The life of Pasteur

by René Vallery-Radot

It was obvious to those who came near Pasteur that, in spite of the regret caused in him by the decrease of his physical strength, his moral energy remained unimpaired. He never complained of the state of his health, and usually avoided speaking of himself. A little tent had been put up for him in the new garden of the Pasteur Institute, under the young chestnuts, the flowers of which were now beginning to fall, and he often spent his afternoons there. One or other of those who had watched over him through the long winter nights frequently came to talk with him, and he would inquire, with all his old interest, into every detail of the work going on.

His old friend Chappuis, now Honorary Rector of the Academy of Dijon, often came to sit with him under this tent. Their friendship remained unchanged though it had lasted more than fifty years. Their conversation now took a yet more exalted turn than in the days of their youth and middle age. The dignity of Chappuis’ life was almost austere, though tempered by a smiling philosophy.

Pasteur, less preoccupied than Chappuis by philosophical discussions, soared without an effort into the domain of spiritual things. Absolute faith in God and in Eternity, and a conviction that the power for good given to us in this world will be continued beyond it, were feelings which pervaded his whole life; the virtues of the Gospel had ever been present to him. Full of respect for the form of religion which had been that of his forefathers, he came to it simply and naturally for spiritual help in these last weeks of his life.

On June 13, he came, for the last time, down the steps of the Pasteur Institute, and entered the carriage which was to take him to Villeneuve l’Etang. Every one spoke to him of this stay as if it were sure to bring him back to health. Did he believe it? Did he try, in his tenderness for those around him, to share their hopes? His face almost bore the same expression as when he used to go to Villeneuve l’Etang to continue his studies. When the carriage passed through Saint Cloud, some of the inhabitants, who had seen him pass in former years, saluted him with a mixture of emotion and respectful interest.

At Villeneuve l’Etang, the old stables of the Cent Gardes had reverted to their former purpose and were used for the preparation of the diphtheria antitoxin. There were about one hundred horses there; old chargers, sold by the military authorities as unfit for further work; racehorses thus ending their days; a few, presents from their owners, such as Marshal Canrobert’s old horse.

Pasteur spent those summer weeks in his room or under the trees on the lawns of the Park. A few horses had been put out to grass, the stables being quite full, and occasionally came near, looking over their hurdles towards him. Pasteur felt a deep thankfulness in watching the busy comings and goings of Dr. Roux and his curator, M. Martin, and of the veterinary surgeon, M. Prévôt, who was entrusted with the bleeding operations and the distribution of the flasks of serum. He thought of all that would survive him and felt that his weakened hand might now drop the torch which had set so many others alight. And, more than resigned, he sat peacefully under a beautiful group of pines and purple beeches, listening to the readings of Mme. Pasteur and of his daughter. They smiled on him with that valiant smile which women know how to keep through deepest anguish.

Biographies interested him as of yore. There was at that time a renewal of interest in memories of the First Empire; old letters, memoirs, war anecdotes were being published every day. Pasteur never tired of those great souvenirs. Many of those stories brought him back to the emotions of his youth, but he no longer looked with the same eyes on the glory of conquerors. The true guides of humanity now seemed to him to be those who gave devoted service, not those who ruled by might. After enjoying pages full of the thrill of battlefields, Pasteur admired the life of a great and good man, St. Vincent de Paul. He loved this son of poor peasants, proud to own his humble birth before a vainglorious society; this tutor of a future cardinal, who desired to become the chaplain of some unhappy convicts; this priest, who founded the work of the Enfants Trouvés, and who established lay and religious alliance over the vast domain of charity.

Pasteur himself exerted a great and charitable influence. The unknown lady who had put at his disposal four scholarships for young men without means came to him in August and offered him the funds for a Pasteur Hospital, the natural outcome, she said, of the Pastorian discoveries.

Pasteur’s strength diminished day by day, he now could hardly walk. When he was seated in the Park, his grandchildren around him suggested young rose trees climbing around the trunk of a dying oak. The paralysis was increasing, and speech was becoming more and more difficult. The eyes alone remained bright and clear; Pasteur was witnessing the ruin of what in him was perishable.

How willingly they would have given a moment of their lives to prolong his, those thousands of human beings whose existence had been saved by his methods: sick children, women in lying-in hospitals, patients operated upon in surgical wards, victims of rabid dogs saved from hydrophobia, and so many others protected against the infinitesimally small! But, whilst visions of those living beings passed through the minds of his family, it seemed as if Pasteur already saw those dead ones who, like him, had preserved absolute faith in the Future Life.