THE NATION'S SORROW. THE LABORATORIES:
"SACRED PLACES"
I shall not attempt to describe the grief of the family left by Pierre
Curie. By what I have earlier said in this narrative one can understand
what he meant to his father, his brother, and his wife. He was, too, a
devoted father, tender in his love for his children, and happy to occupy
himself with them. But our daughters were still too young at this time
to realize the calamity that had befallen us. Their grandfather and I,
united in our common suffering, did what we could to see that their
childhood should not be too much darkened by the disaster.
The news of the catastrophe caused veritable consternation in the
scientific world of France, as well as in that of other countries. The
heads of the university and the professors expressed their emotion in
letters full of sympathy, and a great number of foreign scientists also
sent letters and telegrams. No less deep was the impression produced on
the public with whom Pierre Curie, despite his reserve, enjoyed great
renown. This feeling was expressed in numerous private letters coming
not only from those whom we knew, but also from persons entirely unknown
to us. At the same time the press printed articles of regret, bearing
the stamp of deep sincerity. The French government sent its condolences,
and a few rulers of foreign countries sent their personal expressions of
sympathy. One of the purest glories of France had been extinguished, and
each understood that this was a nation's sorrow.[14]
Faithful to the memory of him who had left us, we wished a simple
interment in the family vault in the little cemetery at Sceaux. There
was neither official ceremony nor address, and only his friends
accompanied him to his last home. As he thought of him who was no more,
his brother Jacques said to me: "He had all the gifts; there were not
two like him."
In order to assure the continuance of his work, the Faculty of Sciences
of Paris paid me the very great honor of asking me to take the place
that he had occupied. I accepted this heavy heritage, in the hope that I
might build up some day, in his memory, a laboratory worthy of him,
which he had never had, but where others would be able to work to
develop his idea. This hope is now partly realized, thanks to the common
initiative of the University and the Pasteur Institute, which have aimed
at the creation of a Radium Institute, composed of two laboratories, the
Curie and the Pasteur, destined for the physicochemical and the
biological study of radium rays. In touching homage to him who had
disappeared the new street leading to the Institute was named rue Pierre
Curie.
This Institute is, however, insufficient in view of the considerable
development of radioactivity and of its therapeutic applications. The
best authorized persons now recognize that France must possess a Radium
Institute comparable to those of England and America for the
_Curietherapie_ which has become an efficacious means in the battle
against cancer. It is to be hoped that with generous and far-seeing aid,
we shall have, in a few years, a Radium Institute complete and enlarged,
worthy of our country.
To honor the memory of Pierre Curie, the French Society of Physics
decided to issue a complete publication of his works. This publication,
arranged by P. Langevin and C. Cheneveau, comprises but a single volume
of about 600 pages, which appeared in 1908, and for which I wrote a
preface. This unique volume, which includes a work as important as it is
varied, is a faithful reflection of the mentality of the author. One
finds in it a great richness of ideas and of experimental facts leading
to clear and well-established results, but the exposition is limited to
the strictly necessary, and is irreproachable, one might even say
classical, in form. It is to be regretted that Pierre Curie did not use
his gifts as scientist and author in writing extended memoirs or books.
It was not the desire that was lacking; he had several cherished
projects of this nature. But he could never put them into execution
because of the difficulties with which he had to struggle during all his
working life.
And now, let us glance at this narrative as a whole, in which I have
attempted to evoke the image of a man who, inflexibly devoted to the
service of his ideal, honored humanity by an existence lived in silence,
in the simple grandeur of his genius and his character. He had the faith
of those who open new ways. He knew that he had a high mission to fulfil
and the mystic dream of his youth pushed him invincibly beyond the usual
path of life into a way which he called anti-natural because it
signified the renunciation of the pleasures of life. Nevertheless, he
resolutely subordinated his thoughts and desires to this dream, adapting
himself to it and identifying himself with it more and more completely.
Believing only in the pacific might of science and of reason, he lived
for the search of truth. Without prejudice or _parti pris_, he carried
the same loyalty into his study of things that he used in his
understanding of other men and of himself. Detached from every common
passion, seeking neither supremacy nor honors, he had no enemies, even
though the effort he had achieved in the control of himself had made of
him one of those elect whom we find in advance of their time in all the
epochs of civilization. Like them he was able to exercise a profound
influence merely by the radiation of his inner strength.
It is useful to learn how much sacrifice such a life represents. The
life of a great scientist in his laboratory is not, as many may think, a
peaceful idyll. More often it is a bitter battle with things, with one's
surroundings, and above all with oneself. A great discovery does not
leap completely achieved from the brain of the scientist, as Minerva
sprang, all panoplied, from the head of Jupiter; it is the fruit of
accumulated preliminary work. Between the days of fecund productivity
are inserted days of uncertainty when nothing seems to succeed, and when
even matter itself seems hostile; and it is then that one must hold out
against discouragement. Thus without ever forsaking his inexhaustible
patience, Pierre Curie used sometimes to say to me: "It is nevertheless
hard, this life that we have chosen."
For the admirable gift of himself, and for the magnificent service he
renders humanity, what reward does our society offer the scientist? Have
these servants of an idea the necessary means of work? Have they an
assured existence, sheltered from care? The example of Pierre Curie, and
of others, shows that they have none of these things; and that more
often, before they can secure possible working conditions, they have to
exhaust their youth and their powers in daily anxieties. Our society, in
which reigns an eager desire for riches and luxury, does not understand
the value of science. It does not realize that science is a most
precious part of its moral patrimony. Nor does it take sufficient
cognizance of the fact that science is at the base of all the progress
that lightens the burden of life and lessens its suffering. Neither
public powers nor private generosity actually accord to science and to
scientists the support and the subsidies indispensable to fully
effective work.
I invoke, in closing, the admirable pleading of Pasteur:
"If the conquests useful for humanity touch your heart, if you are
overwhelmed before the astonishing results of electric telegraphy, of
the daguerrotype, of anesthesia, and of other wonderful discoveries, if
you are jealous of the part your country may claim in the spreading of
these marvelous things, take an interest, I beg of you, in those sacred
places to which we give the expressive name of laboratories. Demand that
they be multiplied and ornamented, for these are the temples of the
future, of wealth, and of well-being. It is in them that humanity grows,
fortifies itself, and becomes better. There it may learn to read in the
works of nature the story of progress and of universal harmony, even
while its own creations are too often those of barbarism, fanaticism,
and destruction."
May this truth be widely spread, and deeply penetrate public opinion,
that the future may be less hard for the pioneers who must open up new
domains for the general good of humanity.
_Extracts from Published Appreciations_
I have chosen certain extracts from various published appreciations of
Pierre Curie in order to complete my account by a few moving testimonies
from eminent men of science.
_Henri Poincaré_:
"Curie was one of those on whom Science and France believed they had the
right to count. His age permitted far-reaching hopes; what he had
already given seemed a promise, and we knew that, living, he would not
have failed. On the night preceding his death (pardon this personal
memory) I sat next to him and he talked with me of his plans and his
ideas. I admired the fecundity and the depth of his thought, the new
aspect which physical phenomena took on when looked at through that
original and lucid mind. I felt that I better understood the grandeur of
human intelligence--and the following day, in an instant, all was
annihilated. A stupid accident brutally reminded us how little place
thought holds in the face of the thousand blind forces that hurl
themselves across the world without knowing whither they go, crushing
all in their passage.
"His friends, his colleagues understood at once the import of the loss
they suffered, but the grief extended far beyond them. In foreign
countries the most illustrious scientists joined in trying to show the
esteem in which they held our compatriot, while in our own land there
was no Frenchman, however ignorant, who did not feel more or less
vaguely what a force his nation and humanity had lost.
"Curie brought to his study of physical phenomena I do not know what
very fine sense which made him divine unsuspected analogies, and made it
possible for him to orient himself in a labyrinth of complex appearances
where others would have gone astray.... True physicists, like Curie,
neither look within themselves, nor on the surface of things, but they
know how to look through things.
"All those who knew him knew their pleasure and surety in his
acquaintance, and the delicate charm that was exhaled, one might say, by
his gentle modesty, by his naïve directness, by the fineness of his
spirit. Always ready to efface himself before his family, before his
friends, and even before his rivals, he was what one calls a 'poor
candidate'; but in our democracy candidates are the least thing we lack.
"Who would have thought that so much gentleness concealed an
intransigeant soul? He did not compromise with those general principles
on which he was nourished, nor with the particular moral ideal he had
been taught to love, that ideal of absolute sincerity, too high,
perhaps, for the world in which we live. He did not know the thousand
little accommodations with which our weakness contents itself. Moreover,
he never separated the worship of this ideal from what he rendered to
science, and he gave us a shining example of the high conception of duty
that may spring from a simple and pure love of truth. It matters little
in what God he believed; it is not the God, but faith, that performs
miracles."
_Institut de France_: Written about P. Curie by M. D. Gernez.
"All for work, all for science: this sums up the life of Pierre Curie, a
life so rich in brilliant discoveries and in the outlook of genius that
it won him practically universal admiration. In the full maturity of his
investigations whose progress he so eagerly pursued his work was ended,
to the consternation of us all, by a terrible catastrophe on the 19th of
April, 1906....
"All these honors did not dazzle him; he was and he will remain a
remarkable figure among those who make the scientific history of our
epoch. His contemporaries found in him a precious example of a devotion
to science at once unyielding and disinterested. There have been few
lives more pure and more justly famous."
_Jean Perrin_:
"Pierre Curie, whom all called a master, and whom we had the joy to
call, too, our friend, died suddenly in the fullness of his powers....
We will try to show through him, as an example, what part a powerful
genius can return to sincerity, to liberty, to the strong and calm
audacity of thought which nothing can enchain and nothing can astonish.
We acknowledge also all the greatness of the soul where these fine
qualities of intelligence and character were united in a most noble
unselfishness and most exquisite goodness.
"Those who have known Pierre Curie, know that, near him one felt awaken
the need to do and to understand. We will try to honor his memory by
spreading abroad this impression, and we will ask his pale and beautiful
face for the secret of that radiation which made all those who
approached him better men."
_C. Cheneveau_:
"... In order to realize our irreparable loss we must remember Curie's
attachment to his students.... Some of us offered him, with reason, a
veritable worship.... For myself, he was, next to my own family, one of
those I loved most. How well he knew how to surround his simple
collaborator with a great and tender affection. His immense kindness
extended even to his most humble helpers, who adored him. I have never
seen more sincere and more heart-breaking tears than those shed by the
laboratory boys on the news of his sudden death."
_Paul Langevin_:
"... The hours when one could meet him and in which one loved to talk
about his science and in which one thought with him, return each day to
recall his memory, to bring back his kindly and thoughtful face, his
luminous eyes and his beautiful, expressive head modeled by twenty-five
years passed in the laboratory, and by a life of unremittent work and
complete simplicity.
"... It is in his laboratory that my memories, still so recent, most
readily bring him back to me, as he would appear to those near to whom
he had grown older, scarcely changed by the eighteen years that have
passed since. Timid and often awkward, I began under him my laboratory
education....
"Surrounded by apparatus for the greater part conceived or modified by
himself, he manipulated it with extreme dexterity, with the familiar
gestures of the long white hands of the physicist....
"He was twenty-nine years old when I entered as a student. The mastery
which ten years, passed entirely in the laboratory, had given him,
imposed itself even on us, despite our ignorance, by the surety of his
movements and explanations, and the ease, shaded by timidity, of his
manner. We returned always with joy to the laboratory, where it was good
to work near him because we felt him working near to us in that large,
light room filled with apparatus whose forms were still a little
mysterious to us. We did not fear to enter it often to consult him, and
he sometimes admitted us, too, to perform some particularly delicate
manipulation. Probably my finest memories of my school years are those
of moments passed there standing before the blackboard where he took
pleasure in talking with us, in awakening in us fruitful ideas, and in
discussions of research which formed our taste for the things of
science. His live and contagious curiosity, the fullness and surety of
his information made him an admirable awakener of spirits."
I have wished above all, in gathering together here these few memories,
in a bouquet reverently placed upon his tomb, to help, if I can, to fix
the image of a man truly great in character and in thought, of a
wonderful representative of the genius of our race. Entirely
unfranchised from ancient servitudes, and passionately loving reason and
clarity, he was an example--as is a prophet inspired by truths of the
future--of what may be realized in moral beauty and goodness by a free
and upright spirit, of constant courage, and of a mental honesty which
made him repulse what he did not understand, and place his life in
accord with this dream.
[Footnote 14: From the great number of letters and telegrams of
condolence, I quote, as examples, these lines written by three great
scientists, today no longer living.
From M. Berthelot:
"MADAME:
"I do not wish to wait longer without sending you the sympathetic
expression of my profound grief and of that of French and foreign
scientists on the occasion of the common loss with you that we have all
experienced. We were struck as by lightning by the tragic news! So many
services already rendered science and humanity, so many services that we
awaited from that genial inventor: all this vanished in an instant, or
become already but a memory!"
From G. Lippmann:
"MADAME:
It is while traveling, and very late, that I receive the terrible news.
I feel as if I had lost a brother; I did not know by what close ties I
was attached to your husband. I know today. I suffer also for you,
Madame. Believe in my sincere and respectful devotion."
From Lord Kelvin:
"Grievously distressed by terrible news of Curie's death. When will be
funeral. We arrive Hotel Mirabeau tomorrow morning. Kelvin, Villa St.
Martin, Cannes."]
AUTOBIOGRAPHICAL NOTES
MARIE CURIE
CHAPTER I
I have been asked by my American friends to write the story of my life.
At first, the idea seemed alien to me, but I yielded to persuasion.
However, I could not conceive my biography as a complete expression of
personal feelings or a detailed description of all incidents I would
remember. Many of our feelings change with the years, and, when faded
away, may seem altogether strange; incidents lose their momentary
interest and may be remembered as if they have occurred to some other
person. But there may be in a life some general direction, some
continuous thread, due to a few dominant ideas and a few strong
feelings, that explain the life and are characteristic of a human
personality. Of my life, which has not been easy on the whole, I have
described the general course and the essential features, and I trust
that my story gives an understanding of the state of mind in which I
have lived and worked.
My family is of Polish origin, and my name is Marie Sklodowska. My
father and my mother both came from among the small Polish landed
proprietors. In my country this class is composed of a large number of
families, owners of small and medium-sized estates, frequently
interrelated. It has been, until recently, chiefly from this group that
Poland has drawn her intellectual recruits.
While my paternal grandfather had divided his time between agriculture
and directing a provincial college, my father, more strongly drawn to
study, followed the course of the University of Petrograd, and later
definitely established himself at Warsaw as Professor of Physics and
Mathematics in one of the lyceums of that city. He married a young woman
whose mode of life was congenial to his; for, although very young, she
had, what was, for that time, a very serious education, and was the
director of one of the best Warsaw schools for young girls.
My father and mother worshiped their profession in the highest degree
and have left, all over their country, a lasting remembrance with their
pupils. I cannot, even to-day, go into Polish society without meeting
persons who have tender memories of my parents.
Although my parents adopted a university career, they continued to keep
in close touch with their numerous family in the country. It was with
their relatives that I frequently spent my vacation, living in all
freedom and finding opportunities to know the field life by which I was
deeply attracted. To these conditions, so different from the usual
villegiature, I believe, I owe my love for the country and nature.
Born at Warsaw, on the 7th of November, 1867, I was the last of five
children, but my oldest sister died at the early age of fourteen, and we
were left, three sisters and a brother. Cruelly struck by the loss of
her daughter and worn away by a grave illness, my mother died at
forty-two, leaving her husband in the deepest sorrow with his children.
I was then only nine years old, and my eldest brother was hardly
thirteen.
This catastrophe was the first great sorrow of my life and threw me into
a profound depression. My mother had an exceptional personality. With
all her intellectuality she had a big heart and a very high sense of
duty. And, though possessing infinite indulgence and good nature, she
still held in the family a remarkable moral authority. She had an ardent
piety (my parents were both Catholics), but she was never intolerant;
differences in religious belief did not trouble her; she was equally
kind to any one not sharing her opinions. Her influence over me was
extraordinary, for in me the natural love of the little girl for her
mother was united with a passionate admiration.
Very much affected by the death of my mother, my father devoted himself
entirely to his work and to the care of our education. His professional
obligations were heavy and left him little leisure time. For many years
we all felt weighing on us the loss of the one who had been the soul of
the house.
We all started our studies very young. I was only six years old, and,
because I was the youngest and smallest in the class, was frequently
brought forward to recite when there were visitors. This was a great
trial to me, because of my timidity; I wanted always to run away and
hide. My father, an excellent educator, was interested in our work and
knew how to direct it, but the conditions of our education were
difficult. We began our studies in private schools and finished them in
those of the government.
Warsaw was then under Russian domination, and one of the worst aspects
of this control was the oppression exerted on the school and the child.
The private schools directed by Poles were closely watched by the police
and overburdened with the necessity of teaching the Russian language
even to children so young that they could scarcely speak their native
Polish. Nevertheless, since the teachers were nearly all of Polish
nationality, they endeavored in every possible way to mitigate the
difficulties resulting from the national persecution. These schools,
however, could not legally give diplomas, which were obtainable only in
those of the government.
The latter, entirely Russian, were directly opposed to the Polish
national spirit. All instruction was given in Russian, by Russian
professors, who, being hostile to the Polish nation, treated their
pupils as enemies. Men of moral and intellectual distinction could
scarcely agree to teach in schools where an alien attitude was forced
upon them. So what the pupils were taught was of questionable value, and
the moral atmosphere was altogether unbearable. Constantly held in
suspicion and spied upon, the children knew that a single conversation
in Polish, or an imprudent word, might seriously harm, not only
themselves, but also their families. Amidst these hostilities, they lost
all the joy of life, and precocious feelings of distrust and indignation
weighed upon their childhood. On the other side, this abnormal situation
resulted in exciting the patriotic feeling of Polish youths to the
highest degree.
Yet of this period of my early youth, darkened though it was by
mourning and the sorrow of oppression, I still keep more than one
pleasant remembrance. In our quiet but occupied life, reunions of
relatives and friends of our family brought some joy. My father was very
interested in literature and well acquainted with Polish and foreign
poetry; he even composed poetry himself and was able to translate it
from foreign languages into Polish in a very successful way. His little
poems on family events were our delight. On Saturday evenings he used to
recite or read to us the masterpieces of Polish prose and poetry. These
evenings were for us a great pleasure and a source of renewed patriotic
feelings.
Since my childhood I have had a strong taste for poetry, and I willingly
learned by heart long passages from our great poets, the favorite ones
being Mickiewecz, Krasinski and Slowacki. This taste was even more
developed when I became acquainted with foreign literatures; my early
studies included the knowledge of French, German, and Russian, and I
soon became familiar with the fine works written in these languages.
Later I felt the need of knowing English and succeeded in acquiring the
knowledge of that language and its literature.
My musical studies have been very scarce. My mother was a musician and
had a beautiful voice. She wanted us to have musical training. After her
death, having no more encouragement from her, I soon abandoned this
effort, which I often regretted afterwards.
I learned easily mathematics and physics, as far as these sciences were
taken in consideration in the school. I found in this ready help from my
father, who loved science and had to teach it himself. He enjoyed any
explanation he could give us about Nature and her ways. Unhappily, he
had no laboratory and could not perform experiments.
The periods of vacations were particularly comforting, when, escaping
the strict watch of the police in the city, we took refuge with
relatives or friends in the country. There we found the free life of the
old-fashioned family estate; races in the woods and joyous participation
in work in the far-stretching, level grain-fields. At other times we
passed the border of our Russian-ruled division (Congress Poland) and
went southwards into the mountain country of Galicia, where the Austrian
political control was less oppressive than that which we suffered. There
we could speak Polish in all freedom and sing patriotic songs without
going to prison.
My first impression of the mountains was very vivid, because I had been
brought up in the plains. So I enjoyed immensely our life in the
Carpathian villages, the view of the pikes, the excursions to the
valleys and to the high mountain lakes with picturesque names such as:
"The Eye of the Sea." However, I never lost my attachment to the open
horizon and the gentle views of a plain hill country.
Later I had the opportunity to spend a vacation with my father far more
south in Podolia, and to have the first view of the sea at Odessa, and
afterwards at the Baltic shore. This was a thrilling experience. But it
was in France that I become acquainted with the big waves of the ocean
and the ever-changing tide. All my life through, the new sights of
Nature made me rejoice like a child.
Thus passed the period of our school life. We all had much facility for
intellectual work. My brother, Doctor Sklodowski, having finished his
medical studies, became later the chief physician in one of the
principal Warsaw hospitals. My sisters and I intended to take up
teaching as our parents had done. However, my elder sister, when grown
up, changed her mind and decided to study medicine. She took the degree
of doctor at the Paris University, married Doctor Dluski, a Polish
physician, and together they established an important sanatorium in a
wonderfully beautiful Carpathian mountain place of Austrian Poland. My
second sister, married in Warsaw, Mrs. Szalay, was for many years a
teacher in the schools, where she rendered great service. Later she was
appointed in one of the lyceums of free Poland.
I was but fifteen when I finished my high-school studies, always having
held first rank in my class. The fatigue of growth and study compelled
me to take almost a year's rest in the country. I then returned to my
father in Warsaw, hoping to teach in the free schools. But family
circumstances obliged me to change my decision. My father, now aged and
tired, needed rest; his fortune was very modest. So I resolved to accept
a position as governess for several children. Thus, when scarcely
seventeen, I left my father's house to begin an independent life.
That going away remains one of the most vivid memories of my youth. My
heart was heavy as I climbed into the railway car. It was to carry me
for several hours, away from those I loved. And after the railway
journey I must drive for five hours longer. What experience was awaiting
me? So I questioned as I sat close to the car window looking out across
the wide plains.
The father of the family to which I went was an agriculturist. His
oldest daughter was about my age, and although working with me, was my
companion rather than my pupil. There were two younger children, a boy
and a girl. My relations with my pupils were friendly; after our lessons
we went together for daily walks. Loving the country, I did not feel
lonesome, and although this particular country was not especially
picturesque, I was satisfied with it in all seasons. I took the greatest
interest in the agricultural development of the estate where the methods
were considered as models for the region. I knew the progressive details
of the work, the distribution of crops in the fields; I eagerly followed
the growth of the plants, and in the stables of the farm I knew the
horses.
In winter the vast plains, covered with snow, were not lacking in charm,
and we went for long sleigh rides. Sometimes we could hardly see the
road. "Look out for the ditch!" I would call to the driver. "You are
going straight into it," and "Never fear!" he would answer, as over we
went! But these tumbles only added to the gayety of our excursions.
I remember the marvelous snow house we made one winter when the snow was
very high in the fields; we could sit in it and look out across the
rose-tinted snow plains. We also used to skate on the ice of the river
and to watch the weather anxiously, to make sure that the ice was not
going to give way, depriving us of our pleasure.
Since my duties with my pupils did not take up all my time, I organized
a small class for the children of the village who could not be educated
under the Russian government. In this the oldest daughter of the house
aided me. We taught the little children and the girls who wished to come
how to read and write, and we put in circulation Polish books which were
appreciated, too, by the parents. Even this innocent work presented
danger, as all initiative of this kind was forbidden by the government
and might bring imprisonment or deportation to Siberia.
My evenings I generally devoted to study. I had heard that a few women
had succeeded in following certain courses in Petrograd or in foreign
countries, and I was determined to prepare myself by preliminary work to
follow their example.
I had not yet decided what path I would choose. I was as much interested
in literature and sociology as in science. However, during these years
of isolated work, trying little by little to find my real preferences, I
finally turned towards mathematics and physics, and resolutely undertook
a serious preparation for future work. This work I proposed doing in
Paris, and I hoped to save enough money to be able to live and work in
that city for some time.
My solitary study was beset with difficulties. The scientific education
I had received at the lyceum was very incomplete; it was well under the
bachelorship program of a French lyceum; I tried to add to it in my own
way, with the help of books picked up at random. This method could not
be greatly productive, yet it was not without results. I acquired the
habit of independent work, and learned a few things which were to be of
use later on.
I had to modify my plans for the future when my eldest sister decided to
go to Paris to study medicine. We had promised each other mutual aid,
but our means did not permit of our leaving together. So I kept my
position for three and a half years, and, having finished my work with
my pupils, I returned to Warsaw, where a position, similar to the one I
had left, was awaiting me.
I kept this new place for only a year and then went back to my father,
who had retired some time before and was living alone. Together we
passed an excellent year, he occupying himself with some literary work,
while I increased our funds by giving private lessons. Meantime I
continued my efforts to educate myself. This was no easy task under the
Russian government of Warsaw; yet I found more opportunities than in the
country. To my great joy, I was able, for the first time in my life, to
find access to a laboratory: a small municipal physical laboratory
directed by one of my cousins. I found little time to work there, except
in the evenings and on Sundays, and was generally left to myself. I
tried out various experiments described in treatises on physics and
chemistry, and the results were sometimes unexpected. At times I would
be encouraged by a little unhoped-for success, at others I would be in
the deepest despair because of accidents and failures resulting from my
inexperience. But on the whole, though I was taught that the way of
progress is neither swift nor easy, this first trial confirmed in me the
taste for experimental research in the fields of physics and chemistry.
Other means of instruction came to me through my being one of an
enthusiastic group of young men and women of Warsaw, who united in a
common desire to study, and whose activities were at the same time
social and patriotic. It was one of those groups of Polish youths who
believed that the hope of their country lay in a great effort to develop
the intellectual and moral strength of the nation, and that such an
effort would lead to a better national situation. The nearest purpose
was to work at one's own instruction and to provide means of instruction
for workmen and peasants. In accordance with this program we agreed
among ourselves to give evening courses, each one teaching what he knew
best. There is no need to say that this was a secret organization, which
made everything extremely difficult. There were in our group very
devoted young people who, as I still believe today, could do truly
useful work.
I have a bright remembrance of the sympathetic intellectual and social
companionship which I enjoyed at that time. Truly the means of action
were poor and the results obtained could not be considerable; yet I
still believe that the ideas which inspired us then are the only way to
real social progress. You cannot hope to build a better world without
improving the individuals. To that end each of us must work for his own
improvement, and at the same time share a general responsibility for all
humanity, our particular duty being to aid those to whom we think we can
be most useful.
All the experiences of this period intensified my longing for further
study. And, in his affection for me, my father, in spite of limited
resources, helped me to hasten the execution of my early project. My
sister had just married at Paris, and it was decided that I should go
there to live with her. My father and I hoped that, once my studies were
finished, we would again live happily together. Fate was to decide
otherwise, since my marriage was to hold me in France. My father, who in
his own youth had wished to do scientific work, was consoled in our
separation by the progressive success of my work. I keep a tender memory
of his kindness and disinterestedness. He lived with the family of my
married brother, and, like an excellent grandfather, brought up the
children. We had the sorrow of losing him in 1902, when he had just
passed seventy.
So it was in November, 1891, at the age of twenty-four, that I was able
to realize the dream that had been always present in my mind for several
years.
When I arrived in Paris I was affectionately welcomed by my sister and
brother-in-law, but I stayed with them only for a few months, for they
lived in one of the outside quarters of Paris where my brother-in-law
was beginning a medical practice, and I needed to get nearer to the
schools. I was finally installed, like many other students of my
country, in a modest little room for which I gathered some furniture. I
kept to this way of living during the four years of my student life.
It would be impossible to tell of all the good these years brought to
me. Undistracted by any outside occupation, I was entirely absorbed in
the joy of learning and understanding. Yet, all the while, my living
conditions were far from easy, my own funds being small and my family
not having the means to aid me as they would have liked to do. However,
my situation was not exceptional; it was the familiar experience of many
of the Polish students whom I knew. The room I lived in was in a garret,
very cold in winter, for it was insufficiently heated by a small stove
which often lacked coal. During a particularly rigorous winter, it was
not unusual for the water to freeze in the basin in the night; to be
able to sleep I was obliged to pile all my clothes on the bedcovers. In
the same room I prepared my meals with the aid of an alcohol lamp and a
few kitchen utensils. These meals were often reduced to bread with a cup
of chocolate, eggs or fruit. I had no help in housekeeping and I myself
carried the little coal I used up the six flights.
This life, painful from certain points of view, had, for all that, a
real charm for me. It gave me a very precious sense of liberty and
independence. Unknown in Paris, I was lost in the great city, but the
feeling of living there alone, taking care of myself without any aid,
did not at all depress me. If sometimes I felt lonesome, my usual state
of mind was one of calm and great moral satisfaction.
All my mind was centered on my studies, which, especially at the
beginning, were difficult. In fact, I was insufficiently prepared to
follow the physical science course at the Sorbonne, for, despite all my
efforts, I had not succeeded in acquiring in Poland a preparation as
complete as that of the French students following the same course. So I
was obliged to supply this deficiency, especially in mathematics. I
divided my time between courses, experimental work, and study in the
library. In the evening I worked in my room, sometimes very late into
the night. All that I saw and learned that was new delighted me. It was
like a new world opened to me, the world of science, which I was at last
permitted to know in all liberty.
I have pleasant memories of my relations with my student companions.
Reserved and shy at the beginning, it was not long before I noticed that
the students, nearly all of whom worked seriously, were disposed to be
friendly. Our conversations about our studies deepened our interest in
the problems we discussed.
Among the Polish students I did not have any companions in my studies.
Nevertheless, my relations with their small colony had a certain
intimacy. From time to time we would gather in one another's bare rooms,
where we could talk over national questions and feel less isolated. We
would also go for walks together, or attend public reunions, for we were
all interested in politics. By the end of the first year, however, I was
forced to give up these relationships, for I found that all my energy
had to be concentrated on my studies, in order to achieve them as soon
as possible. I was even obliged to devote most of my vacation time to
mathematics.
My persistent efforts were not in vain. I was able to make up for the
deficiency of my training and to pass examinations at the same time with
the other students. I even had the satisfaction of graduating in first
rank as "_licenciée es sciences physiques_" in 1893, and in second rank
as "_licenciée es sciences mathématiques_" in 1894.
My brother-in-law, recalling later these years of work under the
conditions I have just described, jokingly referred to them as "the
heroic period of my sister-in-law's life." For myself, I shall always
consider one of the best memories of my life that period of solitary
years exclusively devoted to the studies, finally within my reach, for
which I had waited so long.
It was in 1894 that I first met Pierre Curie. One of my compatriots, a
professor at the University of Fribourg, having called upon me, invited
me to his home, with a young physicist of Paris, whom he knew and
esteemed highly. Upon entering the room I perceived, standing framed by
the French window opening on the balcony, a tall young man with auburn
hair and large, limpid eyes. I noticed the grave and gentle expression
of his face, as well as a certain abandon in his attitude, suggesting
the dreamer absorbed in his reflections. He showed me a simple
cordiality and seemed to me very sympathetic. After that first interview
he expressed the desire to see me again and to continue our conversation
of that evening on scientific and social subjects in which he and I were
both interested, and on which we seemed to have similar opinions.
Some time later, he came to me in my student room and we became good
friends. He described to me his days, filled with work, and his dream of
an existence entirely devoted to science. He was not long in asking me
to share that existence, but I could not decide at once; I hesitated
before a decision that meant abandoning my country and my family.
I went back to Poland for my vacation, without knowing whether or not I
was to return to Paris. But circumstances permitted me again to take up
my work there in the autumn of that year. I entered one of the physics
laboratories at the Sorbonne, to begin experimental research in
preparation for my doctor's thesis.
Again I saw Pierre Curie. Our work drew us closer and closer, until we
were both convinced that neither of us could find a better life
companion. So our marriage was decided upon and took place a little
later, in July, 1895.
Pierre Curie had just received his doctor's degree and had been made
professor in the School of Physics and Chemistry of the City of Paris.
He was thirty-six years old, and already a physicist known and
appreciated in France and abroad. Solely preoccupied with scientific
investigation, he had paid little attention to his career, and his
material resources were very modest. He lived at Sceaux, in the suburbs
of Paris, with his old parents, whom he loved tenderly, and whom he
described as "exquisite" the first time he spoke to me about them. In
fact, they were so: the father was an elderly physician of high
intellect and strong character, and the mother the most excellent of
women, entirely devoted to her husband and her sons. Pierre's elder
brother, who was then professor at the University of Montpellier, was
always his best friend. So I had the privilege of entering into a family
worthy of affection and esteem, and where I found the warmest welcome.
We were married in the simplest way. I wore no unusual dress on my
marriage day, and only a few friends were present at the ceremony, but
I had the joy of having my father and my second sister come from Poland.
We did not care for more than a quiet place in which to live and to
work, and were happy to find a little apartment of three rooms with a
beautiful view of a garden. A few pieces of furniture came to us from
our parents. With a money gift from a relative we acquired two bicycles
to take us out into the country.
CHAPTER II
With my marriage there began for me a new existence entirely different
from the solitary life that I had known during the preceding years. My
husband and I were so closely united by our affection and our common
work that we passed nearly all of our time together. I have only a few
letters from him, for we were so little apart. My husband spent all the
time he could spare from his teaching at his research work in the
laboratory of the school in which he was professor and I obtained
authorization to work with him.
Our living apartment was near the school, so we lost little time in
going and coming. As our material resources were limited, I was obliged
to attend to most of the housekeeping myself, particularly the
preparation of meals. It was not easy to reconcile these household
duties with my scientific work, yet, with good will, I managed it. The
great thing was that we were alone together in the little home which
gave us a peace and intimacy that were very enjoyable for us.
At the same time that I was working in the laboratory, I still had to
take a few study courses, for I had decided to take part in the
examination for a certificate that would allow me to teach young girls.
If I succeeded in this, I would be entitled to be named professor. In
August, 1896, after having devoted several months to preparation, I came
out first in the examination.
Our principal distraction from the close work of the laboratory
consisted in walks or bicycle rides in the country. My husband greatly
enjoyed the out-of-doors and took great interest in the plants and
animals of woods and meadows. Hardly a corner in the vicinity of Paris
was unknown to him. I also loved the country and these excursions were a
great joy for me as well as to him, relieving our mind from the tension
of the scientific work. We used to bring home bunches of flowers.
Sometimes we forgot all about the time and got back late at night. We
visited regularly my husband's parents where our room was always ready.
In the vacation we went on longer outings by means of our bicycles. In
this way we covered much ground in Auvergne and in the Cevennes and
visited several regions at the seashore. We took a great delight in
these long all-day excursions, arriving at night always in a new place.
If we stayed in one place too long, my husband began to wish to get back
to the laboratory. It is also in vacation time that we visited once my
family in the Carpathian mountains. My husband learned some Polish in
view of this journey to Poland.
But first of all in our life was our scientific work. My husband gave
much care to the preparation of his courses, and I gave him some
assistance in this, which, at the time, helped me in my education.
However, most of our time was devoted to our laboratory researches.
My husband did not then have a private laboratory. He could, to some
extent, use the laboratory of the school for his own work, but found
more freedom by installing himself in some unused corner of the Physics
School building. I thus learned from his example that one could work
happily even in very insufficient quarters. At this time my husband was
occupied with researches on crystals, while I undertook an investigation
of the magnetic properties of steel. This work was completed and
published in 1897.
In that same year the birth of our first daughter brought a great change
in our life. A few weeks later my husband's mother died and his father
came to live with us. We took a small house with a garden at the border
of Paris and continued to occupy this house as long as my husband lived.
It became a serious problem how to take care of our little Irene and of
our home without giving up my scientific work. Such a renunciation would
have been very painful to me, and my husband would not even think of it;
he used to say that he had got a wife made expressly for him to share
all his preoccupations. Neither of us would contemplate abandoning what
was so precious to both.
Of course we had to have a servant, but I personally saw to all the
details of the child's care. While I was in the laboratory, she was in
the care of her grandfather, who loved her tenderly and whose own life
was made brighter by her. So the close union of our family enabled me to
meet my obligations. Things were particularly difficult only in case of
more exceptional events, such as a child's illness, when sleepless
nights interrupted the normal course of life.
It can be easily understood that there was no place in our life for
worldly relations. We saw but a few friends, scientific workers, like
ourselves, with whom we talked in our home or in our garden, while I did
some sewing for my little girl. We also maintained affectionate
relations with my husband's brother and his family. But I was separated
from all my relatives, as my sister had left Paris with her husband to
live in Poland.
It was under this mode of quiet living, organized according to our
desires, that we achieved the great work of our lives, work begun about
the end of 1897 and lasting for many years.
I had decided on a theme for my doctorate. My attention had been drawn
to the interesting experiments of Henri Becquerel on the salts of the
rare metal uranium. Becquerel had shown that by placing some uranium
salt on a photographic plate, covered with black paper, the plate would
be affected as if light had fallen on it. The effect is produced by
special rays which are emitted by the uranium salt and are different
from ordinary luminous rays as they can pass through black paper.
Becquerel also showed that these rays can discharge an electroscope. He
at first thought that the uranium rays were produced as a result of
exposing the uranium salt to light, but experiment showed that salts
kept for several months in the dark continued the peculiar rays.
My husband and I were much excited by this new phenomenon, and I
resolved to undertake the special study of it. It seemed to me that the
first thing to do was to measure the phenomenon with precision. In this
I decided to use that property of the rays which enabled them to
discharge an electroscope. However, instead of the usual electroscope, I
used a more perfect apparatus. One of the models of the apparatus used
by me for these first measurements is now in the College of Physicians
and Surgeons in Philadelphia.
I was not long in obtaining interesting results. My determinations
showed that the emission of the rays is an atomic property of the
uranium, whatever the physical or chemical conditions of the salt were.
Any substance containing uranium is as much more active in emitting
rays, as it contains more of this element.
I then thought to find out if there were other substances possessing
this remarkable property of uranium, and soon found that substances
containing thorium behaved in a similar way, and that this behavior
depended similarly on an atomic property of thorium. I was now about to
undertake a detailed study of the uranium and thorium rays when I
discovered a new interesting fact.
I had occasion to examine a certain number of minerals. A few of them
showed activity; they were those containing either uranium or thorium.
The activity of these minerals would have had nothing astonishing about
it, if it had been in proportion to the quantities of uranium or thorium
contained in them. But it was not so. Some of these minerals revealed an
activity three or four times greater than that of uranium. I verified
this surprising fact carefully, and could not doubt its truth.
Speculating about the reason for this, there seemed to be but one
explanation. There must be, I thought, some unknown substance, very
active, in these minerals. My husband agreed with me and I urged that we
search at once for this hypothetical substance, thinking that, with
joined efforts, a result would be quickly obtained. Neither of us could
foresee that in beginning this work we were to enter the path of a new
science which we should follow for all our future.
Of course, I did not expect, even at the beginning, to find a new
element in any large quantity, as the minerals had already been analyzed
with some precision. At least, I thought there might be as much as one
per cent of the unknown substance in the minerals. But the more we
worked, the clearer we realized that the new radioactive element could
exist only in quite minute proportion and that, in consequence, its
activity must be very great. Would we have insisted, despite the
scarcity of our means of research, if we had known the true proportion
of what we were searching for, no one can tell; all that can be said now
is that the constant progress of our work held us absorbed in a
passionate research, while the difficulties were ever increasing. As a
matter of fact, it was only after several years of most arduous labor
that we finally succeeded in completely separating the new substance,
now known to everybody as radium. Here is, briefly, the story of the
search and discovery.
As we did not know, at the beginning, any of the chemical properties of
the unknown substance, but only that it emits rays, it was by these rays
that we had to search. We first undertook the analysis of a pitchblende
from St. Joachimsthal. Analyzing this ore by the usual chemical methods,
we added an examination of its different parts for radioactivity, by the
use of our delicate electrical apparatus. This was the foundation of a
new method of chemical analysis which, following our work, has been
extended, with the result that a large number of radioactive elements
have been discovered.
In a few weeks we could be convinced that our prevision had been right,
for the activity was concentrating in a regular way. And, in a few
months, we could separate from the pitchblende a substance accompanying
the bismuth, much more active than uranium, and having well defined
chemical properties. In July, 1898, we announced the existence of this
new substance, to which I gave the name of polonium, in memory of my
native country.
While engaged in this work on polonium, we had also discovered that,
accompanying the barium separated from the pitchblende, there was
another new element. After several months more of close work we were
able to separate this second new substance, which was afterwards shown
to be much more important than polonium. In December, 1898, we could
announce the discovery of this new and now famous element, to which we
gave the name of radium.
However, the greatest part of the material work had yet to be done. We
had, to be sure, discovered the existence of the remarkable new
elements, but it was chiefly by their radiant properties that these new
substances were distinguished from the bismuth and barium with which
they were mixed in minute quantities. We had still to separate them as
pure elements. On this work we now started.
We were very poorly equipped with facilities for this purpose. It was
necessary to subject large quantities of ore to careful chemical
treatment. We had no money, no suitable laboratory, no personal help for
our great and difficult undertaking. It was like creating something out
of nothing, and if my earlier studying years had once been called by my
brother-in-law the heroic period of my life, I can say without
exaggeration that the period on which my husband and I now entered was
truly the heroic one of our common life.
We knew by our experiments that in the treatment of pitchblende at the
uranium plant of St. Joachimsthal, radium must have been left in the
residues, and, with the permission of the Austrian government, which
owned the plant, we succeeded in securing a certain quantity of these
residues, then quite valueless,--and used them for extraction of radium.
How glad I was when the sacks arrived, with the brown dust mixed with
pine needles, and when the activity proved even greater than that of the
primitive ore! It was a stroke of luck that the residues had not been
thrown far away or disposed of in some way, but left in a heap in the
pine wood near the plant. Some time later, the Austrian government, on
the proposition of the Academy of Science of Vienna, let us have several
tons of similar residues at a low price. With this material was prepared
all the radium I had in my laboratory up to the date when I received the
precious gift from the American women.
The School of Physics could give us no suitable premises, but for lack
of anything better, the Director permitted us to use an abandoned shed
which had been in service as a dissecting room of the School of
Medicine. Its glass roof did not afford complete shelter against rain;
the heat was suffocating in summer, and the bitter cold of winter was
only a little lessened by the iron stove, except in its immediate
vicinity. There was no question of obtaining the needed proper apparatus
in common use by chemists. We simply had some old pine-wood tables with
furnaces and gas burners. We had to use the adjoining yard for those of
our chemical operations that involved producing irritating gases; even
then the gas often filled our shed. With this equipment we entered on
our exhausting work.
Yet it was in this miserable old shed that we passed the best and
happiest years of our life, devoting our entire days to our work. Often
I had to prepare our lunch in the shed, so as not to interrupt some
particularly important operation. Sometimes I had to spend a whole day
mixing a boiling mass with a heavy iron rod nearly as large as myself. I
would be broken with fatigue at the day's end. Other days, on the
contrary, the work would be a most minute and delicate fractional
crystallization, in the effort to concentrate the radium. I was then
annoyed by the floating dust of iron and coal from which I could not
protect my precious products. But I shall never be able to express the
joy of the untroubled quietness of this atmosphere of research and the
excitement of actual progress with the confident hope of still better
results. The feeling of discouragement that sometimes came after some
unsuccessful toil did not last long and gave way to renewed activity. We
had happy moments devoted to a quiet discussion of our work, walking
around our shed.
One of our joys was to go into our workroom at night; we then perceived
on all sides the feebly luminous silhouettes of the bottles or capsules
containing our products. It was really a lovely sight and one always new
to us. The glowing tubes looked like faint, fairy lights.
Thus the months passed, and our efforts, hardly interrupted by short
vacations, brought forth more and more complete evidence. Our faith grew
ever stronger, and our work being more and more known, we found means to
get new quantities of raw material and to carry on some of our crude
processes in a factory, allowing me to give more time to the delicate
finishing treatment.
At this stage I devoted myself especially to the purification of the
radium, my husband being absorbed by the study of the physical
properties of the rays emitted by the new substances. It was only after
treating one ton of pitchblende residues that I could get definite
results. Indeed we know to-day that even in the best minerals there are
not more than a few decigrammes of radium in a ton of raw material.
At last the time came when the isolated substances showed all the
characters of a pure chemical body. This body, the radium, gives a
characteristic spectrum, and I was able to determine for it an atomic
weight much higher than that of the barium. This was achieved in 1902. I
then possessed one decigramme of very pure radium chloride. It had taken
me almost four years to produce the kind of evidence which chemical
science demands, that radium is truly a new element. One year would
probably have been enough for the same purpose, if reasonable means had
been at my disposal. The demonstration that cost so much effort was the
basis of the new science of radioactivity.
In later years I was able to prepare several decigrammes of pure radium
salt, to make a more accurate determination of the atomic weight and
even to isolate the pure radium metal. However, 1902 was the year in
which the existence and character of radium were definitely established.
We had been able to live for several years entirely engrossed in the
work of research, but gradually circumstances changed. In 1900 my
husband was offered a professorship in the University of Geneva, but
almost simultaneously he obtained a position of assistant professor at
the Sorbonne, and I was made professor at the Normal Superior School for
young girls at Sèvres. So we remained in Paris.
I became much interested in my work in the Normal School, and endeavored
to develop more fully the practical laboratory exercises of the pupils.
These pupils were girls of about twenty years who had entered the school
after severe examination and had still to work very seriously to meet
the requirements that would enable them to be named professors in the
lycées. All these young women worked with great eagerness, and it was a
pleasure for me to direct their studies in physics.
But a growing notoriety, because of the announcement of our discoveries,
began to trouble our quiet work in the laboratory, and, little by
little, life became more difficult. In 1903 I finished my doctor's
thesis and obtained the degree. At the end of the same year the Nobel
prize was awarded jointly to Becquerel, my husband and me for the
discovery of radioactivity and new radioactive elements.
This event greatly increased the publicity of our work. For some time
there was no more peace. Visitors and demands for lectures and articles
interrupted every day.
The award of the Nobel prize was a great honor. It is also known that
the material means provided by this prize was much greater than is usual
in prizes for science. This was a great help in the continuation of our
researches. Unhappily, we were overtired and had a succession of
failures of health for the one or the other of us, so that it was not
until 1905 that we were able to go to Stockholm, where my husband gave
his Nobel lecture and where we were well received.