For a time we were able to relieve him without the use of narcotics. As long as there was a ray of hope—not of recovery, but of a bearable life and further work—he wished at all costs to avoid the influence of narcosis. He breathed fumes of pyridin or ether, he smoked Escouflaire cigarettes, and inhaled various other things. In order to sleep after an attack, he ate a few biscuits, and I sprinkled his head with a menthol solution, with which I damped his temples and forehead. That eased him, and sometimes he slept again for a few hours.
But how many were the nights of insomnia and suffering! How many times did he call for death as a deliverer, and say that he resigned himself to live for my sake only!
And in spite of the martyrdom he endured, he always had gentle words, a caress, a consolation even! He constantly returned to the thought that he had nothing to complain of, that he had had a large share of happiness and good fortune in having accomplished his task, and even arrived at the development of the natural death-instinct.
All those who saw him every day knew that he was courageous and patient, every one admired his serenity, but no one could realise the degree of his courage and patience, for no one had seen and lived through those miserable nights.
Often, even, when asked how he was, he said “not bad!” after a terrible night, saying to me afterwards in explanation, “Why grieve them, since it cannot be helped?”
At the beginning of our stay in the Institute, he was not yet quite bedridden. After his morning toilet, he would lie for some hours on a sofa, reading almost continuously, newspapers, scientific reviews, and many works in connection with the book he had planned on the sexual function, of which he wrote only the introduction and a few lines of the first chapter.[34]
Another question occupied him at that time, that of first-born children. Certain data led him to think that men of genius were but rarely the first-born of their parents, and he sought for every possible information on the subject. In his constant desire to improve life-conditions, he even thought that a demonstration of this fact might have a desirable influence on the increase of population in France after the war; if it were proved that the most successful children are not the first-born, perhaps the system of having two children only would be given up in order to have a chance of giving the country a more capable population.
His reflections on the sexual questions led him to seek for experimental means of studying gonorrhœa. He thought of inoculating the gonococcus into the eye of new-born mice and entrusted M. Rubinstein, the only worker left in the laboratory, with these experiments. The latter began them and obtained encouraging results, but he left Paris in the spring and the work remained unfinished.
Metchnikoff’s mind never ceased to work unless interrupted by acute pain; until the very end, his brain never failed him. He often used to say how far he was from any mystic aspirations, and how sure he was of remaining a rationalist until the end. And such was the case. Faithful to himself, not even in the most painful moments did he feel a desire to look for support outside the ideas and principles of his whole life. Yet his soul was sad and full of care; the war grieved him utterly, every newspaper he read renewed his sorrow. When a severe engagement, Verdun for instance, was going on, he lost the little sleep he had, and his agitation became painful.
He was deeply disillusioned by the Germans. Having always felt great esteem for their scientific work, he had believed in their high culture, and now he was absolutely disconcerted by the mentality which they manifested during the war.