'I could not waste my time in going back upon things already accomplished.'
'No; but my desire is that someone else should consecrate his time to the work. And listen,' added this friend, with audacious frankness—'do you know by whom, in my opinion, this book ought to be written? By a man who, without having been in any way trained to follow in your footsteps, is animated by the most lively desire to understand the course which you have pursued; who, while living at your side, has been each day impregnated with your method and your ideas; who, having had the happiness of comprehending your life and its achievements, does not wish to confine the pleasure thus derived to himself alone.'
'Where, then,' interrupted Pasteur with a kindly smile, not without a tinge of irony, 'is this man, at once so happy, and so impatient to share his happiness with others?'
'He is now pleading his cause before you. Yes, I would gladly attempt such a work. I have seen your efforts and observed your success. The experiments which I have not witnessed you have always freely explained to me, with that gift of clearness which Vauvenargues called the "polish" of masters.[1] Initiated by affection, I would make myself initiator by admiration. It would be the history of a learned man by an ignorant one. My ignorance would save me from dwelling too strictly or too long on technical details. With the exposition of your doctrine I would mingle some fragments of your biography. I would pass from a discovery to an anecdote, and so arrange matters as to give the book not only the character of a familiar scientific conversation, which would hardly be more than the echo of what I have learnt while near you, but also to make it a reflex of your life.'
'You should postpone that until I am no longer here.'
'Why so? Why, before assigning to them their places, should we wait till those whose names will endure have disappeared from the scene? No; it is you, living, that I wish to paint—you, in full work, in the midst of your laboratory. And, in addition to all other considerations, I would add, that your presence in the flesh will be the guarantee of my exactitude.'
July 1883.