In London, the French delegates had the pleasant surprise of finding that a private saloon had been reserved to take Pasteur and his friends to Edinburgh. This hospitality was offered to Pasteur by one of his numerous admirers, Mr. Younger, an Edinburgh brewer, as a token of gratitude for his discoveries in the manufacture of beer. He and his wife and children welcomed Pasteur with the warmest cordiality, when the train reached Edinburgh; the principal inhabitants of the great Scotch city vied with each other in entertaining the French delegates, who were delighted with their reception.
The next morning, they, and the various representatives from all parts of the world, assembled in the Cathedral of St. Giles, where, with the exalted feeling which, in the Scotch people, mingles religious with political life, the Town Council had decided that a service should inaugurate the rejoicings. The Rev. Robert Flint, mounting that pulpit from which the impetuous John Knox, Calvin’s friend and disciple, had breathed forth his violent fanaticism, preached to the immense assembly with a full consciousness of the importance of his discourse. He spoke of the relations between Science and Faith, of the absolute liberty of science in the realm of facts, of the thought of God considered as a stimulant to research, progress being but a Divine impulse.
In the afternoon, the students imparted life and merriment into the proceedings; they had organized a dramatic performance, the members of the orchestra, even, being undergraduates.
The French delegates took great interest in the system of this University. Accustomed as they were to look upon the State as sole master and dispenser, they now saw an independent institution, owing its fortune to voluntary contributions, revealing in every point the power of private enterprise. Unlike what takes place in France, where administrative unity makes itself felt in the smallest village, the British Government effaces itself, and merely endeavours to inspire faith in political unity. Absolutely her own mistress, the University of Edinburgh is free to confer high honorary degrees on her distinguished visitors. However, these honorary diplomas are but of two kinds, viz.: Doctor of Divinity (D.D.) and Doctor of Laws (LL.D.). In 1884, seventeen degrees of D.D. and 122 degrees of LL.D. were reserved for the various delegates. “The only laws I know,” smilingly said the learned Helmholtz, “are the laws of Physics.”
The solemn proclamation of the University degrees took place on Thursday, April 17. The streets and monuments of the beautiful city were decorated with flags, and an air of rejoicing pervaded the whole atmosphere.
The ceremony began by a special prayer, alluding to the past, looking forward to the future, and asking for God’s blessing on the delegates and their countries. The large assembly filled the immense hall where the Synod of the Presbyterian Church holds its meetings. The Chancellor and the Rector of the University were seated on a platform with a large number of professors; those who were about to receive honorary degrees occupied seats in the centre of the hall; about three thousand students found seats in various parts of the hall.
The Chancellor of the University of Edinburgh had arranged that the new graduates should be called in alphabetical order. As each of them heard his name, he rose and mounted the platform. The students took great pleasure in heartily cheering those savants who had had most influence on their studies. When Pasteur’s name was pronounced, a great silence ensued; every one was trying to obtain a sight of him as he walked towards the platform. His appearance was the signal for a perfect outburst of applause; five thousand men rose and cheered him. It was indeed a splendid ovation.
In the evening, a banquet was set out in the hall, which was hung with the blue and white colours of the University; there were a thousand guests, seated round twenty-eight tables, one of which, the high table, was reserved for the speakers who were to propose the toasts, which were to last four hours. Pasteur was seated next to Virchow; they talked together of the question of rabies, and Virchow owned that, when he saw Pasteur in 1881 about to tackle this question, he much doubted the possibility of a solution. This friendly chat between two such men proves the desirability of such gatherings; intercourse between the greatest scientists can but lead to general peace and fraternity between nations. After having read a telegram from the Queen, congratulating the University and welcoming the guests, a toast was drunk to the Queen and to the Royal Family, and a few words spoken by the representative of the Emperor of Brazil. Pasteur then rose to speak:
“My Lord Chancellor, Gentlemen, the city of Edinburgh is now offering a sight of which she may be proud. All the great scientific institutions, meeting here, appear as an immense Congress of hopes and congratulations. The honour and glory of this international rendezvous deservedly belong to you, for it is centuries since Scotland united her destinies with those of the human mind. She was one of the first among the nations to understand that intellect leads the world. And the world of intellect, gladly answering your call, lays a well-merited homage at your feet. When, yesterday, the eminent Professor Robert Flint, addressing the Edinburgh University from the pulpit of St. Giles, exclaimed, ‘Remember the past and look to the future,’ all the delegates, seated like judges at a great tribunal, evoked a vision of past centuries and joined in a unanimous wish for a yet more glorious future.
“Amongst the illustrious delegates of all nations who bring you an assurance of cordial good wishes, France has sent to represent her those of her institutions which are most representative of the French spirit and the best part of French glory. France is ready to applaud whenever a source of light appears in the world; and when death strikes down a man of genius, France is ready to weep as for one of her own children. This noble spirit of solidarity was brought home to me when I heard some of you speak feelingly of the death of the illustrious chemist, J. B. Dumas, a celebrated member of all your Academies, and only a few years ago an eloquent panegyrist of your great Faraday. It was a bitter grief to me that I had to leave Paris before his funeral ceremony; but the hope of rendering here a last and solemn homage to that revered master helped me to conquer my affliction. Moreover, gentlemen, men may pass, but their works remain; we all are but passing guests of these great homes of intellect, which, like all the Universities who have come to greet you in this solemn day, are assured of immortality.”