation of the University degrees took place on Thursday, April 17. The streets and monuments of the beautiful city were decorated with flags, and an air of rejoicing pervaded the whole atmosphere.

The ceremony began by a special prayer, alluding to the past, looking forward to the future, and asking for God’s blessing on the delegates and their countries. The large assembly filled the immense hall where the Synod of the Presbyterian Church holds its meetings. The Chancellor and the Rector of the University were seated on a platform with a large number of professors; those who were about to receive honorary degrees occupied seats in the centre of the hall; about three thousand students found seats in various parts of the hall.

The Chancellor of the University of Edinburgh had arranged that the new graduates should be called in alphabetical order. As each of them heard his name, he rose and mounted the platform. The students took great pleasure in heartily cheering those savants who had had most influence on their studies. When Pasteur’s name was pronounced, a great silence ensued; every one was trying to obtain a sight of him as he walked towards the platform. His appearance was the signal for a perfect outburst of applause; five thousand men rose and cheered him. It was indeed a splendid ovation.

In the evening, a banquet was set out in the hall, which was hung with the blue and white colours of the University; there were a thousand guests, seated round twenty-eight tables, one of which, the high table, was reserved for the speakers who were to propose the toasts, which were to last four hours. Pasteur was seated next to Virchow; they talked together of the question of rabies, and Virchow owned that, when he saw Pasteur in 1881 about to tackle this question, he much doubted the possibility of a solution. This friendly chat between two such men proves the desirability of such gatherings; intercourse between the greatest scientists can but lead to general peace and fraternity between nations. After having read a telegram from the Queen, congratulating the University and welcoming the guests, a toast was drunk to the Queen and to the Royal Family, and a few words spoken by the representative of the Emperor of Brazil. Pasteur then rose to speak:

“My Lord Chancellor, Gentlemen, the city of Edinburgh is now offering a sight of which she may be proud. All the great scientific institutions, meeting here, appear as an immense Congress of hopes and congratulations. The honour and glory of this international rendezvous deservedly belong to you, for it is centuries since Scotland united her destinies with those of the human mind. She was one of the first among the nations to understand that intellect leads the world. And the world of intellect, gladly answering your call, lays a well-merited homage at your feet. When, yesterday, the eminent Professor Robert Flint, addressing the Edinburgh University from the pulpit of St. Giles, exclaimed, ‘Remember the past and look to the future,’ all the delegates, seated like judges at a great tribunal, evoked a vision of past centuries and joined in a unanimous wish for a yet more glorious future.

“Amongst the illustrious delegates of all nations who bring you an assurance of cordial good wishes, France has sent to represent her those of her institutions which are most representative of the French spirit and the best part of French glory. France is ready to applaud whenever a source of light appears in the world; and when death strikes down a man of genius, France is ready to weep as for one of her own children. This noble spirit of solidarity was brought home to me when I heard some of you speak feelingly of the death of the illustrious chemist, J. B. Dumas, a celebrated member of all your Academies, and only a few years ago an eloquent panegyrist of your great Faraday. It was a bitter grief to me that I had to leave Paris before his funeral ceremony; but the hope of rendering here a last and solemn homage to that revered master helped me to conquer my affliction. Moreover, gentlemen, men may pass, but their works remain; we all are but passing guests of these great homes of intellect, which, like all the Universities who have come to greet you in this solemn day, are assured of immortality.”

Pasteur, having thus rendered homage to J. B. Dumas, and having glorified his country by his presence, his speech and the great honours conferred on him, would have returned home at once; but the undergraduates begged to be allowed to entertain, the next day, some of those men whom they looked upon as examples and whom they might never see again.

Pasteur thanked the students for this invitation, which filled him with pride and pleasure, for he had always loved young people, he said, and continued, in his deep, stirring voice:

“Ever since I can remember my life as a man, I do not think I have ever spoken for the first time with a student without saying to him, ‘Work perseveringly; work can be made into a pleasure, and alone is profitable to man, to his city, to his country.’ It is even more natural that I should thus speak to you. The common soul (if I may so speak) of an assembly of young men is wholly formed of the most generous feelings, being yet illumined with the divine spark which is in every man as he enters this world. You have just given a proof of this assurance, and I have felt moved to the heart in hearing you applaud, as you have just been doing, such men as de Lesseps, Helmholtz and Virchow. Your language has borrowed from ours the beautiful word enthusiasm, bequeathed to us by the Greeks: e? ?e??, an inward God. It was almost with a divine feeling that you just now cheered those great men.

“One of those of our writers who have best made known to France and to Europe the philosophy of Robert Reid and Dugald Stewart said, addressing young men in the preface of one of his works:—

“‘Whatever career you may embrace, look up to an exalted goal; worship great men and great things.’

“Great things! You have indeed seen them. Will not this centenary remain one of Scotland’s glorious memories? As to great men, in no country is their memory better honoured than in yours. But, if work should be the very life of your life, if the cult for great men and great things should be associated with your every thought, that is still not enough. Try to bring into everything you undertake the spirit of scientific method, founded on the immortal works of Galileo, Descartes and Newton.

“You especially, medical students of this celebrated University of Edinburgh—who, trained as you are by eminent masters, may aspire to the highest scientific ambition—be you inspired by the experimental method. To its principles, Scotland owes such men as Brewster, Thomson and Lister.”

The speaker who had to respond on behalf of the students to the foreign delegates expressed himself thus, directly addressing Pasteur:

“Monsieur Pasteur, you have snatched from nature secrets too carefully, almost maliciously hidden. We greet in you a benefactor of humanity, all the more so because we know that you admit the existence of spiritual secrets, revealed to us by what you have just called the work of God in us.

“Representatives of France, we beg you to tell your great country that we are following with admiration the great reforms now being introduced into every branch of your education, reforms which we look upon as tokens of a beneficent rivalry and of a more and more cordial intercourse—for misunderstandings result from ignorance, a darkness lightened by the work of scientists.”

The next morning, at ten o’clock, crowds gathered on the station platform with waving handkerchiefs. People were showing each other a great Edinburgh daily paper, in which Pasteur’s speech to the undergraduates was reproduced and which also contained the following announcement in large print:

“In memory of M. Pasteur’s visit to Edinburgh, Mr. Younger offers to the Edinburgh University a donation of £500.”

Livingstone’s daughter, Mrs. Bruce, on whom Pasteur had called the preceding day, came to the station a few moments before the departure of the train, bringing him a book entitled The Life of Livingstone.

The saloon carriage awaited Pasteur and his friends. They departed, delighted with the hospitality they had received, and much struck with the prominent place given to science and the welcome accorded to Pasteur. “This is indeed glory,” said one of them. “Believe me,” said Pasteur, “I only look upon it as a reason for continuing to go forward as long as my strength does not fail me.”