Slight illness--Engagement to Mlle. Fédorovitch--Marriage--Illness
of the bride--Pecuniary difficulties--Spezzia--Montreux--Work in
Petersburg University--The Riviera--Coelomata and Acoelomata--St.
Vaast--Panassovka--Madeira--Mertens--Teneriffe--Return to Odessa--Bad
news, hurried journey to Madeira--Death of his wife--Return through
Spain--Attempted suicide--Ephemeridæ.
It was only in the house of his friends the B.'s that Elie felt at his
ease. He was devotedly fond of their children, whom he used to take for
walks on Sundays and to the theatre now and then; he was always ready
to read to them and to indulge them in every possible way.
He continued to entertain the dream of marrying one of them some day,
and was particularly interested in the eldest, a girl of thirteen,
intelligent, gifted, and lively; however, as he knew her better,
he realised the incompatibility of their respective tempers, an
incompatibility which brought about frequent disputes. These were
generally smoothed down by a mutual friend, Mlle. Fédorovitch, who
invariably showed Elie a marked and cordial sympathy. He became ill at
this juncture and she nursed him with a devotion which brought them
together even more, as will be seen from the following letter to his
mother:
DEAR MOTHER--I have just had an inflammation of the throat which
lasted two weeks; it is quite gone now and I would not even have
mentioned it to you if it had not been connected with what follows.
When I fell ill, the B.'s, knowing me to be alone and uncared for,
brought me to their house. During my stay with them, I acquired the
conviction that my darling little girls did not love me, especially
the eldest, who interested me even more than her three sisters....
The dreams I told you of have vanished!
It was a grief to me, for, apart from my scientific interests, I
cherished them more than anything. I have no acquaintances and do
not require any, but I long to have some one with me to whom I could
become attached and who could share my pleasures and leisure.
My grief would have been greater still if I had not seen that
Ludmilla Fédorovitch, whom I mentioned to you this summer, showed me
much sympathy in all my troubles.
We were already very good friends, and have now drawn nearer
together; who knows? perhaps the 800 roubles which are going to be
added to my salary will be very useful.
I will keep you informed of everything, dear Mother, for I am sure of
your sympathy; I love you better than the whole world and I have full
confidence in you.
Au revoir, dear Mother, I kiss your hands.--Your
ELIE METCHNIKOFF.
Mlle. Fédorovitch became ill in her turn; the sympathy which Elie
showed her on this occasion brought them still nearer to each other,
and he soon decided to marry her. He informed his mother of this; much
alarmed, she tried to dissuade him, for she feared that by marrying a
girl in delicate health, her son would be assuming too heavy a task in
his difficult circumstances.
He answered as follows:
I received your letter to-day, dear Mother. It grieves me very much.
My project inspires you with doubt, you counsel prudence and, though
you say you believe me to be reasonable, yet you fear that I am
acting on an impulse. If I really am reasonable, why fear a blind
impulse? On the other hand, if I am blindly carried away, it is not
likely that I shall listen to reason.
I did tell you that I had great affection for the B. girls, and it
was true. But did I ever tell you that they had the same for me? You
are mistaken in thinking that I did not like Ludmilla Fédorovitch at
first. I was not in love with her but we were very good friends, and
whilst I did not consider her as my feminine ideal, I was sure of her
absolutely honest, loyal, and kindly disposition. The very fact that
I knew Ludmilla for a long time before I thought of marrying her,
should prove to you that there is some chance of my being neither
blind nor partial.
Her love for me is beyond doubt, as you will see when you know her.
I also am very fond of her, and that is a solid basis for future
happiness.
Yet I will not answer for it that we shall spend our life like a
pair of turtledoves. A rosy, boundless beatitude forms no part of my
conception of the distant future.
Yet I do not see the necessity of waiting till I become a thorough
misanthrope, and I am already inclined that way.
Please do not believe that, if I do not dream of a rosy happiness it
is that I feel none at all; that is not the case; I am in a happy
medium.
I like Ludmilla and I feel comfortable with her; but at the same
time I preserve the faculty of feeling every trouble and worry in
life. I do not at all think that it is enough to love in order to be
happy. Therefore I have begun to take steps to obtain a Professor's
chair, and I am very desirous of being successful in that financial
operation.
Soon after that, he wrote the following letter to his mother:
DEAR MOTHER--In my last letter I had already spoken to you of
Ludmilla Fédorovitch. I can now give you information about her which
will surely interest you.
She is not bad-looking, but that is all. She has fine hair; her
complexion is not pretty. We are about the same age, she is a little
over 23. She was born at Orenburg; then she lived for a long time
with her family at Kiahta (Siberia), after which she was abroad for
nearly two years and finally settled in Moscow. Ludmilla, or Lussia,
was, as you remember, a very zealous intermediary between me and the
B. girls to whom I was so attached.
She loved me already then, though she said to herself that I had too
much affection for the B. children ever to return her feelings.
And she was perfectly right, as long as my affection for those
children lasted.
But, when it ceased, I naturally took more notice of Lussia's
sympathy for me, and I am not surprised that I have acquired much
affection for her.
She has faults which must seem graver to me than to you, but what is
to be done?
Fortunately she herself sees them. The greatest of her faults is a
too great placidity, a lack of vivacity and initiative; she adapts
herself too easily to her surroundings. But, being placid, she is
also firm; she can bear a great deal whilst preserving complete
self-control. She is extremely kind and good-natured; I have not yet
found a vulgar trait in her character.
I have told you of her faults, you must therefore not think me
partial if I find qualities in her.
The fact is--and I cannot forget it--that always, when I had any kind
of trouble, she soothed me by her attitude towards me.
Even though I have dark previsions for the future (as you know, I am
not given to seeing life through rose-coloured glasses), I cannot
help thinking that by living with Lussia I should become calmer, at
least for a fairly long time.
I should cease to suffer from the misanthropy which has invaded me
lately.
I intend to have no children--it is an embryologist who is speaking.
On the contrary, I want to preserve the utmost liberty. Nevertheless,
one must conform with certain legal conventions, which will probably
take place in January.
Lussia has no fortune, but we shall be entirely guaranteed by the
increase in my salary.
It is very regrettable that the event should be retarded by the
customary formalities; in any case it will certainly end by taking
place.
I beg you to write to me, dear mother that I love, anything that
comes into your head _à propos_ of my affair.
Rejoice that I am now very happy and wish that it may last.
I ask the same of Papa, whom I beg you to salute from me. I embrace
you, dear Mamma, and I remain your very affectionate son,
E. METCHNIKOFF.
As Elie learnt to know his fiancée better, he became more and more
attached to her. Their happiness seemed likely to be complete, but a
cruel Fate had decided otherwise. The girl's health was not improving:
her supposed bronchitis was assuming a chronic character. Yet the
marriage was not postponed, and the bride had to be carried to the
church in a chair for the ceremony, being too breathless and too weak
to walk so far.
Elie did his utmost to procure comforts for his wife, and hoped that
she could still be saved by care and a rational treatment. It was the
beginning of an hourly struggle against disease and poverty; his means
being insufficient, he tried to eke them out by writing translations.
His eyesight weakened again from overwork, and it was with atropin
in his eyes that he sat up night after night, translating. There was
but one well-lighted room in his flat, and he turned it into a small
laboratory for the use of his pupils; his own researches he had to give
up, his time being entirely taken up by teaching and translations.
He hid his precarious position from his parents in order not to add
to their heavy expenses nor to confirm their previsions concerning
his marriage. His wife's illness, the impossibility of carrying on
scientific work, the lack of friendly sympathy to which he thought
himself entitled, all this weighed on him, making him bitter,
suspicious, and distrustful; he thought himself persecuted. The
situation became intolerable and, in spite of his pride, he forced
himself to apply for a subsidy to take his wife abroad and to go on
with his researches. Having obtained it in 1869, he immediately left
Petersburg, which he now hated.
Youth is elastic: the young couple started full of joy, gay as
children, and ready to forget all their trials. Alas, it was not for
long: having halted at Vilna in order that the patient should have a
rest, she had an attack of hæmorrhage of the lungs, to the great alarm
of her husband, who nevertheless did his best to reassure her. They
continued the journey as soon as her condition allowed it, only to be
interrupted by another relapse. At last they reached Spezzia, chosen on
account of the climate and the marine fauna.
Little by little, Ludmilla Metchnikoff's health improved and her
husband was able to resume work. He studied aquatic animals in view
of the genealogy of inferior groups, and, amongst others, studied the
Tornaria, which was believed to be the larva of the star-fish. However,
to his astonishment, he ascertained that, in spite of great similarity,
it was not the larva of an Echinoderm, but that of one of the
Balanoglossi, of the worm type. This fact established a link between
the Echinodermata and worms, a very important result from the point of
view of the continuity of animal types.
Metchnikoff felt his courage returning and also his natural high
spirits. His wife, who was a clever draughtswoman, helped him with the
drawings for his memoir, and both felt happy and contented; this stay
at Spezzia was a real oasis in their life.
When the heat became excessive they went to Reichenhall, a summer
resort prescribed by the doctor. There, Metchnikoff completed his
previous researches on the development of the scorpion, and finally
established the fact that this animal possesses the three embryonic
layers which correspond to those of the Vertebrates.
As his young wife's health was still too precarious to allow her
to spend the winter in Russia, Metchnikoff, obliged to return to
Petersburg, installed her at Montreux and asked his sister-in-law,
Mlle. Fédorovitch, to stay with her. The enforced separation
deeply grieved the young couple, whose only consolation was daily
correspondence.
Metchnikoff resumed a life of hard work; he was now an _agrégé_ at
the Petersburg University and had to leave the School of Mines; this
diminished his resources, but at the same time he obtained an extra
salary of 800 roubles as Extraordinary Professor. His position in the
University was nevertheless very difficult, for his situation was
coveted by different parties with which he had nothing to do. They
wanted it for one of their adherents. His devoted friend Setchénoff,
Professor of Physiology, then thought of proposing him to the Faculty
of Medicine as a Lecturer in Zoology, and whilst Metchnikoff awaited
the result of his efforts, he obtained leave to go to the seaside to do
research work.
He joined his wife and took her to San Remo and to Villafranca. Her
health had improved and she was even able to take part in his work.
He was engaged in studying Medusæ and Siphonophora, animals which
interested him, not only from the point of view of the origin of
embryonic layers, but also from that of general morphology, for he
was still pursuing the problem of genetic links between animals. He
had already been able to prove the presence of embryonic layers in
many inferior animals; moreover, he had found, while studying the
metamorphoses of Echinodermata, the proof that the _structural plan_,
hitherto considered immutable, could become transformed in course
of development. Thus the bilateral plan of the larva of Echinoderma
becomes a radial plan in the adult. The structural plan therefore
is not an absolutely differentiating character, since specimens of
the same type can show a different plan according to their stage of
development. One of the genetic questions still unsolved was that of
the body cavity. Always present in higher animals, it is totally absent
in certain lower groups, such as Sponges, Polypi, and Medusæ. It was
being questioned whether their dissimilar morphological characters
did not correspond with a duality of origin separating animals which
possessed a body cavity (Coelomata) from those which did not
(Acoelomata).
Kovalevsky, it is true, had observed that the body cavity of many
animals (Amphioxus, Sagitta, Brachiopoda) took its origin in the
_lateral sacs_ of the digestive cavity, sacs which detach themselves
from it in order to form the body cavity. But, in order to establish a
genetic connection between those animals that have a body cavity and
those which are devoid of it, it was necessary to show the homology of
corresponding organs in both groups.
Through his researches on the development of Coelomata
(Echinodermata) on the one hand and Acoelomata (Ctenophora and
Medusæ) on the other, Metchnikoff succeeded in proving that the lateral
sacs of the digestive cavity which give birth to the body cavity of the
Coelomata (Echinodermata) correspond to the canals and vaso-digestive
sacs of the Acoelomata (Ctenophora and Medusæ). The difference
consists in that the latter do not detach themselves in order to form a
body cavity, which is therefore lacking.
The result of his researches satisfied Metchnikoff; moreover, he began
to feel again hopeful of his wife's recovery. The only dark spot was
that Setchénoff's efforts had failed. Metchnikoff was not appointed
by the Faculty of Medicine, for it was found advisable to replace the
Chair of Zoology by one on Venereal Diseases. On the other hand, he
was nominated for the Odessa University, supported by Cienkovsky and
unanimously elected.
As he only had to go to his new post in the autumn, he went for the
summer to St. Vaast in Normandy to study Lucernaria; unfortunately the
stay was not a success; the weather was cold and the sea very rough,
which made the Lucernaria impossible to find. Life conditions were very
difficult, all the male population being at sea and the women being in
the fields. In order not to waste this journey he studied Ascidians,
and found that he had previously been mistaken at Naples when he
thought that the nervous system of those animals originated from the
lower embryonic layer. Kovalevsky had been right in affirming the
contrary, and Elie hastened to write to tell him so.
St. Vaast, open to every wind, was not favourable to the patient, and
Metchnikoff had to take her away. They went to Russia to stay with her
parents and then to Panassovka. The doctors having advised a course of
treatment by "koumiss," or fermented mare's milk prepared in a special
way by the Tartars, Elie engaged a Tartar servant specially for that
purpose, but in vain. In spite of every treatment, his wife's health
was steadily growing worse. The cold at St. Vaast had been followed
by such a dry heat in Russia that, in order to procure a little
coolness for the patient, they had to spread wet sheets around her. She
constantly had high temperatures and frequent attacks of hæmorrhage.
It was obvious that she must leave Russia, and Metchnikoff, obliged to
rejoin his post at Odessa, asked Mlle. Fédorovitch to go with her to
Montreux.
The separation was all the harder that all hope of recovery was
beginning to wane. The patient, however, had been told of the magical
effect of Madeira in cases of tuberculosis, and she clung to the idea
as to a plank of safety. Elie resolved to take her there. He set to
work with renewed ardour in order to obtain the sum necessary for
the journey; in spite of all his self-denial, his normal resources
would not have sufficed, and he had recourse to translations and
literary articles. He had a theme ready, which he developed in a paper
called _Education from the Anthropological Point of View_--in fact a
preliminary sketch of his ideas on the disharmonies in human nature.
In it, he analysed the disharmonies due to the great difference of
development between the child and the adult: whilst the young of
animals are very rapidly able to imitate the adults and to live like
them, the man-child is incapable of it. His brain, especially in
civilised races, demands a long period of development in order to equal
that of the adult, whilst certain instincts in the organism mature,
on the contrary, long before their function is possible. Moreover, a
child's sensibility is extremely developed whilst his will is by no
means so. These causes provoke suffering and a series of regrettable
consequences.
Apart from frenzied efforts and unceasing labour, Metchnikoff was going
through a painful moral crisis, due to the impossibility of making
his conduct accord with his convictions. Party intrigues continued
to be rife at the Odessa University: Poles were being persecuted
by Nationalists; one professor was refused admission on account of
his Polish nationality, and Cienkovsky resigned by way of protest.
Metchnikoff shared his views and longed to follow his example, but was
prevented by his lack of means and felt it deeply. It also went against
his conscience to ask for leave as frequently as his wife's condition
made it necessary.
She wished to see her parents once again before going to Madeira, and
he took her to Russia for the last time: she never saw her family again.
At last they were able to start. The long journey was very fatiguing,
the sea voyage was rough, but, when she landed in Madeira, the patient
thought herself saved. The very next morning Metchnikoff started
feverishly on a voyage of discovery. Nature on the island was extremely
beautiful; alone the sight of numerous sick people reminded him of
suffering and death. The words "a flower-decked grave" haunted his
mind, and a growing despondency warned him that he had nothing to
expect from this luxuriant spot. From the aspect of the rocky coast,
beaten by the waves, he realised that the beach fauna must be very
poor; his only refuge, research work, was likely to be denied him.
He was advised to hire a small house, which would be cheaper than
a boarding-house, and he did find a pretty furnished villa with a
garden; it was beyond his means, but a young Russian named Mertens,
who had been a fellow-traveller, proposed to share it with them. The
arrangement proved highly satisfactory, and Mertens, at first merely an
agreeable neighbour, became a close friend.
Before leaving for Madeira, Metchnikoff had obtained a scientific
mission and a subsidy from the Society of Natural Science Lovers of
Moscow, and felt it a moral obligation to obtain some results. The
scantiness of the marine fauna was a bitter disappointment; he had
to fall back upon what little he found, and embarked on the study,
hitherto unknown, of the embryology of Myriapoda. But this research
work brought him a new source of torment instead of satisfaction: he
could not master the technique, which proved to be very difficult, and
this irritated him; his failures disappointed him, made him vexed with
himself; his nerves, already strung to the highest point by suffering
and anxiety, made the disappointment unbearable. On the other hand,
the external aspect of life formed a striking contrast with the state
of his mind. A wealth of natural beauty, all flowers and perfumes, in
an incomparable site, congenial surroundings and home comforts formed
the frame for these two young lives, of which one was waning whilst the
other was spent in a useless struggle to save it.
Metchnikoff's natural pessimism was growing under the influence of
these painful circumstances. His conception of life was a sombre
one; he said to himself that the "disharmonies" of human nature must
infallibly end in a general decadence of humanity. He set forth
his reflections in an article entitled _The Time for Marriage_, in
which he discussed the following concrete fact: With the progress of
civilisation and culture, the time for marriage recedes gradually,
whereas puberty remains as early as before; the result is that the
time between puberty and marriage is becoming longer and longer,
and constitutes a growing period in which there is no harmony. The
statistics of suicides prove that there is a close connection between
them and the period of disharmonies.
Whilst he worked, his wife tried to make use of her leisure: she
interested herself in poor children, sketched flowers, read novels ...
life flowed peacefully in spite of the underlying drama.
Yet the thought that he was not fulfilling his obligations was
intolerable to Metchnikoff. He thought of resigning and founding a
small book-shop at Madeira in order to be independent and not obliged
to leave his wife, but lack of funds made this plan impossible. In his
search for new resources, he went to Teneriffe to look for a subject
for an article. He met with several disappointments on this trip; yet
he saw the Villa Orotava, with its celebrated giant dragon-tree, which
had already then been brought down by a storm. He also visited the
Caves of the Guancios, the primitive inhabitants of the Canary Islands.
Having gathered the necessary observations, he hastened to return to
Madeira, where months passed without bringing any change.
The book-shop idea was abandoned as being impracticable and Metchnikoff
had to return to Odessa, asking his sister-in-law to come to Madeira
in his place. When she had arrived, he confided the two girls to
Mertens and to the care of the devoted Dr. Goldschmidt, and went away
conscious of the uselessness of his efforts and more deeply pessimistic
than ever.
When he reached Odessa, in October 1872, he found there his friend
Setchénoff, whom he had previously proposed for a Physiology Lecturer's
chair, and whose affection was a great comfort to him at this sad time.
The correspondence between him and his wife during that period is full
of an infinite tenderness, as if they felt the supreme separation
coming near, and yearned to express their mutual love.
At the end of January 1873, between two classes, Metchnikoff received
a letter from his sister-in-law telling him to come in haste if he
wished to find his wife still living. He delivered his lecture like
an automaton, then went to obtain his leave and hurried off. He
accomplished the whole journey without a break. On arriving at Madeira
he found his wife so changed that he scarcely knew her, and it was
only through sheer force of will that he kept his alarm from her. She
suffered so much that she had to be given morphia constantly and could
no longer leave her bed.
Metchnikoff himself was in very poor health; his eyes were so sensitive
from overwork that he had to remain in the dark, only going into the
garden at dusk to observe spiders and snails. Time was progressing
slowly and miserably, and bringing nothing but anxiety as to the means
to support this sad existence. Metchnikoff had hoped to receive the
Baer prize for a zoological work, but did not obtain it: it was refused
on the pretext that his memoir had been presented in manuscript
instead of being printed. In reality, the German party had wished to
give it to a fellow-German.
A friend of his, who sent him the bad news, offered to lend him 300
roubles, and Metchnikoff accepted; he could now think of nothing but
holding out till the end.
One morning the patient's condition suddenly became much worse. The
doctor was sent for in a hurry and declared that it was now a question
of a few hours.... When Metchnikoff went back to his wife he found her
with eyes wide open and so full of mortal anguish and utter despair
that he could bear it no longer and went out hastily, not to show her
his dismay.
This was his last impression; he never saw her again.
Only half conscious, he walked up and down the drawing-room, opening
and closing books without seeing them, his mind full of disconnected
pictures; he wondered to himself how his family would hear the news.
Time passed without his realising it. Then his sister-in-law came to
tell him that all was over. This was on the 20th April 1873.
Metchnikoff's feelings were complex: a mixture of crushing despair and
of relief at the thought that the terrible agony was at last ended....
During the whole of the sad first night he sat with his sister-in-law
in a distant room, talking of those things which are only mentioned
in moments such as these. When Dr. Goldschmidt came in the morning
to offer Metchnikoff his sympathy and help he found him apparently
almost calm. Metchnikoff asked him to make a post-mortem examination
of the deceased and to look after her sister. A Scottish minister
came to bring religious comfort and to exhort him to look there for
consolation. Metchnikoff thanked him, but firmly assured him that it
was not possible to him.
The funeral took place two days later; he did not attend it and did not
see the corpse. Immediately after the funeral he left Madeira with his
sister-in-law. Being no longer anxious to economise, he took with him
a sick young Russian who wished to see his mother again and could not
afford the journey.
After the catastrophe, Metchnikoff felt incapable of thinking of the
future, his life seemed cut off at one blow; he destroyed his papers
and reserved a phial of morphia, without any settled intention. They
journeyed back through Spain; it was during the Carlist insurrection,
and several episodes on the way distracted their attention. Elie and
his sister-in-law reached Geneva, where they found Leo Metchnikoff
and several relations, among whom he seems to have recovered himself.
He even related some of their travelling experiences, meetings with
Carlists, frontier incidents, etc., with some spirit. But his apparent
calm concealed black despair.
He said to himself: "Why live? My private life is ended; my eyes are
going; when I am blind I can no longer work, then why live?" Seeing no
issue to his situation, he absorbed the morphia. He did not know that
too strong a dose, by provoking vomiting, eliminates the poison. Such
was the case with him. He fell into a sort of torpor, of extraordinary
comfort and absolute rest; in spite of this comatose state he remained
conscious and felt no fear of death. When he became himself again, it
was with a feeling of dismay. He said to himself that only a grave
illness could save him, either by ending in death or by awaking the
vital instinct in him. In order to attain his object, he took a very
hot bath and then exposed himself to cold. As he was coming back by the
Rhone bridge, he suddenly saw a cloud of winged insects flying around
the flame of a lantern. They were Phryganidæ, but in the distance he
took them for Ephemeridæ, and the sight of them suggested the following
reflection: "How can the theory of natural selection be applied to
these insects? They do not feed and only live a few hours; they are
therefore not subject to the struggle for existence, they do not have
time to adapt themselves to surrounding conditions."
His thoughts turned towards Science; he was saved; the link with life
was re-established.