744 ANNUAL EEPORT SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION^ 1912. 



of jumping from one subject to another entirely unconnected, of 

 jumping, if I may employ a slang phrase, ''from a cock to a donkey." 

 In keeping with this was his habit, which often astonished strangers, 

 of rising brusquely in the middle of a conversation, walking briskly 

 for a moment, and then reseating himself. "Those are ideas," he 

 would say, "which come and go." Perhaps we might thus compre- 

 hend the "demon" of a Socrates or the "voice" of a Joan of Arc. 



"Poincare is not an emotional man," Dr. Toulouse also wrote; "he 

 is neither affable nor confidential." Perhaps that might have been 

 inferred, but Dr. Toulouse was certainly deceived. Poincar^, retired 

 within the ivory towers of his thoughts, was insensible to all that dis- 

 turbs the hearts of ordinary men. He himself used a somewhat lofty 

 phrase full of a sad stoicism which would confirm that impression, 

 when he said: "The sole end which is worthy of our labor is the search 

 for truth. There is no doubt that first we must set ourselves to ease 

 human suffering, but why ? Not to suffer is a negative ideal and one 

 which would be most certainly attained by the annihilation of the 

 world." If in the eyes of the world he thus seemed to resist his own 

 feelings, we ought not to believe them the less sensitive. But to good- 

 ness no less than to beauty belongs the quality of modesty. Poin- 

 care was adverse to the famiharit}^ of special friendships, because, 

 with Kenan, he felt that they made one unjust and were unfavorable 

 to larger interests. Nevertheless, his kindness was perfect, even with 

 those who importuned him for advice or praise. Within those two 

 concentric circles, the family and the fatherland, modern society has 

 accustomed us to limit our altruistic affections. He loved them 

 dearly. He was too good a son of Lorraine not to feel hurt when he 

 thought of mutilated France; in what sad and troubled accents he 

 knew how to speak of that gi-eat grief which has left us twice inconsola- 

 ble, even though our sons seem to forget. But it was especially in 

 his family, that confidential fatherland, that he showed without con- 

 straint his charming tenderness of heart. He himself taught his four 

 children to read, and I have known aspects of his romps with them 

 which would recall Henry IV, but it would be imprudent to describe 

 them here. How far removed he seems in these from that abstract 

 mind in which they would have us see him, retired like some monstrous 

 snail within the inaccessible convolutions of his thoughts. Moreover, 

 he had the good fortune to live in suiTOundings the most favorable to 

 creative work, in an atmosphere of silent affection and discreet quiet 

 which the gentle hands of the women of his household knew how to 

 create around him. 



Poincare was attracted by beauty in all its forms provided only 

 it was noble. Music, painting, poetry, were his preferred relaxations. 

 Even as to his science we will see that he loved it above all for the 

 esthetic pleasure it brought to him. An anecdote is told of him by 



