A strange contradiction with this iron will was offered by occasional disconcerting impulses, like that which caused the failure of his first journey abroad, or by sudden attacks of fury for insignificant reasons such as an unexpected noise in the street, a cat mewing or a dog barking, or angry impatience when he could not solve a frivolous puzzle, etc. This impulsive disposition gradually calmed down as he grew older, and ultimately very nearly disappeared.
In his personal relations also he was apt to lose his temper, but a reaction very soon followed the outburst, and his efforts to be forgiven when he felt guilty were very touching. On the other hand, he did not easily forget an offence, though no desire for revenge ever soiled his soul, and his gratitude for kindness was absolutely indestructible.
He harboured pessimistic theories to that extent that he looked upon the procreation of other lives as a crime on the part of a conscious being; his physical and moral sensitiveness was intense. And yet he had inherited from his mother a natural gaiety and delightful elasticity which always ended by gaining the upper hand. He was fond of joking; his wit was occasionally somewhat cutting, but that was entirely due to the appropriateness of his remarks; he never hurt people’s feelings intentionally. He sometimes gave offence by a professional habit of using personal and concrete instances by way of arguments, but he applied the process to himself as well; it was the objective method, nothing more, and those who knew him well never doubted it.
His benevolence was most active and never insipid, though marked by an almost feminine sensibility. He was an incomparable companion and friend, and had the gift of smoothing difficulties and inspiring courage, security, and confidence. He took the greatest interest in others and easily came down to their level, always finding points in common, “an opportunity for the study of human documents,” he said. Thus he conversed simply and sympathetically with the humble as with the great, with the young as with the old. It was no mere intellectual interest that he bore them, but he put his whole heart into it, which made him extremely easy to approach. And yet he never departed from absolute freedom of speech, sometimes mixed with harshness. Truth and sincerity, for him, came above everything; he carried the courage of his opinions to the highest degree, even if it was likely to shock his hearers or to do him harm. He jealously guarded his independence and nothing could force him to act against his convictions. Full of enthusiasm, always interesting, he enlivened all around him. His ideas and his activity were in constant effervescence; no serious question left him indifferent; he read everything, knew about almost everything, and willingly informed others; his vibrating expansiveness made him a centre of attraction in his private life as in the laboratory or in any other sphere of activity.
From 1873 to 1882 his energies were chiefly absorbed by teaching and by the inner life of the University of Odessa, into which he threw himself with his usual enthusiasm. His lectures were full of life, always bringing out general ideas to throw light upon the most arid facts; he made use of these as an architect utilises coarse materials in order to erect a harmonious edifice. His creative power endowed his lectures with an æsthetic character in spite of their extreme simplicity; not that he concerned himself much about form, but because of his wealth of ideas and the logical way in which he developed them, starting from the simple and reaching the complex in a harmonious synthesis. His own enthusiasm established a living bond between him and his audience.
He was on excellent terms with the students, though he made no bid for popularity. Not only did he give no encouragement to the prevailing tendency of the young men towards politics, but he endeavoured on the contrary to bring them back to their studies; he tried to prove to them that social problems demand knowledge and a serious practical preparation. Otherwise, said he, social life would be as medicine was before it entered into the path of science, and when any middle-aged woman, any bone-setter, was allowed to practise therapeutics. At the same time, students found in him willing protection in the persecutions directed against them, and earnest help in their work when they showed the least interest in it; he would eagerly welcome the smallest spark of the “sacred fire.”
Owing to the absolute independence of his ideas and conduct he had great influence on young men, and this caused him to be looked upon in administrative spheres as a “Red”—almost an agitator. In reality he was struggling against the inertia and reactionary forces which were shackling the normal development of culture and science in Russia. He called himself a “progressive evolutionist,” for he considered that alone a deep and conscious evolution could give stable results and lead to real progress. He thought that Revolution, and especially Terrorism, merely provoked a reaction which might be long-lived, and that, as long as the people were not sufficiently educated, a revolution might easily result in the transfer of despotism from one party to another. Socialistic doctrines did not satisfy him; according to him, they did not leave sufficient scope to personal initiative and to the development of individuality, two factors which he considered as essential to every progress.
He looked upon scientific work as his mission, and avoided politics because he did not think himself competent to deal with them. But scientific activity being closely limited by the state of the University, which was badly oppressed at that time by reactionary powers, he was led to take part in the defence of the University’s right to autonomy. He brought all his energies into the struggle, though trying to keep from party tactics and to act purely in the interests of science. For instance, he would vote either for a Radical or a Conservative without sharing the opinions of either, but merely guided by their scientific value.
At the beginning of his scientific career at Odessa he led a very active campaign in favour of the teaching of Natural Science. He urged that, in order to teach properly, Natural History professors should themselves have made independent researches on living fauna and flora, and tried to introduce a series of measures to allow biologists special holidays and missions to desirable places, at the proper seasons, for research purposes. “There is no doubt,” he said, “that scientific activity would be much increased if the proposed measures were adopted. Then, before long, our young scientists would not need to go to study in German universities, but could go abroad already prepared to undertake independent research.” The Commission which examined his report demanded certain modifications, “because of the Imperial injunction to be very strict in granting travelling permits to professors.” Metchnikoff somewhat altered the text, which, after being adopted by the University Council, was rejected by the Ministry and remained without effect. Thus was every independent suggestion stifled, even when it had but a purely scientific object.
Soon the situation of the Odessa University became even more difficult. Between 1875 and 1880 reaction increased considerably, and the inner life of the University became very unfavourable to any scientific activity. Already before that it was teeming with intrigues, the Professors of Ukrainian origin being hostile to the “Muscovites.” Yet it was still possible to remain apart from these local intrigues, until political reaction, filtering into the University, created in it the deepest divisions. The hostility of parties was now based on political opinions, either “Reactionary” or “Liberal.” The students were being more and more carried away by this movement and no longer took any interest in their studies.