1873—1877 25 



some advice which highly irritated him : they advised him to 

 rest. It is true that his cerebral haemorrhage had left him 

 with a certain degree of lameness and a slight stillness of the 

 left hand, those external signs reminding him only too well 

 of the threatening possibility of another stroke ; but his mighty 

 soul was more than ever powerful to master his infirm body. 

 It was therefore evident that Nisard, usually very subtle in his 

 insight into character, did not thoroughly understand Pasteur 

 when he wrote to him, "Now, dear friend, you must give up 

 your energies to living for your family, for all those who love 

 you, and a little too for yourself." 



In spite of his deep, even passionate tenderness for his 

 family, Pasteur had other desires than to limit his life to such 

 a narrow circle. Every man who knows he has a mission to 

 fulfil feels that there are rays of a light purer and more 

 exalted than that proceeding from the hearth. As to the 

 suggestion that Pasteur should take care of his own health, 

 it was as useless as it would be to advise certain men to take 

 care of that of others. 



Dr. Andral had vainly said and written that he should for- 

 bid Pasteur any assiduous labour. Pasteur considered that 

 not to work was to lose the object of living at all. If, however, 

 a certain equilibrium was established between the anxious 

 solicitude of friends, the prohibitions of medical advisers and 

 the great amount of work which Pasteur insisted on doing, it 

 was owing to her who with a discreet activity watched in 

 silence to see that nothing outside his work should complicate 

 Pasteur's life, herself his most precious collaborator, the con- 

 fidante of every experiment. 



Everything was subordinate to the laboratory ; Pasteur 

 never accepted an invitation to those large social gatherings 

 which are a tax laid by those who have nothing to do on the 

 time of those who are busy, especially if they be celebrated. 

 Pasteur's name, known throughout the world, was never men- 

 tioned in fashionable journals; he did not even go to theatres. 

 In the evening, after dinner, he usually perambulated the 

 hall and corridor of his rooms at the Ecole Normale, cogitating 

 over various details of his work. At ten o'clock, he went to 

 bed, and at eight the next morning, whether he had had a 

 good night or a bad one, he resumed his work in the laboratory. 



That regular life, preserving its even tenor through so many 

 polemics and discussions, was momentarily perturbed by 



