On April 30 he was able to leave Rome for Switzerland. He stayed a week at Genoa and on May 28 he reached Geneva, and there first heard of the death of Dr. Young, ‘which affected him in a manner almost unaccountable.’ He dined early and was read to afterwards; at half-past nine he wished to be left alone, ‘and I took leave of him,’ says Dr. Davy, ‘for the night. At half-past two his servant called me. He was insensible, and in a few minutes he expired.’
For the last half-century general opinion has been so charmed by the simple greatness of Faraday, that even the genius of Davy with his love of original research has been partially eclipsed. But, as time lessens the effect of the contrast, the reputation of Davy will recover its former brightness, and the picture drawn of him by Mr. Poole will not be looked on as due to the partiality of his oldest and most attached friend.
‘Although the most friendly intercourse existed between us for thirty years, I fear I have little else to communicate than to bear testimony to his general intellectual elevation and to the warmth, sincerity, and simplicity of his heart. I was first introduced to him at the Medical Pneumatic Institution at Clifton in, I think, 1799, where I inhaled his nitrous oxide with the usual extraordinary and transitory sensations; but the interesting conversation, manners, and appearance of the youthful operator were not transitory—nay, riveted my attention—and we soon became friends.
‘From that time to his death no interruption of the most cordial goodwill and affection occurred between us. Neither the importance of his discoveries nor the attentions of the exalted in rank or science, whether as individuals or bodies, nor the honour conferred on him by his sovereign, made the least alteration in his personal demeanour or in the tone of his correspondence. No man was ever less spoiled by the world. The truth is, though he conformed to the world and paid due deference to those men and things which are deferred to by the world, his delight was in his intellectual being. He felt that he had the power of investigating the laws of nature beyond that entrusted to the generality of men, and the success with which he acted on this impulse increased his confidence. During his last visit to me in November 1827, when in a very weak state of health, he more than once said, “I do not wish to live as far as I am personally concerned; but I have views which I could develope, if it please God to save my life, which would be useful to science and to mankind.” Indeed, to be useful to science and to mankind was that in which he gloried, to use a favourite word of his. He was enthusiastically attached to science and to men of science, and his heart yearned to be useful to mankind, and particularly to the humblest of mankind. How often have I heard him express the satisfaction which the discovery of the safety lamp gave him. “I value it,” he said, “more than anything I ever did.”
‘However his circumstances and situation in society altered, his labours and zeal in the pursuit of science were throughout his life undiminished.
‘What from my earliest knowledge of my admirable friend I considered his most striking characteristic was the quickness and truth of his apprehension. It was a power of reasoning so rapid when applied to any subject, that he could hardly himself be conscious of the process, and it must, I think, have been felt by him as it appeared to me pure intuition. I used to say to him, “You understand me before I half understand myself.”
‘If his mind had been given in that direction he would probably have ranked high among our poets. I recollect hearing perhaps the greatest living poetic genius (Coleridge) say, “Had not Davy been the first chemist, he probably would have been the first poet of his age.”
‘No man was less a sectarian, if I may use the expression, in religion, in politics, or in science. He regarded with benevolence the sincere convictions of any class on the subject of religion, however they might vary from his own. In politics he was the ardent friend of rational liberty; he gloried in the institutions of his country and was anxious to see them maintained in their purity by timely and temperate reform. Men of science, wherever situated, he considered fellow-subjects of one great republic spread over the world. As to his amusements he would say, “It is not the sport only, though there is a great pleasure in successful dexterity, but it is the ardour of the pursuit, the pure air, the contemplation of the fine country, the exercise, all which invigorate the body and excite the mind to its best efforts.”
‘When he made his last visit to me in 1827, on his arrival he said, “Here I am, the ruin of what I was.” But nevertheless the same activity and ardour of mind continued, though directed to different objects.