In this Institute, which Pasteur entered ill and weary, he contemplated with joy those large laboratories, which would enable his pupils to work with ease and to attract around them investigators from all countries. He was happy to think that the material difficulties which had hampered him would be spared those who came after him. He believed in the realization of his wishes for peace, work, mutual help among men. Whatever the obstacles, he was persuaded that science would continue its civilizing progress and that its benefits would spread from domain to domain. Differing from those old men who are ever praising the past, he had an enthusiastic confidence in the future; he foresaw great developments of his studies, some of which were already apparent. His first researches on crystallography and molecular dissymmetry had served as a basis to stereo-chemistry. But, while he followed the studies on that subject of Le Bel and Van t’Hoff, he continued to regret that he had not been able to revert to the studies of his youth, enslaved as he had been by the inflexible logical sequence of his works. “Every time we have had the privilege of hearing Pasteur speak of his early researches,” writes M. Chamberland, in an article in the Revue Scientifique, “we have seen the revival in him of a smouldering fire, and we have thought that his countenance showed a vague regret at having forsaken them. Who can now say what discoveries he might have made in that direction?” “One day,” said Dr. HÉricourt—who spent the summer near Villeneuve l’Etang, and who often came into the Park with his two sons—“he favoured me with an admirable, captivating discourse on this subject, the like of which I have never heard.”

Pasteur, instead of feeling regret, might have looked back with calm pride on the progress he had made in other directions.

In what obscurity were fermentation and infection enveloped before his time, and with what light he had penetrated them! When he had discovered the all-powerful rÔle of the infinitesimally small, he had actually mastered some of those living germs, causes of disease; he had transformed them from destructive to preservative agents. Not only had he renovated medicine and surgery, but hygiene, misunderstood and neglected until then, was benefiting by the experimental method. Light was being thrown on preventive measures.

M. Henri Monod, Director of Hygiene and Public Charities, one day quoted, À propos of sanitary measures, these words of the great English Minister, Disraeli—

“Public health is the foundation upon which rest the happiness of the people and the power of the State. Take the most beautiful kingdom, give it intelligent and laborious citizens, prosperous manufactures, productive agriculture; let arts flourish, let architects cover the land with temples and palaces; in order to defend all these riches, have first-rate weapons, fleets of torpedo boats—if the population remains stationary, if it decreases yearly in vigour and in stature, the nation must perish. And that is why I consider that the first duty of a statesman is the care of Public Health.”

In 1889, when the International Congress of Hygiene met in Paris, M. Brouardel was able to say—

“If echoes from this meeting could reach them ... our ancestors would learn that a revolution, the most formidable for thirty centuries, has shaken medical science to its very foundations, and that it is the work of a stranger to their corporation; and their sons do not cry Anathema, they admire him, bow to his laws.... We all proclaim ourselves disciples of Pasteur.”

On the very day after those words were pronounced, Pasteur saw the realization of one of his most ardent wishes, the inauguration of the new Sorbonne. At the sight of the wonderful facilities for work offered by this palace, he remembered Claude Bernard’s cellar, his own garret at the Ecole Normale, and felt a movement of patriotic pride.

In October, 1889, though his health remained shaken, he insisted on going to Alais, where a statue was being raised to J. B. Dumas. Many of his colleagues tried to dissuade him from this long and fatiguing journey, but he said: “I am alive, I shall go.” At the foot of the statue, he spoke of his master, one of those men who are “the tutelary spirits of a nation.”

The sericicultors, desiring to thank him for the five years he had spent in studying the silkworm disease, offered him an artistic souvenir: a silver heather twig laden with gold cocoons.

Pasteur did not fail to remind them that it was at the request of their fellow citizen that he had studied pÉbrine. He said, “In the expression of your gratitude, by which I am deeply touched, do not forget that the initiative was due to M. Dumas.”

Thus his character revealed itself on every occasion. Every morning, with a step rendered heavy by age and ill-health, he went from his rooms to the Hydrophobia Clinic, arriving there long before the patients. He superintended the preparation of the vaccinal marrows; no detail escaped him. When the time came for inoculations, he was already informed of each patient’s name, sometimes of his poor circumstances; he had a kind word for every one, often substantial help for the very poor. The children interested him most; whether severely bitten, or frightened at the inoculation, he dried their tears and consoled them. How many children have thus kept a memory of him! “When I see a child,” he used to say, “he inspires me with two feelings: tenderness for what he is now, respect for what he may become hereafter.”

Already in May, 1892, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway had formed various Committees of scientists and pupils of Pasteur to celebrate his seventieth birthday. In France, it was in November that the Medical and Surgical Section of the Academy of Sciences constituted a Subscription Committee to offer Pasteur an affectionate homage. Roty, the celebrated engraver, was desired to finish a medal he had already begun, representing Pasteur in profile, a skull cap on his broad forehead, the brow strongly prominent, the whole face full of energy and meditation. His shoulders are covered with the cape he usually wore in the morning in the passages of his Institute. Roty had not time to design a satisfactory reverse side; he surrounded with laurels and roses the following inscription: “To Pasteur, on his seventieth birthday. France and Humanity grateful.”

On the morning of December 27, 1892, the great theatre of the Sorbonne was filled. The seats of honour held the French and foreign delegates from Scientific Societies, the members of the Institute, and the Professors of Faculties. In the amphitheatre were the deputations from the Ecoles Normale, Polytechnique, Centrale, of Pharmacy, VÉtÉrinaires, and of Agriculture—deep masses of students. People pointed out to each other Pasteur’s pupils, Messrs. Duclaux, Roux, Chamberland, Metchnikoff, in their places; M. Perdrix, a former Normalien, now an AgrÉgÉ-prÉparateur; M. Edouard Calmette, a former student of the Ecole Centrale, who had taken part in the studies on beer; and M. Denys Cochin, who, thirteen years before, had studied alcoholic fermentation in the laboratory of the Rue d’Ulm. The first gallery was full of those who had subscribed towards the presentation about to be made to Pasteur. In the second gallery, boys from lycÉes crowned the immense assembly with a youthful garland.

At half past 10 o’clock, whilst the band of the Republican Guard played a triumphal march, Pasteur entered, leaning on the arm of the President of the Republic. Carnot led him to a little table, whereon the addresses from the various delegates were to be laid. The Presidents of the Senate and of the Chamber, the Ministers and Ambassadors, took their seats on the platform. Behind the President of the Republic stood, in their uniform, the official delegates of the five Academies which form the Institut de France. The Academy of Medicine and the great Scientific Societies were represented by their presidents and life-secretaries.

M. Charles Dupuy, Minister of Public Instruction, rose to speak, and said, after retracing Pasteur’s great works—

“Who can now say how much human life owes to you and how much more it will owe to you in the future! The day will come when another Lucretius will sing, in a new poem on Nature, the immortal Master whose genius engendered such benefits.

“He will not describe him as a solitary, unfeeling man, like the hero of the Latin poet; but he will show him mingling with the life of his time, with the joys and trials of his country, dividing his life between the stern enjoyment of scientific research and the sweet communion of family intercourse; going from the laboratory to his hearth, finding in his dear ones, particularly in the helpmeet who has understood him so well and loved him all the better for it, that comforting encouragement of every hour and each moment, without which so many struggles might have exhausted his ardour, arrested his perseverance, and enervated his genius....

“May France keep you for many more years, and show you to the world as the worthy object of her love, of her gratitude and pride.”

The President of the Academy of Sciences, M. d’Abbadie, was chosen to present to Pasteur the commemorative medal of this great day.

Joseph Bertrand said that the same science, wide, accurate, and solid, had been a foundation to all Pasteur’s works, each of them shining “with such a dazzling light, that, in looking at either, one is inclined to think that it eclipses all others.”

After a few words from M. DaubrÉe, senior member of the Mineralogical Section and formerly a colleague of Pasteur’s at the Strasburg Faculty, the great Lister, who represented the Royal Societies of London and Edinburgh, brought to Pasteur the homage of medicine and surgery. “You have,” said he, “raised the veil which for centuries had covered infectious diseases; you have discovered and demonstrated their microbian nature.”

When Pasteur rose to embrace Lister, the sight of those two men gave the impression of a brotherhood of science labouring to diminish the sorrows of humanity.

After a speech from M. Bergeron, Life-Secretary of the Academy of Medicine, and another from M. Sauton, President of the Paris Municipal Council, the various delegates presented the addresses they had brought. Each of the large cities of Europe had its representative. The national delegates were called in their turn. A student from the Alfort Veterinary School brought a medal offered by the united Veterinary Schools of France. Amongst other offerings, Pasteur was given an album containing the signatures of the inhabitants of Arbois, and another coming from DÔle, in which were reproduced a facsimile of his birth-certificate and a photograph of the house in which he was born. The sight of his father’s signature at the end of the certificate moved him more than anything else.

The Paris Faculty of Medicine was represented by its Dean, Professor Brouardel. “More fortunate than Harvey and than Jenner,” he said, “you have been able to see the triumph of your doctrines, and what a triumph!...”

The last word of homage was pronounced by M. Devise, President of the Students’ Association, who said to Pasteur, “You have been very great and very good; you have given a beautiful example to students.”

Pasteur’s voice, made weaken than usual by his emotion, could not have been heard all over the large theatre; his thanks were read out by his son—

“Monsieur le PrÉsident de la RÉpublique, your presence transforms an intimate fÊte into a great ceremony, and makes of the simple birthday of a savant a special date for French science.

“M. le Ministre, Gentlemen—In the midst of all this magnificence, my first thought takes me back to the melancholy memory of so many men of science who have known but trials. In the past, they had to struggle, against the prejudices which hampered their ideas. After those prejudices were vanquished, they encountered obstacles and difficulties of all kinds.

“Very few years ago, before the public authorities and the town councils had endowed science with splendid dwellings, a man whom I loved and admired, Claude Bernard, had, for a laboratory, a wretched cellar not far from here, low and damp. Perhaps it was there that he contracted the disease of which he died. When I heard what you were preparing for me here, the thought of him arose in my mind; I hail his great memory.

“Gentlemen, by an ingenious and delicate thought, you seem to make the whole of my life pass before my eyes. One of my Jura compatriots, the Mayor of DÔle, has brought me a photograph of the very humble home where my father and mother lived such a hard life. The presence of the students of the Ecole Normale brings back to me the glamour of my first scientific enthusiasms. The representatives of the Lille Faculty evoke memories of my first studies on crystallography and fermentation, which opened to me a new world. What hopes seized upon me when I realized that there must be laws behind so many obscure phenomena! You, my dear colleagues, have witnessed by what series of deductions it was given to me, a disciple of the experimental method, to reach physiological studies. If I have sometimes disturbed the calm of our Academies by somewhat violent discussions, it was because I was passionately defending truth.

“And you, delegates from foreign nations, who have come from so far to give to France a proof of sympathy, you bring me the deepest joy that can be felt by a man whose invincible belief is that Science and Peace will triumph over Ignorance and War, that nations will unite, not to destroy, but to build, and that the future will belong to those who will have done most for suffering humanity. I appeal to you, my dear Lister, and to you all, illustrious representatives of medicine and surgery.

“Young men, have confidence in those powerful and safe methods, of which we do not yet know all the secrets. And, whatever your career may be, do not let yourselves become tainted by a deprecating and barren scepticism, do not let yourselves be discouraged by the sadness of certain hours which pass over nations. Live in the serene peace of laboratories and libraries. Say to yourselves first: ‘What have I done for my instruction?’ and, as you gradually advance, ‘What have I done for my country?’ until the time comes when you may have the immense happiness of thinking that you have contributed in some way to the progress and to the good of humanity. But, whether our efforts are or not favoured by life, let us be able to say, when we come near the great goal, ‘I have done what I could.’

“Gentlemen, I would express to you my deep emotion and hearty gratitude. In the same way as Roty, the great artist, has, on the back of this medal, hidden under roses the heavy number of years which weigh on my life, you have, my dear colleagues, given to my old age the most delightful sight of all this living and loving youth.”

The shouts “Vive Pasteur!” resounded throughout the building. The President of the Republic rose, went towards Pasteur to congratulate him, and embraced him with effusion.

Hearts went out to Pasteur even from distant countries. The Canadian Government, acting on the suggestion of the deputies of the province of Quebec, gave the name of Pasteur to a district on the borders of the state of Maine.

A few weeks after the fÊte, the Governor-General of Algeria, M. Cambon, wrote to Pasteur as follows—

“Sir—Desirous of showing to you the special gratitude which Algeria bears you for the immense services you have rendered to science and to humanity by your great and fruitful discoveries, I have decided that your name should be given to the village of SÉriana, situated in the arrondissement of Batna, department of Constantine. I am happy that I have been able to render this slight homage to your illustrious person.” “I feel a deep emotion,” replied Pasteur, “in thinking that, thanks to you, my name will remain attached to that corner of the world. When a child of this village asks what was the origin of this denomination, I should like the schoolmaster to tell him simply that it is the name of a Frenchman who loved France very much, and who, by serving her, contributed to the good of humanity. My heart is thrilled at the thought that my name might one day awaken the first feelings of patriotism in a child’s soul. I shall owe to you this great joy in my old age; I thank you more than I can say.” The origin of SÉriana is very ancient. M. StÉphane Gsell relates that this village was occupied long before the coming of the Romans, by a tribe which became Christian, as is seen by ruins of chapels and basilicas. It is situated on the slope of a mountain covered with oaks and cedars, and giving rise to springs of fresh water. A bust of Pasteur was soon after erected in this village, at the request of the inhabitants.

Enthusiasm for Pasteur was spreading everywhere. Women understood that science was entering their domain, since it served charity. They gave magnificent gifts; clauses in wills bore these words: “To Pasteur, to help in his humanitarian task.” In November, 1893, Pasteur saw an unknown lady enter his study in the Rue Dutot, and heard her speak thus: “There must be some students who love science and who, having to earn their living, cannot give themselves up to disinterested work. I should like to place at your disposal four scholarships, for four young men chosen by you. Each scholarship would be of 3,000 fr.; 2,400 for the men themselves, and 600 fr. for the expenses they would incur in your laboratories. Their lives would be rendered easier. You could find amongst them, either an immediate collaborator for your Institute or a missionary whom you might send far away; and if a medical career tempted them, they would be enabled by their momentary independence to prepare themselves all the better for their profession. I only ask one thing, which is that my name should not be mentioned.”

Pasteur was infinitely touched by the scheme of this mysterious lady. The scholarship foundation was for one year only, but other years were about to follow and to resemble this one.

Many letters brought to Pasteur requested that he should study or order the study of such and such a disease. Some of these letters responded to preoccupations which had long been in the mind of Pasteur and his disciples. One day he received these lines:

“You have done all the good a man could do on earth. If you will, you can surely find a remedy for the horrible disease called diphtheria. Our children, to whom we teach your name as that of a great benefactor, will owe their lives to you.—A Mother.”

Pasteur, in spite of his failing strength, had hopes that he would yet live to see the defeat of the foe so dreaded by mothers. In the laboratory of the Pasteur Institute, Dr. Roux and Dr. Yersin were obstinately pursuing the study of this disease. In their first paper on the subject, modestly entitled A Contribution to the Study of Diphtheria, they said: “Ever since Bretonneau, diphtheria has been looked upon as a specific and contagious disease; its study has therefore been undertaken of late years with the help of the microbian methods which have already been the means of finding the cause of many other infectious diseases.”

In spite of the convictions of Bretonneau, who had, in 1818, witnessed a violent epidemic of croup in the centre of France, his view was far from being generally adopted. Velpeau, then a young student, wrote to him in 1820 that all the members, save two, of the Faculty of Medicine were agreed in opposing or blaming his opinions. Another brilliant pupil of Bretonneau’s, Dr. Trousseau, who never ceased to correspond with his old master, wrote to him in 1854: “It remains to be proved that diphtheria always comes from a germ. I hardly doubt this with regard to small-pox; to be consistent, I ought not to doubt it either with regard to diphtheria. I was thinking so this morning, as I was performing tracheotomy on a poor child twenty-eight months old; opposite the bed, there was a picture of his five-year-old brother, painted on his death-bed. He had succumbed five years ago, to malignant angina.”

Knowing Bretonneau’s ideas on contagion, Trousseau wrote further down: “I shall have the beds and bedding burnt, the paper hangings also, for they have a velvety and attractive surface; I shall tell the mother to purify herself like a Hindoo—else what would you say to me!”

A German of the name of Klebs discovered the bacillus of diphtheria in 1883, by studying the characteristic membranes; it was afterwards isolated by Loeffler, another German.

Pure cultures of this bacillus, injected on the surface of the excoriated fauces of rabbits, guinea-pigs, and pigeons, produce the diphtheritic membranes: Messrs. Roux and Yersin demonstrated this fact and ascertained the method of its deadly action.

Dr. Roux, in a lecture to the London Royal Society, in 1889, said: “Microbes are chiefly dangerous on account of the toxic matters which they produce.” He recalled that Pasteur had been the first to investigate the action of the toxic products elaborated by the microbe of chicken-cholera. By filtering the culture, Pasteur had obtained a liquid which contained no microbes. Hens inoculated with this liquid presented all the symptoms of cholera. “This experiment shows us,” continued M. Roux, “that the chemical products contained in the culture are capable by themselves of provoking the symptoms of the disease; it is therefore very probable that the same products are prepared within the body itself of a hen attacked with cholera. It has been shown since then that many pathogenic microbes manufactured these toxic products. The microbes of typhoid fever, of cholera, of blue pus, of acute experimental septicÆmia, of diphtheria, are great poison-producers. The cultures of the diphtheria bacillus particularly are, after a certain time, so full of the toxin that, without microbes, and in infinitesimal doses, they cause the death of the animals with all the signs observed after inoculation with the microbe itself. The picture of the disease is complete, even presenting the ensuing paralysis if the injected dose is too weak to bring about a rapid death. Death in infectious diseases is therefore caused by intoxication.”

This bacillus, like that of tetanus, secretes a poison which reaches the kidneys, attacks the nervous system, and acts on the heart, the beats of which are accelerated or suddenly arrested. Sheltered in the membrane like a foe in an ambush, the microbe manufactures its deadly poison. Diphtheria, as defined by M. Roux, is an intoxication caused by a very active poison formed by the microbe within the restricted area wherein it develops.

It was sufficient to examine a portion of diphtheritic membrane to distinguish the diphtheritic bacilli, tiny rods resembling short needles laid across each other. Other microbes were frequently associated with these bacilli, and it became necessary to study microbian associations in diphtheria. The Klebs-Loeffler bacillus, disseminated in broth, gave within a month or three weeks a richly toxic culture; the bottom of the vessel was covered with a thick deposit of microbes, and a film of younger bacilli floated on the surface. By filtering this broth and freeing it from microbes, Messrs. Roux and Yersin made a great discovery: they obtained pure toxin, capable of killing, in forty-eight hours, a guinea-pig inoculated with one-tenth of a cubic centimetre of it.

Now that the toxin was found, the remedy, the antitoxin, could be discovered. This was done by Behring, a German scientist, and by Kitasato, a Japanese physician. Drs. Richet and HÉricourt had already opened the way in 1888, while studying another disease.

M. Roux inoculated a horse with diphtheritic toxin mitigated by the addition of iodine, in doses, very weak at first, but gradually stronger; the horse grew by degrees capable of resisting strong doses of pure toxin. It was then bled by means of a large trocar introduced into the jugular vein, the blood received in a bowl was allowed to coagulate, and the liquid part of it, the serum, was then collected; this serum was antitoxic, antidiphtheritic—in one word, the long-desired cure.

At the beginning of 1894, M. Roux had several horses rendered immune by the above process. He desired to prove the efficiency of the serum in the treatment of diphtheria, with the collaboration of MM. Martin and Chaillou, who had, both clinically and bacteriologically, studied more than 400 cases of diphtheria.

There are in Paris two hospitals where diphtheritic children are taken in. It was decided that the new treatment should be applied at the hospital of the Enfants Malades, whilst the old system should be continued at the HÔpital Trousseau.

From February 1, MM. Roux, Martin, and Chaillou paid a daily visit to the Enfants Malades; they treated all the little diphtheria patients by injection, in the side, of a dose of twenty cubic centimetres of serum, followed, twenty-four hours later, by another dose of twenty, or only of ten cubic centimetres. Almost invariably, not only did the membranes cease to increase during the twenty-four hours following the first injection, but they began to come away within thirty-six or forty-eight hours, the third day at the latest; the livid, leaden paleness of the face disappeared; the child was saved.

From 1890 to 1893 there had been 3,971 cases of diphtheria, fatal in 2,029 cases, the average mortality being therefore 51 per 100. The serum treatment, applied to hundreds of children, brought it down to less than 24 per 100 in four months. At the Trousseau Hospital, where the serum was not employed, the mortality during the same period was 60 per 100.

In May, M. Roux gave a lecture on diphtheria at Lille, at the request of the Provident Society of the Friends of Science, which held its general meeting in that town. Pasteur, who was president of the Society, came to Lille to thank its inhabitants for the support they had afforded for forty years to the Society.

The master and his disciple were received in the Hall of the Industrial Society. Pasteur listened with an admiring emotion to his pupil, whose rigorous experimentation, together with the beauty of the object in view, filled him with enthusiasm. He who had said, “Exhaust every combination, until the mind can conceive no others possible,” was delighted to hear the methodical exposition of the manner in which this great problem had been attacked and solved.

At the Hygiene and Demography Congress at Buda-Pesth, M. Roux, repeating and enlarging his lecture, made a communication on the serotherapy of diphtheria which created a great sensation in Europe.

In France, prefects asked the Minister of the Interior how local physicians might obtain this antidiphtheritic serum. The Figaro newspaper opened a subscription towards preserving children from croup; it soon reached more than a million francs. The Pasteur Institute was now able to build stables, buy a hundred horses, render them immune, and constitute a permanent organization for serotherapy. In three months, 50,000 doses of serum were about to be given away.

Pasteur, who was then at Arbois, followed every detail with passionate interest. Sitting under the old quinces in his little garden, he read the lists of subscribers, names of little children, offering charitable gifts as they entered this life, and names of sorrowing parents, giving in the names of dear lost ones.

When he started again for Paris, October 4, 1894, Pasteur was seized again with the melancholy feeling which had attended his first departure from his home, when he was sixteen years old. He saw the same grey sky, the same fine rain and misty horizon, as he looked for the last time upon the distant hills and wide plains he loved, perhaps conscious that it was so. But he remained silent, as was his wont when troubled by his thoughts, his sadness only revealing itself to those who lovingly watched every movement of his countenance.

On October 6, the Pasteur Institute was invaded by a crowd of medical men; M. Martin gave a special lecture in compliance with the desire of many practitioners unaccustomed to laboratory work, who desired to understand the diagnosis of diphtheria and the mode in which the serum should be used. Pasteur, from his study window, was watching all this coming and going in his Institute. A twofold feeling was visible on his worn features: a sorrowing regret that his age now disarmed him for work, but also the satisfaction of feeling that his work was growing day by day, and that other investigators would, in a similar spirit, pursue the many researches which remained to be undertaken. About that time, M. Yersin, now a physician in the colonies, communicated to the Annals of the Pasteur Institute the discovery of the plague bacillus. He had been desired to go to China in order to study the nature of the scourge, its conditions of propagation, and the most efficient means of preventing it from attacking the French possessions. Pasteur had long recognized very great qualities in this pupil whose habits of silent labour were almost those of an ascete. M. Yersin started with a missionary’s zeal. When he reached Hong-Kong, three hundred Chinese had already succumbed, and the hospitals of the colony were full; he immediately recognized the symptoms of the bubonic plague, which had ravaged Europe on many occasions. He noticed that the epidemic raged principally in the slums occupied by Chinese of the poorer classes, and that in the infected quarters there were a great many rats which had died of the plague. Pasteur read with the greatest interest the following lines, so exactly in accordance with his own method of observation: “The peculiar aptitude to contract plague possessed by certain animals,” wrote M. Yersin, “enabled me to undertake an experimental study of the disease under very favourable circumstances; it was obvious that the first thing to do was to look for a microbe in the blood of the patients and in the bubonic pulp.” When M. Yersin inoculated rats, mice, or guinea-pigs with this pulp, the animals died, and he found several bacilli in the ganglions, spleen, and blood. After some attempts at cultures and inoculations, he concluded thus: “The plague is a contagious and inoculable disease. It seems likely that rats constitute its principal vehicle, but I have also ascertained that flies can contract the disease and die of it, and may therefore become agents for its transmission.”

At the very time when M. Yersin was discovering the specific bacillus of the plague in the bubonic pulp, Kitasato was making similar investigations. The foe now being recognized, hopes of vanquishing it might be entertained.

And whilst those good tidings were arriving, Pasteur was reading a new work by M. Metchnikoff, a Russian scientist, who had elected to come to France for the privilege of working by the side of Pasteur. M. Metchnikoff explained by the action of the white corpuscles of the blood, named “leucocytes,” the immunity or resistance, either natural or acquired, of the organism against a defined disease. These corpuscles may be considered as soldiers entrusted with the defence of the organism against foreign invasions. If microbes penetrate into the tissues, the defenders gather all their forces together and a free fight ensues. The organism resists or succumbs according to the power or inferiority of the white blood-cells. If the invading microbe is surrounded, eaten up, and ingested by the victorious white corpuscles (also named phagocytes), the latter find in their victory itself fresh reserve forces against a renewed invasion.

On November 1, in the midst of all this laborious activity and daily progress, Pasteur was about to pay his daily visit to his grandchildren, when he was seized by a violent attack of urÆmia. He was laid on his bed, and remained nearly unconscious for four hours; the sweat of agony bathed his forehead and his whole body, and his eyes remained closed. The evening brought with it a ray of hope; he was able to speak, and asked not to be left alone. Immediate danger seemed avoided, but great anxiety continued to be felt.

It was easy to organize a series of devoted nurses; all Pasteur’s disciples were eager to watch by his bedside. Every evening, two persons took their seats in his room: one a member of the family, and one a “Pastorian.” About one a.m. they were replaced by another Pastorian and another member of the family. From November 1 to December 25, the laboratory workers continued this watching, regulated by Dr. Roux as follows:—

Sunday night, Roux and Chantemesse; Monday, Queyrat and Marmier; Tuesday, Borrel and Martin; Wednesday, Mesnil and Pottevin; Thursday, Marchoux and Viala; Friday, Calmette and Veillon; Saturday, Renon and Morax. A few alterations were made in this order; Dr. Marie claimed the privilege. M. Metchnikoff, full of anxiety, came and went continually from the laboratory to the master’s room. After the day’s work, each faithful watcher came in, bringing books or notes, to go on with the work begun, if the patient should be able to sleep. In the middle of the night, Mme. Pasteur would come in and send away with a sweet authority one of the two volunteer nurses. Pasteur’s loving and faithful wife was straining every faculty of her valiant and tender soul to conjure the vision of death which seemed so near. In spite of all her courage, there were hours of weakness, at early dawn, when life was beginning to revive in the quiet neighbourhood, when she could not keep her tears from flowing silently. Would they succeed in saving him whose life was so precious, so useful to others? In the morning, Pasteur’s two grandchildren came into the bedroom. The little girl of fourteen, fully realizing the prevailing anxiety, and rendered serious by the sorrow she struggled to hide, talked quietly with him. The little boy, only eight years old, climbed on to his grandfather’s bed, kissing him affectionately and gazing on the loved face which always found enough strength to smile at him.

Dr. Chantemesse attended Pasteur with an incomparable devotion. Dr. Gille, who had often been sent for by Pasteur when staying at Villeneuve l’Etang, came to Paris from Garches to see him. Professor Guyon showed his colleague the most affectionate solicitude. Professor Dieulafoy was brought in one morning by M. Metchnikoff; Professor Grancher, who was ill and away from Paris, hurried back to his master’s side.

How often did they hang over him, anxiously following the respiratory rhythm due to the urÆmic intoxication! movements slow at first, then rapid, accelerated, gasping, slackening again, and arrested in a long pause of several seconds, during which all seemed suspended.

At the end of December, a marked improvement took place. On January 1, after seeing all his collaborators, down to the youngest laboratory attendant, Pasteur received the visit of one of his colleagues of the AcadÉmie FranÇaise. It was Alexandre Dumas, carrying a bunch of roses, and accompanied by one of his daughters. “I want to begin the year well,” he said: “I am bringing you my good wishes.” Pasteur and Alexandre Dumas, meeting at the Academy every Thursday for twelve years, felt much attraction towards each other. Pasteur, charmed from the first by this dazzling and witty intellect, had been surprised and touched by the delicate attentions of a heart which only opened to a chosen few. Dumas, who had observed many men, loved and admired Pasteur, a modest and kindly genius; for this dramatic author hid a man thirsting for moral action, his realism was lined with mysticism, and he placed the desire to be useful above the hunger for fame. His blue eyes, usually keen and cold, easily detecting secret thoughts and looking on them with irony, were full of an expression of affectionate veneration when they rested on “our dear and great Pasteur,” as he called him. Alexandre Dumas’ visit gave Pasteur very great pleasure; he compared it to a ray of sunshine.

As he could not go out, those who did not come to see him thought him worse than he really was. It was therefore with great surprise that people heard that he would be pleased to receive the old Normaliens, who were about to celebrate the centenary of their school, and who, after putting up a memorial plate on the small laboratory of the Rue d’Ulm, desired to visit the Pasteur Institute. They filed one after another into the drawing-room on the first floor. Pasteur, seated by the fire, seemed to revive the old times when he used to welcome young men into his home circle on Sunday evenings. He had an affectionate word or a smile for each of those who now passed before him, bowing low. Every one was struck with the keen expression of his eyes; never had the strength of his intellect seemed more independent of the weakness of his body. Many believed in a speedy recovery and rejoiced. “Your health,” said some one, “is not only national but universal property.”

On that day, Dr. Roux had arranged on tables, in the large laboratory, the little flasks which Pasteur had used in his experiments on so-called spontaneous generation, which had been religiously preserved; also rows of little tubes used for studies on wines; various preparations in various culture media; microbes and bacilli, so numerous that it was difficult to know which to see first. The bacteria of diphtheria and bubonic plague completed this museum.

Pasteur was carried into the laboratory about twelve o’clock, and Dr. Roux showed his master the plague bacillus through a microscope. Pasteur, looking at these things, souvenirs of his own work and results of his pupils’ researches, thought of those disciples who were continuing his task in various parts of the world. In France, he had just sent Dr. Calmette to Lille, where he soon afterwards created a new and admirable Pasteur Institute. Dr. Yersin was continuing his investigations in China. A Normalien, M. Le Dantec, who had entered the Ecole at sixteen at the head of the list, and who had afterwards become a curator at the laboratory, was in Brazil, studying yellow fever, of which he very nearly died. Dr. Adrien Loir, after a protracted mission in Australia, was head of a Pasteur Institute at Tunis. Dr. Nicolle was setting up a laboratory of bacteriology at Constantinople. “There is still a great deal to do!” sighed Pasteur as he affectionately pressed Dr. Roux’ hand.

He was more than ever full of a desire to allay human suffering, of a humanitarian sentiment which made of him a citizen of the world. But his love for France was in no wise diminished, and the permanence of his patriotic feelings was, soon after this, revealed by an incident. The Berlin Academy of Sciences was preparing a list of illustrious contemporary scientists to be submitted to the Kaiser with a view to conferring on them the badge of the Order of Merit. As Pasteur’s protest and return of his diploma to the Bonn University had not been forgotten, the Berlin Academy, before placing his name on the list, desired to know whether he would accept this distinction at the hands of the German Emperor. Pasteur, while acknowledging with courteous thanks the honour done to him as a scientist, declared that he could not accept it.

For him, as for Victor Hugo, the question of Alsace-Lorraine was a question of humanity; the right of peoples to dispose of themselves was in question. And by a bitter irony of Fate, France, which had proclaimed this principle all over Europe, saw Alsace tom away from her. And by whom? by the very nation whom she had looked upon as the most idealistic, with whom she had desired an alliance in a noble hope of pacific civilization, a hope shared by Humboldt, the great German scientist.

It was obvious to those who came near Pasteur that, in spite of the regret caused in him by the decrease of his physical strength, his moral energy remained unimpaired. He never complained of the state of his health, and usually avoided speaking of himself. A little tent had been put up for him in the new garden of the Pasteur Institute, under the young chestnuts, the flowers of which were now beginning to fall, and he often spent his afternoons there. One or other of those who had watched over him through the long winter nights frequently came to talk with him, and he would inquire, with all his old interest, into every detail of the work going on.

His old friend Chappuis, now Honorary Rector of the Academy of Dijon, often came to sit with him under this tent. Their friendship remained unchanged though it had lasted more than fifty years. Their conversation now took a yet more exalted turn than in the days of their youth and middle age. The dignity of Chappuis’ life was almost austere, though tempered by a smiling philosophy.

Pasteur, less preoccupied than Chappuis by philosophical discussions, soared without an effort into the domain of spiritual things. Absolute faith in God and in Eternity, and a conviction that the power for good given to us in this world will be continued beyond it, were feelings which pervaded his whole life; the virtues of the Gospel had ever been present to him. Full of respect for the form of religion which had been that of his forefathers, he came to it simply and naturally for spiritual help in these last weeks of his life.

On June 13, he came, for the last time, down the steps of the Pasteur Institute, and entered the carriage which was to take him to Villeneuve l’Etang. Every one spoke to him of this stay as if it were sure to bring him back to health. Did he believe it? Did he try, in his tenderness for those around him, to share their hopes? His face almost bore the same expression as when he used to go to Villeneuve l’Etang to continue his studies. When the carriage passed through Saint Cloud, some of the inhabitants, who had seen him pass in former years, saluted him with a mixture of emotion and respectful interest.

At Villeneuve l’Etang, the old stables of the Cent Gardes had reverted to their former purpose and were used for the preparation of the diphtheria antitoxin. There were about one hundred horses there; old chargers, sold by the military authorities as unfit for further work; racehorses thus ending their days; a few, presents from their owners, such as Marshal Canrobert’s old horse.

Pasteur spent those summer weeks in his room or under the trees on the lawns of the Park. A few horses had been put out to grass, the stables being quite full, and occasionally came near, looking over their hurdles towards him. Pasteur felt a deep thankfulness in watching the busy comings and goings of Dr. Roux and his curator, M. Martin, and of the veterinary surgeon, M. PrÉvÔt, who was entrusted with the bleeding operations and the distribution of the flasks of serum. He thought of all that would survive him and felt that his weakened hand might now drop the torch which had set so many others alight. And, more than resigned, he sat peacefully under a beautiful group of pines and purple beeches, listening to the readings of Mme. Pasteur and of his daughter. They smiled on him with that valiant smile which women know how to keep through deepest anguish.

Biographies interested him as of yore. There was at that time a renewal of interest in memories of the First Empire; old letters, memoirs, war anecdotes were being published every day. Pasteur never tired of those great souvenirs. Many of those stories brought him back to the emotions of his youth, but he no longer looked with the same eyes on the glory of conquerors. The true guides of humanity now seemed to him to be those who gave devoted service, not those who ruled by might. After enjoying pages full of the thrill of battlefields, Pasteur admired the life of a great and good man, St. Vincent de Paul. He loved this son of poor peasants, proud to own his humble birth before a vainglorious society; this tutor of a future cardinal, who desired to become the chaplain of some unhappy convicts; this priest, who founded the work of the Enfants TrouvÉs, and who established lay and religious alliance over the vast domain of charity.

Pasteur himself exerted a great and charitable influence. The unknown lady who had put at his disposal four scholarships for young men without means came to him in August and offered him the funds for a Pasteur Hospital, the natural outcome, she said, of the Pastorian discoveries.

Pasteur’s strength diminished day by day, he now could hardly walk. When he was seated in the Park, his grandchildren around him suggested young rose trees climbing around the trunk of a dying oak. The paralysis was increasing, and speech was becoming more and more difficult. The eyes alone remained bright and clear; Pasteur was witnessing the ruin of what in him was perishable.

How willingly they would have given a moment of their lives to prolong his, those thousands of human beings whose existence had been saved by his methods: sick children, women in lying-in hospitals, patients operated upon in surgical wards, victims of rabid dogs saved from hydrophobia, and so many others protected against the infinitesimally small! But, whilst visions of those living beings passed through the minds of his family, it seemed as if Pasteur already saw those dead ones who, like him, had preserved absolute faith in the Future Life.

The last week in September he was no longer strong enough to leave his bed, his weakness was extreme. On September 27, as he was offered a cup of milk: “I cannot,” he murmured; his eyes looked around him with an unspeakable expression of resignation, love and farewell. His head fell back on the pillows, and he slept; but, after this delusive rest, suddenly came the gaspings of agony. For twenty-four hours he remained motionless, his eyes closed, his body almost entirely paralyzed; one of his hands rested in that of Mme. Pasteur, the other held a crucifix.

Thus, surrounded by his family and disciples, in this room of almost monastic simplicity, on Saturday, September 28, 1895, at 4.40 in the afternoon, very peacefully, he passed away.

The End.