A dignified liveried servant entered, calling “Attention.” The company bestirred itself and disappeared. I made my way to the inoculating room.
The operation of inoculating for hydrophobia is founded on the theory that if an “attenuated” microbe, that is a microbe so treated that its power of doing harm has been reduced to a low degree, is introduced into a body, it will produce an indisposition which is not itself serious, but which is sufficient to render the body proof against attacks of the original microbe.
Now M. Pasteur has discovered that it is possible to so treat a microbe that its power of evil is of any degree; that is, to “exalt” as well as to “attenuate” it. Having these microbes of varying strengths he invented a method of graduated vaccination; that is, by beginning with a virus of low degree, and increasing each day the strength of the virus, an operator arrives at a point where he can vaccinate a body with a virus stronger than there is any danger of its ever being exposed to in nature. He thus secures lasting immunity.
Thus, in vaccinating against rabies, the patient is treated first with a weak virus; this is followed by one more powerful, and so on, until at the end a highly “exalted” one is injected safely.
M. PASTEUR AT THIRTY.
It is this treatment which is practised daily at the Pasteur Institute, in the inoculation room where I found myself.
Gathered in a kind of pen formed by a little fence were three members of the institution: a secretary, whose business it is to keep track of the number of persons to be treated with each particular virus; an assistant, who has prepared the virus for the day’s use; twelve small wine glasses of cloudy liquid protected by small paper funnels; and, by a table, the inoculator. The roll was called and a half dozen men entered the room. They were to be inoculated with a virus of the lowest strength, most of them for the first time. They showed a bewildered and comic embarrassment as the attendant directed them to bare the hypogastrium. The embarrassment changed to a momentary look of distress as they felt their arms pinned behind their backs, and the sharp needle injected a syringeful of virus into the delicate flesh. The first class of men and boys passed out, and the women and little children entered. They were succeeded by a second class, and so on until all had been treated.
The simplicity of the operation seemed out of proportion to the horror of the disease. I remembered the shrugs I had seen and the doubts I had heard expressed over the treatment. “It is not sure yet.” “It does not always work; such-a-one died, you know.” “They have not found the microbe either.” My faith was shaking. Evidently I must see Doctor Roux.