LOUIS PASTEUR

LOUIS PASTEUR
HIS LIFE AND LABOURS

BY HIS SON-IN-LAW
TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH
BY
LADY CLAUD HAMILTON
With an Introduction
By JOHN TYNDALL

NEW YORK
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
1, 3, and 5 BOND STREET
1886.

PREFACE.

In the salon of a distinguished man, or of a great writer, there is often to be found a person who, without being either a fellow-worker or a disciple, without even possessing the scientific or literary qualities which might explain his habitual presence, lives nevertheless in complete familiarity with the man whom all around him call 'dear master.' Whence comes this intimate one? who is he? what is his business? He is only known as a friend of the house. He has no other title, and he is almost proud of having no other. Stripped of his own personality, he speaks only of the labours and the success of his illustrious friend, in the radiance of whose glory he moves with delight.

The author of this work is a person of this description. Intimately connected with the life of M. Pasteur, and a constant inmate of his laboratory, he has passed happy years near this great investigator, who has discovered a new world—the world of the infinitely little. Since the first studies of M. Pasteur on molecular dissymmetry, down to his most recent investigations on hydrophobia, on virulent diseases, and on the artificial cultures of living contagia, which have been converted by such cultures into veritable vaccines—passing by the intermediate celebrated experiments on spontaneous generation, fermentation, the diseases of wine, the manufacture of beer and vinegar, and the diseases of silkworms—the author of these pages has been able, if not to witness all, at least to follow in its principal developments this uninterrupted series of scientific conquests.

'What a beautiful book,' he remarked one day to M. Pasteur, 'might be written about all this!'

'But it is all in the Comptes-rendus of the Academy of Sciences.'

'It is not for the readers of the Comptes-rendus that such a book needs to be written, but for the great public, who know that you have done great things, but who know it only vaguely, by the records of journals, or by fragments of biography. The persons are few who know the history of your discoveries. What was your point of departure? How have you arrived at such and such principles, and at the consequences which flow from these principles? What is the connection and rigorous bond of your method? These are the things which it would be interesting to put together in a book which would have some chance of enduring as an historic document.'

'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.

CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTION.

In the early part of the present year the French original of this work was sent to me from Paris by its author. It was accompanied by a letter from M. Pasteur, expressing his desire to have the work translated and published in England. Responding to this desire, I placed the book in the hands of the Messrs. Longman, who, in the exercise of their own judgment, decided on publication. The translation was confided, at my suggestion, to Lady Claud Hamilton.

The translator's task was not always an easy one, but it has, I think, been well executed. A few slight abbreviations, for which I am responsible, have been introduced, but in no case do they affect the sense. It was, moreover, found difficult to render into suitable English the title of the original: 'M. Pasteur, Histoire d'un Savant par un Ignorant.' A less piquant and antithetical English title was, therefore, substituted for the French one.

This filial tribute, for such it is, was written, under the immediate supervision of M. Pasteur, by his devoted and admiring son-in-law, M. Valery Radot. It is the record of a life of extraordinary scientific ardour and success, the picture of a mind on which facts fall like germs upon a nutritive soil, and, like germs so favoured, undergo rapid increase and multiplication. One hardly knows which to admire most—the intuitive vision which discerns in advance the new issues to which existing data point, or the skill in device, the adaptation of means to ends, whereby the intuition is brought to the test and ordeal of experiment.

In the investigation of microscopic organisms—the 'infinitely little,' as Pouchet loved to call them—and their doings in this our world, M. Pasteur has found his true vocation. In this broad field it has been his good fortune to alight upon a crowd of connected problems of the highest public and scientific interest, ripe for solution, and requiring for their successful treatment the precise culture and capacities which he has brought to bear upon them. He may regret his abandonment of molecular physics; he may look fondly back upon the hopes with which his researches on the tartrates and paratartrates inspired him; he may think that great things awaited him had he continued to labour in this line. I do not doubt it. But this does not shake my conviction that he yielded to the natural affinities of his intellect, that he obeyed its truest impulses, and reaped its richest rewards, in pursuing the line that he has chosen, and in which his labours have rendered him one of the most conspicuous scientific figures of this age.

With regard to the earliest labours of M. Pasteur, a few remarks supplementary to those of M. Radot may be introduced here. The days when angels whispered into the hearkening human ear, secrets which had no root in man's previous knowledge or experience, are gone for ever. The only revelation—and surely it deserves the name—now open to the wise arises from 'intending the mind' on acquired knowledge. When, therefore, M. Radot, following M. Pasteur, speaks with such emphasis about 'preconceived ideas,' he does not mean ideas without antecedents. Preconceived ideas, if out of deference to M. Pasteur the term be admitted, are the vintage of garnered facts. We in England should rather call them inductions, which, as M. Pasteur truly says, inspire the mind, and shape its course, in the subsequent work of deduction and verification.

At the time when M. Pasteur undertook his investigation of the diseases of silkworms, which led to such admirable results, he had never seen a silkworm; but, so far from this being considered a disqualification, M. Dumas regarded his freedom from preconceived ideas a positive advantage. His first care was to make himself acquainted with what others had done. To their observations he added his own, and then, surveying all, came to the conclusion that the origin of the disease was to be sought, not in the worms, not in the eggs, but in the moths which laid the eggs. I am not sure that this conclusion is happily described as 'a preconceived idea.' Every whipster may have his preconceived ideas; but the divine power, so largely shared by M. Pasteur, of distilling from facts their essences—of extracting from them the principles from which they flow—is given only to a few.

With regard to the discovery of crystalline facets in the tartrates, which has been dwelt upon by M. Radot, a brief reference to antecedent labours may be here allowed. It had been discovered by Arago, in 1811, and by Biot, in 1812 and 1818, that a plate of rock-crystal, cut perpendicular to the axis of the prism, possessed the power of rotating the plane of polarisation through an angle, dependent on the thickness of the plate and the refrangibility of the light. It had, moreover, been proved by Biot that there existed two species of rock-crystal, one of which turned the plane of polarisation to the right, and the other to the left. They were called, respectively, right-handed and left-handed crystals. No external difference of crystalline form was at first noticed which could furnish a clue to this difference of action. But closer scrutiny revealed upon the crystals minute facets, which, in the one class, were ranged along a right-handed, and, in the other, along a left-handed spiral. The symmetry of the hexagonal prism, and of the two terminal pyramids of the crystal, was disturbed by the introduction of these spirally-arranged facets. They constituted the outward and visible sign of that inward and invisible molecular structure which produced the observed action, and difference of action, on polarised light.

When, therefore, the celebrated Mitscherlich brought forward his tartrates and paratartrates of ammonia and soda, and affirmed them to possess the same atoms, the same internal arrangement of atoms, and the same outward crystalline form, one of them, nevertheless, causing the plane of polarisation to rotate, while the other did not, Pasteur, remembering, no doubt, the observations just described, instituted a search for facets like those discovered in rock-crystal, and which, without altering chemical constitution, destroyed crystalline identity. He first found such facets in the tartrates, while he subsequently proved the neutrality of the paratartrate to be due to the equal admixture of right-handed and left-handed crystals, one of which, when the paratartrate was dissolved, exactly neutralised the other.

Prior to Pasteur the left-handed tartrate was unknown. Its discovery, moreover, was supplemented by a series of beautiful researches on the compounds of right-handed and left-handed tartaric acid; he having previously extracted from the two tartrates, acids which, in regard to polarised light, behaved like themselves. Such was the worthy opening of M. Pasteur's scientific career, which has been dwelt upon so frequently and emphatically by M. Radot. The wonder, however, is, not that a searcher of such penetration as Pasteur should have discovered the facets of the tartrates, but that an investigator so powerful and experienced as Mitscherlich should have missed them.

The idea of molecular dissymmetry, introduced by Biot, was forced upon Biot's mind by the discovery of a number of liquids, and of some vapours, which possessed the rotatory power. Some, moreover, turned the plane of polarisation to the right, others to the left. Crystalline structure being here out of the question, the notion of dissymmetry, derived from the crystal, was transferred to the molecule. 'To produce any such phenomena,' says Sir John Herschel, 'the individual molecule must be conceived as unsymmetrically constituted.' The illustrations employed by M. Pasteur to elucidate this subject, though well calculated to give a general idea of dissymmetry, will, I fear, render but little aid to the reader in his attempts to realise molecular dissymmetry. Should difficulty be encountered here at the threshold of this work, I would recommend the reader not to be daunted by it, or prevented by it from going further. He may comfort himself by the assurance that the conception of a dissymmetric molecule is not a very precise one, even in the mind of M. Pasteur.

One word more with regard to the parentage of preconceived ideas. M. Radot informs us that at Strasburg M. Pasteur invoked the aid of helices and magnets, with a view to rendering crystals dissymmetrical at the moment of their formation. There can, I think, be but little doubt that such experiments were suggested by the pregnant discovery of Faraday published in 1845. By both helices and magnets Faraday caused the plane of polarisation in perfectly neutral liquids and solids to rotate. If the turning of the plane of polarisation be a demonstration of molecular dissymmetry, then, in the twinkling of an eye, Faraday was able to displace symmetry by dissymmetry, and to confer upon bodies, which in their ordinary state were inert and dead, this power of rotation which M. Pasteur considers to be the exclusive attribute of life.

The conclusion of M. Pasteur here referred to, which M. Radot justly describes as 'worthy of the most serious consideration,' is sure to arrest the attention of a large class of people, who, dreading 'materialism,' are ready to welcome any generalisation which differentiates the living world from the dead. M. Pasteur considers that his researches point to an irrefragable physical barrier between organic and inorganic nature. Never, he says, have you been able to produce in the laboratory, by the ordinary processes of chemistry, a dissymmetric molecule—in other words, a substance which, in a state of solution, where molecular forces are paramount, has the power of causing a polarised beam to rotate. This power belongs exclusively to derivatives from the living world. Dissymmetric forces, different from those of the laboratory, are, in Pasteur's mind, the agents of vitality; it is they that build up dissymmetric molecules which baffle the chemist when he attempts to reproduce them. Such molecules trace their ancestry to life alone. 'Pourrait-on indiquer une séparation plus profonde entre les produits de la nature vivante, et ceux de la nature minérale, que cette dissymmétrie chez les uns, et son absence chez les autres?' It may be worth calling to mind that molecular dissymmetry is the idea, or inference, the observed rotation of the plane of polarisation, by masses of sensible magnitude, being the fact on which the inference is based.

That the molecule, or unit brick, of an organism should be different from the molecule of a mineral is only to be expected, for otherwise the profound distinction between them would disappear. And that one of the differences between the two classes of molecules should be the possession, by the one, of this power of rotation, and its non-possession by the other, would be a fact, interesting no doubt, but not surprising. The critical point here has reference to the power and range of chemical processes, apart from the play of vitality. Beginning with the elements themselves, can they not be so combined as to produce organic compounds? Not to speak of the antecedent labours of Wöhler and others in Germany, it is well known that various French investigators, among whom are some of M. Pasteur's illustrious colleagues of the Academy, have succeeded in forming substances which were once universally regarded as capable of being elaborated by plants and animals alone. Even with regard to the rotation of the plane of polarisation, M. Jungfleisch, an extremely able pupil of the celebrated Berthelot, affirms that the barrier erected by M. Pasteur has been broken down; and though M. Pasteur questions this affirmation, it is at least hazardous, where so many supposed distinctions between organic and inorganic have been swept away, to erect a new one. For my part, I frankly confess my disbelief in its permanence.

Without waiting for new facts, those already in our possession tend, I think, to render the association which M. Pasteur seeks to establish between dissymmetry and life insecure. Quartz, as a crystal, exerts a very powerful twist on the plane of polarisation. Quartz dissolved exerts no power at all. The molecules of quartz, then, do not belong to the same category as the crystal of which they are the constituents; the former are symmetrical, the latter is dissymmetrical. This, in my opinion, is a very significant fact. By the act of crystallisation, and without the intervention of life, the forces of molecules, possessing planes of symmetry, are so compounded as to build up crystals which have no planes of symmetry. Thus, in passing from the symmetrical to the dissymmetrical, we are not compelled to interpolate new forces; the forces extant in mineral nature suffice. The reasoning which applies to the dissymmetric crystal applies to the dissymmetric molecule. The dissymmetry of the latter, however pronounced and complicated, arises from the composition of atomic forces which, when reduced to their most elementary action, are exerted along straight lines. In 1865 I ventured, in reference to this subject, to define the position which I am still inclined to maintain. 'It is the compounding, in the organic world, of forces belonging equally to the inorganic that constitutes the mystery and the miracle of vitality.'[2]

Add to these considerations the discovery of Faraday already adverted to. An electric current is not an organism, nor does a magnet possess life; still, by their action, Faraday, in his first essay, converted over one hundred and fifty symmetric and inert aqueous solutions into dissymmetric and active ones.[3]

Theory, however, may change, and inference may fade away, but scientific experiment endures for ever. Such durability belongs, in the domain of molecular physics, to the experimental researches of M. Pasteur.

The weightiest events of life sometimes turn upon small hinges; and we now come to the incident which caused M. Pasteur to quit a line of research the abandonment of which he still regrets. A German manufacturer of chemicals had noticed that the impure commercial tartrate of lime, sullied with organic matters of various kinds, fermented on being dissolved in water and exposed to summer heat. Thus prompted, Pasteur prepared some pure, right-handed tartrate of ammonia, mixed with it albuminous matter, and found that the mixture fermented. His solution, limpid at first, became turbid, and the turbidity he found to be due to the multiplication of a microscopic organism, which found in the liquid its proper aliment. Pasteur recognised in this little organism a living ferment. This bold conclusion was doubtless strengthened, if not prompted, by the previous discovery of the yeast-plant—the alcoholic ferment—by Cagniard-Latour and Schwann.

Pasteur next permitted his little organism to take the carbon necessary for its growth from the pure paratartrate of ammonia. Owing to the opposition of its two classes of crystals, a solution of this salt, it will be remembered, does not turn the plane of polarised light either to the right or to the left. Soon after fermentation had set in, a rotation to the left was noticed, proving that the equilibrium previously existing between the two classes of crystals had ceased. The rotation reached a maximum, after which it was found that all the right-handed tartrate had disappeared from the liquid. The organism thus proved itself competent to select its own food. It found, as it were, one of the tartrates more digestible than the other, and appropriated it, to the neglect of the other. No difference of chemical constitution determined its choice; for the elements, and the proportions of the elements, in the two tartrates were identical. But the peculiarity of structure which enabled the substance to rotate the plane of polarisation to the right, also rendered it a fit aliment for the organism. This most remarkable experiment was successfully made with the seeds of our common mould, Penicillium glaucam.

Here we find Pasteur unexpectedly landed amid the phenomena of fermentation. With true scientific instinct he closed with the conception that ferments are, in all cases, living things, and that the substances formerly regarded as ferments are, in reality, the food of the ferments. Touched by this wand, difficulties fell rapidly before him. He proved the ferment of lactic acid to be an organism of a certain kind. The ferment of butyric acid he proved to be an organism of a different kind. He was soon led to the fundamental conclusion that the capacity of an organism to act as a ferment depended on its power to live, without air. The fermentation of beer was sufficient to suggest this idea. The yeast-plant, like many others, can live either with or without free air. It flourishes best in contact with free air, for it is then spared the labour of wresting from the malt the oxygen required for its sustenance. Supplied with free air, however, it practically ceases to be a ferment; while in the brewing vat, where the work of fermentation is active, the budding torula is completely cut off by the sides of the vessel, and by a deep layer of carbonic acid gas, from all contact with air. The butyric ferment not only lives without air, but Pasteur showed that air is fatal to it. He finally divided microscopic organisms into two great classes, which he named respectively ærobies and anærobies, the former requiring free oxygen to maintain life, the latter capable of living without free oxygen, but able to wrest this element from its combinations with other elements. This destruction of pre-existing compounds and formation of new ones, caused by the increase and multiplication of the organism, constitute the process of fermentation.

Under this head are also rightly ranked the phenomena of putrefaction. As M. Radot well expresses it, the fermentation of sugar may be described as the putrefaction of sugar. In this particular field M. Pasteur, whose contributions to the subject are of the highest value, was preceded by Schwann, a man of great merit, of whom the world has heard too little.[4] Schwann placed decoctions of meat in flasks, sterilised the decoctions by boiling, and then supplied them with calcined air, the power of which to support life he showed to be unimpaired. Under these circumstances putrefaction never set in. Hence the conclusion of Schwann, that putrefaction was not due to the contact of air, as affirmed by Gay-Lussac, but to something suspended in the air which heat was able to destroy. This something consists of living organisms which nourish themselves at the expense of the organic substance, and cause its putrefaction.

The grasp of Pasteur on this class of subjects was embracing. He studied acetic fermentation, and found it to be the work of a minute fungus, the mycoderma aceti, which, requiring free oxygen for its nutrition, overspreads the surface of the fermenting liquid. By the alcoholic ferment the sugar of the grape-juice is transformed into carbonic acid gas and alcohol, the former exhaling, the latter remaining in the wine. By the mycoderma aceti the wine is, in its turn, converted into vinegar. Of the experiments made in connection with this subject one deserves especial mention. It is that in which Pasteur suppressed all albuminous matters, and carried on the fermentation with purely crystallisable substances. He studied the deterioration of vinegar, revealed its cause, and the means of preventing it. He defined the part played by the little eel-like organisms which sometimes swarm in vinegar casks, and ended by introducing important ameliorations and improvements in the manufacture of vinegar. The discussion with Liebig and other minor discussions of a similar nature, which M. Radot has somewhat strongly emphasized, I will not here dwell upon.

It was impossible for an inquirer like Pasteur to evade the question—Whence come these minute organisms which are demonstrably capable of producing effects on which vast industries are built and on which whole populations depend for occupation and sustenance? He thus found himself face to face with the question of spontaneous generation, to which the researches of Pouchet had just given fresh interest. Trained as Pasteur was in the experimental sciences, he had an immense advantage over Pouchet, whose culture was derived from the sciences of observation. One by one the statements and experiments of Pouchet were explained or overthrown, and the doctrine of spontaneous generation remained discredited until it was revived with ardour, ability, and, for a time, with success, by Dr. Bastian.

A remark of M. Radot's on [page 103] needs some qualification. 'The great interest of Pasteur's method consists,' he says, 'in its proving unanswerably that the origin of life in infusions which have been heated to the boiling point is solely due to the solid particles suspended in the air.' This means that living germs cannot exist in the liquid when once raised to a temperature of 212° Fahr. No doubt a great number of organisms collapse at this temperature; some indeed, as M. Pasteur has shown, are destroyed at a temperature 90° below the boiling point. But this is by no means universally the case. The spores of the hay-bacillus, for example, have, in numerous instances, successfully resisted the boiling temperature for one, two, three, four hours; while in one instance eight hours' continuous boiling failed to sterilise an infusion of desiccated hay. The knowledge of this fact caused me a little anxiety some years ago when a meeting was projected between M. Pasteur and Dr. Bastian. For though, in regard to the main question, I knew that the upholder of spontaneous generation could not win, on the particular issue touching the death temperature he might have come off victor.

The manufacture and maladies of wine next occupied Pasteur's attention. He had, in fact, got the key to this whole series of problems, and he knew how to use it. Each of the disorders of wine was traced to its specific organism, which, acting as a ferment, produced substances the reverse of agreeable to the palate. By the simplest of devices, Pasteur, at a stroke, abolished the causes of wine disease. Fortunately the foreign organisms which, if unchecked, destroy the best red wines are extremely sensitive to heat. A temperature of 50° Cent. (122° Fahr.) suffices to kill them. Bottled wines once raised to this temperature, for a single minute, are secured from subsequent deterioration. The wines suffer in no degree from exposure to this temperature. The manner in which Pasteur proved this, by invoking the judgment of the wine-tasters of Paris, is as amusing as it is interesting.

Moved by the entreaty of his master, the illustrious Dumas, Pasteur took up the investigation of the diseases of silkworms at a time when the silk-husbandry of France was in a state of ruin. In doing so he did not, as might appear, entirely forsake his former line of research. Previous investigators had got so far as to discover vibratory corpuscles in the blood of the diseased worms, and with such corpuscles Pasteur had already made himself intimately acquainted. He was therefore to some extent at home in this new investigation. The calamity was appalling, all the efforts made to stay the plague having proved futile. In June 1865 Pasteur betook himself to the scene of the epidemic, and at once commenced his observations. On the evening of his arrival he had already discovered the corpuscles, and shown them to others. Acquainted as he was with the work of living ferments, his mind was prepared to see in the corpuscles the cause of the epidemic. He followed them through all the phases of the insect's life—through the eggs, through the worm, through the chrysalis, through the moth. He proved that the germ of the malady might be present in the eggs and escape detection. In the worm also it might elude microscopic examination. But in the moth it reached a development so distinct as to render its recognition immediate. From healthy moths healthy eggs were sure to spring; from healthy eggs healthy worms; from healthy worms fine cocoons: so that the problem of the restoration to France of its silk-husbandry reduced itself to the separation of the healthy from the unhealthy moths, the rejection of the latter, and the exclusive employment of the eggs of the former. M. Radot describes how this is now done on the largest scale, with the most satisfactory results.

The bearing of this investigation on the parasitic theory of communicable diseases was thus illustrated: Worms were infected by permitting them to feed for a single meal on leaves over which corpusculous matter had been spread; they were infected by inoculation, and it was shown how they infected each other by the wounds and scratches of their own claws. By the association of healthy with diseased worms, the infection was communicated to the former. Infection at a distance was also produced by the wafting of the corpuscles through the air. The various modes in which communicable diseases are diffused among human populations were illustrated by Pasteur's treatment of the silkworms. 'It was no hypothetical, infected medium—no problematical pythogenic gas—that killed the worms. It was a definite organism.'[5] The disease thus far described is that called pébrine, which was the principal scourge at the time. Another formidable malady was also prevalent, called flacherie, the cause of which, and the mode of dealing with it, were also pointed out by Pasteur.

Overstrained by years of labour in this field, Pasteur was smitten with paralysis in October 1868. But this calamity did not prevent him from making a journey to Alais in January 1869, for the express purpose of combating the criticisms to which his labours had been subjected. Pasteur is combustible, and contradiction readily stirs him into flame. No scientific man now living has fought so many battles as he. To enable him to render his experiments decisive, the French Emperor placed a villa at his disposal near Trieste, where silkworm culture had been carried on for some time at a loss. The success here is described as marvellous; the sale of cocoons giving to the villa a net profit of twenty-six millions of francs.[6] From the Imperial villa M. Pasteur addressed to me a letter, a portion of which I have already published. It may perhaps prove usefully suggestive to our Indian or Colonial authorities if I reproduce it here:—

'Permettez-moi de terminer ces quelques lignes que je dois dicter, vaincu que je suis par la maladie, en vous faisant observer que vous rendriez service aux Colonies de la Grande-Bretagne en répandant la connaissance de ce livre, et des principes que j'établis touchant la maladie des vers à soie. Beaucoup de ces colonies pourraient cultiver le mûrier avec succès, et, en jetant les yeux sur mon ouvrage, vous vous convaincrez aisément qu'il est facile aujourd'hui, non-seulement d'éloigner la maladie régnante, mais en outre de donner aux récoltes de la soie une prospérité qu'elles n'ont jamais eue.'

The studies on wine prepare us for the 'Studies on Beer,' which followed the investigation of silkworm diseases. The sourness, putridity, and other maladies of beer Pasteur traced to special 'ferments of disease,' of a totally different form, and therefore easily distinguished from the true torula or yeast-plant. Many mysteries of our breweries were cleared up by this inquiry. Without knowing the cause, the brewer not unfrequently incurred heavy losses through the use of bad yeast. Five minutes' examination with the microscope would have revealed to him the cause of the badness, and prevented him from using the yeast. He would have seen the true torula overpowered by foreign intruders. The microscope is, I believe, now everywhere in use. At Burton-on-Trent its aid was very soon invoked. At the conclusion of his studies on beer M. Pasteur came to London, where I had the pleasure of conversing with him. Crippled by paralysis, bowed down by the sufferings of France, and anxious about his family at a troubled and an uncertain time, he appeared low in health and depressed in spirits. His robust appearance when he visited London, on the occasion of the Edinburgh Anniversary, was in marked and pleasing contrast with my memory of his aspect at the time to which I have referred.

While these researches were going on, the Germ Theory of infectious disease was noised abroad. The researches of Pasteur were frequently referred to as bearing upon the subject, though Pasteur himself kept clear for a long time of this special field of inquiry. He was not a physician, and he did not feel called upon to trench upon the physician's domain. And now I would beg of him to correct me if, at this point of the Introduction, I should be betrayed into any statement that is not strictly correct.

In 1876 the eminent microscopist, Professor Cohn of Breslau, was in London, and he then handed me a number of his 'Beiträge,' containing a memoir by Dr. Koch on Splenic Fever (Milzbrand, Charbon, Malignant Pustule), which seemed to me to mark an epoch in the history of this formidable disease. With admirable patience, skill, and penetration, Koch followed up the life history of bacillus anthracis, the contagium of this fever. At the time here referred to he was a young physician holding a small appointment in the neighbourhood of Breslau, and it was easy to predict, as I predicted at the time, that he would soon find himself in a higher position. When I next heard of him he was head of the Imperial Sanitary Institute of Berlin. Koch's recent history is pretty well known in England, while his appreciation by the German Government is shown by the rewards and honours lately conferred upon him.

Koch was not the discoverer of the parasite of splenic fever. Davaine and Rayer, in 1850, had observed the little microscopic rods in the blood of animals which had died of splenic fever. But they were quite unconscious of the significance of their observation, and for thirteen years, as M. Radot informs us, strangely let the matter drop. In 1863 Davaine's attention was again directed to the subject by the researches of Pasteur, and he then pronounced the parasite to be the cause of the fever. He was opposed by some of his fellow-countrymen; long discussions followed, and a second period of thirteen years, ending with the publication of Koch's paper, elapsed, before M. Pasteur took up the question. I always, indeed, assumed that from the paper of the learned German came the impulse towards a line of inquiry in which M. Pasteur has achieved such splendid results. Things presenting themselves thus to my mind, M. Radot will, I trust, forgive me if I say that it was with very great regret that I perused the disparaging references to Dr. Koch which occur in the chapter on splenic fever.

After Koch's investigation, no doubt could be entertained of the parasitic origin of this disease. It completely cleared up the perplexity previously existing as to the two forms—the one fugitive, the other permanent—in which the contagium presented itself. I may say that it was on the conversion of the permanent hardy form into the fugitive and sensitive one, in the case of bacillus subtilis and other organisms, that the method of sterilising by 'discontinuous heating' introduced by me in February 1877 was founded. The difference between an organism and its spores, in point of durability, had not escaped the penetration of Pasteur. This difference Koch showed to be of paramount importance in splenic fever. He, moreover, proved that while mice and guinea-pigs were infallibly killed by the parasite, birds were able to defy it.

And here we come upon what may be called a hand-specimen of the genius of Pasteur, which strikingly illustrates its quality. Why should birds enjoy the immunity established by the experiments of Koch? Here is the answer. The temperature which prohibits the multiplication of bacillus anthracis in infusions is 44° Cent. (111° Fahr.). The temperature of the blood of birds is from 41° to 42°. It is therefore close to the prohibitory temperature. But then the blood globules of a living fowl are sure to offer a certain resistance to any attempt to deprive them of their oxygen—a resistance not experienced in an infusion. May not this resistance, added to the high temperature of the fowl, suffice to place it beyond the power of the parasite? Experiment alone could answer this question, and Pasteur made the experiment. By placing its feet in cold water he lowered the temperature of a fowl to 37° or 38°. He inoculated the fowl, thus chilled, with the splenic fever parasite, and in twenty-four hours it was dead. The argument was clinched by inoculating a chilled fowl, permitting the fever to come to a head, and then removing the fowl, wrapped in cotton-wool, to a chamber with a temperature of 35°. The strength of the patient returned as the career of the parasite was brought to an end, and in a few hours health was restored. The sharpness of the reasoning here is only equalled by the conclusiveness of the experiment, which is full of suggestiveness as regards the treatment of fevers in man.

Pasteur had little difficulty in establishing the parasitic origin of fowl cholera; indeed, the parasite had been observed by others before him. But by his successive cultivations, he rendered the solution sure. His next step will remain for ever memorable in the history of medicine. I allude to what he calls 'virus attenuation.' And here it may be well to throw out a few remarks in advance. When a tree, or a bundle of wheat or barley straw, is burnt, a certain amount of mineral matter remains in the ashes—extremely small in comparison with the bulk of the tree or of the straw, but absolutely essential to its growth. In a soil lacking, or exhausted of, the necessary mineral constituents, the tree cannot live, the crop cannot grow. Now contagia are living things, which demand certain elements of life just as inexorably as trees, or wheat, or barley; and it is not difficult to see that a crop of a given parasite may so far use up a constituent existing in small quantities in the body, but essential to the growth of the parasite, as to render the body unfit for the production of a second crop. The soil is exhausted, and, until the lost constituent is restored, the body is protected from any further attack of the same disorder. Such an explanation of non-recurrent diseases naturally presents itself to a thorough believer in the germ theory, and such was the solution which, in reply to a question, I ventured to offer nearly fifteen years ago to an eminent London physician. To exhaust a soil, however, a parasite less vigorous and destructive than the really virulent one may suffice; and if, after having by means of a feebler organism exhausted the soil, without fatal result, the most highly virulent parasite be introduced into the system, it will prove powerless. This, in the language of the germ theory, is the whole secret of vaccination.

The general problem, of which Jenner's discovery was a particular case, has been grasped by Pasteur, in a manner, and with results, which five short years ago were simply unimaginable. How much 'accident' had to do with shaping the course of his enquiries I know not. A mind like his resembles a photographic plate, which is ready to accept and develop luminous impressions, sought and unsought. In the chapter on fowl cholera is described how Pasteur first obtained his attenuated virus. By successive cultivations of the parasite he showed, that after it had been a hundred times reproduced, it continued to be as virulent as at first. One necessary condition was, however, to be observed. It was essential that the cultures should rapidly succeed each other—that the organism, before its transference to a fresh cultivating liquid, should not be left long in contact with air. When exposed to air for a considerable time the virus becomes so enfeebled that when fowls are inoculated with it, though they sicken for a time, they do not die. But this 'attenuated' virus, which M. Radot justly calls 'benign,' constitutes a sure protection against the virulent virus. It so exhausts the soil that the really fatal contagium fails to find there the elements necessary to its reproduction and multiplication.

Pasteur affirms that it is the oxygen of the air which, by lengthened contact, weakens the virus and converts it into a true vaccine. He has also weakened it by transmission through various animals. It was this form of attenuation that was brought into play in the case of Jenner.

The secret of attenuation had thus become an open one to Pasteur. He laid hold of the murderous virus of splenic fever, and succeeded in rendering it, not only harmless to life, but a sure protection against the virus in its most concentrated form. No man, in my opinion, can work at these subjects so rapidly as Pasteur without falling into errors of detail. But this may occur while his main position remains impregnable. Such a result, for example, as that obtained in presence of so many witnesses at Melun must surely remain an ever-memorable conquest of science. Having prepared his attenuated virus, and proved, by laboratory experiments, its efficacy as a protective vaccine, Pasteur accepted an invitation from the President of the Society of Agriculture at Melun, to make a public experiment on what might be called an agricultural scale. This act of Pasteur's is, perhaps, the boldest thing recorded in this book. It naturally caused anxiety among his colleagues of the Academy, who feared that he had been rash in closing with the proposal of the President.

But the experiment was made. A flock of sheep was divided into two groups, the members of one group being all vaccinated with the attenuated virus, while those of the other group were left unvaccinated. A number of cows were also subjected to a precisely similar treatment. Fourteen days afterwards, all the sheep and all the cows, vaccinated and unvaccinated, were inoculated with a very virulent virus; and three days subsequently more than two hundred persons assembled to witness the result. The 'shout of admiration,' mentioned by M. Radot, was a natural outburst under the circumstances. Of twenty-five sheep which had not been protected by vaccination, twenty-one were already dead, and the remaining ones were dying. The twenty-five vaccinated sheep, on the contrary, were 'in full health and gaiety.' In the unvaccinated cows intense fever was produced, while the prostration was so great that they were unable to eat. Tumours were also formed at the points of inoculation. In the vaccinated cows no tumours were formed; they exhibited no fever, nor even an elevation of temperature, while their power of feeding was unimpaired. No wonder that 'breeders of cattle overwhelmed Pasteur with applications for vaccine.' At the end of 1881 close upon 34,000 animals had been vaccinated, while the number rose in 1883 to nearly 500,000.

M. Pasteur is now exactly sixty-two years of age; but his energy is unabated. At the end of this volume we are informed that he has already taken up and examined with success, as far as his experiments have reached, the terrible and mysterious disease of rabies or hydrophobia. Those who hold all communicable diseases to be of parasitic origin, include, of course, rabies among the number of those produced and propagated by a living contagium. From his first contact with the disease Pasteur showed his accustomed penetration. If we see a man mad, we at once refer his madness to the state of his brain. It is somewhat singular that in the face of this fact the virus of a mad dog should be referred to the animal's saliva. The saliva is, no doubt, infected, but Pasteur soon proved the real seat and empire of the disorder to be the nervous system.

The parasite of rabies had not been securely isolated when M. Radot finished his task. But last May, at the instance of M. Pasteur, a commission was appointed by the Minister of Public Instruction in France, to examine and report upon the results which he had up to that time obtained. A preliminary report, issued to appease public impatience, reached me before I quitted Switzerland this year. It inspires the sure and certain hope that, as regards the attenuation of the rabic virus, and the rendering of an animal, by inoculation, proof against attack, the success of M. Pasteur is assured. The commission, though hitherto extremely active, is far from the end of its labours; but the results obtained so far may be thus summed up:—

Of six dogs unprotected by vaccination, three succumbed to the bites of a dog in a furious state of madness.

Of eight unvaccinated dogs, six succumbed to the intravenous inoculation of rabic matter.

Of five unvaccinated dogs, all succumbed to inoculation, by trepanning, of the brain.

Finally, of three-and-twenty vaccinated dogs, not one was attacked with the disease subsequent to inoculation with the most potent virus.

Surely results such as those recorded in this book are calculated, not only to arouse public interest, but public hope and wonder. Never before, during the long period of its history, did a day like the present dawn upon the science and art of medicine. Indeed, previous to the discoveries of recent times, medicine was not a science, but a collection of empirical rules dependent for their interpretation and application upon the sagacity of the physician. How does England stand in relation to the great work now going on around her? She is, and must be, behindhand. Scientific chauvinism is not beautiful in my eyes. Still one can hardly see, without deprecation and protest, the English investigator handicapped in so great a race by short-sighted and mischievous legislation.

A great scientific theory has never been accepted without opposition. The theory of gravitation, the theory of undulation, the theory of evolution, the dynamical theory of heat—all had to push their way through conflict to victory. And so it has been with the Germ Theory of communicable diseases. Some outlying members of the medical profession dispute it still. I am told they even dispute the communicability of cholera. Such must always be the course of things, as long as men are endowed with different degrees of insight. Where the mind of genius discerns the distant truth, which it pursues, the mind not so gifted often discerns nothing but the extravagance, which it avoids. Names, not yet forgotten, could be given to illustrate these two classes of minds. As representative of the first class, I would name a man whom I have often named before, who, basing himself in great part on the researches of Pasteur, fought, in England, the battle of the germ theory with persistent valour, but whose labours broke him down before he saw the triumph which he foresaw completed. Many of my medical friends will understand that I allude here to the late Dr. William Budd, of Bristol.

The task expected of me is now accomplished, and the reader is here presented with a record, in which the verities of science are endowed with the interest of romance.

JOHN TYNDALL.

Royal Institution: December 1884

RECOLLECTIONS OF CHILDHOOD AND YOUTH.
FIRST DISCOVERIES.

'Come, M. Pasteur! you must shake off the demon of idleness!' It was the night watcher of the College of Besançon, who invariably at four o'clock in the morning entered Pasteur's room and roused him with this vigorous salute, which was accompanied, when necessary, by a sound shaking. Pasteur was then eighteen years of age. In addition to his food and lodging, the royal college paid him twenty-four francs a month. But if his place was a modest one, it sufficed at the time for his ambition: it was the first tie which bound him to the University.

'Ah,' said his father to him frequently, 'if only you could become some day professor in the College of Arbois I should be the happiest man on earth.'

Already, when he resided at Dôle, and when his son was not yet two years old, this father permitted himself to dream thus of the future. What would he have said had it been announced to him that fifty-eight years later, on the façade of the little house in the Rue des Tanneurs, would be placed, in the presence of his living son—laden with honours, laden with glory, passing in the midst of a triumphal procession along the paved town—a plate bearing these words in letters of gold:

Here was born Louis Pasteur,
December 27, 1822.

Pausing before this house, Pasteur recalled the image of his father and mother—of those whom he called his dear departed ones—and from the far-off depths of his childhood came so many memories of affection, devotion, and paternal sacrifices that he burst into tears.

The life of his father had been a rough one. An old soldier, decorated on the field of battle, on returning to France, where he had no longer a home, he was obliged to work hard to earn his bread. He took up the trade of a tanner. Soon afterwards, having made the acquaintance of a worthy young girl, he joined his lot with hers, and together they entered courageously on the labours of their married life—he calm, reflective, and more eager, whenever he had a moment of repose, for the society of books than for the society of his neighbours; she full of enthusiasm, her heart and spirit agitated by thoughts above the level of her modest life. Both of them watched with ceaseless solitude over their little Louis, of whom, with mingled pride and tenderness, they used to say, 'We will make of him an educated man.'

In 1825 the Pasteur family quitted Dôle and established themselves at Arbois, where, on the borders of the Cuisance, the father of our hero had bought a small tanyard. At this town, and in this yard, Louis Pasteur spent his childhood. As soon as he was old enough to be received as a half-pay scholar he was sent to the communal college. He, the smallest of all the pupils, was so proud of passing under the great arched doorway of this ancient establishment, that he arrived laden with enormous dictionaries, of which there was no need.

In the midst of his laborious occupations the father of Pasteur took upon himself the task of superintending his son's lessons every evening. This was at first no sinecure. Louis Pasteur did not always take the shortest road either to reach his class or to return to his work at home. Some old friends still living remember having made with the little Pasteur fishing parties, which proved so pleasant that they have been continued to the present day. The boy, moreover, instead of applying himself to his lessons, often escaped and amused himself by making large portraits of his neighbours, male and female. A dozen of these portraits are still to be seen in the houses of Arbois, all bearing his signature. Considering that his age at the time was only thirteen, the accuracy of the drawing is astonishing.

'What a pity,' said an old lady of Arbois a short time since, 'that he should have buried himself in chemistry! He has missed his vocation, for he might by this time have made his reputation as a painter.'

It was not until he reached the third class that Louis Pasteur, beginning to realise the sacrifices which his father imposed upon himself, determined to abandon his fishing implements and his crayons, feeling aroused within him that passion for work which was to form the foundation of his life. The Principal of the college, who followed with watchful interest the progress of a pupil who, in his first effort, had outstripped all his comrades, used to say, 'He will go far. It is not for the chair of a small college like ours that we must prepare him; he must become professor in a royal college. My little friend,' he would add, 'think of the great École Normale.'

The College of Arbois having no professor of philosophy, Pasteur quitted it for Besançon. There he remained for the scholars' year, received the degree of bachelier ès lettres, and was immediately appointed tutor in the same college. In the intervals of his duties he followed the course of mathematics necessary to prepare him for the scientific examinations of the École Normale. He must have been already endowed with a singular maturity of character, for the director confided to him the superintendence of the quarters of the older pupils, who during class time were his comrades. In the class room his table was in the midst of them; and never had so young a master so much authority, and at the same time so little need for its exercise.

His first taste for chemistry manifested itself by frequent questions addressed during class time to an old professor named Darlay. This questioning was so often repeated that the good man, quite bewildered, ended by declaring that it was for him to interrogate Pasteur and not for Pasteur to interrogate him. His pupil pressed him no further, but having heard that at Besançon there lived an apothecary who had once distinguished himself by a paper inserted in the 'Annales de Chimie et de Physique,' he sought this man, with a view of ascertaining whether, on holidays, he would consent to give him lessons secretly.

At the examination for the École Normale, Pasteur passed as fourteenth in the list. This rank, however, did not satisfy him. Notwithstanding the censure of his fellow candidates he declared that he would begin a new year of preparation. It was in Paris itself that he chose to work—in one of the silent corners of the city, amid the seclusion of preparatory schools and convents.

In the Impasse des Feuillantines, there lived a schoolmaster, M. Barbet by name, or rather le père Barbet, as the Franc-Comtois, with provincial familiarity, used to call him. Pasteur begged to be allowed to enter his institution, not as an assistant, but as a simple pupil. Knowing how slender were the means of his young compatriot, M. Barbet reduced the fees of his pupil by one-third. Such kindness was customary with the père Barbet, who did not like to be reminded of his generosity. This, however, gives double pleasure to him who records it.

The year passes, the time of the examination arrives, and Pasteur is received as fourth on the list. Thus at last, in the month of October 1843, he finds himself in that École Normale in which he was destined to take so great a place. Pasteur's taste for chemistry had become a passion which he could now satisfy to his heart's content. Chemistry was at this time taught at the Sorbonne by M. Dumas and at the École Normale by M. Balard. The pupils of the École attended both courses of lectures. Different as were the two professors, both of them exercised great influence on their pupils. M. Dumas, with his serene gravity and his profound respect for his auditory, never allowed the smallest incorrectness to slip into his exposition. M. Balard, with a vivacity quite juvenile, with the excitement of a southerner in the tribune, did not always give his words time to follow his thoughts. It was he who once, showing a little potash to his audience, exclaimed with a fervour which has become celebrated, 'Potash, which—potash, then—potash, in short, which I now present to you.'

The general principles which M. Dumas in his teaching delighted to develop, the multitude of facts which M. Balard unfolded to his pupils, all answered to the needs of Pasteur's mind. If he loved the vaster horizons of science, he was also possessed by the anxious desire for exactitude, and for the perpetual control of experiment. Each of the lectures of the École Normale and of the Sorbonne excited in him a profound enthusiasm. One day M. Dumas, while illustrating the solidification of carbonic acid, begged for the loan of a handkerchief to receive the carbonic acid snow. Pasteur rushed forward, and, presenting his handkerchief, received the snow. He returned triumphant, and running forthwith to the École Normale, repeated the principal experiments which the illustrious chemist had just exhibited to his audience. He preserved religiously the handkerchief which had been touched by M. Dumas.

Pasteur usually spent his Sundays with M. Barruel, the assistant of M. Dumas. He thought of nothing but experiments. For a long time in one of the laboratories of the École Normale was exhibited a basin—perhaps it is still shown—containing sixty grammes of phosphorus obtained from bones bought at the butcher's by Pasteur. These he had calcined, submitted to the processes known to chemists, and finally reduced, after a whole day's heating, from four in the morning to nine in the evening, to the said sixty grammes. It was the first time that the long manipulations required in the preparation of this simple substance were attempted at the École Normale.

Isolated in laboratory or library, Pasteur's only thought was to search, to learn, to question, and to verify. As the rule of the school leaves much to individual initiative, he devoted himself to his work with a joyful heart. This daily liberty constitutes the charm and the honour of the École Normale. Not only does it permit but it encourages individual effort; it allows the student to visit at his will the library, and to consult there the scientific journals and reviews. This free system of education develops singularly the spirit of research. There is in it an element of superiority over the École Polytechnique. Influenced by its military origin, constrained, moreover, by the number of its pupils to impose on all an exact discipline, and to introduce into their exercises a strict regularity, the École Polytechnique is, perhaps, less calculated than the École Normale to awaken in the minds of its pupils a taste for speculative science. It is certain that Pasteur owed to the freedom of work, and to the facilities for solitary reading which he there enjoyed, the first occasion for an investigation which was the starting-point to a veritable discovery.

I.

Unlike the old professor of physics and chemistry at Besançon, one of the lecturers in the École Normale often took pleasure, not only in answering Pasteur's questions, but in leading him on to talk over scientific subjects. M. Delafosse, whose memory remains dear to all his pupils, was one of those men who fail to do themselves justice, or who, according to the expression of Cardinal de Retz, do not fulfil all their merit. Not that circumstances have been unfavourable to them, but that an invincible modesty, and a natural nonchalance which finds in that modesty a shield against latent self-reproach, leave them in a sort of twilight in which they are content to dwell. Pupil, and afterwards fellow worker, of the celebrated crystallographer Haüy, M. Delafosse had devoted himself to questions of molecular physics. Pasteur, who had read with enthusiasm the works of Haüy, conversed incessantly with Delafosse about the arrangements of molecules, when an unexpected note from the German chemist Mitscherlich, communicated to the Academy of Sciences, came to trouble all his scientific beliefs. Here is the note:—

'The paratartrate and the tartrate of soda and ammonia have the same chemical composition, the same crystalline form, the same angles, the same specific weight, the same double refraction, and consequently the same inclination of the optic axes. Dissolved in water, their refraction is the same. But while the dissolved tartrate causes the plane of polarised light to rotate, the paratartrate exerts no such action. M. Biot has found this to be the case with the whole series of these two kinds of salts. Here (adds Mitscherlich) the nature and the number of the atoms, their arrangement, and their distances apart are the same in the two bodies.'

Imbued as he was with the teachings of Haüy and Delafosse, and full of the ideas of M. Dumas in molecular chemistry, Pasteur asked himself this question: 'How can it be admitted that the nature and number of the atoms, their arrangement and distances apart, in two chemical substances are the same; that the crystalline forms are equally the same, without concluding that the two substances are absolutely identical? Is there not a profound incompatibility between the identity affirmed by Mitscherlich and the discrepancy of optic character manifested by the two compounds, tartaric and paratartaric, which form the subject of his note?'

This difficulty rested in Pasteur's mind with the tenacity of a fixed idea. Received as agrégé of physical science at the end of his third year at the École, and then keeping near his master, M. Balard, he had begun the study of crystals and the determination of their angles and forms, when his nomination to the professorship of physics in the Lycée of Tournon surprised and distressed him. M. Balard repaired immediately to the bureau of the Minister of Education, and spoke of his assistant in terms which caused the nomination to be cancelled. Pasteur remained in the laboratory of the École Normale.

With a view to mastering the science of crystallography, he took for his guide the extensive work of M. de la Provostaye, resolving to repeat all the measurements of angles and all the other determinations of this author with a view to a comparison of their respective results. The work of M. de la Provostaye, who was distinguished by the exactitude of his researches, had for its subject the tartaric and paratartaric acids and their saline compounds.

Two or three years ago, while we were walking together along a road in the Jura, M. Pasteur, after quoting textually the note of Mitscherlich, described to me with enthusiasm the pleasure he had experienced in crystallising tartaric acid and its salts, the crystals of which, he said, rivalled in size and beauty the most exquisite of crystalline forms.

'I should have great difficulty,' I remarked, 'in following you through the labyrinth of tartaric acid, tartrates, and paratartrates. However much your other studies have attracted me, those which had for their starting-point the note of Mitscherlich and the memoir of M. de la Provostaye have appeared to me, whenever I tried to master them, difficult of access. Ah,' I added, 'you would have done well, out of consideration for those who love to speak of your labours, had you made no discoveries in this field.'

Pasteur, with a mixture of indignation and indulgence, replied:—'Is it possible that you have not discerned the grand horizons that lie behind these researches in physics and molecular optics? If I have a regret, it is that I did not follow out this path. Less rough than it at first sight appears, it would, I am convinced, have led to the most important discoveries. By a sudden turn it threw me unexpectedly upon the subject of fermentation, and fermentation led me to the study of diseases; but I still continue to lament that I have never had time to retrace my steps.'

Then, with a simplicity of exposition in which one recognised the teacher who had always endeavoured to place his ideas within the range of his hearers, he said—

'If you picture to yourself all the bodies in nature—mineral, animal, or vegetable, and consider even the objects formed by the hands of man, you will see that they divide themselves into two great categories. The one has a plane of symmetry and the other has not. Take, for instance, a table, a chair, a playing die, or the human body; we can imagine a plane passing through these objects which divides each of them into two absolutely similar halves. Thus, a plane passing through the middle of the seat and of the back of an arm-chair would have, on its right and left, identical parts; in like manner a vertical plane passing through the middle of the forehead, nose, mouth, and chin of an individual, would have similar parts to the right and to the left. All these objects, and a multitude of similar ones, constitute our first category. They have, as mathematicians express it, one or several planes of symmetry.

'But, as regards the repetition of similar parts, it is far from being the case that all bodies are constituted in the manner here described. Consider, for example, your right hand: it is impossible to find for it a plane of symmetry. Whatever be the position of a plane which you imagine cutting the hand, you will never find on the right of this plane exactly the same as you find on its left. The same remark applies to your left hand, to your right ear and to your left ear, to your right eye and to your left eye; to your two arms, your two legs, and your two feet. The human body, taken as a whole, has a plane of symmetry, but none of the parts composing one or the other of its halves has such a plane. The stalk of a plant whose leaves are distributed spirally round its stem has not a plane of symmetry, nor has a spiral staircase such a plane; but a straight one has. You see this?

'It would have been truly extraordinary, would it not, if the various kinds of minerals, such as sea salt, alum, the diamond, rock crystal, and so many others which illustrate the great law of crystallisation, and which clothe themselves in geometric forms, should not present to us examples of the two categories of which we have just been speaking? They do so in fact. Thus a cube, which has the form of a player's die, has a plane of symmetry; it has indeed several planes. The form of the diamond, which is a regular octahedron, has also several planes of symmetry. It is thus also with the great majority of the mineral forms met with in nature or in the laboratory. They have generally one or several planes of symmetry. There are, however, exceptions. Rock crystal, which is found in prisms, often of large volume, in the fissures of certain primitive rocks, has no plane of symmetry. This crystal exhibits certain small facets, distributed in such a manner that in their totality they might be compared to a helix, or spiral, or screw, which are all objects not possessing a plane of symmetry.

'Every object which has a plane of symmetry, when placed before a looking-glass, has an image which is rigorously identical with the object itself. The image can be superposed upon the reality. Place a chair before a mirror; the image faithfully reproduces the chair. The mirror also reproduces the human body considered as a whole. But place before the mirror your right hand and you will see a left hand. The right hand is not superposable on the left, just as the glove of your right hand cannot be fitted to your left, and inversely.'

Then reverting to the beginnings of his studies in crystallography, Pasteur recounted to me briefly that, after having gone through the work of M. de la Provostaye, he perceived that a very interesting fact had escaped the notice of this skilful physicist. M. de la Provostaye had failed to observe that the crystalline forms of tartaric acid and of its compounds all belong to the group of objects which have not a plane of symmetry. Certain minute facets had escaped him. In other words, Pasteur discerned that the crystalline form of tartaric acid, placed before a mirror, produced an image which was not superposable upon the crystal itself. The same was found to be true of the forms of all the chemical compounds of this acid. On the other hand, he imagined that the crystalline form of paratartaric acid, and of all the compounds of this acid, would be found to form part of the group of natural objects which have a plane of symmetry.

Pasteur was transported with joy by this double result. He saw in it the possibility of reaching by experiment the explanation of the difficulty which the note of Mitscherlich had thrown down as a kind of challenge to science, when it signalised an optical difference between two chemical compounds affirmed to be otherwise rigorously identical. Pasteur reasoned thus:—Since I find tartaric acid and all its tartrates without a plane of symmetry, while its isomer, paratartaric acid, and its compounds have such a plane, I will hasten to prepare the tartrate and the paratartrate of the note of Mitscherlich. I will compare their forms, and in all probability the tartrate will be found dissymmetrical—that is to say, without a plane of symmetry—while the paratartrate will continue to have such a plane. Henceforward the absolute identity stated by Mitscherlich to exist between the forms of these two compounds will have no existence. It will be proved that he has erred, and his note will no longer have in it anything mysterious. As the optic action proper to the tartrates spoken of in his note manifests itself by a deviation of the plane of polarisation to the right, we have here a kind of dissymmetry which has nothing incompatible with the dissymmetry of form. On the contrary, these two dissymmetries can be referred to one and the same cause. In like manner, the absence of dissymmetry in the form of the paratartrate will be connected with the optical neutrality of that compound.

The fulfilment of Pasteur's hopes was only partial. The tartrates of soda and ammonia presented, as did all the other tartrates, the dissymmetry manifested by the absence of any plane of symmetry; that is to say, the crystals of this salt placed before a mirror produced an image which was not superposable upon the crystal. It was like a right hand having its left for an image. With regard to the paratartrates of soda and ammonia, one circumstance struck Pasteur in a quite unexpected manner. Far from establishing in the crystals of this salt the absence of all dissymmetry, he found that they all manifestly possessed it. But, strange to say, certain crystals possessed it in one sense and other crystals in a sense opposite. Some of these crystals, when placed before a mirror, produced the image of the others, and one of the two kinds of crystals corresponded rigorously in form with the tartrate prepared by means of the tartaric acid of the grape. Pasteur continued his reasoning thus:—Since there is no difference between the form of the tartrate derived from the tartaric acid of the grape and one of the two kinds of crystals deposited at the moment of crystallisation of the paratartrate, the simple observation of the dissymmetry proper to each will enable me to separate, by hand, all the crystals of the paratartrate which are identical with those of the tartrate. By ordinary chemical processes I ought to be able to extract a tartaric acid identical with that of the grape, possessing all its physical, mineralogical, and chemical properties—that is to say, a tartaric acid possessing, like the natural tartaric acid of the grape, dissymmetry of form, and exerting an action on polarised light. Per contra, I ought to be able to extract from the second sort of crystals, associated with the former in the paratartaric group, an acid which will reproduce ordinary tartaric acid, but possessing a dissymmetry of an inverse kind and exerting an action equally inverse on polarised light.

With a feverish ardour Pasteur hastened to make this double experiment. Imagine his joy when he saw his anticipations not only realised but realised with an exactitude truly mathematical. His delight was so great that he quitted the laboratory abruptly. Hardly had he gone out when he met the assistant of the physical professor. He embraced him, exclaiming, 'My dear Monsieur Bertrand, I have just made a great discovery! I have separated the double paratartrate of soda and ammonia into two salts of inverse dissymmetry, and exerting an inverse action on the plane of polarisation of light. I am so happy that a nervous tremulousness has taken possession of me, which prevents me from looking again through the polariscope. Let us go to the Luxembourg, and I will explain it all to you.'

These results excited in a high degree the attention of the Academy of Sciences, where sat, at the time now referred to, Arago, Biot, Dumas, De Senarmont, and Balard. It might be said without exaggeration that the Academy was astounded. At the same time there were many members who were slow to believe in this discovery. Charged with drawing up the report, M. Biot began by requiring from Pasteur the verification of each point which he had announced. To this verification M. Biot brought his habitual precision, which was associated with a kind of suspicious scepticism.

In one of his lectures Pasteur thus described his interview with M. Biot:—'He made me come to his house, where he put into my hands some paratartaric acid which he had carefully studied himself, and found perfectly neutral as regards polarised light. It was not in the laboratory of the École Normale, it was in his own kitchen, and in his presence, that I was to prepare this double salt with soda and ammonia procured by himself. The liquor was left slowly to evaporate, and at the end of ten days, when it had deposited thirty or forty grammes of crystals, he begged me to go over to the Collège de France to collect the crystals and to extract from them specimens of the two kinds, which he proposed to have placed, the one on his right hand, the other on his left, desiring me to declare if I was ready to re-affirm, that the crystals to the right would turn the plane of polarisation to the right and the others to the left. This declaration made, he said that he would charge himself with the rest of the inquiry. M. Biot then prepared the solutions in well-measured proportions, and at the moment of observing them in the polarising apparatus he invited me again to come into his study. He placed first in the apparatus the most interesting solution, that which ought to deviate to the left. Without even making any measurements, he saw, by the mere inspection of the colours of the ordinary and extraordinary images of the analyser, that there was a strong deviation to the left. Visibly moved, the illustrious old man took my arm and said, "My dear child, I have loved science so well throughout my life that this makes my heart beat."'

The emotion of M. Biot was all the more profound because he had been himself the first to discover the rotation of the plane of polarisation by chemical substances, and had, for more than thirty years, affirmed that the study of these substances and of their action in regard to rotatory polarisation was, perhaps, the surest means of penetrating into the intimate constitution of bodies. His counsels were received with deference, but they had never been followed out. And now there appeared before the old man, already somewhat discouraged, a youth of twenty-five, who from his first investigation had proved himself a master, who had dissipated the obscurities of the famous German note, and created a new chapter in crystallographic chemistry. The composition and nature of paratartaric acid had been explained, and a new substance, the left-handed tartaric acid, with its truly surprising properties, had been discovered; molecular physics and chemistry had been enriched with new facts and theories of great value.

The first care of Pasteur, after having discovered the left-handed tartaric acid and the constitution of paratartaric acid, was to compare very carefully the properties of the new left-handed acid with those of the right, endeavouring to determine by strict experiment the influence on these properties of the internal atomic arrangements of the two acids. Although we are unable to picture the exact figure of these atomic groupings, there can be no doubt that they are formed of the same elementary particles, that they are, moreover, dissymmetrical, and that, in short, the dissymmetry of the one group is the same as that of the other, but in an inverse sense. If, for example, the arrangement of the atoms of the right-handed tartaric acid present the exterior appearance of an irregular pyramid, the arrangement of the atoms of the left-handed tartaric acid ought, of necessity, to present the form of a pyramid irregular in the inverse sense.

II.

Nominated assistant professor of chemistry at Strasburg, Pasteur followed up with enthusiasm these curious studies. To interrupt them for an instant it required nothing less than his engagement with Mademoiselle Marie Laurent, daughter of the Rector of the Academy. It is even asserted that on the very morning of his marriage it was necessary to go to his laboratory and remind him of the event that was to take place on that day. But if Pasteur was thus guilty of an absent-mindedness worthy of La Fontaine, he proved as a husband so different from La Fontaine that Madame Pasteur, when reminded of this lapse of memory, receives the reminder with an indulgent smile.

But to return to the laboratory: Under the same conditions of weight, temperature, and quantity of solvent, Pasteur placed successively, in presence of the two acids, all the substances capable of combining with them. In this way he obtained right-handed and left-handed tartrates of potash, of soda, of ammonia, of lime, and of all the oxides properly so called. He applied himself to the compounds—and they are numerous—which deposit themselves in liquids under well-determined crystalline forms. Without entering into the details of these long and patient studies, it may be stated generally that Pasteur proved that whatever could be done with one of the tartaric acids could be repeated rigorously, under similar conditions, with the other, the resultant products manifesting constantly the same properties, with the single difference already exhibited by the two acids—that in the one case the deviation of the plane of polarisation was to the right, while in the other it was to the left. With regard to all their other properties, both chemical and physical, the identity was absolute. Solubility, simple refraction by solutions, double refraction by crystals, the action of heat in producing decomposition, &c., the similitude extended to the most perfect identity.

The Academy of Sciences, which shows by the rarity of its reports the importance which it attaches to them, gave for the second time an account of these new researches. M. Biot was again the reporter. It was with a sort of coquetry that Pasteur brought from Strasburg perfectly labelled specimens of the magnificent crystallisations of the double series of right-handed and left-handed tartrates. By means of models he was able to render the forms of these crystals visible at a distance.

M. Biot undertook to bring the subject before the Academy. On the morning of the day when he was to read his report he spent several hours in conversation with Pasteur. M. Biot became so excited during the discussion that Madame Biot, with the solicitude peculiar to the wives of Academicians, requested Pasteur to change the subject of conversation.

The members of the Academy shared the enthusiasm of M. Biot. Arago moved that the report be inserted in the collected mémoires of the Academy. This was an exceptional honour. Arrived for the most part at the end of their own careers, these learned men observed with pleasure the incipient ray which had not yet become a glory but which was the precursor thereof.

'My young friend,' said M. Biot to Pasteur, when presenting him to Mitscherlich somewhere about that time, 'you may boast of having done something great, in having discovered what had escaped such a man as this.'

'I had studied,' replied Mitscherlich, not without a shade of regret, addressing himself to Pasteur, 'I had studied with so much care and perseverance, in their smallest details, the two salts which formed the subject of my note to the Academy, that, if you have established what I was unable to discover, you must have been guided to your result by a preconceived idea.'

Mitscherlich was right, and this preconceived idea might have been formulised thus: A dissymmetry in the internal molecular arrangement of a chemical substance ought to manifest itself in all its external properties which are themselves capable of dissymmetry.

If this theoretic conception was correct, Pasteur might expect to find that all the substances in which M. Biot had observed the power of rotating the plane of polarisation would possess the crystalline dissymmetry revealed by the absence of superposability. The result was in great part conformable to those previsions. The substances which acted upon polarised light, as liquids or solutions, were generally found by Pasteur to produce dissymmetric crystals. Some of them, however, notwithstanding their power of crystallisation, exhibited, when crystallised, no dissymmetric face. This difficulty did not deter Pasteur. It gave him, on the contrary, the opportunity of showing that when a theory had in so many cases proved itself correct, an apparent objection must not be assumed insuperable without first sounding it to the bottom. May it not be, he reasoned, that the absence of dissymmetry in substances which have the molecular rotatory power is not an accident; and may it not be possible, by changing the conditions of the crystallisation, to make the dissymmetry appear?

Then, in order to modify the crystalline forms of substances which did not show themselves to be spontaneously dissymmetrical, Pasteur employed a method which had been often tried before, though its principles could not be explained or its effects foreseen. In imitation of Romé de Lisle, Leblanc, and Beudant, he varied the nature of his solvents; he introduced into the solution, sometimes an excess of acid or of base, sometimes foreign matters incapable of acting chemically upon those which were to be modified; he even employed sometimes impure mother liquids. On each occasion new facets were thus produced, and these new facets showed the kind of dissymmetry which the optical character demanded. Although he had to limit his researches to those substances which, by their ready crystallisation and the beauty of their forms, lent themselves best to this class of proofs, the results were so far in accord with the previsions of theory, that no reasonable doubt could exist as to the necessary correlation between dissymmetry and the power to deviate polarised light.

By these researches Pasteur was led to a conclusion, which is worthy of the most serious consideration, regarding the difference which exists between mineral species and artificial products on the one side, and the organic products which can be extracted from vegetables or animals on the other. All mineral or artificial products—for brevity let us say all the products of inorganic nature—have a superposable image, and are therefore not dissymmetrical, while vegetable and animal products—in other words, products formed under the influence of life—have an image not superposable; that is to say, they are atomically dissymmetrical, this dissymmetry expressing itself externally in the power of turning the plane of polarisation. If any exceptions exist they are more apparent than real. Pasteur himself pointed out some of them, while demonstrating at the same time that it is easy to explain why all trace of dissymmetry disappears when substances which, like rock crystal, have an external dissymmetry are subjected to the process of solution.

An apparent contradiction to this law of demarcation between artificial products and those of animal and vegetable life is presented by the existence in living creatures of substances like oxalic acid, formic acid, urea, uric acid, creatine, &c. None of these products exert an action on polarised light or show any dissymmetry in the form of their crystals. But it is necessary to observe that these products are the result of secondary actions. Their formation is evidently governed by the laws which determine the constitution of the artificial products of our laboratories, or of the mineral kingdom properly so called. In living beings they are the products of excretion rather than substances essential to vegetable or animal life. When, on the other hand, we consider the most primordial substances of vegetables and animals—those whereof it may be justly said that they are born under the directive influence of becoming life, such as cellulose, fecula, albumen, fibrine, &c.—they are found to possess the power of acting, on polarised light, a characteristic necessary and sufficient to establish their internal dissymmetry, even when, through the absence of crystallising power, they fail to manifest this dissymmetry outwardly.

It is, therefore, true to say that the products of inorganic nature, whether mineral or artificial, have never yet presented molecular dissymmetry. It may also be affirmed that the substances which exert the greatest influence in vital manifestations, which are present and active in the seed and in the egg at the moment of the marvellous start of animal and vegetable life, all present molecular dissymmetry.

Would it be possible to indicate a more profound distinction between the respective products of living and of mineral nature, than the existence of this dissymmetry on the part of the one and its absence on the part of the other? Is it not strange that not one of these thousands and thousands of artificial products of the laboratory, the number of which is each day augmented, should manifest either the power of turning the plane of polarisation or non-superposable dissymmetry? No doubt natural dissymmetric substances—gum, sugar, tartaric and malic acids, quinine, strychnine, essence of turpentine, &c.—may be employed in forming new compounds which remain dissymmetric, though they are artificially prepared; but it is evident that all these new products do but inherit the original dissymmetry of the substances from which they are derived. When chemical action becomes more profound, all dissymmetry disappears, and is never seen to reappear in the successive ulterior products.

What can be the causes of so great a difference? M. Pasteur has often expressed to me the conviction that it must be attributed to the circumstance that the molecular forces which operate in the mineral kingdom, and which are brought into play every day in our laboratories, are forces of the symmetrical order; while the forces which are present and active at the moment when the grain sprouts, when the egg develops, and when, under the influence of the sun, the green matter of the leaves decomposes the carbonic acid of the air and utilises in divers ways the carbon of this acid, the hydrogen of the water, and the oxygen of these two products—are of the dissymmetric order, probably depending on some of the grand, dissymmetric, cosmic phenomena of our universe. While expounding this opinion before the Academy of Sciences, Pasteur, on one occasion, expressed himself thus:—

'The universe is a dissymmetric whole. I am inclined to think that life, as manifested to us, must be a function of the dissymmetry of the universe or of the consequences that follow in its train. The universe is dissymmetrical; for, placing before a mirror the group of bodies which compose the solar system, with their proper movements, we obtain in the mirror an image not superposable on the reality. Even the motion of solar light is dissymmetrical. A luminous ray never strikes in a straight line, and at rest, the leaf wherein organic matter is created by vegetable life. Terrestrial magnetism, the opposition which exists between the north and south poles of a magnet, the opposition presented to us by positive and negative electricity, are all the resultants of dissymmetric actions and motions.'

At the moment when Pasteur, entering upon the labours which form the principal subject of this book, abandoned the study of molecular physics and chemistry which had previously occupied him, all his thoughts were directed to the search of means suited to render evident the influence of these causes and these phenomena. At Strasburg he had procured powerful magnets with the view of comparing the actions of their poles, and, if possible, of introducing by their aid, among the forms of crystals, a manifestation of dissymmetry. At Lille, where he was nominated Dean of the Faculty of Sciences in 1854, he had contrived a piece of clockwork intended to keep a plant in continual rotary motion, first in one direction and then in the other. 'All this was gross,' he said to me one day; 'but, further than this, I had proposed, with the view of influencing the vegetation of certain plants, to invert, by means of a heliostat and a reflecting mirror, the motion of the solar rays which should strike them from the birth of their earliest shoots, and in this direction there was more to be hoped for.' He never spoke of these attempts, because he had not had the time to follow them to the issues of which he dreamed; but to this day he remains persuaded that the barrier which exists between the mineral and organic kingdoms—and which is revealed to our eyes by the impossibility of producing, in the reactions of the laboratory, dissymmetric organic substances—can never be crossed until we have succeeded in introducing among these reactions influences of the dissymmetric order. According to Pasteur, success in this direction would give access to a new world of substances, and probably also of organic transformations. As we have succeeded in finding the inverse of right-handed tartaric acid, we may hope to obtain some day all the immediate principles inverse to those now known to us. Who could say what vegetable and animal species would become if it were possible to replace, in the living cells, cellulose, albumen, and their congeners, by their isomers with an inverse action? Certainly the thing is not easy, and Pasteur would be the last person to deceive himself as to the difficulty of the problem. His latest thought on the matter is this:—When the attempt is made to introduce into living species primordial substances, inverse to those now existing, the great difficulty will be to master the tendency (devenir[7]) proper to the species, a tendency which is potential in the germ of each of them. In this germ, it is to be feared, the dissymmetry of the dissymmetric primordial substances which it embraces will always manifest itself. Ah! if spontaneous generation were possible; if we could form from mineral matter a living cell, how much more accessible would the problem become! However this may be, we must seek, by all possible means, to produce molecular dissymmetry by the application of forces which have a dissymmetric action. 'We must,' said Pasteur to me on the day when, starting from the note of Mitscherlich, he passed all these things in review, 'we must invoke the action of solenoid or helix. Entangled at present in labours more than sufficient to absorb whatever of ardour and of force still remains to me, I have no longer time to occupy myself with these questions.' But what great things are to be done in following out this order of ideas, and what a route will be opened to young men possessed of that genius of invention which is evoked so often by persistent work!

This complete opposition between artificial mineral products and vegetable and animal ones was to Pasteur a truth so well established that he found frequent opportunity of affirming it under decisive circumstances. One day, a very skilful chemist, M. Dessaignes, who later on became one of the correspondents of the Academy of Sciences, announced that he had transformed fumaric and malic acids into aspartic acid. Pasteur, who some time previously had had occasion to study these same acids, had proved that the two first had no molecular dissymmetry—that is to say, they exercised no optic action. In the state of solution they did not turn the plane of polarised light. Aspartic acid, on the contrary, had presented to him molecular dissymmetry, like asparagine itself. If the observation of M. Dessaignes were true, then bodies which were inert in regard to polarised light, and consequently non-dissymmetric, could be transformed in the laboratory into active dissymmetric bodies. The line of demarcation so well established would be broken. Pasteur, whose experience regarding the note of Mitscherlich had shown him how even the most conscientious observers may fail to seize upon fugitive appearances, when unprompted to seek them by a preconceived idea, doubted at once the accuracy of the facts cited by M. Dessaignes. From Strasburg he started for Vendôme, where M. Dessaignes at that time resided. M. Dessaignes immediately gave Pasteur a small quantity of the aspartic acid which he had prepared by means of fumaric and malic acids. Returning to his laboratory, Pasteur immediately recognised that, despite the very close resemblance of the new acid of M. Dessaignes to that derived from asparagine, the former differed from the latter by the complete absence in its case of molecular dissymmetry.

With regard to other facts of the same kind, announced not only in France, but in Italy, and in England—chiefly the pretended formation of grape tartaric acid from succinic acid, artificial and inert, by Perkin and Duppa—Pasteur testified with absolute certainty of judgment to the existence of phenomenal peculiarities proper to these substances, which he had never seen, and which had, on the other hand, been the object of careful study by observers of great talent.

After these verifications and deductions from theoretic views, Pasteur discovered a surprising connection between the prior researches of chemistry and crystallographic physics and the new and entirely unexpected results of physiological chemistry. This connection, like the thread of Ariadne, conducted him to his recent great discoveries in medical biology. M. Chevreul was right when, some years ago, at the Academy of Sciences, he expressed himself thus:—

'It is by first examining in their chronological order the researches of M. Pasteur, and then considering them as a whole, that we are enabled to appreciate the rigour of judgment of that learned man in forming his conclusions, and the perspicacity of a mind which, strong in the truths which it has already discovered, is carried forward to the establishment of new ones.'

III.

Pasteur had thus established that bodies endowed with internal dissymmetry carried this property, in varying degrees, into their compounds or their derivatives. When two of these bodies whose nature has been revealed by the discovery of right-handed and left-handed tartaric acid, where all is chemically identical—and which are only to be distinguished from each other by their inverse crystallographic form, and by their action on polarised light—enter into combination with a substance which is optically and crystallographically inert, the chemical identity ought, under these new conditions, to be preserved. Everything remains optically and crystallographically comparable. The inert element adds nothing to, and takes away nothing from, the dissymmetric faculties of the active one.

To these curious studies Pasteur soon added a new chapter. He reasoned thus:—If into these compounds I introduce a substance possessing in itself the specific properties of dissymmetry, it is evident that this substance, while entering into these combinations, must preserve its own properties. The active substance would, from the moment of its combination, add something to the properties of the molecular group which acts like itself, and subtract something from the properties of the group which acts in the opposite manner. The resultant effect of these actions, sometimes concordant, sometimes antagonistic, would cease to be alike in absolute quantity. And if this be the necessary condition of similitude as to molecular arrangement, this similitude would cease to exist, and with its disappearance would appear all the differences of chemical and physical properties which constitute its outward manifestations.

The facts were found to harmonise with these logical deductions. After having made dissymmetry intervene as a modifier of chemical affinity, he had a strange and manifest proof of the influence of dissymmetry in the phenomena of life.

It had been long known, through the observations of a manufacturer of chemical products in Germany, that the impure tartrate of lime of commerce, if contaminated with organic matters and permitted to remain under water in summer, would ferment and yield various products. Pasteur caused the ordinary right-handed tartrate of ammonia to ferment in the following manner:—He took some very pure crystalline salt and dissolved it, adding at the same time to the liquid some albuminoid matter, about one gramme to 100 grammes of the tartrate. The liquid placed in a warm chamber fermented. During the process of fermentation the liquid mass, previously limpid, became gradually turbid, in consequence of the appearance of a small organism which played the part of ferment. Pasteur applied this mode of fermentation to the paratartrate of ammonia. He saw that this salt also fermented, depositing the same organism. All appeared as if the course of things was the same as in the case of the right-handed tartrate. But Pasteur, having had the idea of following the course of the operation with the aid of the polariscope, soon detected a profound difference between the two fermentations. In the case of the paratartrate, the liquid, at first inert, gradually assumed a sensible power of deviation to the left, which augmented by degrees and attained a maximum. The fermentation was then suspended; there was no longer any of the right-handed acid in the liquid, which, when evaporated and mixed with its own volume of alcohol, immediately furnished a beautiful crystallisation of left-handed tartrate of ammonia.

From that moment a great new fact was established—namely, that the molecular dissymmetry proper to organic matters intervened in a phenomenon of the physiological order, and did so as a modifier of chemical affinity. The kind of dissymmetry proper to the molecular arrangement of the left-handed tartaric acid was, no doubt, the sole cause of the difference between this acid and the right-handed acid, in regard to the fermentation produced by a microscopic fungus. We shall see later on that organised ferments are almost always microscopic vegetables, which embrace in their constitution cellulose, albumen, &c., identical with these same substances taken from the higher class of vegetables and equally dissymmetric. We can thus understand, that for the nutrition of the ferment and the formation of its principles the chemical changes are more easy with one of the two tartaric acids than with the other.

The opposition of the properties of the two tartaric acids, right and left, at the moment when the conditions of life and nutrition of an organised being intervened, showed themselves still more strikingly in a very curious experiment made by Pasteur. He was the first to prove that mildew could live and multiply on a purely mineral soil, composed, for example, of the phosphates of potash, of magnesia, and an ammoniacal salt of an organic acid. For such a development of vegetable life he employed the seed of penicillium glaucum, which is to be found everywhere as common mould, and to which he offered, as its only carbon aliment, paratartaric acid. At the end of a little time the left-handed tartaric acid appeared. Now this left-handed acid could only show itself on the condition that a rigorously equal quantity of the right-handed acid had been decomposed. The carbon of the tartaric acid evidently supplied to the little plant the carbon that was necessary for the formation of its constituents and all their organic accessories. If the microscopic seed of penicillium sown upon this soil was not formed of dissymmetric elements, as is the case with all other vegetable substances, its development, its life, its fructification would accommodate themselves equally well with the left-handed tartaric acid as with the right. The fact that the left-handed tartaric acid is less assimilable than its opposite is due solely and evidently to the dissymmetry of one or other of the primordial substances of the little plant.

Thus for the first time was introduced into physiological studies and considerations the fact of the influence of the molecular dissymmetry of natural organic products.

Pasteur always speaks with enthusiasm of the grand future reserved for researches which have this influence for their object; for molecular dissymmetry is the only sharp line of demarcation which exists between the chemistry of inorganic and that of organic nature.

FERMENTATION.

Arrived at this unexpected turn in the road which he had hitherto pursued, Pasteur paused for an instant. Should he commit himself to the course which abruptly opened before him? His scientific instincts urged him to do so, but the prudence and reserve which show themselves to be the basis of his character, whenever he finds himself called upon to make a choice of which the necessity is not absolutely demonstrated, held him back. Was it not wiser to continue in the domain of molecular physics and chemistry? M. Biot counselled his doing so; the route had been made plain, success awaited him at each step, but an incident connected with the University triumphed over his hesitations.

He had just been nominated, at thirty-two years of age, Dean of the Faculté des Sciences at Lille. One of the principal industries of the Département du Nord is the fabrication of alcohol from beetroot and from corn. Pasteur resolved to devote a portion of his lectures to the study of fermentation. He felt that if he could make himself directly useful to his hearers he would thereby excite general sympathy with, and direct attention to the new Faculté. The young man congratulated himself on this idea, and the man of science rejoiced in it still more. He was filled by the reflections suggested to him by the strangeness of the phenomena which he had just encountered in regard to the molecular dissymmetry of the two tartaric acids, in connection with the life of a microscopic organism. He saw new light thrown upon the obscure problem of fermentation. The part so active performed by an infinitely small organism could not, he thought, be an isolated fact. Behind this phenomenon must lie some great general law.

I.

All that has lived must die, and all that is dead must be disintegrated, dissolved or gasified; the elements which are the substratum of life must enter into new cycles of life. If things were otherwise, the matter of organised beings would encumber the surface of the earth, and the law of the perpetuity of life would be compromised by the gradual exhaustion of its materials. One grand phenomenon presides over this vast work, the phenomenon of fermentation. But this is only a word, and it suggests to the mind simply the internal movements which all organised matter manifests spontaneously after death, without the intervention of the hand of man. What is, then, the cause of the processes of fermentation, of putrefaction, and of slow combustion? How is the disappearance of the dead body or of the fallen plant to be accounted for? What is the explanation of the foaming of the must in the vintage cask? of dough, which, abandoned to itself, rises and becomes sour? of milk, which curdles? of blood, which putrefies? of the heap of straw, which becomes manure? of dead leaves and plants embedded in the earth, which transform themselves into soil?

Many different attempts were made to account for this mystery before science was in a condition to approach it. In our age, and at the time when Pasteur was led to the study of the question, one theory held almost undisputed sway. It was a very ancient theory, to which Liebig, in reviving it, had given the weight of his name. 'The ferments,' said Liebig, 'are all nitrogenous substances—albumen, fibrine, caseine; or the liquids which embrace them, milk, blood, urine—in a state of alteration which they undergo in contact with the air.'

The oxygen of the air was, according to this system, the first cause of the molecular breaking up of the nitrogenous substances. The molecular motions are gradually communicated from particle to particle in the interior of the fermentable matter, which is thus resolved into new products.

These theoretic ideas regarding the part played in fermentation by the oxygen of the air were based upon experiments made in the beginning of the century by Gay-Lussac. In examining the process of Appert for the preservation of animal and vegetable substances—a process which consisted in inclosing these substances in hermetically sealed vessels and heating them afterwards to a sufficiently high temperature—Gay-Lussac had seen, for example, the must of the grape, which had been preserved without alteration during a whole year, caused to enter into a state of fermentation by the simple fact of its transference to another vessel—that is to say, by having been brought for an instant into contact with the oxygen of the air. The oxygen of the air appeared, then, to be the primum movens of fermentation.

The illustrious chemists Berzelius and Mitscherlich explained the phenomena of fermentation otherwise. They placed these phenomena in the obscure class known as phenomena of contact. The ferment, in their view, took nothing from, and added nothing to, the fermentable matter. It was an albuminoid substance, endowed with a force to which the name catalytic was given. The ferment in fact acted by its mere presence.

A very curious observation, however, had been made in France by Cagniard-Latour and in Germany by Schwann. Cagniard-Latour, however, was the first to publish this observation, which was destined to become so fruitful. One of the ferments most in use, and known as early as the leavening of dough or the turning of milk, is the deposit formed in beer barrels, which is commonly called yeast. Repeating an observation of the naturalist Leuwenhoeck, Cagniard-Latour saw this yeast, which was composed of cells, multiplying itself by budding, and he proposed to himself the question whether the fermentation of sugar was not connected with this act of cellular vegetation. But as in other fermentations the existence of an organism had not been observed even by the most careful search, the hypothesis of Cagniard-Latour of a possible relation between the organisation of the ferment and the property of being a ferment was abandoned, though not without regret by some physiologists. M. Dumas, for example, recognised that in the budding of the yeast globules there must be some clue to the phenomenon of fermentation. I, however, repeat that as nothing of the kind had been found elsewhere, and as all other fermentations presented the common character of requiring, to put them in train, organic matter in a state of decomposition, the hypothesis of Cagniard-Latour remained a simple incident, instead of having the value of a scientific principle.

Liebig, moreover, carrying general opinion along with him, contended that it is not because of its being organised that yeast is active, but because of its being in contact with air. It is the dead portion of the yeast—that which has lived and is in the course of alteration—which acts upon the sugar.

The new memoirs published on the subject agreed in rejecting the hypothesis of any influence whatever of organisation or of life in the process of fermentation. Books, memoirs, dogmatic teaching, all were favourable to the theoretic ideas of Liebig. If a few rare observers indicated the presence in certain fermentations of living organisms, this presence was, in their opinion, a purely accidental fact, which, instead of favouring the phenomenon of fermentation, was injurious to it.

From his first investigation on lactic fermentation Pasteur was led to take an entirely different view of the matter. In this fermentation he recognised the presence and the action of a living organism, which was the ferment, just as yeast was the ferment of alcoholic fermentation. The lactic ferment was formed of cells, or rather of little rods nipped at their centres, extremely small, being hardly the thousandth part of a millimeter in diameter.[8] It reproduced itself by fission—that is to say, the little rod divided itself at its middle and formed two shorter rods, which became elongated, nipped, in their turn, at their centres, each giving rise, as before, to two rods. Each of these, again, soon divided itself into two, and so on. Why had not this been observed prior to Pasteur? For the simple reason that chemists had never observed the production of lactic fermentation except in complex substances. They mixed chalk with their milk for the purpose of preserving the neutrality of the fermenting medium. They employed substances such as caseine, gluten, animal membranes, all of which, when examined by the microscope, exhibited a multitude of mineral or organic granules, with which the lactic ferment was confounded. Thus the first care of Pasteur, with the view of proving the presence of the ferment and its life, was to replace the cheesy matter and all its congeners by a soluble, nitrogenous body, which would permit of the microscopic examination of all the living cellular products.

In a memoir presented to the Academy of Sciences in 1857 Pasteur stated that there were 'cases where it is possible to recognise in lactic fermentation, as practised by chemists and manufacturers, above the deposit of chalk and the nitrogenous matter, a grey substance which forms a zone on the surface of the deposit. Its examination by the microscope hardly permits of its being distinguished from the disintegrated caseum or gluten which has served to start the fermentation. So that nothing indicates that it is a special kind of matter which had its birth during the fermentation. It is this, nevertheless, which plays the principal part.'

To isolate this substance and to prepare it in a state of purity, Pasteur boiled a little yeast with from fifteen to twenty times its weight of water. He then carefully filtered the liquid, dissolved in it about fifty grammes of sugar to the litre, and added to it some chalk. Taking then, by means of a drawn-out tube, from a good ordinary lactic fermentation a trace of the grey matter of which we have just spoken, he placed it as the seed of the ferment in the limpid saccharine solution. By the next day a lively and regular fermentation had set in, the liquid becoming turbid and the chalk disappearing, and one could distinguish a deposit which progressed continually as the chalk dissolved. This deposit was the lactic ferment.

Pasteur reproduced this experiment by substituting for the water of the yeast a clear decoction of nitrogenous plastic substances. The ferment invariably presented the same aspect and the same multiplication. These results, however, did not yet satisfy Pasteur. He desired more rigour in a subject of such theoretic importance. Might not the partisans of Liebig's theory argue, if not without subtlety yet with a semblance of justice, that the fermentation was not due to the formation and progressive growth of this feeble nitrogenous globular deposit, but rather to the nitrogenous matter dissolved during the decoction of the yeast used in the composition of the liquor? Up to a certain point it might be maintained that the dissolved matters which had been in contact with the oxygen of the air had been thrown into molecular motion, that this motion had been communicated to the fermentable matter, and that the deposit of the pretended organised ferment was but an accident—one of the physical changes or one of the precipitates so frequently observed in the modifications of albuminoid matters. In the observation of Cagniard-Latour and of Schwann as to the life of the yeast, Liebig saw nothing more. 'One cannot deny,' said he, 'the organisation of the yeast or its multiplication by budding, but these living cells are always associated with other dead cells in process of molecular alteration. It is these molecular motions which communicate themselves to the molecules of the sugar, break them up, and cause them to ferment.'

The arguments of Liebig derived great strength from the belief which was shared by all chemists that the cells of yeast perish during fermentation and form lactate of ammonia. On examining this assertion, Pasteur found that not only was there no ammonia formed during alcoholic fermentation, but that even if ammonia were added it disappeared, entering into the formation of new yeast cells. Was not this a proof of the potency of the organised ferment?

Tormented, however, by the idea that, notwithstanding all these facts, the reasonings of Liebig might still find some credit, Pasteur worked earnestly to discover new facts capable of demonstrating that Liebig's theory was absolutely false. He made two crucial experiments, the one relating to the yeast of beer, or of alcohol, and the other relating to the lactic ferment. He introduced into a pure solution of sugar a small quantity of crystallisable salt of ammonia, then some phosphates of potash and magnesia, and he sowed in this medium an imponderable quantity, if we may so express it, of fresh cells of yeast. The cells thus sown multiplied, and the sugar fermented. In other words, the phosphorus, the potassium, the magnesium of the mineral salts, united to form the substances which compose the ferment. By this experiment, so simple and yet so demonstrative, the power of the organisation of the ferment was once for all established. The contact theory of Berzelius had no longer any meaning, since it was evident that the fermentable matter here furnished to the ferment one of its essential elements, namely, carbon. Liebig's theory of communicated molecular motion, originating in a nitrogenous albuminoid substance, had no better claim, since such substances had been discarded. The whole process took place between the sugar and a ferment germ which owed its life and development to nutritive matters, the most important of which was the fermentable substance. Fermentation, in short, was simply a phenomenon of nutrition. The ferment augmented in weight, feeding upon the sugar, and its vitality was such that it contrived to build up the complex materials of its own organisation by means of sugar and purely mineral elements.

In a second experiment, Pasteur demonstrated that, notwithstanding their smallness and the possibility of confounding them with the amorphous granules of caseine and gluten, the little particles of lactic ferment were indeed alive, and that they, and they only, were the cause of lactic fermentation. He mixed with some water, sweetened with sugar, a small quantity of a salt of ammonia, some alkaline and earthy phosphates, and some pure carbonate of lime obtained by precipitation. At the end of twenty-four hours the liquid began to get turbid and to give off gas. The fermentation continued for some days. The ammonia disappeared, leaving a deposit of phosphates and calcareous salt. Some lactate of lime was formed, and at the same time one could notice the deposition of the little lactic ferment. The germs of the lactic ferment had, in this case, been derived from particles of dust adhering to the substances themselves, of which the mixtures were made, or to the vessels used, or from the surrounding air. The chapter on spontaneous generation will render this clear.

It suffices here to state that the results of this second experiment were absolutely conclusive, and that the theories of contact force or of communicated motion, which up to that time had reigned in science, were completely overthrown.

II.

The light shed by these experiments quickly extended its sphere; and Pasteur lost no time in discovering a new ferment, that of butyric acid. Having shown the absolute independence which exists between the ferment of butyric acid and the others, he found, contrary to the general belief, that the lactic ferment is incapable of giving rise to butyric acid, and that there exists a butyric fermentation having its own special ferment. This ferment consists of a species of vibrio. Little transparent cylindrical rods, rounded at their extremities, isolated or united in chains of two or three, or sometimes even more, form these vibrios. They move by gliding, the body straight, or bending and undulating. They reproduce themselves by fission, and to this mode of generation their frequent arrangement in the form of a chain is due.

Sometimes one of the little rods, with a train of others behind it, agitates itself in a lively manner as if to detach itself from the rest. Often, also, the little rod, after being broken off, holds on still to its chain by a mucous transparent thread.

These little infusoriæ may be sown like the yeast of beer or the lactic ferment. If the medium in which they are sown is suitable for their nourishment, they will multiply to infinity; but the character most essential to be observed is, that they may be sown in a liquid which contains only ammonia and crystallisable substances, together with the fermentable substances, sugar, lactic acid, gum, &c. The butyric fermentation manifests itself as these little organisms multiply. Their weight sensibly increases, though it is always minute in comparison with the quantity of butyric acid produced; this is found to be the case in all other fermentations.

This experiment no doubt resembles those made with the alcoholic and lactic ferments. But it is distinguished from them by one circumstance eminently worthy of attention. The butyric ferment, by its motions and by its mode of generation, furnishes the irrefutable proof of its organisation and of its life. This ferment, moreover, presented to Pasteur a new and unexpected peculiarity. The vibrios live and multiply without the smallest supply of air or of free oxygen. Not only, indeed, do they live without air, but the air destroys them and arrests the fermentation which they initiate. If a current of pure carbonic acid is made to pass into the liquid where they are multiplying, their life and reproduction do not appear to be at all affected by it. If, on the contrary, instead of the current of carbonic acid we employ one of atmospheric air for only one or two hours, the vibrios fall without movement to the bottom of the vessel, and the butyric fermentation which was dependent on their existence is immediately arrested.

Pasteur designated this new class of organisms by the name of anaérobies; that is to say, beings which can live without air. He reserves the designation aérobies for all the other microscopic beings which, like the larger animals, cannot live without free oxygen. 'It matters little,' added Pasteur, 'whether the progress of science makes of this vibrio a plant or an animal; it is a living organism, endowed with motion, which is a ferment and which lives without air.'

In meditating upon these facts, and upon the general character of fermentation, Pasteur soon found himself in a position to approach more nearly to the essential nature of these mysterious phenomena. In what way do microscopic organisms provoke the phenomena of fermentation?

The organism eats, if one may say so, one part of the fermentable matter. But how does this phenomenon of nutrition differ so much from that of higher beings? In general, for a given weight of nutritive matter which the animal takes in, it assimilates a quantity of the same order. In fermentation, on the contrary, the ferment, while nourishing itself with fermentable matter, decomposes a quantity great in comparison to its own individual weight. Again, the butyric ferment lives without free oxygen. Is there not, said Pasteur, a hidden relation between the property of being a ferment and the faculty of living without free oxygen? Are not vibrios which imperatively require for their nutrition and multiplication the presence of oxygen gas those which will never have the properties of ferments?

Pasteur then contrived a series of experiments with the view of placing in parallelism these two curious physiological facts: life without air and the characteristics of ferments.

We know how wine and beer are prepared. The must of grapes and the must of beer are placed in wooden vats, or in barrels of greater or less dimensions. Whether the fermentation proceeds from germs taken from the exterior surface of the grapes, or from a small quantity of ferment sown in the must under the form of yeast, as in the fermentation of beer, the life of the ferment, its multiplication, the augmentation of its weight, are so many vital actions which to a certainty cannot borrow from the free oxygen of the external air, or from that originally dissolved in the must, an appreciable quantity of this gas. All the life of the cells of the ferment which multiplies itself indefinitely appears then to take place apart from free oxygen gas. In certain breweries in England the fermenting vats have sometimes a capacity of several thousands of hectolitres; and the fermentation liberates pure carbonic acid, a gas much heavier than atmospheric air, which rests on the surface of the liquid in the vat in a layer thick enough to protect the liquid underneath from any contact with the external air. All this liquid mass, then, is inclosed between the wooden sides of the vat and a deep layer of heavy gas which contains no trace of free oxygen. In this liquid, nevertheless, the life of the cells of the ferment and the production of all its constituents go on for several days with extraordinary activity. Here certainly we have life without air, and the ferment character expresses itself in the enormous difference between the weight of the ferment formed and collected from the vats under the name of yeast, at the end of the operation, and the weight of the sugar which has fermented, transforming itself into alcohol, carbonic acid, and various other products.

Pasteur has studied experimentally that which takes place when, without otherwise changing the conditions of these phenomena, the arrangement is so modified as to permit the introduction of the free oxygen of the atmosphere. It sufficed for this purpose to provoke a fermentation of the must of beer, or the must of grapes, upon shallow glass dishes presenting a large surface, or in a flat-bottomed wooden trough with sides a few centimeters in height, instead of in deep vats as before. In these new conditions the fermentation manifests an activity even more extraordinary than it did in the deep vats. The life of the ferment is itself singularly enhanced, but the proportion of the weight of the decomposed sugar to that of the yeast formed is absolutely different in the two cases. While, for example, in the deep vats, a kilogram of ferment sometimes decomposes seventy, eighty, one hundred, or even one hundred and fifty kilograms of sugar, in the shallow troughs one kilogram of the ferment will be found to correspond to only five or six kilograms of decomposed sugar. These proportions between the weight of the sugar which ferments and the weight of the ferment produced, constitute the measure of what one might call the ferment's character—of that character which distinguishes its mode of life from that of all other existences, great or small, in which the weight of the organising matter and the assimilated alimentary matter are about equal. In other words, the more free oxygen the yeast ferment consumes, the less is its power as a ferment. Such is the case in the shallow troughs where the extended surface is exposed to the contact of the oxygen of the air. The more, on the contrary, the life of the ferment is carried on without the presence of free oxygen, the greater is its power of decomposing and of fermenting the saccharine matter. This is the case in deep casks. The intimate co-relation then between life without air and fermentation appears complete.

The unexpected light which these facts threw upon the cause of the phenomena of fermentation made a forcible impression upon all thinking minds. 'In these infinitely small organisms,' M. Dumas said one day to M. Pasteur before the Academy of Sciences, 'you have discovered a third kingdom—the kingdom to which those organisms belong which, with all the prerogatives of animal life, do not require air for their existence, and which find the heat that is necessary for them in the chemical decompositions which they set up around them.'

The work of Pasteur, demonstrating that fermentation was always dependent on the life of a microscopic organism, continued without interruption. One of the most remarkable of his researches is that which relates to the fermentation of the tartrate of lime. The demonstration of life and of fermentation without free oxygen is in this paper carried to the utmost limits of experimental rigour and precision.

III.

But there is still another class of chemical phenomena where the life without air of microscopic organisms is fully shown. Pasteur proved that in the special fermentation which bears the name of putrefaction the primum movens of the putrefaction resides in microscopic vibrios of absolutely the same order as those which compose the butyric ferment. The fermentation of sugar, of mannite, of gums, of lactate of lime, by the butyric vibrio, so closely resembles the phenomena of putrefaction, that one might call these fermentations the putrefaction of sugar and of the other products.

If it has been thought right to call the fermentation of animal matters putrefaction, it is because at the moment of the decomposition of fibrine, of albumen, of blood, of gelatine, of the substance of the tendons, &c., the sulphur, and even the phosphorus, which enter into their composition give rise to putrid odours, due to the evil-smelling gases of sulphur and phosphorus.

The phenomena of putrefaction being then simply fermentations, differing only in regard to the chemical composition of the fermenting matters, Liebig naturally included them in his general theory of the decomposition of organic matters after death. At a period long antecedent to Pasteur's labours it had been established that there existed in putrefying matters fungi or microscopic animalculæ, and the idea had taken shape that these creatures might have an influence in the phenomena. The proofs were wanting, but the notion of a possible relation remained. We may read in his 'Lessons on Chemistry' with what disdain Liebig mentioned these hypothetical opinions.

'Those who pretend to explain the putrefaction of animal substances by the presence of animalculæ,' he wrote, 'reason very much like a child who would explain the rapidity of the Rhine by attributing it to the violent motions imparted to it in the direction of Bingen by the numerous wheels of the mills of Mayence. Is it possible to consider plants and animals as the causes of the destruction of other organisms when their own elements are condemned to undergo the same decompositions as the creatures which have preceded them? If the fungus is the cause of the destruction of the oak, if the microscopic animalcula is the cause of the putrefaction of the dead elephant, I would ask in my turn what is the cause which determines the putrefaction of the fungus or of the microscopic animalcula when life is withdrawn from these two organisms?'

Thirty-two years later, and after Pasteur had accumulated, during more than twenty years, proof upon proof that the theory of Liebig would not stand examination, a physician of Paris, M. Bouillaud, asked, with the insistent voice of a querulous octogenarian: 'Let M. Pasteur then tell us here, in presence of the Académie de Médecine, what are the ferments of the ferments.'

Before replying to this argument, which Liebig and M. Bouillaud believed to be irrefutable, Pasteur, wishing to mark all the phases of the phenomena, expounded in a short preamble the part played by atmospheric oxygen in the destruction of animal and vegetable matters after death. It is easy to understand, indeed, that fermentation and putrefaction only represent the first phase of the return to the atmosphere and to the soil of all that has lived. Fermentations and putrefactions give rise to substances which are still very complex, although they represent the products of decomposition of fermentable matters. When sugar ferments, a large proportion of it becomes gas; but alongside of the carbonic acid gas which is formed, and which is, indeed, a partial return of the sugar to the atmosphere, new substances, such as alcohol, succinic acid, glycerine, and materials of yeast, are produced. When the flesh of animals putrifies, certain products of decomposition, also very complex, are formed with the vapour of water and the other gases of putrefaction. Where, then, does nature find the agents of destruction of these secondary products?

The great fact of the destruction of animal and vegetable matters is accomplished by slow combustion, through the appropriation of atmospheric oxygen. Here, again, one must banish from science the preconceived views which assumed that the oxygen seized directly on the organic matter after death, and that this matter was consumed by purely chemical processes. It is life that presides over this work of death.

If fermentation and putrefaction are principally the work of microscopic anaérobies, living without free oxygen, the slow combustion is found very largely, if not exclusively, to depend upon a class of infinitely small aérobies. It is these last which have the property of consuming the oxygen of the air. It is these lower organisms which are the powerful agents in the return to the atmosphere of all which has lived. Mildew, mould, bacteria, which we have already noticed, monads, two thousand of which would go to make up a millimeter, all these microscopic organisms are charged with the great work of re-establishing the equilibrium of life by giving back to it all that it has formed.

To demonstrate the important part played everywhere by these microscopic organisms, Pasteur made two experiments. He first introduced into vessels air deprived of all dust. This process we shall have occasion to examine in all its details, in connection with the researches on spontaneous generation. In these vessels, containing pure air, were placed the water of yeast with sugar dissolved in it, milk, sawdust—all of which had been deprived by heat of the germs of the lower organisms. The vessels and their contents were then subjected to a temperature of twenty-five to thirty-five degrees Centigrade. In a series of parallel experiments, made under the same conditions and at the same temperature, Pasteur took no steps to prevent the germination of the little seeds of mould suspended in the air, or associated with the substances contained in the vessels, neither did he avoid other infinitely small germs of the class aérobies.

After some time the air of all the vessels of the two series was submitted to analysis, when, behold, a very interesting fact! In the vessels where life had been withdrawn from the organic matters—that is to say, where there were no germs—the air still contained a large proportion of oxygen. In the vessels, on the contrary, where the microscopic organisms had been allowed to develop, the oxygen was totally absent, having been replaced by carbonic acid gas. And, further, for this absorption and total consumption of the oxygen gas a few days had sufficed; while in the vessels without microscopic life there remained, after several years, a considerable quantity of oxygen in a free state, so weak is the proportion of oxygen that the organic matters consume directly and chemically when the infinitely small organisms are absent.

But can these microscopic organisms, after having decomposed or burnt up all these secondary products, be in their turn decomposed?

How, cried M. Bouillaud, repeating his question, can they be destroyed or decomposed? How can their materials, which are of the same order as those of all the living creatures of the earth, be gasified and caused to return to the atmosphere? After having been charged with the transformation of others, whose business will it be to transform them?

A ferment which has finished its work, replied Pasteur, and which for want of aliment cannot continue it, becomes in its turn an accumulation, so to speak, of dead organic matters. Such, for example, would be an accumulation of yeast exposed to the air. Leave this mass to itself in summer temperature, and you will see appear in the interior of the mass anaérobic vibrios and the putrefactions associated with their life when protected from contact with the air. At the same time, on the surface of the entire mass—that is to say, that which finds itself in immediate contact with the oxygen of the air—the germs of bacteria, the seeds of mould will grow, and, by fixing the oxygen, determine the slow combustions which gasify the mass. The ferments of ferments are simply ferments. As long as the aérobic ferments of the surface have at their disposal free oxygen, they will multiply and continue their work of destruction. The anaérobic vibrios perish for want of new matter to decompose, and they form, in their turn, a mass of organic matter which, by and by, becomes the prey of aérobies. The portion of the aérobies which has lived becomes the prey either of new aérobies of different species, or of individuals of their own species, so that from putrefaction to putrefaction, and from combustion to combustion, the organic mass with which we started finds itself reduced to an assemblage of anaérobic and aérobic germs—of those same germs which were mixed up in the original primitive organic substances.

Though a collection of germs becomes again in its turn a collection of organic matter, subject to the double action of the phenomena of putrefaction and of combustion, there need be no anxiety as to their ultimate destruction; in the final analysis they represent life under its eternal form, for life is the germ, and the germ is life.

Thus in the destruction of that which has lived, all reduces itself to the simultaneous action of these three great natural phenomena—fermentation, putrefaction, and slow combustion. A living organism dies—animal, or plant, or the remains of one or the other. It is exposed to the contact of the air. To the life which has quitted it succeeds life under other forms. In the superficial parts, which the air can reach, the germs of the infinitely small aérobies hatch and multiply themselves. The carbon, the hydrogen, and the nitrogen of the organic matters are transformed by the oxygen of the air, and under the influence of the life of these aérobies, into carbonic acid, vapour of water, and ammonia gas. As long as organic matter and air are present, these combustions will continue. While these superficial combustions are going on, fermentation and putrefaction are doing their work in the interior of the mass by the developed germs of the anaérobies, which not only do not require oxygen for their life, but which oxygen actually kills. Little by little, at length, by this work of fermentation and slow combustion, the phenomenon is accomplished. Whether in the free atmosphere, or under the earth, which is always more or less impregnated with air, all animal and vegetable matters end by disappearing. To arrest these phenomena an extremely low temperature is required. It is thus that in the ice of the Polar regions antediluvian elephants have been found perfectly intact. The microscopic organisms could not live in so cold a temperature. These facts still further strengthen all the new ideas as to the important part performed by these infinitely small organisms, which are, in fact, the masters of the world. If we could suppress their work, which is always going on, the surface of the globe, encumbered with organic matters, would soon become uninhabitable.

ACETIC FERMENTATION.
THE MANUFACTURE OF VINEGAR.

Soon afterwards Pasteur came upon a most curious illustration of the 'fixation' of atmospheric oxygen by a microscopic organism—the transformation of wine into vinegar. As its name indicates, vinegar is nothing else than wine turned sour. Everybody has remarked that wine, left to itself, in circumstances which occur daily, is frequently transformed into vinegar. This is noticed more particularly when bottles, having been uncorked, are left in a half-empty condition. Sometimes, however, wine turns sour even in corked bottles. In this case we may be sure that the bottles have been standing upright, and that corks more or less defective have permitted the air to penetrate into the wine. The presence of air, in fact, is indispensable to the chemical act of transforming wine into vinegar. How does this air intervene? And what is the little microscopic creature which, in conjunction with the air, becomes the agent of this fermentation?

In a celebrated lecture given at Orleans at the request of the manufacturers of vinegar in that town, Pasteur, after having stated the two foregoing scientific questions, proceeded to examine the difference between wine and vinegar. What takes place in the fermentation of the juice of the grape which yields the wine? The sugar of this juice disappears, giving place to carbonic acid gas, which is exhaled during fermentation, and to alcohol, which remains in the fermented liquid. Formerly, chemists gave the name of 'spirit' to all volatile matters which could be collected from distillation. Now, when we distil wine and condense the vapour in a worm surrounded by cold water, we collect the spirit of wine at the extremity of the worm—this, when the water with which it is mixed during distillation is withdrawn from it, we designate by the name of alcohol. Vinegar contains no alcohol. When distilled it yields water and a spirit. But this spirit is acid, with a very pungent odour, and not inflammable like spirit of wine. Separated from the water which had accompanied it during the distillation, this spirit takes the name of acetic acid. This is the form in which it is used in smelling bottles—in those bottles of English salts the vapour of which is so penetrating.

In the formation of vinegar in contact with air the alcohol disappears, and is replaced by acetic acid. The air has thus given up something to the wine. Atmospheric air every one knows to be a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen, the nitrogen in the proportion of four-fifths of the total volume, and the oxygen of one-fifth. Well, in the transformation of wine into vinegar the nitrogen remains inactive. It is the oxygen alone which enters into combination with the alcohol. You ask for the proof of this? Take a bottle of wine turned sour, a bottle which at the same time is stopped hermetically; if the oxygen of the air contained in the bottle has combined with the alcohol, then, instead of air, there will be nothing in the bottle but nitrogen gas. Turn the bottle upside down and open it in a basin of water. The water of the basin will rush into the bottle to fill the partial vacuum created by the disappearance of the oxygen. The volume of water which enters the bottle is precisely equal to a fifth part of the total original volume of the air which the bottle contained at the time when it was closed. Moreover, it is easy to show that the gas which remains in the bottle has the properties of nitrogen gas. A lighted match is extinguished in it as if plunged into water, and a bird dies immediately in it of asphyxia.

If we confine our knowledge to what has gone before, it would seem that alcohol diluted with water and exposed to the air ought to furnish acetic acid. It is not so, however. Pure water alcoholised to the degree of ordinary wines may remain for whole years in contact with the air, without the least acetification. In this difference between natural wine and pure water alcoholised, and exposed to contact with air, we touch upon a vital point in the phenomena of fermentation. The celebrated theory of Liebig, which Pasteur was destined to overthrow, might be thus summed up:—If pure alcoholised water cannot become sour in contact with air, as is the case with wine, it is because the pure alcoholised water lacks the albuminoid substance which exists in the wine in a state of chemical alteration, and which is a ferment capable of causing the oxygen of the air to combine with the alcohol. And the proof, according to Liebig, that things act rigorously thus is, that if you add to the mixture of water and alcohol a little flour, or a little meat-juice, or even a minute quantity of any vegetable juice, the acetic fermentation arises, as if by compulsion. In other words, by the addition of a small quantity of any nitrogenised substance in process of alteration, you cause the union of the oxygen of the air with the alcohol.

There is doubtless always in the wine, when it turns sour, a necessary intermediary, producing the fixation of the oxygen of the air; since in no circumstances can pure alcohol, diluted to any degree whatever with pure water, transform itself into vinegar. But this necessary intermediary is not, as the German theory would have it, a dead albuminoid substance; it is a plant, and of all plants one of the simplest and most minute, which has been known from time immemorial under the name of flower of vinegar. This little fungus is invariably present on the surface of a wine which is being transformed into vinegar. Liebig was not ignorant of this, but he regarded it as a simple coincidence. Do we not know, said he, that whenever an infusion of organic matter is exposed to the air it becomes covered with a cryptogamic vegetation, or is invaded by a crowd of animalculæ? Is not vinegar a vegetable infusion? Vinegar affords a refuge to the flower of vinegar, just as it gives refuge to what are called the little eels of vinegar.

We can appreciate here the uncertainties of pure observation. The great art—and no one practised it better than Pasteur—consists in instituting decisive experiments which leave no room for an inexact interpretation of facts. These decisive proofs of the true part played by the little microscopic fungus, by this flower of vinegar, this mycoderma aceti, are thus formulated by Pasteur. It is but another example of the method which he used in alcoholic, lactic, and tartaric fermentations. The theories of Berzelius, of Mitscherlich, and of Liebig were destined again to receive the rudest shocks by the demonstration of these rigorous facts.

Let us place a little wine in a bottle, then hermetically seal it, and leave it to itself. In these conditions the wine becomes sour. But if we take the precaution of putting the bottle into hot water, so that the wine and the air in the bottle may be heated for some instants to a temperature of 60° Centigrade, and if, after cooling, we leave the bottle to itself, the wine in these conditions will never become transformed into vinegar. The heating, however, must have left intact the albuminoid or nitrogenous substances contained in the wine. These, then, cannot constitute the ferment of the vinegar. Can it be maintained that by heating the wine to 60° we have altered the albuminoid matter, which is, on this account, no longer able to act as a ferment, or, in other words, no longer able to determine the union of the oxygen of the air with the alcohol? This hypothesis falls to pieces before the following experiment. Open the bottle, blow into it with bellows, so that the once heated wine shall come into contact with ordinary air, and the acetification of the wine will take place.

But the master experiment is the following. We have seen that pure alcoholised water never turns sour unless some albuminoid matter is introduced into it. Pasteur saw that this albuminoid matter might be completely suppressed and replaced by saline crystallisable substances, alkaline and earthy phosphates, to which has been added a little phosphate of ammonia. In these conditions, especially if the alcoholised water be acidulated by small quantities of pure acetic acid, one actually sees the mycoderm developing, and the alcohol transforming itself into acetic acid. It is not possible to demonstrate in a more convincing manner that the albuminoid matters of the wine are not in this case the acetic ferment. These albuminoid matters, however, contribute to the acetic fermentation, but only as being an aliment to the mycoderma aceti, and notably a nitrogenous aliment. The true and only ferment of vinegar is the little fungus; it is the great agent of the phenomenon; it, indeed, accomplishes all.

Is there not a great charm in seeing an obscure subject clearly illuminated by facts well understood and well interpreted? If in a bottle containing wine and air and raised to a temperature of 50° or 60° the wine never turns sour, it is because the germs of the mycoderma aceti, which the wine and the air hold in suspension, are deprived of all vitality by the heat. Placed, however, in contact with ordinary air, this once-heated wine can turn sour; because, though the germs of the mycoderma aceti contained at first in the wine are killed, this is not the case with those derived from the surrounding air. Pure alcoholised water never turns sour, even in contact with ordinary air, and with whatever germs this air may carry, or that may be found in the dust of the vessels which receive it. The reason is that these germs cannot become fertile because of the absence of their indispensable food. Wine in bottles well filled and laid flat do not acetify; this is because the mycoderm cannot multiply for lack of oxygen. Without doubt the air constantly penetrates through the pores of the cork, but always in such feeble quantities that the colouring matters of the wine, and other more or less oxydisable constituents, take possession of it without leaving the smallest quantity for the germs of the mycoderm which are generally suspended in the wine. When the bottle is upright the conditions are quite altered. The desiccation of the cork renders it much more permeable to the air, and the germs of the mycoderm on the surface of the liquid, if any exist there, are enveloped by air.

Thus, to recapitulate in a few words the principles which have just been established; it is easy to see that the formation of vinegar is always preceded by the development, on the surface of the wine, of a little plant formed of strangulated particles, of an extreme tenuity, and the accumulation of which sometimes takes the form of a hardly visible veil, sometimes of a wrinkled film of very slight thickness, and greasy to the touch, because of the various fatty matters which the plant contains.

This cryptogam has the singular property of condensing considerable quantities of oxygen and of provoking the fixation of this gas upon the alcohol, which is thereby transformed into acetic acid. The little mycoderm is not less exacting than larger vegetables. It must have its appropriate aliments. Wine offers them in abundance: nitrogenous matters, the phosphates of magnesia and of potash. The mycoderm thrives, moreover, in warm climates. To cultivate it in temperate regions like ours it is well to warm artificially the places where it is cultivated. But if wine contains within itself all the elements necessary to the life of the little mycoderm, this life is further promoted by rendering the wine more acid through the addition of acetic acid.

What, then, can be more simple than to produce vinegar from wine—a manufacture which justly makes the reputation of the town of Orleans? Take some wine, and after having mixed with it one-fourth or one-third of its volume of vinegar already formed, sow on its surface the little plant which does the work of acetification. It is only necessary to skim off, by means of a wooden spatula, a little of the mycodermic film from a liquid covered with it, and to transfer it to the liquid to be acetified. The fatty matters which it contains render the wetting of it difficult. Thus, when we plunge into the liquid the spatula covered with the film, the latter detaches itself and spreads out over the surface instead of falling to the bottom. When we operate in summer, or in a room heated to 15° or 25° Centigrade in winter, in twenty-four or forty-eight hours at most, the mycoderm covers the whole liquid, so easy and rapid is its development. After some days all the wine has become vinegar.

On one occasion, in a discussion which he was holding at the Academy of Sciences, Pasteur, wishing to affirm the prodigious activity of the life and multiplication of this little organism, expressed himself thus:—

'I would undertake in the space of twenty-four hours to cover with mycoderma aceti a surface of vinous liquid as large as the hall in which we are here assembled. I should only have to sow in it the day before almost invisible particles of newly-formed mycoderma aceti.'

Let the reader try to imagine the millions upon millions of little mycoderma particles which would come to life in that one day.

But how is the mycoderm seed to be obtained in the first instance? Nothing more simple. The mycoderma aceti is one of those little so-called 'spontaneous' productions which are sure to appear of themselves on the surface of liquids or infusions suitable to their development. In wine, in vinegar, or suspended in air, everywhere around us, in our towns, in our houses, there exist germs of this little plant. If we wish to procure some fresh mycoderm it is only necessary to put a mixture of wine and vinegar into a warm place. In a few days, generally, if not always, there appear here and there little greyish patches scattering the light instead of regularly reflecting it, as does the surrounding liquid. These specks go on increasing progressively and rapidly. This is the mycoderma aceti raised from the seeds which the wine or the added vinegar contained, or which the air deposited; just as we see a field covered with divers weeds by seeds naturally distributed in the earth, or which have been brought to it by the wind or by animals. Even in this last circumstance the comparison holds good, for after you have put wine or vinegar in a warm place there soon appear, whence we know not, little reddish flies, so commonly seen in vinegar manufactories, and in all places where vegetable matter is turning sour. With their feet, or with their probosces, these flies transport the seed.

At Orleans the process for the manufacture of vinegar is very simple. Barrels ranged over each other have on each of their vertically-placed bottoms a circular opening some centimeters in diameter, and a smaller hole adjacent, called fausset, for the air to pass in and out when the large opening is closed, either by the funnel, through which the wine is introduced, or by the syphon, which is used for drawing off the vinegar. These barrels, of which the capacity is 230 litres, are half filled. The manual labour consists in keeping up a suitable temperature in the vessel, and in drawing from it every eight days about eight or ten litres of vinegar, which are replaced by eight or ten litres of wine.

A barrel in which this give-and-take of wine and vinegar goes on is technically called a 'mother.' The starting of a 'mother' is not a rapid process. We begin by introducing into the barrel 100 litres of very good and very limpid vinegar; then two litres only of wine are added. Eight days after, three litres of wine are added, a week later four or five, until the barrel contains about 180 to 200 litres. Then for the first time vinegar is drawn off in sufficient quantity to bring back the volume of the liquid to about 100 litres. At this moment the labours of the 'mother' begin. Henceforward ten litres of vinegar may be drawn off every eight days, to be replaced by ten litres of wine. This is the maximum that a cask can yield in a week. When the casks work badly, as is often the case, it is necessary to diminish their production.

This Orleans system has many drawbacks. It requires three or four months to prepare what is called a 'mother,' which must be nourished with wine very regularly once a week under penalty of seeing it lose all its power. Then it is necessary to continue the manufacture at all times, whether the vinegar be required or not. To reconstitute a 'mother,' one must begin from the very beginning, a process which involves a loss of three or four months' time. Lastly—a condition which is at times very inconvenient—a 'mother' cannot be transported from one place to another, or even from one part of the same locality to another. The 'mother,' in fact, must rest immovable.

Pasteur advised the suppression of the 'mothers.' He recommended an apparatus, which is simply a vat, placed in a chamber the temperature of which can be raised to 20° or 25° Centigrade. In these vats vinegar already formed is mixed with wine. On the surface is sown the little plant which converts the wine into vinegar. The mode of sowing it has been already explained. The acetification begins with the development of the plant.

A great merchant of Orleans, who had from the first adopted Pasteur's process, and who had won the prize offered by the 'Society for the Encouragement of National Industry' for a manufactory perfected after these principles, has stated that at the end of nine or ten days, sometimes even in eight, all the acetified wine is converted into vinegar. From a hundred litres of wine he drew off ninety-five litres of vinegar. After the great rise of temperature observed at the moment of the formation of the vinegar, and which is caused by the chemical union of the alcohol and the oxygen of the air, the vinegar is allowed to cool. It may then be drawn from the vat, introduced into barrels, refined, and straightway delivered, fit for consumption. When the vat is quite emptied, and well cleaned, a new mixture is made of vinegar and wine, the little plant is sown as before, and the same facts are reproduced in the second as in the first operation.

In the vessels where vinegar is preserved, whether in the manufactories, in private houses, or in grocers' shops, it often happens that the liquid becomes turbid, and impoverished in an extraordinary manner; it even ends in putrefaction, if a remedy be not promptly applied. Pasteur has pointed out the cause of these phenomena. After the alcohol has become acetic acid by the combustive action of the mycoderm, the question remains, what becomes of the mycoderm? Most frequently it falls to the bottom of the vessel, having no more work to accomplish. This is a phase of the manufacture which must be watched with care. It is shown by the experiments of Pasteur that the mycoderma aceti can live on vinegar already formed, maintaining its power of fixing the oxygen on certain constituents of the liquid. In this case the acetic acid itself is the seat of the chemical action—in other words, the oxygen unites with the carbon of the acetic acid, and transforms it into carbonic acid, and as the acetic acid has a composition which can be represented by carbon and water, it follows that if the combustion is allowed to take its course, instead of vinegar we have eventually nothing but water mixed with a small proportion of nitrogenous and mineral matters, and the remains of the mycoderm. We have thus an ordinary organic infusion exempt from all acidity, and one which could not be better fitted to become the prey of the vibrios of putrefaction or of the aérobic mucors. By these mucors, moreover, which form a film on the surface of the liquid after the mycoderm has fallen, the anaérobic vibrios, protected from the action of the air, can come into active existence. Here we find ourselves in presence of one of those double phenomena, of putrefaction in the deeper parts of the liquid, and of combustion at the surface which is in contact with the air. Nothing is more prejudicial to the quality of the vinegar than the setting in of this combustion after the vinegar has been formed, and when it contains no more alcohol. The first materials of the vinegar upon which the oxygen transmitted by the mycoderm fixes are, in fact, the ethereal and aromatic constituents which give to vinegar its chief value.

Another cause of the deterioration of the quality of vinegar, which is sometimes very annoying to the manufacturer, consists in the frequent presence of little eel-like organisms, very curious when viewed with a strong magnifier. Their bodies are so transparent that their internal organs can be easily distinguished. These eel-like creatures multiply with extraordinary rapidity. Certainly there is not a single barrel of vinegar manufactured by the Orleans system which does not contain them in alarming numbers. Prior to Pasteur's investigations, the ignorance regarding these organisms was such that they were actually considered necessary to the production of the vinegar; whereas they are, on the contrary, most inimical to it, and must, if possible, be got rid of. This is, moreover, rendered desirable by the repugnance which is naturally felt to using a liquid defiled by the presence of such animalcules—a repugnance which becomes almost insurmountable to anyone who has once seen through a microscope the swarms contained in a drop of vinegar. The mischief wrought by these little beings in the manufacture of vinegar results from the fact that they require air to live. The effect can easily be perceived by filling to the brim a bottle of vinegar, corking it, and then comparing it with a similar bottle half filled with the same vinegar, and left uncorked in contact with the air. In the first bottle, the motions of the eel-like creatures become gradually slower, until after a few days they cease to multiply and fall lifeless to the bottom of the vessel. In the second bottle, on the contrary, they continue to swarm and move about. This need of oxygen is further demonstrated by the fact that, if the vinegar reaches a certain depth in the bottle, life is suspended in the lower parts, and the little eel-like organisms, in order to breathe more freely, form a crawling zone in the upper layers of the liquid.

Connecting these observations with the other fact that the vinegar is formed by the action of the mycodermic film on its surface, we can understand at once that the mycoderm and the little eels continually carry on a struggle for existence, since both of these living things—the one animal the other vegetable—imperiously demand the same aliment, oxygen. They live, moreover, in the same superficial layers, a circumstance which gives rise to very curious phenomena. When, for one reason or another, the film of mycoderm is not formed, or when there is any delay in its production, the little eels invade in such great numbers the upper layers of the liquid that they absorb all the oxygen. The little plant has in consequence great difficulty in developing itself or even in beginning its life. Reciprocally, when the work of acetification is active, and when the mycoderm has occupied the upper layers, it gradually drives away the eels, which take refuge, not deep down, where they would perish, but against the moist sides of the barrel or the vat. There they form a thick whitish scum all in motion. It is a very curious spectacle. Here their enemy, the mycoderm, can no longer injure them to the same extent, since they are surrounded with air; and here they wait with impatience for the moment when they can again take their place in the liquid, and, in their turn, fight against the mycoderm. In Pasteur's process, where the vats are very often cleansed, it is easy to keep them free from these little animalcules; they have not time to multiply to a hurtful extent. Indeed, if the operation be well conducted, they do not make their appearance at all.

Nearly all Pasteur's publications have had from the moment of their appearance to undergo the severest criticism. Their novelty caused them to clash with the prejudices and errors current in science. His researches on fermentation provoked lively opposition. Liebig did not accept without recrimination a series of researches which concurred in upsetting the theory he had enunciated and defended in all his works. After having kept silence for ten years, he published, at Munich, where he was professor, a long memoir entirely directed against Pasteur's results. In 1870, on the eve of the war, Pasteur, who was at that time returning from a scientific journey into Austria, determined to pass by Munich, with the view of attempting to convince his distinguished adversary. Liebig received him with great courtesy, but, hardly recovered from an illness, he alleged his convalescence as a reason for declining all discussion.

Then followed the Franco-German war. Hardly was it terminated when Pasteur brought before the Academy of Sciences at Paris a defence of what he had published, as a sort of challenge to his illustrious opponent. The memoir of Liebig was filled with the most skilful arguments.

'I pondered it for nearly ten years before producing it,' he wrote. Pasteur, putting aside all subtleties of argument, went straight to the two objections of the German chemist which lay at the root of the discussion.

It may be remembered that one of the most decisive proofs by which Pasteur overthrew Liebig's theory resulted from the experiments in which by the aid of mineral bodies and fermentable matter he produced a special living ferment for each definite fermentation. By removing all nitrogenous organic matter, which in Liebig's theory constitutes the ferment, Pasteur established, at one and the same time, the life of the ferment and the absence of all action of albuminoid matter in process of alteration. Liebig here formally contested the fact that Pasteur had been able to produce yeast and alcoholic fermentation in a sweetened mineral medium by sowing therein an infinitesimal quantity of yeast. It is certain that, ten years previously, when Pasteur announced the production of yeast life and alcoholic fermentation under such conditions, his experiment was one so difficult to perform that it sometimes happened to Pasteur himself to be unable to reproduce it. The cells of yeast sown in the sweetened mineral medium found themselves often associated with other microscopic organisms, which were singularly hurtful to the life of the yeast. Pasteur was at this period far from being familiarised with the delicacy which such experiments require, and he did not yet know all the precautions indicated later on, which were indispensable to success. Though in his original memoir of 1860 Pasteur had pointed out the difficulties of his experiment, these difficulties existed nevertheless. Liebig took hold of them with skill, exaggerated them; saw, so to speak, nothing but them; and declared that the results announced never could have been obtained. But in 1871 the fundamental experiment of Pasteur, on the life of yeast in a sweetened mineral medium, had become a trifle for him. He knew exactly how to form media deprived of all foreign germs, how to prepare pure yeast, and how to prevent the introduction of new germs, which could develop in the liquids and hinder the life of the yeast.

'Choose,' said he to Liebig, 'from the members of the Academy one or several, and ask them to decide between you and me. I am ready to prepare before you and before them, in a sweetened mineral medium, as much yeast as you can reasonably ask for, and with substances provided by yourself.'

Liebig's second objection had reference to acetic fermentation. The process of acetification known as that of 'beech shavings' is widely practised in Germany and even in France. It consists in causing alcohol diluted with water and with the addition of some millièmes of acetic acid to trickle slowly into barrels or vats filled with shavings of beech, either massed together without order or disposed in layers after having been rolled up like the spring of a watch. Openings formed in the sides of the barrel, and in a double bottom upon which the shavings rest, permit the access of the air, which rises into the barrel as it would in a chimney, and yields all or part of its oxygen to the alcohol to convert it into acetic acid. All writers prior to Pasteur, and Liebig in particular, maintained that the shavings acted like porous bodies in the same manner as finely divided platinum. The acetic acid, they said, was formed by a direct oxidation, without any other influence than the porosity of the wood. This view of the subject was rendered plausible by the fact that in many manufactories the alcohol employed is that of distillation, which contains no albuminoid substances. Moreover, the duration of the shavings is in a sense indefinite.

According to Pasteur, the shavings perform only a passive part in the manufacture. They promote the division of the liquid and cause a considerable augmentation of the surface exposed to the air. They moreover serve as a support for the ferment, which is still, according to him, the mycoderma aceti, under the mucous form proper to it when submerged.

Certainly appearances were far from being favourable to this view. When the shavings of a barrel which has been in work for several months or even for several years are examined, they are found to be extraordinarily clean. It might be said that they had just been carefully washed. Pasteur has shown that this is but a deceptive appearance, and that in reality these shavings are partly or wholly covered with a mucous film of mycoderma aceti of excessive tenuity. It is necessary to scrape the surface of the wood with a scalpel and examine the scrapings with the microscope to be assured of the presence of this pellicle.

Liebig, who somewhere speaks, not without a certain contempt, of the microscope, denied formally the exactitude of these assertions.

'With diluted alcohol, which is used for the rapid manufacture of vinegar,' he wrote, 'the elements of nutrition of the mycoderm are excluded, and the vinegar is made without its intervention.' He asserted also in his memoir of 1869 that he had consulted the head of one of the principal manufactories of vinegar in Germany, that in this manufactory the diluted alcohol did not receive during the whole course of its transformation any foreign addition, and that beyond the air and the surfaces of wood and charcoal—for charcoal is sometimes associated with the beech shavings—nothing can act upon the alcohol. Liebig added that the director of the manufactory did not believe at all in the presence of the mycoderm, and that finally he, Liebig, in examining the shavings which had been used for twenty-five years in the manufactory, saw no trace of mycoderm on their surface.

The argument appeared conclusive. How, in fact, could we understand the production of a plant containing within itself nitrogen and mineral elements which was nevertheless to be nourished by water and alcohol.

'You do not take into account,' replied Pasteur, 'the nature of the water which serves to dilute your alcohol. This water, like all ordinary waters, even the purest, contains salts of ammonia and mineral matters which are capable of nourishing the plant. Finally, you have not rightly examined with the microscope the surface of the shavings, otherwise you would have seen the little particles of the mycoderma aceti united, in some cases, to a thin film which can even be lifted up. I propose to you, moreover, to send to the Academic Commission charged with the decision of the debate, some shavings that you have obtained yourself in the manufactory at Munich, and in the presence of its director. I will undertake to prove before the members of the commission the presence of the mycoderm on the surface of these shavings.'

Liebig did not accept this challenge. To-day the question is decided.

THE QUESTION OF SPONTANEOUS GENERATION.

'All dry bodies,' said Aristotle, 'which become damp, and all damp bodies which are dried, engender animal life.' Bees, according to Virgil, are produced from the corrupted entrails of a young bull. At the time of Louis XIV. we were hardly more advanced. A celebrated alchemist doctor, Van Helmont, wrote: 'The smells which rise from the bottom of morasses produce frogs, slugs, leeches, grasses, and other things.' But most extraordinary of all was the true recipe given by Van Helmont for producing a pot of mice. It suffices to press a dirty shirt into the orifice of a vessel containing a little corn. After about twenty-one days, the ferment proceeding from the dirty shirt modified by the odour of the corn effects the transmutation of the wheat into mice. Van Helmont, who asserted that he had witnessed the fact, added with assurance:

'The mice are born full grown; there are both males and females. To reproduce the species it suffices to pair them.'

'Scoop out a hole,' said he again, 'in a brick, put into it some sweet basil, crushed, lay a second brick upon the first so that the hole may be perfectly covered. Expose the two bricks to the sun, and at the end of a few days the smell of the sweet basil, acting as a ferment, will change the herb into real scorpions. An Italian naturalist, Redi, was the first to subject this question of spontaneous generation to a more attentive examination. He showed that maggots in meat are not spontaneously generated, but that they are the larvæ of flies' eggs. To prevent the production of maggots, Redi showed that it was only necessary to surround the meat with fine gauze before exposing it to the air. As no flies could alight upon meat thus protected, there were no eggs deposited, and consequently neither larvæ nor maggots. But at the moment when the doctrine of spontaneous generation began to lose ground by the limitation of its domain, the discovery of the microscope brought to this doctrine new and formidable support. In presence of the world of animalculæ, the partisans of spontaneous generation raised a note of triumph. 'We may have been mistaken,' they said, 'as to the origin of mice and maggots, but is it possible to believe that microscopic organisms are not the outcome of spontaneous generation? How can we otherwise explain their presence and rapid multiplication in all dead animal or vegetable matter in process of decomposition?'

Buffon lent the authority of his name to the doctrine of spontaneous generation. He even devised a system to explain this hypothesis. In 1745 two ecclesiastics entered upon an eager controversy for and against this question. While the English Catholic priest Needham adopted the theory of spontaneous generation, the Italian priest Spallanzani energetically opposed it; but while in the eyes of the public the Italian remained master of the dispute, his success was more apparent than real, more in word than in deed.

The problem was again brought forward in a more emphatic manner in 1858. M. Pouchet, director of the Museum of Natural History at Rouen, in addressing the Academy of Sciences, declared that he had succeeded in demonstrating in a manner absolutely certain the existence of microscopic living organisms, which had come into the world without germs, and consequently without parents similar to themselves.

How came Pasteur to throw himself into this discussion, at first sight so far removed from his other occupations? The results of his researches on fermentation led him to it as a sort of duty. He was carried on by a series of logical deductions. Let us recall to mind, for example, the experiment in which Pasteur exposed to the heat of the sun water sweetened with sugar and mixed with phosphates of potash and magnesia, a little sulphate of ammonia, and some carbonate of lime. In these conditions the lactic fermentation was often seen to develop itself—that is to say, the sugar became lactic acid, which combined with the lime of the carbonate to form lactate of lime. This salt crystallises in long needles, and ends sometimes by filling the whole vase, while a little organised living thing is at the same time produced and multiplied. If the experiment is carried on further, another fermentation generally succeeds to this one. Moving vibrios make their appearance and multiply, the lactate of lime disappears, the fluidity returns to the mass, and the lactate finds itself replaced by butyrate of lime. What a succession of strange phenomena! How did life appear in this sweetened medium, composed originally of such simple elements, and apparently so far removed from all production of life? This lactic ferment, these butyric vibrios, whence do they come? Are they formed of themselves? or are they produced by germs? If the latter, whence do the germs come? The appearance of living organised ferments had become for Pasteur the all-important question, since in all fermentations he had observed a correlation between the chemical action set up and the presence of microscopic organisms. Prior to the establishment of the facts already mentioned, these difficulties did not exist. The theory of Liebig was universally accepted.

Thus the question as to the origin of microscopic organisms and the part played by them in fermentation was imposed as a necessity on Pasteur. He could not proceed further in his researches without having solved this question.

In the month of October, 1857, Pasteur was called to Paris. After having been made dean at an incredibly early age, he was now, at the age of thirty-five, entrusted with the scientific studies at the École Normale Supérieure. But if the position was flattering, it did not give to Pasteur what he most desired. As he had no Professor's chair, he had no laboratory. In those days science, and the higher education in science, were at a discount. It was the period when Claude Bernard lived in a small damp laboratory, when M. Berthelot, though known through his great labours, was still nothing more than an assistant in the Collège de France.

At the time here referred to, the Minister of Public Instruction said to Pasteur, 'There is no clause in the budget to grant you 1,500 francs a year to defray the expense of experiments.' Pasteur did not hesitate to establish a laboratory at his own expense in one of the garrets of the École Normale. We can readily imagine the modesty of such an establishment in such a place. Dividing his time between his professional duties and his laboratory experiments, Pasteur never went out but to talk over his daily researches with M. Biot, M. Dumas, M. de Senarmont, and M. Balard. M. Biot especially was his habitual confidant. The day when M. Biot learned that Pasteur proposed to study the obscure question of spontaneous generation, he strongly dissuaded him from entangling himself in this labyrinth. 'You will never escape from it,' said he, 'you will only lose your time;' and when Pasteur attempted some timid observations with the view of showing that in the order of his studies it was indispensable for him to attack this problem, M. Biot grew angry. Although endowed, as Sainte-Beuve has said, with all the qualities of curiosity, of subtlety, of penetration, of ingenious exactitude, of method, and of perspicuity, with all the qualities, in short, essential and secondary, M. Biot treated the project of Pasteur as a presumptuous adventure.

Bolder than M. Biot, but with a circumspection always alive, M. Dumas declared to Pasteur, without, however, further insisting upon the point, that he would not advise anyone to occupy himself too long with such a subject. M. de Senarmont alone took the part of Pasteur, and said to M. Biot:

'Let Pasteur alone. If there is nothing to be found in the path which he has entered upon, do not be alarmed, he will not continue in it. But,' added he, 'I should be surprised if he found nothing in it.'

M. Pouchet had previously stated the problem with precision: