MARCELIN BERTHELOT—MATIGNON. 683 
and sustained by their love, and who is taken away in the flower of . 
its youth, leaving in the depths of the hearts of its near relatives an 
inconsolable grief.” 
The dramatic death of the great man of science was a startling 
proof of the deep love that bound him to his wife.* There was be- 
tween these two souls such a close union, such mutual adaptation, 
that their existence made a veritable “symbiose.” When we saw 
him come to the laboratory in those last days, his appearance told us 
of the condition of health of Madame Berthelot. Pale and worn 
during the critical periods, he walked with a step more alert during 
the periods of improvement. We knew that the days of her illness 
were numbered and we had no doubt but that her death would shortly 
be followed by that of her husband. Their mutual affection was even 
deeper than we supposed it to be, for Berthelot was unable to survive 
his worthy companion. 
In all the realms where the activity of a human being could be 
exercised, Berthelot had performed his whole duty. He was a 
scholar, a citizen, a husband, a father, a teacher, without an equal. 
It would seem that such a fine nature should never encounter dif- 
ficulties in its career. But this would be attributing to men a rapid- 
ity and accuracy of judgment to which they are hardly accustomed. 
Two months ago I confided to him some personal troubles. He placed 
himself, as always, at my disposal to help me overcome them. 
* Berthelot died at Paris, March 18, 1907, in the Palais de l'Institut, very 
shortly after his wife had drawn her last breath. For several years Mme. 
Berthelot had suffered from a serious heart trouble which left small hope of 
her recovery. Toward the beginning of March she became so much worse that 
all her relatives and friends were very seriously concerned about her. She 
expired toward 5 o’clock in the afternoon of March 18. About 3 o’clock on 
that day Berthelot, who had an office in the Palais de l'Institut as perpetual 
secretary of the Academy of Sciences, asked his colleague, M. Dartoux, before 
the session of the Academy, to look over his mail, for his wife’s condition 
worried him. The members of the Institut saw him cross the court with his 
usual short, hurried step and enter the scientific establishment. He went at 
once to his apartment to take his place beside his wife, who was then quietly 
passing away. 
When all was over and while they were beginning to prepare the body for 
burial, M. Berthelot, completely broken down, left the chamber and went in 
the next room to lie on the couch where he was accustomed during the 
day to snatch a few moments’ rest. When he went out he was heard to say, 
with his hand on his chest: “ Oh, something here is suffocating me! * * *” 
Very shortly afterwards they went into the room to see how he was. He 
lay streached on the couch breathing hard, and everything that was done for 
him proved useless. He succumbed almost immediately, following a severe 
checking of the heart action caused by his emotions, and it was in vain that 
the physicians, called back with all haste, tried to restore him. The great 
chemist was dead; he could not bear up under the loss of his distinguished 
wife, with whom he had lived for so many years in such a perfect union. 
