The translators wish to
acknowledge their obligations to Dr. R. B. Moore, Chief Chemist, U. S. Bureau
of Mines, and an American authority on radium, who kindly read the whole
translation in manuscript in order to assure its accuracy as to the technical
details referred to by Madame Curie in her account of the work of her husband
and herself on radium.
"It is possible to
conceive that in criminal hands radium might prove very dangerous, and the
question therefore arises whether it be to the advantage of humanity to know
the secrets of nature, whether we be sufficiently mature to profit by them, or
whether that knowledge may not prove harmful. Take, for instance, the
discoveries of Nobel--powerful explosives have made it possible for men to
achieve admirable things, but they are also a terrible means of destruction in
the hands of those great criminals who draw nations into war. I am among those
who believe with Nobel that humanity will obtain more good than evil from
future discoveries."
PIERRE CURIE,
Nobel Conference, 1903.
IT is not without
hesitation that I have undertaken to write the biography of Pierre Curie. I
should have preferred confiding this task to some relative or some friend of
his infancy who had followed his whole life intimately and possessed as full a
knowledge of his earliest years as of those after his marriage. Jacques Curie,
Pierre's brother and the companion of his youth, was bound to him by the
tenderest affection. But after his appointment to the University of Montpelier,
he lived far from Pierre, and he therefore insisted that I should write the
biography, believing that no one else better knew and understood the life of
his brother. He communicated to me all his personal memories; and to this
important contribution, which I have utilized in full, I have added details
related by my husband himself and a few of his friends. Thus I have
reconstituted as best I could that part of his existence that I did not know
directly. I have, in addition, tried faithfully to express the profound
impression his personality made upon me during the years of our life together.
This narrative is, to
be sure, neither complete nor perfect. I hope, nevertheless, that the picture
it gives of Pierre Curie is not deformed, and that it will help to conserve his
memory. I wish, too, that it might remind those who knew him of the reasons for
which they loved him.
M. C.
EVERY little while a
man or a woman is born to serve in some big way. Such a one surely is Marie
Curie. The discovery of radium has advanced science, relieved human suffering
and enriched the world. The spirit in which she has done her work has
challenged the minds and souls of men.
One morning in the
spring of 1898, when the United States was going to war with Spain, Madame
Curie stepped forth from a crude shack on the outskirts of Paris, with the greatest
secret of the century literally in the palm of her hand.
It was one of the
silent, unheralded great moments in the world's history.
The discovery which had
become a fact that morning was no accident. It was a triumph over hardship and
doubting men. It represented years of patient labor. Madame Curie and her
husband, Pierre Curie, had wrested from Mother Earth one of her most priceless
secrets.
I have been asked to
tell why I undertook the Marie Curie Radium Campaign and how I persuaded Madame
Curie to write this book.
Madame Curie is the
most modest of women. It was only after long persuasion that she consented to
record the autobiographical notes contained in this book, but so much has been
left unsaid, uninterpreted, that I feel an obligation to say a word toward the
fuller understanding of this great and noble character.
In May, 1919, Stéphane
Lauzanne, Editor- in-Chief of Le Matin, who has followed Madame Curie's life
and work for many years and to whom I went when I sought her, said: "She
will see no one. She does nothing but work.
"Few things in
life are more distasteful to her than publicity. Her mind is as exact and
logical as science itself. She cannot understand why scientists, rather than
science, should be discussed in the press. There are but two things for
her--her little family and her work.
"After the death
of Pierre Curie, the faculty and officials of the University of Paris decided
to depart from all precedent and appoint a woman to a full professorship at the
Sorbonne. Madame Curie accepted the appointment and the date was set for her
installation.
"It was the
history-making afternoon of October 5th, 1906. The members of the class which
had formerly been instructed by Professor Pierre Curie were seated in one
group.
"There was present
a large crowd--celebrities, statesmen, academicians, all the faculty. Suddenly
through a small side door entered a woman all in black, with pale hands and
high arched forehead. The magnificent forehead won notice first. It was not
merely a woman who stood before us, but a brain--a living thought. Her
appearance was enthusiastically applauded for five minutes. When the applause
died down, Madame Curie bent forward with slightly trembling lips. We wondered
what she was about to say. It was important. It was history, whatever she said.
"In the foreground
sat a stenographer, ready to record her words. Would she speak of her husband?
Would she thank the Minister and the public? No, she began quite simply as
follows:
" `When we
consider the progress made by the theories of radio-activity since the
beginning of the Nineteenth Century--' The important thing to this great woman
is work. Time should not be wasted in idle words. And so, dispensing with all
superficial formality, with no betrayal of the tremendous emotion which all but
overcame her--except by the extreme pallor of her face and the trembling of her
lips--she continued her lecture in clear, well-modulated tones."
It was typical of this
great soul that she should carry on their work courageously and without
faltering.
However, an interview
was arranged for me. I had been in Mr. Edison's laboratory a few weeks before
sailing from home. Edison is rich in the material things--as he should be.
Every kind of equipment is at his command. He is a power in the financial as
well as the scientific world. In my childhood I had lived near Alexander Graham
Bell; had admired his great house and his fine horses. A short time before, I
had been in Pittsburgh, where the sky is plumed by the tall smokestacks of the
greatest radium reduction plants in the world.
I remembered that
millions of dollars had been spent on radium watches and radium gun sights.
Several millions of dollars' worth of radium was even then stored in various
parts of the United States. I had been prepared to meet a woman of the world,
enriched by her own efforts and established in one of the white palaces of the
Champs d'Elysées or some other beautiful boulevard of Paris.
I found a simple woman,
working in an inadequate laboratory and living in an inexpensive apartment, on
the meager pay of a French professor.
As I entered the new
building at Number One Rue Pierre Curie, which stands out conspicuously among
the old walls of the University of Paris, I had already formed a picture of the
laboratory of the discoverer of radium.
I waited a few minutes
in the small bare office which might have been furnished from Grand Rapids,
Michigan. Then the door opened and I saw a pale, timid little woman in a black
cotton dress, with the saddest face I had ever looked upon.
Her well-formed hands
were rough. I noticed a characteristic, nervous little habit of rubbing the
tips of her fingers over the pad of her thumb in quick succession. I learned
later that working with radium had made them numb. Her kind, patient, beautiful
face had the detached expression of a scholar.
Madame Curie began to
talk about America. She had for many years wanted to visit this country, but
she could not be separated from her children.
"America,"
she said, "has about fifty grammes of radium. Four of these are in
Baltimore, six in Denver, seven in New York." She went on naming the
location of every grain.
"And in
France?" I asked.
"My
laboratory," she replied simply, "has hardly more than a
gramme."
"You have only a
gramme?" I exclaimed.
"I? Oh, I have
none," she corrected. "It belongs to my laboratory."
I suggested royalties
on her patents. Surely she had protected her right to the processes by which
radium is produced. The revenue from such patents should have made her a very
rich woman.
Quietly, and without
any seeming consciousness of the tremendous renunciation, she said, "There
were no patents. We were working in the interests of science. Radium was not to
enrich anyone. Radium is an element. It belongs to all people."
She had contributed to
the progress of science and the relief of human suffering, and yet, in the
prime of her life she was without the tools which would enable her to make
further contribution of her genius.
At that time the market
price of a gramme of radium was one hundred thousand dollars. Madame Curie's
laboratory, although practically a new building, was without sufficient
equipment; the radium held there was used only for extracting emanations for
hospital use in cancer treatment.
Madame Curie had no
protest against life except to regret that lack of equipment interfered with
the important research work she and her daughter, Irène, should have been
doing.
It was my hope when I
arrived in New York, a few weeks afterwards, to find ten women to subscribe ten
thousand dollars each for the purchase of a gramme of radium, and in this way
to enable Madame Curie to go on with her work, without the publicity of a
general campaign.
There were not ten to
buy that gramme of radium but there were a hundred thousand women and a group
of men to help, who determined the money must be raised.
The first direct and
substantial support came from Mrs. William Vaughn Moody, widow of the American
poet and playwright, and the next from Herbert Hoover.
When we found it would
be necessary to launch a national campaign, Mrs. Robert G. Mead, a doctor's
daughter, and one who had been a standby in cancer prevention work, became
secretary, and Mrs. Nicholas F. Brady, a member of the executive committee.
Behind these women stood a group of scientific men, who knew what radium had
meant to humanity, among them Dr. Robert Abbe, the first American surgeon to
use radium, and Dr. Francis Carter Wood, Director of the Crocker Memorial
Cancer Research Laboratory.
In less than a year the
fund had been raised.
The scientists
appointed a committee under the chairmanship of Dr. Wood, to purchase the
radium. All American producers of the element were called upon to submit sealed
bids, and at public meeting the lowest bidder received the order. The Committee
of Scientists were:--Dr. Robert Abbe--Dr. Russell H. Chittenden--Dr. Hugh
Cumming--Dr. D. B. Delavan--Dr. William Duane--Dr. James Ewing--Dr. Livingston
Farrand--Dr. John Finney--Dr. H. R. Gaylord--Dr. W. J. Holland--Dr. Vernon
Kellogg--Dr. Howard Kelly--Dr. George F. Kunz --Dr. W. Lee Lewis--Dr. Theodore
Lyman-- Dr. Will J. Mayo--Dr. John C. Merriam--Dr. George B. Pegram--Dr.
Charles Powers-- Dr. C. A. L. Reed--Dr. Theodore Richards-- Dr. Edgar F.
Smith--Dr. S. W. Stratton--Dr. Howard Taylor--Dr. William Taylor--Dr. Charles
D. Walcott--Dr. Louis B. Wilson--Dr. William H. Welch--Dr. Francis Carter Wood.
Stéphane Lauzanne
describes a second impressive moment in the life of Madame Curie. It was nearly
a year after my talk with her. It was fifteen years since that scene at the
University of Paris. These years had been spent in her laboratory; she had made
no public appearance. It was in March, 1921, that Monsieur Lauzanne heard her
voice again.
"I lifted the
telephone receiver," he relates, "and heard these words: `Madame
Curie wishes to speak to you.' What extraordinary event-- what tragedy,
perhaps, might this not mean? And suddenly, over the wire came the sound of the
voice which I had heard only once before, but which had stayed in my
memory--the same voice which had once pronounced the words, `When we consider
the progress made by the theories of radio-activity since the beginning of the
Nineteenth Century----'
" `I wanted to
tell you that I am going to America,' she said. `It was very hard for me to
decide to go, because America is so far and so big. If some one did not come
for me, I should probably never have made the trip. I should have been too
frightened. But to this fear is added a great joy. I have devoted my life to
the science of radio-activity and I know all we owe to America in the field of
science. I am told you are among those who strongly favor this distant trip, so
I wanted to tell you I have decided to go, but please don't let any one know
about it.'
"This great
woman--the greatest woman in France--was speaking haltingly, tremblingly,
almost like a little girl. She, who handles daily a particle of radium more
dangerous than lightning, was afraid when confronted by the necessity of
appearing before the public."
She had, as I have
said, refused opportunities to come to the United States because she could not
endure separation from her children. She was, I think, finally persuaded to
face the long trip and the terrifying publicity attending it, partly because of
her gratitude for the support given her scientific work, but principally
because it offered a splendid opportunity for travel to her daughters.
There is in Madame
Curie none of the legendary coldness and thoughtlessness attributed to the
scientist. During the war, when she ran her own radiological truck and lived on
the march from hospital to hospital in the zone of operations, she washed and
dried and pressed her own clothes. Once during our American travels, we stayed
in a home where there were several other house guests besides our party of
five. I entered Madame Curie's room and found her washing her underclothes.
"It is nothing at
all," she said, when I protested. "I know perfectly well how to do
it, and with all of these extra guests in the house, the servants have enough
to do."
On the night before the
reception at the White House, at which President Harding was to present the
gramme of radium to Madame Curie, the Deed or gift was taken to her. It was a
beautifully engraved scroll, vesting all rights to a gramme of radium, the gift
of American women, in Marie Curie.
She read the paper
carefully, and then, after a few moments of thought, said: `It is very fine and
generous, but it must not be left this way. This gramme of radium represents a
great deal of money, but more than that, it represents the women of this
country. It is not for me; it is for science. I am not well; I may die any day.
My daughter Eve is not of legal age, and if I should die it would mean that
this radium would go to my estate and would be divided between my daughters. It
is not for that purpose. This radium must be consecrated for all time to the
use of science. Will you have your lawyer draw a paper which will make this
very clear?"
"I said that it
would be done in a few days.
"It must be done
to-night," she said. "Tomorrow I receive the radium, and I might die
to-morrow. Too much is at stake."
And so, late as it was
on that hot May evening, after some difficulty, we secured the services of a
lawyer, who prepared the paper from a draft Madame Curie herself had written.
She signed it before starting for Washington. One of the witnesses was Mrs.
Calvin Coolidge. This document read:
"In the event of
my death I give to the Institut du Radium, of Paris, for exclusive use in the
Laboratoire Curie, the gramme of radium which was given to me by the Executive
Committee of Women of the Marie Curie Radium Fund, pursuant to an agreement
dated the 19th day of May, 1921."
This act was consistent
with the whole life of the discoverer of radium; with the answer she had made
to my question a year before:
"Radium is not to
enrich any one. It is an element; it is for all people."
One dream that Madame
Curie held, and still holds unrealized, is the hope of a quiet little home of
her own with a garden and hedge, and flowers and birds. During her American
travels, she would frequently glance through the window as the train passed
through a small town, and, spying some modest little house with a garden, would
say, "I have always wanted such a little home."
But owning a house was
secondary in the life of both Pierre and Marie Curie. They simply made a home
wherever they lived, for such money as might have gone for the purchase of her
little dream house was always needed in the laboratory. She told me one day,
with deep feeling, that one of the regrets of her life was that Pierre Curie
had died without ever having had a permanent laboratory.
About the time of her
marriage, one of her relatives gave Madame Curie a gift of money to be used for
a trousseau. It was not a great sum, but important to the poor student in
Paris. To understand the significance of the use to which she put this fund, it
is necessary to remember that Marie Sklodowska was young, and possessed
physical beauty and charm. She was not without appreciation of the beautiful,
and she could not possibly have been utterly unconscious of her own appearance.
She had a young girl's natural interest in pretty clothes. She considered the
purchase of a wedding gown and other personal belongings, and then, with her
characteristic exactness, measured her needs and the future.
She was married in a
simple dress she had brought from Poland, and her trousseau fund was spent on
two bicycles, so that she and Pierre Curie might enjoy the beautiful country of
France. That was their honeymoon.
During her American
travels, Madame Curie was repeatedly requested to write the story of her life.
Its importance to history and its influence among students preparing to
consecrate their lives to science were emphasized.
Finally she consented.
"But it will not be much of a book," she said. "It is such an
uneventful, simple little story. I was born in Warsaw of a family of teachers.
I married Pierre Curie and had two children. I have done my work in
France."
A simple statement, but
fraught with what meaning! When most of us shall have been forgotten, when even
the Great World War shall have dwindled to a few pages in the history books,
when Governments shall have fallen and risen and fallen again, the work of
Marie Curie will be remembered.
Of her work and her
husband's, volumes-- veritable libraries--have been written since that spring
morning (it was May 18 or 20; Madame Curie is not sure) in 1898, when after an
all night vigil in a shack on the outskirts of Paris, she came forth with the
great gift of radium to mankind. Scientists will go on adding to the
bibliography of the marvelous element. But of Marie Curie herself, the woman,
it is unlikely that the world will ever read more than the brief notes
contained in this small book.
It is her conviction,
her philosophy, that "In science we should be interested in things, not
persons."
PIERRE CURIE'S parents,
who were educated and intelligent, formed a part of the petite bourgeoisie of
small means. They did not frequent fashionable society, but confined themselves
entirely to the companionship of their relatives and a few intimate friends.
Eugène Curie, Pierre's
father, was a physician and the son of a physician. He knew very few kinsmen of
his name, and very little about the Curie family, which was of Alsatian (Eugène
Curie was born at Mulhouse in 1827) and Protestant origin. Even though his
father was established in London, Eugène had been brought up in Paris, where he
pursued his studies in the natural sciences and medicine, and worked as
preparator under Gratiollet in the laboratories of the Museum.
Doctor Eugène Curie's
remarkable personality impressed all who approached him. He was a tall man, who
in youth must have been blonde, with beautiful blue eyes of a clearness and
brilliancy that were striking even in an advanced old age. These eyes, which
had retained a child- like expression, reflected goodness and intelligence. He
had indeed unusual intellectual capacities, a very live aptitude for the
natural sciences, and the temperament of a scholar.
Although he wished to
consecrate his life to scientific work, family responsibilities following his
marriage and the birth of two sons forced him to renounce this desire. The
necessities of life obliged him to practice his medical profession. He
continued, however, such experimental research as his means permitted, in
particular undertaking an investigation upon inoculation for tuberculosis at a
time when the bacterial nature of this malady was not yet established. His
scientific avocations developed in him the habit of making excursions in search
of the plants and animals necessary to his experiments, and this habit, as well
as his love of Nature, gave him a marked preference for country life. Until the
end of his life he conserved his love for science, and, without doubt, also,
his regret at not having been able to devote himself exclusively to it.
His medical career
remained always a modest one, but it revealed remarkable qualities of devotion
and disinterestedness. At the time of the Revolution of 1848, when he was still
a student, the Government of the Republic conferred on him a medal, "for
his honorable and courageous conduct" in serving the wounded. He himself
had been struck, on February 24th, by a ball which shattered a part of his jaw.
A little later, during a cholera epidemic, he installed himself, in order that
he might look after the sick, in a quarter of Paris deserted by physicians.
During the Commune he established a hospital in his apartment (rue de la
Visitation) near which there was a barricade, and there he cared for the
wounded. Through this act of civism and because of his advanced convictions he
lost a part of his bourgeois patronage. At this time he accepted the position
of medical inspector of the organization for the protection of young children.
The duties of this post permitted him to live in the suburbs of Paris where
health conditions for himself and his family were much better than those of the
city.
Doctor Curie had very
pronounced political convictions. Temperamentally an idealist, he had embraced
with ardor that republican doctrine which inspired the revolutionaries of 1848.
He was united in friendship with Henri Brisson and the men of his group. Like
them, a free thinker and an anticlerical, he did not have his sons baptized,
nor did he have them practice any, form of religion.
Pierre's mother, Claire
Depouilly, was the daughter of a prominent manufacturer of Puteaux, near Paris.
Her father and brothers distinguished themselves through their numerous
inventions connected with the making of dyes and special tissues. The family,
which was of Savoy, was caught in the business catastrophe caused by the
Revolution of 1848, and ruined. And these reverses of fortune, added to those
which Doctor Curie had experienced during his career, meant that he and his
family lived always in comparatively straightened circumstances, with the
difficulties of existence often renewed. Even though raised for a life of ease,
Pierre's mother accepted with tranquil courage the precarious conditions which
life brought her, and gave proof of an extreme devotion as she made life easier
for her husband and children by her activity and her good will.
If the circumstances in
which Jacques and Pierre grew up were modest and not free from cares,
nevertheless there reigned in the family an atmosphere of gentleness and affection.
In speaking to me for the first time of his parents, Pierre Curie said that
they were "exquisite." They were, in truth, that. The father's spirit
was a little authoritative--always awake and active. And he possessed a rare
unselfishness. He neither wished nor knew how to profit by personal relations
to ameliorate his condition. He loved his wife and sons tenderly, and was ever
ready to aid all who needed him. The mother was slight, vivid in character,
and, even though her health had suffered through the birth of her sons, was
always gay and active in the simple home that she so well knew how to make
attractive and hospitable.
When I first knew them
they lived at Sceaux, rue des Sablons (to-day rue Pierre Curie) in a little
house of ancient construction half concealed amidst the verdure of a pretty
garden. Their life was peaceful. Doctor Curie went where his duties called him,
either in Sceaux or in neighboring localities. Beyond this he occupied himself
with his garden or his reading. Near relatives and neighbors came to visit on
Sundays, when bowling and chess were the favorite amusements. From time to time
Henri Brisson sought out his old companion in his tranquil retreat. Great calm
and serenity enveloped the garden, the dwelling, and its inhabitants.
Pierre Curie was born
the 15th of May, 1859, in a house facing the Jardin des Plantes, rue Cuvier,
where his parents lived at the time when his father was working in the Museum
laboratories. He was the second son of Doctor Curie and three and a half years
younger than his brother Jacques. In after life he retained few particularly
characteristic memories of his childhood in Paris; yet he did tell me how
vividly present in his mind were the days of the Commune, the battle on the
barricade so near the house where he then lived, the hospital established by
his father, and the expeditions, on which his brother accompanied him, in
search of the wounded.
It was in 1883 that
Pierre moved with his parents from the capital to the suburbs of Paris, living
first, from 1883 to 1892, at Fontenayaux- Roses, then at Sceaux from 1892 to
1895, the year of our marriage.
Pierre passed his
childhood entirely within the family circle; he never went to the elementary
school nor to the lycée. His earliest instruction was given him first by his
mother and was then continued by his father and his elder brother, who himself
had never followed in any complete way the course of the lycée. Pierre's
intellectual capacities were not those which would permit the rapid assimilation
of a prescribed course of studies. His dreamer's spirit would not submit itself
to the ordering of the intellectual effort imposed by the school. The
difficulty he experienced in following such a program was usually attributed to
a certain slowness of mind. He himself believed that he had this slow mind and
often said so. I think, however, that this belief was not entirely justified.
It seems to me, rather, that already from his early youth it was necessary for
him to concentrate his thought with great intensity upon a certain definite
object, in order to obtain a precise result, and that it was impossible for him
to interrupt or to modify the course of his reflections to suit exterior
circumstances. It is clear that a mind of this kind can hold within itself
great future possibilities. But it is no less clear that no system of education
has been especially provided by the public school for persons of this
intellectual category, which nevertheless includes more representatives than
one would believe at first sight.
Very fortunately for
Pierre, who could not, as we can see, become a brilliant pupil in a lycée, his
parents had a sufficiently keen intelligence to understand his difficulty, and
they refrained from demanding of their son an effort which would have been
prejudicial to his development. If, then, Pierre's earliest instruction was
irregular and incomplete, it had the advantage of not so weighing on his
intelligence as to deform it by dogmas, prejudices or preconceived ideas. And
he was always grateful to his parents for this very liberal attitude. He grew
up in all freedom, developing his taste for natural science through his
excursions into the country, where he collected plants and animals for his
father. These excursions, which he made either alone or with one of the family,
helped to awake in him a great love of Nature, a passion which endured to the
end of his life.
Intimate contact with
Nature, which, because of the artificial conditions of city life and of
traditional education, few children can know, had a decisive influence on
Pierre's development. Guided by his father, he learned to observe facts and to
interpret them correctly. He became familiar with the animals and plants of the
environs of Paris. He knew which ones could be found at each season of the year
in the forests and fields, the streams and ponds. The ponds in particular had
for him an ever new attraction with their characteristic vegetation and their
population of frogs, tritons, salamanders, dragonflies, and other denizens of air
and water. No efforts to obtain the objects of his interests seemed too great
for him. He never hesitated to take any animal in his hands in order to
examine, it more closely. Later, after our marriage, in our walks together, if
I made some objection to letting him put a frog into my hands, he would
exclaim: "But no, see how pretty it is!" He loved always, too, to
bring back bouquets of wild flowers from his walks.
Thus his knowledge of
natural history progressed rapidly. At the same time, also, he was mastering
the elements of mathematics. His classical studies, on the contrary, had been
much neglected, and it was principally through general reading that he acquired
a knowledge of literature and history. His father, who was widely cultured,
possessed a library containing many French and foreign works. Having himself a
very pronounced taste for reading, he was able to communicate it to his son.
When he was about
fourteen years old, a very happy event occurred in Pierre's education. He was
put under an excellent professor, A. Bazille, who taught him elementary and
advanced mathematics. This master was able to appreciate his young pupil,
became much attached to him, and directed his work with the greatest
solicitude. He even helped him to advance in his study of Latin, in which he
was very much behind. At the same time Pierre and Albert Bazille, his
professor's son, became friends.
This teaching had, I am
sure, a great influence on the mind of Pierre, aiding him to develop and to
sound the depth of his faculties and to realize his capacities for science. He
had a remarkable aptitude for mathematics, which expressed itself chiefly by a
characteristic geometric spirit and a great power of spatial vision. He,
therefore, progressed rapidly and joyfully in his studies under M. Bazille, for
whom he always felt an unalterable gratitude.
He once told me
something which proved that even at this time he was not content solely to
follow a fixed program of studies, but that he had already begun to launch out
into personal investigation. Strongly attracted by the theory of determinants,
which he had just mastered, he undertook to realize an analogous conception,
but in three dimensions, and endeavored to discover the properties and uses of
these "cubical determinants." Needless to say that at his age, and
with the knowledge then at his disposal, such an enterprise was beyond his
powers. The attempt, however, was none the less indicative of his awakening
inventive spirit.
Several years later,
when preoccupied with reflections upon symmetry, he asked himself the question:
"Could not one find a general method for the solution of any equation
whatever? Everything is a question of symmetry." He did not then know of
Galois' theory of groups which had made it possible to attack this problem. But
he was happy later to learn its results in the geometric applications to the
case of equations of the 5th degree.
Thanks to his rapid
progress in mathematics and physics, Pierre Curie was made a bachelor of
science at the age of sixteen years. With this he passed his most difficult
stage of formal education. The only thing with which he had to concern himself
in the future was the acquisition of knowledge through his personal and
independent effort in a field of science freely chosen.
PIERRE CURIE was still
very young when he began his higher studies in preparation for the licentiate
in physics. He followed the lectures and laboratory work at the Sorbonne and
had, besides, access to the laboratory of Professor Leroux in the School of
Pharmacy, where he assisted in the preparation of the physics courses. At the
same time he became further acquainted with laboratory methods by working with
his brother Jacques, who was then preparator of chemistry courses under Riche
and Jungfleisch.
Pierre received his
licentiate in physical sciences at the age of eighteen. During his studies he
had attracted the attention of Desains, director of the University laboratory,
and of Mouton, assistant director of the same laboratory. Thanks to their
appreciation he was appointed, when only nineteen years old, preparator for
Desains and placed in charge of the students' laboratory work in physics. He
held this position five years, and it was during this time that he began his
experimental research.
It is to be regretted
that because of his financial situation Pierre was obliged, at this early age
of nineteen, to accept the post of preparator instead of being able to give his
whole time for two or three years longer to his University studies. With his
time thus absorbed by his professional duties and his investigations he had to
give up following the lectures in higher mathematics, and he therefore passed
no further examinations. In compensation, however, he was released from
military service in conformity with the privileges at that time accorded young
men who undertook to serve as teachers in the public- school system.
He was by this time a
tall and slender young man with chestnut-colored hair and a shy and reserved
expression. At the same time his youthful face mirrored a profound inner life.
One has such an impression of him as he appears in a good group photograph of
Doctor Curie's family. His head is resting on his hand in a pose of abstraction
and reverie, and one cannot but be struck by the expression of the large,
limpid eyes that seem to be following some inner vision. Beside him the
brown-haired brother offers a striking contrast, his vivacious eyes and whole
appearance suggesting decision.
The two brothers loved
each other tenderly and lived as good comrades, being accustomed to work
together in the laboratory and walk together in their free hours. They also
kept up affectionate relations with a few of their childhood friends: Louis
Depouilly, their cousin, who became a physician; Louis Vauthier, also later a
physician; and Albert Bazille, who became an engineer in the post and telegraph
service.
Pierre used to tell me
of the vivid memories he had of the vacations passed at Draveil on the Seine,
where, with his brother Jacques, he took long walks beside the river, agreeably
interrupted by swimming and diving in the stream. Both brothers were excellent
swimmers. Sometimes they tramped for entire days. They had, at an early age,
acquired the habit of visiting the suburbs of Paris on foot. At times also
Pierre made solitary excursions which well suited his meditative spirit. On
these occasions he lost all sense of time, and went to the extreme limit of his
physical forces. Absorbed in delightful contemplation of the things about him,
he was not conscious of material difficulties.
On the pages of a diary
written in 1879,[1] he thus expressed the salutary influence of the country
upon him:
"Oh, what a good time I have passed there in that gracious
solitude, so far from the thousand little worrying things that torment me in
Paris. No, I do not regret my nights passed in the woods, and my solitary days.
If I had the time I would let myself recount all my musings. I would also
describe my delicious valley, filled with the perfume of aromatic plants, the
beautiful mass of foliage, so fresh and so humid, that hung over the Bièvre,
the fairy palace with its colonnades of hops, the stony hills, red with
heather, where it was so good to be. Oh, I shall remember always with gratitude
the forest of the Minière; of all the woods I have seen, it is this one that I
have loved most and where I have been happiest. Often in the evening I would
start out and ascend again this valley, and I would return with twenty ideas in
my head." Thus, for Pierre
Curie, the sensation of well- being he experienced in the country was derived
from the opportunity for tranquil reflection. Daily life in Paris with its
numerous interruptions did not permit of undisturbed concentration, and this
was to him a cause of inquietude and suffering. He felt himself destined for
scientific research; for him the necessity was imperative of comprehending the
phenomena of Nature in order to form a satisfactory theory to explain them. But
when trying to fix his mind on some problem he had frequently to turn aside
because of the multiplicity of futile things that disturbed his reflections and
plunged him into discouragement.
Under the heading,
"A day like too many others," he enumerated in his diary a list of
the puerile happenings that had completely filled one of his days, leaving no
time for useful work. He then concluded: "There is my day, and I have
accomplished nothing. Why?" Further on he returns to the same theme under
a title borrowed from Victor Hugo's "Le Roi S'Amuse,"
"To deafen with
little bells the spirit that would think."
"In order that,
weak one that I am, I shall not let my head turn with all the winds, yielding
to the least breath that touches it, it is necessary that all should be
immobile about me, or that, like a spinning top, movement alone should render
me insensible to external objects.
"When, in the
process of turning slowly upon myself, I try to gain momentum, a nothing, a
word, a story, a paper, a visit stops me and is able to put off or retard
forever the moment when, granted a sufficient swiftness I might have, in spite
of my surroundings, concentrated on my own intention. . . . We must eat, drink,
sleep, be idle, love, touch the sweetest things of life and yet not succumb to
them. It is necessary that, in doing all this, the higher thoughts to which one
is dedicated remain dominant and continue their unmoved course in our poor
heads. It is necessary to make a dream of life, and to make of a dream a
reality."
This acute analysis,
sufficiently surprising in a young man of twenty years, suggests in an
admirable manner the conditions necessary to the highest manifestations of the
intellect. It carries a lesson which, if it were sufficiently understood, would
facilitate the way of all contemplative spirits capable of opening new paths
for humanity.
The unity of thought
toward which Pierre Curie strove was troubled not only by professional and
social obligations but also by his tastes, which urged him towards a broad
literary and artistic culture. Like his father, he loved reading, and did not
fear to undertake arduous literary tasks. To some criticism made in this
connection, he responded readily: "I do not dislike tedious books."
This meant that he was fascinated by the search after truth which is sometimes
associated with writing devoid of charm. He also loved painting and music, and
went gladly to look at pictures or to attend a concert. A few fragments of
poetry in his handwriting were left among his papers.
But all these
preoccupations were subordinated in his mind to what he considered his true
task, and when his scientific imagination was not in full activity, he felt
himself, in a sense, an incomplete being. He expressed this inquietude with an
emotion born of his suffering during momentary periods of depression.
"What shall I become?" he wrote. "Very rarely have I
command of all myself; ordinarily a part of me sleeps. My poor spirit, are you
then so weak that you cannot control my body? Oh, my thoughts, you count indeed
for very little! I should have the greatest confidence in the power of my
imagination to pull me out of the rut, but I greatly fear that my imagination
is dead." But despite
hesitations, doubts, and lost moments, the young man was little by little
striking out his path and strengthening his will. He was resolutely carrying on
fruitful investigations at an age when many men who were to become savants were
as yet only pupils.
His first work, done in
collaboration with Desains, concerned the determination of the lengths of heat
waves with the aid of a thermo- electric element and a metallic-wire grating, a
process, then entirely new, which has since often been employed in the study of
this question.
Following this he
undertook an investigation on crystals in collaboration with his brother, who
had passed his licentiate and was preparator for Friedel in the laboratory of
mineralogy at the Sorbonne. Their experiments led the two young physicists to a
great success: the discovery of the hitherto unknown phenomena of
piezo-electricity, which consists of an electric polarization produced by the
compression or the expansion of crystals in the direction of the axis of
symmetry. This was by no means a chance discovery. It was the result of much
reflection on the symmetry of crystalline matter, which enabled the brothers to
foresee the possibilities of such polarization. The first part of the
investigation was made in Friedel's laboratory. With an experimental skill rare
at their age, the young men succeeded in making a complete study of the new
phenomenon, established the conditions of symmetry necessary to its production
in crystals, and stated its remarkably simple quantitative laws, as well as its
absolute magnitude for certain crystals. Several well-known scientists of other
nations (Roentgen, Kundt, Voigt, Riecke) have made further investigations along
this new road opened by Jacques and Pierre Curie.
The second part of the
work, and much more difficult to realize experimentally, concerned the
compression resulting in piezo-electric crystals when they are exposed to the
action of an electric field. This phenomenon, foreseen by Lippmann, was
demonstrated by the Curie brothers. The difficulty of the experiment lay in the
minuteness of the deformations that had to be observed. Fortunately Desains and
Mouton placed a small room adjoining the physics laboratory at the disposal of
the brothers so that they might proceed successfully with their delicate
operations.
From these researches,
as much theoretical as experimental, they immediately deduced a practical
application, in the form of a new apparatus, a piezo-electric quartz
electrometer, which measures in absolute terms small quantities of electricity,
as well as electric currents of low intensity. This apparatus has since then
rendered great service in experiments in radioactivity.[2]
During the course of
their experiments on piezo-electricity the Curies were obliged to employ electrometric
apparatus, and, not being able to use the quadrant electrometer known at that
time, they developed a new form of that instrument, better adapted to their
necessities. This became known in France as the Curie electrometer. Thus these
years of collaboration between the two brothers, always intimately united,
proved both happy and fruitful. Their devotion and their common interest in
science were to them both a stimulant and a support. During their work the
vivacity and energy of Jacques were of precious aid to Pierre, always more
easily absorbed by his thoughts.
However, this beautiful
and close collaboration lasted only a few years. In 1883, Pierre and Jacques
were obliged to separate; Jacques left for the University of Montpelier as Head
Lecturer in Mineralogy (Maître de Conferences). Pierre was made Director of
Laboratory Work in the School of Industrial Physics and Chemistry founded by
the city of Paris at the suggestion of Friedel and of Schützenberger, who
became its first director. Their remarkable researches with crystals won for
the brothers in 1895--very late, it is true--the Planté prize.
IT was in the School of
Physics, in the old buildings of the Collège Rollin, that Pierre Curie was
destined to work, first as Director of Laboratory Work, then as Professor, for
twenty- two years, a period covering practically the whole of his scientific
life. His memory seemed to cling to these old buildings, now destroyed, in
which he had passed all his days, returning only in the evening to his parents
in the country. He counted himself fortunate since he enjoyed the favor of the
Founder-Director Schützenberger, and the esteem and good will of his students,
many of whom became his disciples and friends. In alluding to this experience,
at the close of an address delivered at the Sorbonne near the end of his life,
he said:
"I desire to
recall here that we have made all our investigations in the School of Physics
and Chemistry of the city of Paris. In all creative scientific work the
influence of the surroundings in which one works is of great importance, and a
part of the result is due to that influence. For more than twenty years I have
worked in the School of Physics and Chemistry. Schützenberger, the first
director of the School, was an eminent scientist. I remember with gratitude
that he procured for me opportunities for my own investigations when I was yet
but an assistant. Later, he permitted Madame Curie to work beside me, an
authorization which was at that time far from an ordinary innovation.
"Schützenberger
allowed us all great liberty; his direction made itself felt chiefly through
his inspiring love of science. The professors of the School of Physics and
Chemistry, and the students who have gone from it, have created a kindly and
stimulating atmosphere that has been extremely helpful to me. It is among the
old students of the school that we have found our collaborators and our
friends. I am happy to be able, here, to thank them all."
The newly appointed
director of the laboratory was, when he first assumed his duties, scarcely
older than his students, who loved him because of his extreme simplicity of
manner, which was much more that of a comrade than of a master. Some of these
students recall with emotion their work carried on with him and his discussion
at the blackboard, where he readily allowed himself to be led to debate
scientific matters to their great profit both in information and in kindled
enthusiasm. At a dinner given in 1903 by the Association of Former Students of
the School, which he attended, he laughingly recalled an incident of this
period. One day after lingering late with several students in the laboratory,
he found the door locked, and they all had to climb down from the first floor
single file, along a pipe that ran near one of the windows.
Because of his reserve
and shyness he did not make acquaintances easily, but those whose work brought
them near him loved him because of his kindliness. This was true of his
subordinates during his entire life. In the school his laboratory helper, whom
he had aided under trying circumstances, thought of him with the greatest
gratitude, in fact, with veritable adoration.
Although separated from
his brother, he remained bound to him by their former bond of love and
confidence. During vacations, Jacques Curie would come to him that they might
renew again that valuable collaboration to which both willingly sacrificed
their periods of liberty. At times it was Pierre who joined Jacques, who was
engaged in making a geological chart of the Auvergne country, and there they
covered together the daily distances necessary to the tracing of such a map.
Here are a few memories
of these long walks, extracts from a letter written to me shortly before our
marriage:
"I have been very happy to pass a little time with my brother. We
have been far from all immediate care, and so isolated by our manner of living
that we have not even been able to receive a letter, never knowing one night
where we would sleep the next. At times it seemed to me that we had gone back to
the days when we lived entirely together. Then we always arrived at the same
opinions about all things, with the result that it was no longer necessary for
us to speak in order to understand each other. This was all the more
astonishing because we differed so entirely in character." From the point of view of scientific
investigation, one must recognize that the nomination of Pierre Curie to the
School of Physics and Chemistry retarded from the very first his experimental
research. Indeed, at the time of his appointment nothing yet, existed in that
establishment; everything had to be created. Even the walls and the partitions
were hardly yet in place. He had, therefore, to organize completely the
laboratory and its work, and he acquitted himself of this task in a remarkable
manner, injecting into it the spirit of precision and originality so
characteristic of him.
The direction of the
laboratory work of the large number of students (thirty by promotion) was alone
a strain on a young man, assisted as he was only by one laboratory helper. The
first years were, therefore, hard years of assiduous work, of benefit chiefly
to the students trained and developed by the young laboratory director.
He himself profited by
this enforced interruption of his experimental research by trying to complete
his scientific studies and, in particular, his knowledge of mathematics. At the
same time he became engrossed in considerations of a theoretical nature on the
relations between crystallography and physics.
In 1884 he published a
memoir on questions of the order and repetition that are at the base of the
study of the symmetry of crystals. This was followed in the same year by a more
general treatment of the same subject. Another article on symmetry and its
repetitions appeared in 1885. In that year he published, too, a very important
theoretical work[3] on the formation of crystals, and the capillary constants
of the different faces.
This rapid succession
of investigations shows how completely engrossed Pierre Curie was in the
subject of the physics of crystals. Both his theoretical and his experimental
research in this domain grouped itself around a very general principle, the
principle of symmetry, that he had arrived at step by step, and which he only
definitely enunciated in memoirs published between the years 1893 and 1895.
The following is the
form, already classic, in which he made his announcement:
"When certain
causes produce certain effects, the elements of symmetry in the causes ought to
reappear in the effects produced.
"When certain
effects reveal a certain dissymmetry, this dissymmetry should be apparent in
the causes which have given them birth.
"The converse of
these two statements does not hold, at least practically; that is to say, the
effects produced can be more symmetrical than their causes."
The capital importance
of this statement, perfect in its simplicity, lies in the fact that the
elements of symmetry which it introduces are related to all the phenomena of
physics without exception.
Guided by an exhaustive
study of the groups of symmetry which might exist in nature, Pierre Curie
showed how one should use this revelation in character at once geometric and
physical, in order to foresee whether a particular phenomenon can reproduce
itself, or whether its reproduction is impossible under the given conditions.
At the beginning of a certain memoir, he insists in these terms:
"I think it is
necessary to introduce into physics the ideas of symmetry familiar to
crystallographers."
His work in this field
is fundamental, and even though he was led away from it later by other
investigations, he always retained a passionate interest in the physics of
crystals, as well as in projects of further research in this domain.
The principle of
symmetry to which Pierre Curie had so eagerly devoted himself is one of the
small number of great principles which dominate the study of the phenomena of
physics, and which, having their root in ideas derived by experiment, yet
little by little detach themselves and assume a form more and more general and
more and more perfect. It is in this way that the idea of the equivalence of heat
and of work, added to the earlier notion of the equivalence of kinetic and
potential energies, brought about the establishment of the principle of the
conservation of energy whose application is entirely general. In the same way
the law of the conservation of mass grew out of the experiments of Lavoisier,
which belong to the foundations of chemistry. Recently an admirable synthesis
has made it possible for us to attain a still higher degree of generalization
through the union of these two principles, for it has been proved that the mass
of a body is proportional to its internal energy. The study of electrical
phenomena led Lippmann to announce the general law of the conservation of
electricity. The principle of Carnot, born of considerations on the functioning
of thermal machines, has acquired also so general a significance, that it made
possible the foreseeing of the most probable character of spontaneous evolution
for all material systems.
The principle of
symmetry furnishes an example of an analogous evolution. To begin with,
observation of Nature was able to suggest the idea of symmetry; though such
observations reveal only imperfectly any regular dispositions in the aspects of
animals and plants. The regularity becomes very much more perfect in the case
of crystallized minerals. We may consider that Nature furnishes us the idea of
a plane of symmetry and of an axis of symmetry. An object possesses a plane of
symmetry, or a plane of reflection, if this plane divides the object into two
parts, of which each one may be thought of as the image of the other reflected
in the plane as in a mirror. It is this, approximately, that occurs in the
external appearance of man and of numerous animals. An object possesses an axis
of symmetry of the order n, if it preserves the same appearance after a
rotation on this axis of the nth part of a revolution. Thus a regular flower of
four petals has an axis of symmetry of the order four, or a quarternary axis.
Crystals like those of rock salt or of alum possess many planes of symmetry and
many axes of symmetry of different orders.
Geometry teaches us to
study the elements of symmetry of a limited figure such, for instance, as a
polyhedron; and to discover the relations between its parts which permit us to
reunite different symmetries in groups. The knowledge of these groups is of the
greatest usefulness in establishing a rational classification of crystal forms
in a small number of systems each of which is derived from a simple geometric
form. Thus the regular octahedron, belongs to the same system as the cube, for
in the case of each the group formed by the axes and the planes of symmetry is
the same.
In the study of the
physical properties of crystalline matter it is necessary to take account of
the symmetry of such matter. This is, in general, anisotropic; that is to say,
it has not the same properties in all directions. On the other hand, media such
as glass or water are isotropic, having equivalent properties in all
directions. It was the study of optics which first showed that the propagation
of light in a crystal is dependent upon the elements of symmetry in that
crystal. The same thing is true for the conduction of heat or electricity, for
magnetization, for polarization, etc.
It was in reflecting
upon the relations between cause and effect that govern these phenomena that
Pierre Curie was led to complete and extend the idea of symmetry, by
considering it as a condition of space characteristic of the medium in which a
given phenomenon occurs. To define this condition it is necessary to consider
not only the constitution of the medium but also its condition of movement and
the physical agents to which it is subordinated. Thus a right circular cylinder
possesses a plane of symmetry perpendicular to its axis in its position, and an
infinity of planes of symmetry pass through its axis. If the same cylinder is
in rotation on its axis, the first plane of symmetry persists, but all the
others are suppressed. Furthermore, if an electric current traverses the
cylinder lengthwise, no plane of symmetry remains.
In every phenomenon the
elements of symmetry compatible with its existence may be determined. Certain
elements can coexist with certain phenomena, but they are not necessary to
them. That which is necessary is that certain ones among these elements shall
not exist. It is dissymmetry that creates the phenomenon. When several
phenomena are superposed in the same system, the dissymmetries are added
together. "Works of Pierre Curie," page 127.
It was from the above
considerations that Pierre Curie announced the general law whose text, already
cited, attains the highest degree of generalization. The synthesis thus
obtained seems complete, and all that was further needed was to deduce from it
all the developments of which it admits.
For this it is
convenient to define the particular symmetry of each phenomenon and to
introduce a classification which makes clear the principal groups of symmetry.
Mass, electric charge, temperature, have the same symmetry, of a type called
scalar, that of the sphere. A current of water and a rectilineal electric
current have the symmetry of an arrow, of the type polar vector. The symmetry
of an upright circular cylinder is of the type tensor. All of the physics of
crystals can be expressed in a form in which the particular phenomena in
question are not specified, but in which are examined only the geometrical and
analytical relations between the types of quantities where certain ones are
considered as causes and the other as effects.
Thus, the study of
electrical polarization by the application of an electric field becomes the
examination of the relation between two systems of vectors, and the writing out
of a system of linear equations having 9 coefficients. The same system of
equations holds for the relation between an electric field and an electric
current in crystalline conductors; or for that between the temperature gradient
and the heat current, except that the meaning of the coefficients must be
changed. Similarly, a study of the general relations between a vector and a
system of tensors can reveal all the characteristics of piezo-electric
phenomena. And all the rich variety of the phenomena of elasticity depends on
the relation between two sets of tensors which require, in principle, 36 coefficients.
The foregoing brief
exposition reveals the high philosophic import of these conceptions of symmetry
which touch all natural phenomena, and whose profound significance Pierre Curie
so clearly set forth. It is interesting in this connection to recall the
relation which Pasteur saw between these same conceptions and the
manifestations of life. "The universe," he said, "is a
dissymmetric whole. I am led to believe that life, as it is revealed to us,
must be a function of the dissymmetry of the universe, or of the consequences
that it involves."
As his organization of
his work in the School progressed, Pierre Curie could begin to dream of going
forward again with his experimental research. He could do so, however, only
under most precarious conditions, for he had not even a laboratory for his
personal work, nor a room of any kind entirely at his disposition. Besides, he
possessed no funds to support his investigations. It was only after he had been
several years at the School that he obtained, thanks to the influence of Schützenberger,
a small annual subvention for his work. Up to that time the materials necessary
for him were provided, thanks to the kindness of his superiors, to the extent
possible, by drawing upon a very limited general fund of the teaching
laboratory. As for a place to work in, he had to content himself with very
little. He set up certain of his experiments in the rooms of his pupils when
these were not in use. But more frequently he worked in an outside corridor
running between a stairway and a laboratory. It was there that he conducted, in
particular, his long research on magnetism.
This abnormal state of
affairs was manifestly prejudicial to his work, but it had, nevertheless, the
happy result of bringing his students closer to him, for it allowed them, at
times, to share in his personal scientific interests.
His return to
experimental research is marked by a profound study of the "direct reading
periodic precision balance for least weights." (1889, 1890, 1891.) In this
balance, the use of small weights is suppressed by the employment of a
microscope by means of which one reads a micrometer attached to the extremity
of one of the arms of the balance. The reading is made when the oscillation of
the balance is arrested, which can occur very rapidly, thanks to the use of
pneumatic dampeners conveniently constructed. This balance marks a considerable
advance over old systems. It has shown itself particularly valuable in
laboratories for chemical analysis, where the rapidity of the weighings is
frequently a test of precision. We can say that the introduction of the Curie
balances marks an epoch in the construction of these instruments. The work done
in this field was far from empirical; it comprised a study of the theory of
damped movements and the construction of numerous curves established with the
aid of some of his students.
It was toward 1891 that
Pierre Curie began a long series of investigations on the magnetic properties
of bodies at divers temperatures, from the normal up to 1400° C. These
investigations, covering years, were presented as a Doctor's thesis before the
Faculty of Sciences of the University of Paris in 1895. In it he stated
precisely in the following few words the object and results of his work:
"From the point of
view of their magnetic properties, bodies may be divided into two groups:
diamagnetic bodies, bodies only feebly magnetic, and paramagnetic bodies.[4] At
first sight the two groups seem entirely separate. The principal aim of this
research has been to discover if there exist transitions between these two
states of matter, and if it is possible to make a given body pass progressively
through them. To determine this I have examined the properties of a great
number of bodies at temperatures differing as much as possible, in magnetic
fields of varying intensities.
"My experiments
failed to prove any relation between the properties of diamagnetic and those of
paramagnetic bodies. And the results support the theories which attribute
magnetism and diamagnetism to causes of a different nature. On the contrary,
the properties of ferro-magnetic bodies and of bodies feebly magnetic are
intimately united."
This experimental work
presented many difficulties, for it necessitated the measuring of very minute
forces (of the order of 1/100 of a milligramme weight) within a container where
the temperature could attain 400° C.
As Pierre Curie well
understood, the results he obtained are, from a theoretic point of view, of
fundamental importance. The Curie law, according to which the coefficient of
magnetization of a body feebly magnetized varies in inverse ratio to the
absolute temperature, is a remarkably simple law. It is quite comparable to the
Gay-Lussac law relating to the variation of the density of a perfect gas with
the temperature. In his well known theory of magnetism P. Langevin, in 1905,
took into account the Curie law and arrived again, theoretically, at the
difference between the origins of diamagnetism and paramagnetism. His work, as
well as the important investigations of P. Weiss, demonstrated the accuracy of
Pierre Curie's conclusions, as well as the importance of the analogy that he
perceived between the intensity of magnetization and the density of a
fluid--the paramagnetic state being comparable to a gaseous state, and the
ferro-magnetic state to the state of condensation.
In connection with this
work, Pierre Curie spent some time in the search for unknown phenomena whose
existence did not seem, a priori, impossible to him. He sought for bodies
strongly diamagnetic, but found none. He tried to discover, too, if there were
bodies that acted as conductors of magnetism, and if magnetism can exist in a
"free state," like electricity. Here also the result was negative. He
never published any of these investigations, for he had the habit of thus
engaging in the pursuit of phenomena, often with little hope of success, solely
for the love of the unforeseen, and without ever thinking of publication.
Because of this
entirely disinterested passion for scientific research the presentation of a
doctor's thesis which would give an account of these early investigations had never
appealed to him. He was already thirty-five years old when he decided to gather
together, in such a thesis, the results of his beautiful work on magnetism.
I have a very vivid
memory of how he sustained his thesis before the examiners, for he had invited
me, because of the friendship that already existed between us, to be present on
the occasion. The jury was composed of Professors Bonty, Lippmann, and
Hautefeuille. In the audience were some of his friends, among them his aged
father, extremely happy in his son's success. I remember the simplicity and the
clarity of the exposition, the esteem indicated by the attitude of the
professors, and the conversation between them and the candidate which reminded
one of a meeting of the Physics Society. I was greatly impressed; it seemed to
me that the little room that day sheltered the exaltation of human thought.
In recalling this
period in the life of Pierre Curie, between 1883 and 1895, we can appreciate
the great progress the young physicist had made while acting as Chief of
Laboratory. He had succeeded during this time in organizing an entirely new
teaching service; he had published an important series of theoretical memoirs,
as well as the results of experimental research of the first order. In addition,
he had constructed new apparatus of great perfection--and all this in spite of
very insufficient accommodations and resources. This achievement suggests the
distance he had traveled since the doubts and hesitations of his early youth in
learning to discipline his methods of work, and to derive from them the full
advantage of his exceptional capacities.
He enjoyed a growing
esteem in France, and in foreign countries. He was listened to with interest at
the meetings of the learned societies (Society of Physics, Society of
Mineralogy, Society of Electricians), where he was in the habit of presenting
his communications and where he joined readily in the discussion of various
scientific questions.
Among foreign scholars
who already at this time appreciated him highly, I can name, in the first
place, the illustrious English physicist, Lord Kelvin, who joined with him in a
certain scientific discussion, and who often expressed for him, from that time
on, both esteem and sympathy. During one of his visits to Paris, Lord Kelvin
was present at a meeting of the Society of Physics when Pierre Curie made a
statement regarding the construction and the use of standard condensers with
guard ring. In this statement he recommended the use of an apparatus which
involved the charging of the central part of the guard ring plate by a galvanic
cell and in uniting the guard ring with the earth. One uses then, as a measure,
the charge induced on the second plate. Even though the resulting disposition
of lines of the field be complex, the charge induced can be calculated by a
theorem of electrostatics, with the same simple formula as is used for an
ordinary apparatus in a uniform field, and one has the benefit of a better
isolation. Lord Kelvin believed at first that this reasoning was inexact.
Despite his great repute and his advanced age, he went the following day to the
laboratory to find the young Director. Here he discussed the matter with him
before the blackboard. He was completely convinced, and seemed even delighted
to concede the point to his companion.[5]
It may seem astonishing
that Pierre Curie, in spite of his merits, continued during twelve years in the
small position of Chief of Laboratory. Without doubt this was largely due to
the fact that it is easy to overlook those who have not the active support of
influential persons. It was due also to the fact that it was impossible for him
to take the many steps that the pushing of any candidature involves. Then, too,
his independence of character ill fitted him to ask for an advance, and this
notwithstanding the fact that his position was very modest. Indeed his salary,
then comparable to that of a day laborer (about 300 francs a month), was
scarcely sufficient to enable him to lead the simple life that would yet permit
him to carry on his work.
He expressed his
feelings on this subject in the following words:
"I have heard that perhaps one of the professors will resign, and
that I might, in that case, make application to succeed him. What an ugly
necessity is this of seeking any position whatsoever; I am not accustomed to
this form of activity, demoralizing to the highest degree. I am sorry that I
spoke to you about it. I think that nothing is more unhealthy to the spirit
than to allow oneself to be occupied by things of this character and to listen
to the petty gossip that people come to report to you." If he disliked soliciting an advancement in
position, he was even less inclined to hope for honors. He had, in fact, a very
decided opinion on the subject of honorary distinctions. Not only did he
believe that they were not helpful, but he considered them frankly harmful. He
felt that the desire to obtain them is a cause of trouble, and that it can
degrade the worthiest aim of man, which is, work for the pure love of it.
Since he possessed
great moral probity, he did not hesitate to make his acts conform to his
opinions. When Schützenberger, in order to offer him a mark of esteem, wished
to propose him for the Palmes académiques he refused this distinction, despite
the advantages which, according to general belief, it would confer. And he
wrote to his director:
"I have been informed that you intend to propose me again to the
prelet for the decoration. I pray you do not do so. If you procure for me this
honor, you will place me under the necessity of refusing it, for I have firmly
decided not to accept a decoration of any kind. I hope that you will be good
enough to avoid taking a step that will make me appear a little ridiculous in
the eyes of many people. If your aim is to offer me a testimony of your
interest, you have already done that, and in a very much more effective manner
which touched me greatly, for you have made it possible for me to work without
worry." Faithful to this
firm opinion, he later declined the decoration of the Légion d'Honneur, which
was offered him in 1903.
But even though Pierre
Curie refused to take steps to change his situation it was at last improved. In
1895 the well-known physicist, Mascart, professor in the Collège de France,
impressed with his ability, and with Lord Kelvin's opinion of him, insisted
that Schützenberger create a new Chair of Physics at the School of Physics and
Chemistry. Pierre Curie was then named professor under conditions in which his
talents were duly recognized. However, nothing was done at this time to
ameliorate the inadequate material conditions under which, as we have already
seen, he was carrying on his personal investigations.
[3] In this very brief memoir is presented, for the first time, a theory
which explains why crystals develop certain faces simultaneously, in a
particular direction, and consequently why crystals possess a determined form.
[4] Paramagnetic bodies are those which are magnetized in the same manner as
iron, either strongly (ferro-magnetic) or feebly. Diamagnetic bodies are those
whose very feeble magnetization is opposed to that which iron takes in the same
magnetic field. [5]The following
is the text of a letter from this distinguished savant to Pierre Curie, written
during one of his visits to Paris:
October, 1893.
"DEAR MR. CURIE:
"I am much obliged
to you for your letter of Saturday and the information contained in it, which
is exceedingly interesting to me.
"If I call at your
laboratory between 10 and 11 tomorrow morning should I find you there? There
are two or three things I would like to speak to you about; and I would like
also to see more of your curves representing the magnetization of iron at
different temperatures.
"Yours truly,
"KELVIN."
I MET Pierre Curie for
the first time in the spring of the year 1894. I was then living in Paris where
for three years I[6] had been studying at the Sorbonne. I had passed the
examinations for the licentiate in physics, and was preparing for those in mathematics.
At the same time I had begun to work in the research laboratory of Professor
Lippmann. A Polish physicist whom I knew, and who was a great admirer of Pierre
Curie, one day invited us together to spend the evening with himself and his
wife.
As I entered the room,
Pierre Curie was standing in the recess of a French window opening on a
balcony. He seemed to me very young, though he was at that time thirty-five
years old. I was struck by the open expression of his face and by the slight
suggestion of detachment in his whole attitude. His speech, rather slow and
deliberate, his simplicity, and his smile, at once grave and youthful, inspired
confidence. We began a conversation which soon became friendly. It first
concerned certain scientific matters about which I was very glad to be able to
ask his opinion. Then we discussed certain social and humanitarian subjects
which interested us both. There was, between his conceptions and mine, despite
the difference between our native countries, a surprising kinship, no doubt
attributable to a certain likeness in the moral atmosphere in which we were
both raised by our families.
We met again at the
Physics Society and in the laboratory. Then he asked if he might call upon me.
I lived at that time in a room on the sixth floor of a house situated near the
schools. It was a poor little room, for my resources were extremely limited. I
was, nevertheless, very happy in it for I was now first realizing, although
already twenty-five years old, the ardent desire I had so long cherished of
carrying on advanced studies in science.
Pierre Curie came to
see me, and showed a simple and sincere sympathy with my student life. Soon he
caught the habit of speaking to me of his dream of an existence consecrated
entirely to scientific research, and he asked me to share that life. It was
not, however, easy for me to make such a decision, for it meant separation from
my country and my family, and the renouncement of certain social projects that
were dear to me. Having grown up in an atmosphere of patriotism kept alive by
the oppression of Poland, I wished, like many other young people of my country,
to contribute my effort toward the conservation of our national spirit.
So matters stood, when
at the beginning of my vacation I left Paris to go to my father in Poland. Our
correspondence during this separation helped to strengthen the bond of
affection between us.
During the year 1894
Pierre Curie wrote me letters that seem to me admirable in their form. No one
of them was very long, for he had the habit of concise expression, but all were
written in a spirit of sincerity and with an evident anxiety to make the one he
desired as a companion know him as he was. The very quality of the expression
has always seemed to me remarkable. No other one could describe in a few lines,
as he could, a state of mind, or a situation, and by the simplest means make
that description evoke a seizing image of truth. Because of this gift, he
might, I believe, have been a great writer. I have already cited a few
fragments of his letters, and others will follow. It is appropriate to quote
here a few lines which express how he looked on the possibility of our
marriage:
"We have promised
each other (is it not true?) to have, the one for the other, at least a great
affection. Provided that you do not change your mind! For there are no promises
which hold; these are things that do not admit of compulsion.
"It would,
nevertheless, be a beautiful thing in which I hardly dare believe, to pass
through life together hypnotized in our dreams: your dream for your country;
our dream for humanity; our dream for science. Of all these dreams, I believe the
last, alone, is legitimate. I mean to say by this that we are powerless to
change the social order. Even if this were not true we should not know what to
do. And in working without understanding we should never be sure that we were
not doing more harm than good, by retarding some inevitable evolution. From the
point of view of science, on the contrary, we can pretend to accomplish
something. The territory here is more solid and obvious, and however small it
is, it is truly in our possession.
"I strongly advise
you to return to Paris in October. I shall be very unhappy if you do not come
this year, but it is not my friend's selfishness that makes me ask you to
return. I ask it because I believe you will work better here and that you can
accomplish here something more substantial and more useful."
One can understand,
from this letter, that for Pierre Curie there was only one way of looking at
the future. He had dedicated his life to his dream of science: he felt the need
of a companion who could live his dream with him. He told me many times that
the reason he had not married until he was thirty-six was because he did not
believe in the possibility of a marriage which would meet this, his absolute
necessity.
When he was twenty-two
years old he wrote in his diary:
"Women, much more than men, love life for life's sake. Women of
genius are rare. And when, pushed by some mystic love, we wish to enter into a
life opposed to nature, when we give all our thoughts to some work which
removes us from those immediately about us, it is with women that we have to
struggle, and the struggle is nearly always an unequal one. For in the name of
life and of nature they seek to lead us back." We can see, however, in the letters I have quoted earlier,
the unshakeable faith that Pierre Curie had in science and in its power to
further the general good of humanity. It seems appropriate to apply to him the
sentiment expressed by Pasteur in words so well known: "I believe
invincibly that science and peace will triumph over ignorance and war."
This confidence in the
solutions of science made Pierre Curie little inclined to take an active part
in politics. He was attached, by education and by conviction, to democratic and
socialistic ideas, but he was not dominated by any party doctrine. However, he
always fulfilled, as his father did, his obligations as a voter. In public
life, as in private life, he was opposed to the use of violence.
"What would you think," be wrote me, "of a person who
would knock his head against a stone wall with the intention of overthrowing
it? Such an idea might be the result of very beautiful feelings, but in
realization it would be ridiculous and stupid. I believe that certain questions
demand a general solution, and do not admit, today, of specific solutions, and
that one who begins a course that has no issue, may do much harm. I believe,
further, that justice is not of this world, and that the strongest system or
rather the one best developed from the economic point of view will be that
which will stand. A man may exhaust himself by work, and yet live, at best,
miserably. This is a revolting fact, but it will not, because of that, cease.
It will disappear probably because man is a kind of machine, and it is of
economic advantage to make every machine work in its normal manner, without
forcing it." He felt the same
necessity for clarity and understanding in considering his own inner life as in
examining a general problem. A great necessity of loyalty to himself and toward
others made him suffer from the compromises imposed by life, even though he
reduced them to a minimum.
"We are all the slaves of our affections," he wrote,
"slaves of the prejudices of those we love. Besides, we must make a
living, and this forces us to become a wheel in the machine. The most painful
are the concessions we are forced to make to the prejudices of the society in
which we live. We must make more or fewer compromises according as we feel
ourselves feebler or stronger. If one does not make enough concessions he is
crushed; if he makes too many he is ignoble and despises himself. I find myself
far from the principles I held ten years ago. At that time I believed it
necessary to be excessive in everything, and to make no concessions whatsoever
to one's environment. I believed it necessary to exaggerate one's faults as
well as one's virtues." This
was the credo of the man who, without fortune himself, desired to share his
life with that of a student also without fortune, whom he had met by chance.
After my return from my
vacation our friendship grew more and more precious to us; each realized that
he or she could find no better life companion. We decided, therefore, to marry,
and the ceremony took place in July, 1895. In conformity with our mutual wish
it was the simplest service possible,--a civil ceremony, for Pierre Curie
professed no religion, and I myself did not practice any. My husband's parents
received me with great cordiality, and reciprocally my father and my sisters,
who were present at our marriage, were happy in knowing the family to which I
was to belong.
Our first home, an
extremely simple one, consisted of a little apartment of three rooms in the rue
de la Glacière, not far from the School of Physics. Its chief attraction was
its view of a large garden. It was furnished very simply with objects that had
belonged to our families. Our means did not permit our having servants, so that
I had to assume practically all the household duties, as I had been in the
habit of doing during my student days.
Professor Curie's
salary was 6000 francs a year, and we held that he should not undertake any
supplementary work, at least in the beginning. As for myself, I was preparing
to take the examination for the agregation of young women, in view of obtaining
a teaching post. These I passed in 1896. We ordered our life to suit our
scientific work and our days were passed in the laboratory, where Schützenberger
permitted that I might work with my husband.
He was then engaged in
a research on the growth of crystals, which interested him keenly. He wished to
know if certain faces of a crystal had a preferential development chiefly
because they have a different rapidity of growth or because their solubility is
different. He quickly obtained interesting results (not published) but he had
to interrupt his investigations to undertake others on radioactivity. And he
often regretted that he was never able to return to them. I was occupied at
this time with the study of the magnetization of tempered steel.
The preparation of his
class lectures was for Pierre Curie a genuine care. The Chair was a new one,
and carried no prescribed course of study. He divided his lectures, at first,
between crystallography and electricity. Then, as he recognized more and more
the utility of a serious theoretical course in electricity for future
engineers, he devoted himself entirely to this subject, and succeeded in
establishing a course (of about 120 lectures) that was the most complete and
modern then to be had in Paris. This cost him a considerable effort, of which I
was the daily witness; for he was always anxious to give a complete picture of
the phenomena and of the evolution of theories, and of ideas. He was always
anxious, too, that his mode of exposition should be clear and precise. He
thought of publishing a treatise summing up this course, but unfortunately the
many preoccupations of the following years prevented him from putting this plan
into execution.
We lived a very single
life, interested in common, as we were, in our laboratory experiments and in
the preparation of lectures and examinations. During eleven years we were
scarcely ever separated, which means that there are very few lines of existing
correspondence between us, representing that period. We spent our rest days and
our vacations walking or bicycling either in the country near Paris, or along
the sea, or in the mountains. My husband was so engrossed in his researches,
however, that it was very difficult for him to remain for any length of time in
a place where he lacked facilities for work. After a few days he would say:
"It seems to me a very long time since we have accomplished
anything." And yet he liked the excursions which covered successive days,
and enjoyed to the full our walks together, just as he had formerly enjoyed
those with his brother. But his joy in seeing beautiful things never drew his
thoughts away from the scientific questions that absorbed him. In these free
times, we traversed the region of the Cevennes and of the Monts d'Auvergne, as
well as the coast of France, and some of its great forests.
These days in the open,
filled with beautiful sights, made a deep impression on us, and we loved to
recall them. One of our radiant memories was of a sunny day, when after a long
and wearying climb, we reached the fresh, green meadow of the Aubrac, in the
pure air of the high plateaus. Another vivid memory was that of an evening,
when, lingering until twilight in the gorge of the Truyère, we were enchanted
to hear a popular air dying away in the distance, carried to us from a little
boat that descended the stream. We had taken so little notice of the time that
we did not regain our lodging before dawn. At one point we had an encounter
with carts whose horses were frightened by our bicycles, and we were obliged to
cut across ploughed fields. At length we regained our route on the high
plateau, bathed in the unreal light of the moon. And cows that were passing the
night in enclosures came gravely to contemplate us with their large, tranquil
eyes.
The forest of Compiegne
charmed us in the spring, with its mass of green foliage stretching far as the
eye could see, and its periwinkles and anemones. On the border of, the forest
of Fontainebleau, the banks of the Loing, covered with water buttercups, were
an object of delight for Pierre Curie. We loved the melancholy coasts of
Brittany and the reaches of heather and gorse, stretching to the very points of
Finistère, which seemed like claws or teeth burying themselves in the water
which forever rages at them.
Later, when we had our
baby with us, we passed our vacations in some one locality, without traveling
about. We lived then as simply as possible in retired villages where we could
scarcely be distinguished from the villagers themselves. I remember the
stupefaction of an American journalist when he found us one day at Pouldu, at a
moment when I was sitting on one of the stone steps of our house in the act of
shaking the sand from my sandals. However, his embarrassment was short-lived
and, adapting himself to the situation, he sat down beside me and began jotting
down in his notebook my answers to his questions.
The most affectionate
relations existed between my husband's parents and myself. We often went to
Sceaux, where the room my husband used to have before our marriage was always
reserved for us. I had also a very tender affection for Jacques Curie and his
family (he was married and had two children); for Pierre's brother became mine,
and has always remained so.
Our eldest daughter, Irène,
was born in September, 1897, and only a few days afterwards my husband suffered
a great loss in the death of his mother. Doctor Curie came to live with us in a
house which had a garden and was situated on the old fortifications of Paris
(108 Boulevard Kellermann) near the park of Montsouris. Pierre Curie lived in
this house until the end of his life.
With the birth of our
child, the difficulties of carrying on our work were augmented: for I had to
give more time to the household. Very fortunately for us I could leave my
little girl with her grandfather, who much enjoyed taking care of her. But we
had to think also of increasing our resources to meet the needs of our larger
family and to enable us to secure someone to help me in the house, a necessity
from now on. However, our situation remained as it was during the following two
years, which we consecrated to intensive laboratory research on radioactivity.
It was, indeed, not relieved until 1900, to the detriment, it is true, of the
amount of time we could give to our investigations.
All formal social
obligations were excluded from our life. Pierre Curie had for such things an
unconquerable repugnance. Neither in his earlier nor his later life would he
pay visits or undertake to involve himself in relations without special
interest. By nature grave and silent, he preferred to abandon himself to his
own reflections, rather than to engage in an exchange of banal words. On the
other hand, he valued greatly his boyhood friends, and those to whom he was
bound by a common interest in science.
Among the latter, E.
Gouy, professor of the faculty of sciences at Lyon, should be named. His
friendly relations with Pierre Curie dated from the time when they were both
preparators at the Sorbonne. They carried on regularly a scientific
correspondence, and took great pleasure in seeing each other again during the
various brief visits of E. Gouy to Paris, on which occasions they were
inseparable. There existed also a friendship of long standing between my
husband and Ch. Ed. Guillaume, now director of the International Bureau of
Weights and Measures of Sèvres. They met at the Physics Society and
occasionally on Sundays at Sèvres or Sceaux. Later a group of younger men
formed themselves about Pierre Curie. They were investigators engaged, as he
was, in physical and chemical research in the newest fields of these sciences.
Among these men were André Debierne, my husband's intimate friend and
collaborator in the work on radioactivity; George Sagnac, his collaborator in a
study of the X-rays; Paul Langevin, who became a professor in the Collège de
France; Jean Perrin, at present professor of physical chemistry in the
Sorbonne; and Georges Urbain, student of the School of Physics and later
professor in the Sorbonne. Often one or the other came to see us in our quiet
house in the Boulevard Kellermann. Then we engaged in discussions of recent or
future experiments, or of new ideas and theories, and never tired of rejoicing
over the marvelous development of modern physics.
There were not many
large reunions in our house, for my husband did not feel the need of them. He
was more at his ease in a conversation with some one or few persons, and rarely
attended any meetings except those of the scientific societies. If by chance he
found himself in a gathering where the general conversation did not interest
him, he took refuge in a tranquil corner where he could forget the company as
he pursued his own thoughts.
Our relations with our
families were very restricted on his side as on mine; for he had few relatives
and mine were far away. He was, however, very devoted to those of my family who
could come to visit me in Paris, or during our vacations.
In 1899, Pierre Curie
made a journey with me to the Carpathians of Austrian Poland, where one of my
sisters, married to Doctor Dluski and herself a physician, directed, with him,
a large sanatorium. Through a touching desire to know all that was dear to me,
my husband, though he knew little of foreign languages, wished to learn Polish,
something which I had not thought of suggesting because I did not believe it
could prove sufficiently useful to him. He felt a sincere sympathy for my
country and believed in the future reëstablishment of a free Poland.
In our life together it
was given to me to know him as he had hoped I might, and to penetrate each day
further into his thought. He was as much and much more than all I had dreamed
at the time of our union. My admiration of his unusual qualities grew
continually; he lived on a plane so rare and so elevated that he sometimes
seemed to me a being unique in his freedom from all vanity and from the
littlenesses that one discovers in oneself and in others, and which one judges
with indulgence although aspiring to a more perfect ideal.
In this lay, without
doubt, the secret of that infinite charm of his to which one could not long
rest insensible. His thoughtful expression and the directness of his look were
strongly attractive and this attraction was increased by his kindliness and
gentleness of character. He sometimes said that he never felt combative, and
this was entirely true. One could not enter into a dispute with him because he
could not become angry. "Getting angry is not one of my strong
points," he would say, smiling. If he had few friends, he had no enemies;
for he could not injure anyone, even by inadvertence. But at the same time no
one could force him to deviate from his line of action, something which led his
father to nickname. him the "gentle stubborn one."
When he expressed his
opinion he did so frankly, for he was convinced that diplomatic methods are
puerile, and that directness is at once easiest and best. Because of this
practice, he acquired a certain reputation for naïveté; in reality he was
acting on a well-considered decision, rather than by instinct. It was perhaps
because he was able to judge himself and to retire within himself, that he was
so capable of clearly appreciating the springs of action, the intention, and
the thoughts of others. And if he sometimes neglected details, he was rarely
deceived in the essentials. Usually he kept his sure judgments to himself; but
once he had made up his mind he sometimes expressed them without reticence, in
the assurance that he was doing something useful.
In his scientific
relations he showed no sharpness, and did not permit himself to be influenced
by considerations of personal credit or by personal sentiments. Every beautiful
success gave him pleasure, even if achieved in a domain where he felt himself
to have priority. He said: "What does it matter if I have not published
such and such investigations, if another has published them? For he held that
in science we should be interested, in things and not in persons. He was so
genuinely against every form of emulation that he opposed even the competitions
and gradings of the lycées, as well as all forms of honorary distinction. He
never failed to give counsel and encouragement to any of those who showed an
aptitude for science, and certain among them still remain profoundly grateful
to him.
If his attitude was
that of one of the élite who have attained the highest summit of civilization,
his acts were those of a truly good man endowed with the sentiment of human
solidarity intimately bound to his intellectual conceptions, and full of understanding
and indulgence. He was always ready to aid, as far as his means allowed, any
person in a difficult situation, even if helping meant giving some of his time,
which was always the greatest sacrifice he could make. His generosity was so
spontaneous that one scarcely noticed it. He believed that the only advantage
of material means, beyond that of providing the necessities of a simple life,
was in the opportunity they offered of aiding others, and of pursuing the work
of one's preference.
What shall I say,
finally, of his love for his own, and of his qualities as friend? His
friendship, which he gave rarely, was sure and faithful, for it rested on a
community of ideas and opinions. And still more rarely did he give affection;
but how complete was his gift to his brother and to me! He could forsake his
customary reserve for an unconstraint which established harmony and confidence.
His tenderness was the most exquisite of blessings, sure and helpful, full of
gentleness and solicitude. It was good to be surrounded by this tenderness; it
was cruel to lose it after having lived in an atmosphere completely permeated
by it. But I will let his own words tell how completely he gave himself:
"I think of you who fill my life, and I long for new powers. It seems
to me that in concentrating my mind exclusively upon you, as I am doing, that I
should succeed in seeing you, and in following what you are doing; and that I
should be able to make you feel that I am altogether yours at this moment,--but
the image does not come." We
were not warranted in having great confidence in our health, nor in our
strength so often put to severe tests. And from time to time, as happens to
those who know the value of sharing a common life, the fear of the irreparable
touched our minds. In such moments his simple courage led him always to the
same inevitable conclusion: "Whatever happens, even if one should become
like a body without a soul, still one must always work."
[6]The following are a
few brief biographical details:
My name is Marie
Sklodowska. My father and mother belonged to Catholic Polish families. Both
were teachers in secondary schools in Warsaw (at that time under Russia). I was
born in Warsaw and attended a lycée there. Following the lycée, I taught
several years. Then in 1892 I came to Paris in order to study science.
I HAVE already said
that in 1897 Pierre Curie was occupied with an investigation on the growth of
crystals. I myself had finished, by the beginning of vacation, a study of the
magnetization of tempered steels which had resulted in our getting a small
subvention from the Society for the Encouragement of National Industry. Our
daughter Irène was born in September, and as soon as I was well again, I
resumed my work in the laboratory with the intention of preparing a doctor's
thesis.
Our attention was
caught by a curious phenomenon discovered in 1896 by Henri Becquerel. The
discovery of the X-ray by Roentgen had excited the imagination, and many
physicians were trying to discover if similar rays were not emitted by
fluorescent bodies under the action of light. With this question in mind Henri
Becquerel was studying uranium salts, and, as sometimes occurs, came upon a,
phenomenon different from that he was looking for: the spontaneous emission by
uranium salts of rays of a peculiar character. This was the discovery of
radioactivity.
The particular
phenomenon discovered by Becquerel was as follows: uranium compound placed upon
a photographic plate covered with black paper produces on that plate an
impression analogous to that which light would make. The impression is due to
uranium rays that traverse the paper. These same rays can, like X-rays,
discharge an electroscope, by making the air which surrounds it a conductor.
Henri Becquerel assured
himself that these properties do not depend on a preliminary isolation, and
that they persist when the uranium compound is kept in darkness during several
months. The next step was to ask whence came this energy, of minute quantity,
it is true, but constantly given off by uranium compounds under the form of
radiations.
The study of this
phenomenon seemed to us very attractive and all the more so because the
question was entirely new and nothing yet had been written upon it. I decided
to undertake an investigation of it.
It was necessary to
find a place in which to conduct the experiments. My husband obtained from the
director of the School the authorization to use a glassed-in study on the
ground floor which was then being used as a storeroom and machine shop.
In order to go beyond
the results reached by Becquerel, it was necessary to employ a precise
quantitative method. The phenomenon that best lent itself to measurement was
the conductibility produced in the air by uranium rays. This phenomenon, which
is called ionization, is produced also by X-rays and investigation of it in
connection with them had made known its principal characteristics.
For measuring the very
feeble currents that one can make pass through air ionized by uranium rays, I
had at my disposition an excellent method developed and applied by Pierre and
Jacques Curie. This method consists in counterbalancing on a sensitive
electrometer the quantity of electricity carried by the current with that which
a piezo-electric quartz can furnish. The installation therefore required a
Curie electrometer, a piezo-electric quartz, and a chamber of ionization, which
last was formed by a plate condenser whose higher plate was joined to the electrometer,
while the lower plate, charged with a known potential, was covered with a thin
layer of the substance to be examined. Needless to say, the place for such an
electrometric installation was hardly the crowded and damp little room in which
I had to set it up.
My experiments proved
that the radiation of uranium compounds can be measured with precision under
determined conditions, and that this radiation is an atomic property of the
element of uranium. Its intensity is proportional to the quantity of uranium
contained in the compound, and depends neither on conditions of chemical
combination, nor on external circumstances, such as light or temperature.
I undertook next to
discover if there were other elements possessing the same property, and with this
aim I examined all the elements then known, either in their pure state or in
compounds. I found that among these bodies, thorium compounds are the only ones
which emit rays similar to those of uranium. The radiation of thorium has an
intensity of the same order as that of uranium, and is, as in the case of
uranium, an atomic property of the element.
It was necessary at
this point to find a new term to define this new property of matter manifested
by the elements of uranium and thorium. I proposed the word radioactivity which
has since become generally adopted; the radioactive elements have been called
radio elements.
During the course of my
research, I had had occasion to examine not only simple compounds, salts and
oxides, but also a great number of minerals. Certain ones proved radioactive;
these were those containing uranium and thorium; but their radioactivity seemed
abnormal, for it was much greater than the amount I had found in uranium and
thorium had led me to expect.
This abnormality greatly
surprised us. When I had assured myself that it was not due to an error in the
experiment, it became necessary to find an explanation. I then made the
hypothesis that the ores uranium and thorium contain in small quantity a
substance much more strongly radioactive than either uranium or thorium. This
substance could not be one of the known elements, because these had already
been examined; it must, therefore, be a new chemical element.
I had a passionate
desire to verify this hypothesis as rapidly as possible. And Pierre Curie,
keenly interested in the question, abandoned his work on crystals
(provisionally, he thought) to join me in the search for this unknown
substance.
We chose, for our work,
the ore pitchblende, a uranium ore, which in its pure state is about four times
more active than oxide of uranium. Since the composition of this ore was known
through very careful chemical analysis, we could expect to find, at a maximum,
1 per cent of new substance. The result of our experiment proved that there
were in reality new radioactive elements in pitchblende, but that their
proportion did not reach even a millionth per cent!
The method we employed
is a new method in chemical research based on radioactivity. It consists in
inducing separation by the ordinary means of chemical analysis, and of
measuring, under suitable conditions, the radioactivity of all the separate
products. By this means one can note the chemical character of the radioactive
element sought for, for it will become concentrated in those products which
will become more and more radioactive as the separation progresses. We soon
recognized that the radioactivity was concentrated principally in two different
chemical fractions, and we became able to recognize in pitchblende the presence
of at least two new radioactive elements: polonium and radium. We announced the
existence of polonium in July, 1898, and of radium in December of the same
year.[7]
In spite of this
relatively rapid progress, our work was far from finished. In our opinion,
there could be no doubt of the existence of these new elements, but to make
chemists admit their existence, it was necessary to isolate them. Now, in our
most strongly radioactive products (several hundred times more active than
uranium), the polonium and radium were present only as traces. The polonium
occurred associated with bismuth extracted from pitchblende, and radium
accompanied the barium extracted from the same mineral. We already knew by what
methods we might hope to separate polonium from bismuth and radium from barium;
but to accomplish such a separation we had to have at our disposition much
larger quantities of the primary ore than we had. It was during this period of
our research that we were extremely handicapped by inadequate conditions, by
the lack of a proper place to work in, by the lack of money and of personnel.
Pitchblende was an
expensive mineral, and we could not afford to buy a sufficient quantity. At
that time the principal source of this mineral was at St. Joachimsthal
(Bohemia) where there was a mine which the Austrian government worked for the
extraction of uranium. We believed that we would find all the radium and a part
of the polonium in the residues of this mine, residues which had so far not
been used at all. Thanks to the influence of the Academy of Sciences of Vienna,
we secured several tons of these residues at an advantageous price, and we used
it as our primary material. In the beginning we had to draw on our private
resources to pay the costs of our experiment; later we were given a few
subventions and some help from outside sources.
The question of
quarters was particularly serious; we did not know where we could conduct our chemical
treatments. We had been obliged to start them in an abandoned storeroom across
a court from the workroom where we had our electrometric installation. This was
a wooden shed with a bituminous floor and a glass roof which did not keep the
rain out, and without any interior arrangements. The only objects it contained
were some worn pine tables, a cast- iron stove, which worked badly, and the
blackboard which Pierre Curie loved to use. There were no hoods to carry away
the poisonous gases thrown off in our chemical treatments, so that it was
necessary to carry them on outside in the court, but when the weather was
unfavorable we went on with them inside, leaving the windows open.
In this makeshift
laboratory we worked practically unaided during two years, occupying ourselves
as much with chemical research as with the study of the radiation of the
increasingly active products we were obtaining. Then it became necessary for us
to divide our work. Pierre Curie continued the investigations on the properties
of radium, while I went ahead with the chemical experiments which had as their
objective the preparation of pure radium salts. I had to work with as much as
twenty kilogrammes of material at a time, so that the hangar was filled with
great vessels full of precipitates and of liquids. It was exhausting work to
move the containers about, to transfer the liquids, and to stir for hours at a
time, with an iron bar, the boiling material in the cast-iron basin. I
extracted from the mineral the radium-bearing barium and this, in the state of
chloride, I submitted to a fractional crystallization. The radium accumulated
in the least soluble parts, and I believed that this process must lead to the
separation of the chloride of radium. The very delicate operations of the last
crystallizations were exceedingly difficult to carry out in that laboratory,
where it was impossible to find protection from the iron and coal dust. At the
end of a year, results indicated clearly that it would be easier to separate
radium than polonium; that is why we concentrated our efforts in this
direction. We examined the radium salts we obtained with the aim of discovering
their powers and we loaned samples of the salts to several scientists,[8] in
particular to Henri Becquerel.
During the years 1899
and 1900, Pierre Curie published with me a memoir on the discovery of the
induced radioactivity produced by radium. We published another paper on the
effects of the rays: the luminous effects, the chemical effects, etc.; and
still another on the electric charge carried by certain of the rays. And,
finally, we made a general report on the new radioactive substances and their
radiations, for the Congress of Physics which met in Paris in 1900. My husband
published, besides, a study of the action of a magnetic field on radium rays.
The main result of our
investigations and of those of other scientists during these years, was to make
known the nature of the rays emitted by radium, and to prove that they belonged
to three different categories. Radium emits a stream of active corpuscles
moving with great speed. Certain of them carry a positive charge and form the
Alpha rays; others, much smaller, carry a negative charge and form Beta rays.
The movements of these two groups are influenced by a magnet. A third group is
constituted by the rays that are insensible to the action of a magnet, and
that, we know to-day, are a radiation similar to light and to X-rays.
We had an especial joy
in observing that our products containing concentrated radium were all spontaneously
luminous. My husband who had hoped to see them show beautiful colorations had
to agree that this other unhoped-for characteristic gave him even a greater
satisfaction than that he had aspired to.
The Congress of 1900
offered us an opportunity to make known, at closer range, to foreign
scientists, our new radioactive bodies. This was one of the points on which the
interest of this Congress chiefly centered.
We were at this time
entirely absorbed in the new field that opened before us, thanks to the
discovery so little expected. And we were very happy in spite of the difficult
conditions under which we worked. We passed our days at the laboratory, often
eating a simple student's lunch there. A great tranquillity reigned in our
poor, shabby hangar; occasionally, while observing an operation, we would walk
up and down talking of our work, present and future. When we were cold, a cup
of hot tea, drunk beside the stove, cheered us. We lived in a preoccupation as
complete as that of a dream.
Sometimes we returned
in the evening after dinner for another survey of our domain. Our precious
products, for which we had no shelter, were arranged on tables and boards; from
all sides we could see their slightly luminous silhouettes, and these
gleamings, which seemed suspended in the darkness, stirred us with ever new
emotion and enchantment.
Actually, the employees
of the School owed Pierre Curie no service. But nevertheless the laboratory
helper whom he had had to aid him when he was laboratory chief had always
continued to help him as much as he could in the time at his disposal. This
good man, whose name was Petit, felt a real affection and solicitude for us,
and many things were made easier because of his good will and the interest be
took in our success.
We had begun our
research in radioactivity quite alone, but because of the magnitude of the
undertaking, we were more and more convinced of the utility of inviting
collaboration. Already in 1898, one of the laboratory chiefs of the School, G.
Bemont, had given us temporary aid. And toward 1900 Pierre Curie associated
with him a young chemist, André Debierne, preparator under Friedel, who held
him in high esteem. André Debierne gladly accepted Pierre Curie's proposal that
he occupy himself with the investigation of radioactivity; and he undertook, in
particular, the search for a new radio element, which we suspected existed in
the iron group and in rare earths. He discovered the element actinium. Even
though he carried on his work in the laboratory of physical chemistry at the
Sorbonne, directed by Jean Perrin, he frequently came to visit us in our
storeroom, and was soon an intimate friend of ours, and of Doctor Curie and the
children.
About this same time,
George Sagnac, a young physicist engaged in the study of X-rays, often came to
discuss with my husband the analogies one could expect to find between these
rays, and their secondary rays, and the radiations of radioactive bodies. They
worked together on the investigation of the electric charge carried by the
secondary rays.
Besides our
collaborators we saw very few persons in the laboratory; however, from time to
time some physicist or chemist came to see our experiments, or to ask Pierre
Curie for advice or information; for his authority in several branches of
physics was very well recognized. And then there were discussions before the
blackboard,--discussions which are pleasantly remembered to-day, because they
stimulated an interest in science and an ardor for work without interrupting
any course of reflection, and without troubling that atmosphere of peace and
contemplation which is the true atmosphere of the laboratory.
[7] This last publication was issued in common with G. Bemont, who had
collaborated with us in our experiments. [8]I
quote, as an example, a letter addressed to Pierre Curie by A. Paulsen,
thanking him for radioactive products loaned him in 1899:
"Den Damke Nordl's Expedition
Akureyi, 16 Oct. 1899.
Monsieur, and most honored colleague,
"I thank you
warmly for your letter of August 1, which I have just received in the north of
Iceland.
"We have abandoned
all the methods hitherto employed to establish in a fixed conductor the
potential that exists at certain points in the mass of air that surrounds it,
and are using only your radiant powder.
"Accept, Monsieur,
and most honored colleague, my respectful salutations and my renewed thanks for
the great services you have rendered my expedition.
"ADAM PAULSEN."
IN spite of our desire
to concentrate our entire effort on the work in which we were engaged, and in
spite of the fact that our needs were so modest, we were forced to recognize,
toward 1900, that some increase in our income was indispensable. Pierre Curie
had few illusions about his chances of obtaining an important chair in the
University of Paris, which would, even though it meant no large salary, have
sufficed for the small needs of our family, and enabled us to live without a
supplementary revenue. Since he was neither a graduate of the Normal School nor
of the Polytechnic, he lacked the support, often decisive, which these big
schools give their pupils; and the posts to which he might justly have aspired,
because of his achievements, were given to others, without anyone's even
thinking of him as a possible candidate. At the beginning of 1898, he asked,
without success, for the Chair of Physical Chemistry left vacant by the death
of Salet, and this failure convinced him that he had no chance of advancement.
He was appointed, however, in March, 1900, to the position of assistant
professor (répétiteur) in the Polytechnic School, but he kept his post only six
months.
In the spring of 1900,
there came an unexpected offer, that of the Chair of Physics in the University
of Geneva. The doyen of that University made the invitation in the most cordial
manner, and insisted that the University was ready to make an exceptional
effort to secure a scientist of such high repute. The advantages of this
position were that the salary was larger than the average one, that it carried
the promise of the development of a Physics Laboratory adequate to our needs,
and that an official position for me would be provided in this laboratory. Such
a proposition merited a most careful consideration, so we made a visit to the
University of Geneva, where our reception was the most encouraging possible.
This was a grave
decision for us to make. Geneva presented material advantages, and the
opportunity of a life comparable in its tranquillity with that in the country.
Pierre Curie was, therefore, tempted to accept, and it was only our immediate
interest in our researches in radium that made him finally decide not to. He
feared the interruption of our investigations which such a change must involve.
At this moment the
Chair of Physics in the physics, chemistry and natural history course at the
Sorbonne, obligatory for students of medicine, and familiarly known as P.C.N.,
was vacant; he applied, and was appointed, due to the influence of Henri
Poincaré, who was anxious to free him from the necessity of quitting France. At
the same time I was given charge of the physics lectures in the Normal School
for Girls at Sèvres.
So we remained in
Paris, and with our income increased. But we were at the same time working
under increasingly difficult conditions. Pierre Curie was doing double
teaching; and that in the P.C.N., with its very large number of students,
fatigued him greatly. As for myself, I had to give much time to the preparation
of my lectures at Sèvres, and to the organization of the laboratory work there,
which I found very insufficient.
Moreover, Pierre
Curie's new position did not bring with it a laboratory; a little office and a
single work room were all that he had at his disposition in the annex (12 rue
Cuvier) of the Sorbonne, which served as teaching quarters for the P.C.N. And
yet he felt it absolutely necessary to go ahead with his own work. In fact, the
rapid extension of his investigations in radioactivity had made him determine
that in his new position at the Sorbonne he would receive students and start
them in research. He therefore took steps to find larger available working
quarters. Those who have taken similar steps realize the wall of financial and
administrative obstacles against which he was throwing himself, and realize the
large number of official letters, visits, and of requests the least success
entailed. All this thoroughly wearied and discouraged Pierre Curie. He was
obliged, too, constantly, to keep traveling back and forth between the
laboratories of the P.C.N. and the hangar of the School of Physics where we still
continued our work.
And besides these
difficulties, we found that we could not make further progress without the aid
of industrial means of treating our raw material. Fortunately certain
expedients and generous assistance solved this question.
As early as 1899 Pierre
Curie succeeded in organizing a first industrial experiment, using for it a
chance installation placed at his disposition by the Central Society of
Chemical Products, with which he had had relations in connection with the
construction of his balances. The technical details had been arranged very
successfully by André Debierne, and the operations brought good results, even
though it had been necessary to train a special personnel for this chemical
work which demanded special precautions.
Our investigations had
started a general scientific movement, and similar work was being undertaken in
other countries. Toward these efforts Pierre Curie maintained a most
disinterested and liberal attitude. With my agreement he refused to draw any
material profit from our discovery. We took no copyright, and published without
reserve all the results of our research, as well as the exact processes of the
preparation of radium. In addition, we gave to those interested whatever
information they asked of us. This was of great benefit to the radium industry,
which could thus develop in full freedom, first in France, then in foreign
countries, and furnish to scientists and to physicians the products which they
needed. This industry still employs to-day, with scarcely any modifications,
the processes indicated by us.[9]
Even though our
industrial experiment yielded good results, again our slender resources made it
difficult to make further progress. Inspired by our attempt, a French
industrial, Armet de Lisle, had the idea, which seemed daring at that epoch, of
founding a veritable radium factory that would furnish this product to
physicians, whose interest in the biological effects of radium and its possible
therapeutic applications had been aroused by the publication of various
investigations. The project proved a success because he could employ men
already trained by us in the delicate processes of this manufacture. Radium was
then regularly placed on sale, at a high price, it is true, because of the
special conditions under which it had to be made, and because, too, of the
immediate rise in the cost of the minerals necessary to its production.[10]
I should like to
express, here, our appreciation of the spirit in which Armet de Lisle offered
to coöperate with us. In an entirely disinterested manner he placed at our
disposition a little working place in his factory and a part of the means
necessary for us to use it. Other funds were added either by ourselves, or came
through subventions, of which the most important, accorded in 1902 by the
Academy of Sciences, amounted to 20,000 francs.
It was in this way that
we were able to utilize the ore we had acquired little by little in the
preparation of a certain quantity of radium, which we used constantly in our
research. The radium-bearing barium was extracted in the factory, and I carried
on its purification and fractional crystallization in the laboratory. In 1902 I
succeeded in preparing a decigramme of chloride of pure radium which gave only
the spectrum of the new element, radium. I made a first determination of the
atomic weight of this new element, an atomic weight much higher than that of
barium. Thus the chemical individuality of radium was completely established,
and the reality of radioelements was a known fact about which there could be no
further controversy.
I based my doctor's
thesis, presented in 1903, on these investigations.
Later, the quantity of
radium extracted for the laboratory was increased, and in 1907 I was able to
make a second and more precise determination of the atomic weight as 225.35--
one accepts now the number 226. I succeeded, too, jointly with André Debierne,
in obtaining radium in the state of metal. The total quantity of radium I
prepared and gave to the laboratory, in agreement with Pierre Curie's desire,
amounted to more than a gramme of radium element.
The activity of pure
radium exceeded all our expectations. For equal weights this substance emits a
radiation more than a million times more intense than uranium. To offset this,
the quantity of radium contained in uranium minerals is scarcely more than
three decigrammes of radium to the ton of uranium. There is a very close
relation between these two substances. In fact, we know to-day that radium is
produced in the minerals at the expense of uranium.
The years that followed
his nomination to the P.C.N. were hard for Pierre Curie. He had to face the
many anxieties incident to the organization of a complicated system of work
when his happiness depended on his being able to concentrate his efforts on a
single determined subject. The physical fatigue due to the numerous courses he
was obliged to give was so great that he suffered from attacks of acute pain,
which in his overtaxed condition became more and more frequent.
It was therefore
vitally important, if he was to spare his energy and keep his health, that the
burden of his professional duties be lightened. He decided to apply for the
Chair of Mineralogy, which was vacant, at the Sorbonne, for which he was
entirely qualified because of his profound knowledge and his important
publications on the theories of the physics of crystals. Yet his candidacy
failed.
During this painful
period he nevertheless managed, by a truly superhuman effort, successfully to
complete and publish several investigations that he had made either alone or in
collaboration:
Investigations on
induced radioactivity (in collaboration with A. Debierne).
Investigations on the
same subject (in collaboration with J. Danne).
Investigations on the
conductibility provoked in dielectric liquids by the rays of radium and the
Roentgen rays.
Investigations on the
law of the decrease of the emanation of radium and on the radioactive constants
that characterize this emanation and its active deposit.
Discovery of the
liberation of heat produced by radium (in collaboration with A. Laborde).
Investigations on the
diffusion of the emanation of radium in the air (in collaboration with J.
Danne).
Investigation on the
radioactivity of gases from thermal springs (in collaboration with A. Laborde).
Investigation on the
physiological effects of radium rays (in common with Henri Becquerel).
Investigation on the
physiological action of the radium emanation (in common with Bouchard and
Balthazard).
Notes on the apparatus
for the determination of magnetic constants (in common with C. Cheneveau).
All these
investigations in radioactivity are fundamental and touch very varied subjects.
Several have as their aim the study of the emanation, that strange gaseous body
that radium produces and which is largely responsible for the intense radiation
commonly attributed to the radium itself. Pierre Curie demonstrated by a
searching examination the rigorous and invariable law according to which the
emanation destroys itself, no matter what the conditions are in which it finds
itself. To-day the emanation of radium, harvested in tiny phials, is commonly
employed by physicians as a therapeutic agent. Technical considerations make
its employment preferable to the direct use of radium, and in this case no
physician can proceed without consulting the numerical chart which tells how
much of this emanation has disappeared each day, despite the fact that it is
cloistered in its little glass prison. It is this same emanation that is found
in small quantities in mineral waters, and that plays a part in their curative
effects.
More striking still was
the discovery of the discharge of heat from radium. Without any alteration in
appearance this substance releases each hour a quantity of heat sufficient to
melt its own weight of ice. When well protected against this external loss,
radium heats itself. Its temperature can rise 10 degrees or more above that of
the surrounding atmosphere. This defied all contemporary scientific experience.
Finally, I cannot pass
in silence, because of their various repercussions, the experiments connected
with the physiological effects of radium.
In order to test the
results that had just been announced by F. Giesel, Pierre Curie, voluntarily
exposed his arm to the action of radium during several hours. This resulted in
a lesion resembling a burn, that developed progressively and required several
months to heal. Henri Becquerel had by accident a similar burn as a result of
carrying in his vest pocket a glass tube containing radium salt. He came to
tell us of this evil effect of radium, exclaiming in a manner at once delighted
and annoyed: "I love it, but I owe it a grudge!"
Since he realized the
interest in these physiological effects of radium, Pierre Curie undertook, in
collaboration with physicians, the investigations to which I have just
referred, submitting animals to the action of radium emanation. These studies
formed the point of departure in radium therapy. The first attempts at
treatment with radium were made with products loaned by Pierre Curie, and had
as their object the cure of lupus and other skin lesions. Thus radium therapy,
an important branch of medicine, and frequently designated as Curie- therapie,
was born in France, and was developed first through the investigations of
French physicians (Danlos, Oudin, Wickham, Dominici, Cheron, Degrais, and
others).[11]
In the meantime the
great impetus given to the study of radioactivity abroad led to a rapid
succession of new discoveries. Many scientists engaged in the search for other
radio elements, using the new method of chemical analysis, with the aid of
radiation, that we had inaugurated. Thus were found the mesothorium now used by
physicians and manufactured industrially, radio- thorium, ionium, protoactinium,
radio-lead, and other substances. At present we know, in all, about thirty
radio elements (among which three are gases, or emanations), but among them all
radium still plays the most important part, because of the great intensity of
its radiation, which diminishes only extremely slowly during the course of
years.
The year 1903 was
especially important in the development of the new science. In this year the
investigation of radium, the new chemical element, was achieved, and Pierre
Curie demonstrated the astonishing discharge of heat by this element, which
nevertheless remained unaltered in appearance. In England, Ramsay and Soddy
announced a great discovery. They proved that radium continually produces
helium gas and under conditions that force one to believe in an atomic
transformation. If, indeed, radium salt heated to its melting point is confined
for some time in a sealed glass tube, entirely emptied of air, one can, in
reheating it, make it throw off a small quantity of helium, easy to measure and
to recognize from the character of its spectrum. This fundamental experiment
has received numerous confirmations. It furnished us the first example of a
transformation of atoms, independent, it is true, of our will, but at the same
time it reduces to nothing the theory of the absolute fixity of the atomic
edifice.
All these facts, along
with others formerly known, were made the object of a synthesis of the highest
value, in a work by E. Rutherford and F. Soddy, who proposed a theory of
radioactive transformations, to-day universally adopted. According to this
theory, each radio element, even when it appears unchanged, is undergoing a
spontaneous transformation, and the more rapid the transformation, the more
intense is the radiation.[12]
A radioactive atom can
transform itself in two ways: it can expel from itself an atom of helium,
which, thrown off at an enormous speed and with a positive charge, constitutes
an Alpha ray. Or, instead, it can detach from its structure a much smaller
fragment, one of those electrons to which we have become accustomed in modern
physics, and whose mass, 1800 times smaller than that of an atom of hydrogen
when its speed is moderate, grows excessively when its speed approaches that of
light. These electrons, which carry a negative charge, form the Beta rays.
Whatever the detached fragment, the residual atom no longer resembles the
primitive atom. Thus when the atom of radium has expelled an atom of helium,
the residue is an atom of gnseous emanation. This residue changes in its turn,
and the process is not arrested until the attainment of a last residue which is
stable and does not give off any radiation. This stable matter is inactive
matter.
Thus the Alpha and Beta
rays result from the fragmentation of atoms. Gamma-rays are a radiation
analogous to light, which accompanies the cataclysm of the atomic
transformation. They are very penetrating, and are the ones most used in the
therapeutic methods so far developed.[13]
We can see in all this
that radio elements form families, in which each member derives from a
preceding member by direct descent the primary elements being uranium and
thorium. We can in particular prove that radium is a descendant of uranium, and
that polonium is a descendant of radium. Since each radio element, at the same
time that it is formed by the mother substance, destroys itself, it cannot
accumulate in the presence of this mother substance beyond a determined
proportion, which explains why the relation between radium and uranium remains
constant in the very ancient unaltered minerals.
The spontaneous
destruction of radio elements takes place according to a fundamental law,
called the exponential law, according to which the quantity of each radio
element diminishes by one-half in a time always the same, called a period, this
time-period making it possible to determine without ambiguity the element under
consideration. These periods, which can be measured by diverse methods, vary
greatly. The period of uranium is several billions of years; that of radium is
about 1600 years; that of its emanation a little less than four days; and there
are among the following descendants some whose period is the small fraction of
a second. The exponential law has a profound philosophic bearing; it indicates
that the transformation is produced according to the laws of probability. The causes
that determine the transformation are a mystery to us, and we do not yet know
if they derive from causal conditions outside the atom, or from conditions of
internal instability. In many cases, up to the present, no exterior action has
shown itself effective in influencing the transformation.
This rapid succession
of discoveries which overthrew familiar scientific conceptions long held in
physics and chemistry did not fail to meet, at first, with doubts and
incredulity. But the great part of the scientific world received them with
enthusiasm. At the same time Pierre Curie's fame grew in France and in foreign
countries. Already in 1901 the Academy of Sciences had awarded him the Lacaze
prize. In 1902, Mascart, who had many times given him most valuable aid,
decided to propose him as a member of the Academy of Sciences. It was not easy
for Pierre Curie to agree to this, believing, as he did, that the Academy
should elect its members without the necessity of any preliminary solicitation
or paying of calls. Nevertheless, because of the friendly insistence of
Mascart, and above all because the Physics Section of the Academy had already
declared itself unanimously in his favor, he presented himself. In spite of
this, however, he failed of election, and it was only in 1905 that he became a
member of the Institute, a membership which did not last even a year. He was
also elected to several academies and scientific societies in other countries,
and given an honorary doctor's degree by several universities.
During 1903 we went to
London at the invitation of the Royal Institution, before which my husband was
to lecture on radium. On this occasion he had a most enthusiastic reception. He
was especially happy to see here again Lord Kelvin, who had always expressed an
affection for him, and who, despite his advanced age, preserved an interest,
perennially young, in science. The illustrious scientist showed, with touching
satisfaction, a glass vial containing a grain of radium salt that Pierre Curie
had given him. We met here also other celebrated scientists, as Crookes,
Ramsay, and J. Dewar In collaboration with the latter, Pierre Curie published
investigations on the discharge of heat by radium at very low temperatures, and
upon the formation of helium in radium salt.
A few months later the
Davy medal was conferred upon him (and also upon me) by the Royal Society of
London, and at almost the same time, we received, together with Henri
Becquerel, the Nobel prize for physics. Our health prevented us from attending
the ceremony for the awarding of this prize in December, and it was only in
June, 1905, that we were able to go to Stockholm where Pierre Curie gave his
Nobel lecture. We were most cordially received and had the felicity of seeing
the admirable Swedish nature in its most brilliant aspect.
The award of the Nobel
prize was an important event for us because of the prestige carried by the
Nobel foundation, only recently founded (1901). Also, from a financial point of
view, the half of the prize represented an important sum. It meant that in the
future Pierre Curie could turn over his teaching in the School of Physics to
Paul Langevin, one of his former students, and a physicist of great competence,
He could also engage a preparator to aid him in his work.
But at the same time
the publicity this very happy event entailed bore very heavily on a man who was
neither prepared for it, nor accustomed to it. There followed an avalanche of
visits, of letters, of demands for articles and lectures, which meant a
constant enervation, fatigue, and loss of time. He was kind and did not like to
refuse a request; but on the other hand, he had to recognize that he could not
accede to the solicitations that overwhelmed him without disastrous results to
his health, as well as to his peace of mind, and his work. In a letter to Ch.
Ed. Guillaume, he said:
"People ask me for articles and lectures, and after a few years are
passed, the very persons who make these demands will be astonished to see that
we have not accomplished any work." And
in other letters of the same period, written to E. Gouy, he expressed himself
as follows:
"20 March 1902
"As you have seen, fortune favors us at this moment; but these favors of
fortune do not come without many worries. We have never been less tranquil than
at this moment. There are days when we scarcely have time to breathe. And to
think that we dreamed of living in the wild, quite removed from human
beings!""22 January 1904
"MY DEAR FRIEND:
"I have wanted to write to you for a long time; excuse me if I have not
done so. The cause is the stupid life which I lead at present. You have seen
this sudden infatuation for radium, which has resulted for us in all the
advantages of a moment of popularity. We have been pursued by journalists and
photographers from all countries of the world; they have gone even so far as to
report the conversation between my daughter and her nurse, and to describe the
black- and-white cat that lives with us. . . . Further, we have had a great
many appeals for money. . . . Finally, the collectors of autographs, snobs,
society people, and even at times, scientists, have come to see us--in our
magnificent and tranquil quarters in the laboratory--and every evening there
has been a voluminous correspondence to send off. With such a state of things I
feel myself invaded by a kind of stupor. And yet all this turmoil will not
perhaps have been in vain, if it results in my getting a chair and a
laboratory. To tell the truth, it will be necessary to create the chair, and I
shall not have the laboratory at first. I should have preferred the reverse,
but Liard wishes to take advantage of the present moment to bring about the
creation of a new chair that will later be acquired for the university. They
are to establish a chair without a fixed program, which will be something like
a course in the Collège de France, and I believe I shall be obliged to change
my subject each year, which will be a great trial to me." "31 January 1905
". . . I have had to give up going to Sweden. We are, as you see, most
irregular in our relations with the Swedish Academy; but, to tell the truth, I
can only keep up by avoiding all physical fatigue. And my wife is in the same
condition; we can no longer dream of the great work days of times gone by.
"As to research, I
am doing nothing at present. With my course, my students, apparatus to install,
and the interminable procession of people who come to disturb me without
serious reason, the days pass without my having been able to achieve anything
useful at this end."
"25 July 1905
"My DEAR FRIEND:
"We have regretted so much being deprived of your visit this year, but
hope to see you in October. If we do not make an effort from time to time, we
end by losing touch with our best and most congenial friends, and in keeping company
with others for the simple reason that it is easy to meet them.
"We continue to
lead the same life of people who are extremely occupied, without being able to
accomplish anything interesting. It is now more than a year since I have been
able to engage in any research, and I have no moment to myself. Clearly I have
not yet discovered a means to defend ourselves against this frittering away of
our time which is nevertheless extremely necessary. Intellectually, it is a
question of life or death."
"7 November 1905
"I begin my course tomorrow but under very bad conditions for the
preparation of my experiments. The lecture room is at the Sorbonne, and my
laboratory is in the rue Cuvier. Besides, a great number of other courses are
given in the same lecture room, and I can use it only one morning for the
preparation of my own.
"I am neither very
well, nor very ill; but I am easily fatigued, and I have left but very little
capacity for work. My wife, on the contrary, leads a very active life, between
her children, the School at Sèvres, and the laboratory. She does not lose a
minute, and occupies herself more regularly than I can with the direction of
the laboratory in which she passes the greater part of the day."
To sum up: despite
these outside complications, our life, by a common effort of will, remained as
simple and as retired as formerly. Toward the close of 1904 our family was
increased by the birth of a second daughter. Eve Denise was born in the modest
house in Boulevard Kellermann, where we still lived with Doctor Curie, seeing
only a few friends.
As our elder daughter
grew up, she began to be a little companion to her father, who took a lively
interest in her education and gladly went for walks with her in his free times,
especially on his vacation days. He carried on serious conversations with her,
replying to all her questions and delighting in the progressive development of
her young mind. From their early age, his children enjoyed his tender
affection, and he never wearied of trying to understand these little beings, in
order to be able to give them the best he had to give.
With his great success
in other countries, the complete appreciation of Pierre Curie in France,
however tardily, did at last follow. At forty-five he found himself in the
first rank of French scientists and yet, as a teacher, he occupied an inferior
position. This abnormal state of affairs aroused public opinion in his favor,
and under the influence of this wave of feeling, the director of the Academy of
Paris, L. Liard, asked Parliament to create a new professorship in the
Sorbonne, and at the beginning of the academic year 1904-05 Pierre Curie was
named titular professor of the Faculty of Sciences of Paris. A year later he
definitely quitted the School of Physics where his substitute, Paul Langevin,
succeeded him.
This new professorship
was not established without a few difficulties. The first project had provided
for a new chair, but not for a laboratory. And Pierre Curie felt that he could
not accept a situation which involved the risk of losing even the mediocre
means of work that he then had, instead of offering better ones. He wrote,
therefore, to his chiefs, that he had decided to remain at the P.C.N. His
firmness won the day. To the new chair was added a fund for a laboratory and
personnel for the new work (a chief of laboratory, a preparator, and a
laboratory boy). The position of chief of laboratory was offered to me, which
was a cause of very great satisfaction to my husband.
It was not without
regret that we left the School of Physics, where we had known such happy work
days, despite their attendant difficulties. We had become particularly attached
to our hangar, which continued to stand, though in a state of increasing decay,
for several years, and we went to visit it from time to time. Later it had to
be pulled down to make way for a new building for the Physics School, but we
have preserved photographs of it. Warned of its approaching destruction by the
faithful Petit, I made my last pilgrimage there, alas, alone. On the blackboard
there was still the writing of him who had been the soul of the place; the
humble refuge for his research was all impregnated with his memory. The cruel
reality seemed some bad dream; I almost expected to see the tall figure appear,
and to hear the sound of the familiar voice.
Even though Parliament
had voted the creation of a new chair, it did not go so far as to consider the
simultaneous founding of a laboratory which was, nevertheless, necessary to the
development of the new science of radioactivity. Pierre Curie therefore kept
the little workroom at the P.C.N., and secured as a temporary solution of his
difficulty the use of a large room, then not being used by the P.C.N. He
arranged, too, to have a little building consisting of two rooms and a study
set up in the court.
One cannot help feeling
sorrow in realizing that this was a last concession, and that actually one of
the first French scientists never had an adequate laboratory to work in, and
this even though his genius had revealed itself as early as his twentieth year.
Without doubt if he had lived longer, he would have had the benefit of
satisfactory conditions for his work, but he, was still deprived of them at his
death at the premature age of forty-eight. Can we fully imagine the regret of
an enthusiastic and disinterested worker in a great work, who is retarded in
the realization of his dream by the constant lack of means? And can we think
without a feeling of profound grief of the waste --the one irreparable one--of the
nation's greatest asset: the genius, the powers, and the courage of its best
children?
Pierre Curie had always
in mind his urgent need for a good laboratory. When, because of his great
reputation, his chiefs felt obliged to try to induce him, in 1903, to accept
the decoration of the Légion d'Honneur, he declined that distinction, remaining
true to the opinion already referred to in a preceding chapter. And the letter
he wrote on this occasion was inspired by the same feeling as that in the one
previously quoted, when he wrote to his director to refuse the palmes académiques.
I quote an extract:
"I pray you to thank the Minister, and to inform him that I do not
in the least feel the need of a decoration, but that I do feel the greatest
need for a laboratory." After he
was named professor at the Sorbonne, Pierre Curie had to prepare a new course.
The position had been given a very personal character and a very general scope.
He was left great freedom in the choice of the matter he would present. Taking advantage
of this freedom he returned to a subject that was dear to him, and devoted part
of his lectures to the laws of symmetry, the study of fields of vectors and
tensors, and to the application of these ideas to the physics of crystals. He
intended to carry these lessons further, and to work out a course that would
completely cover the physics of crystallized matter which would have been
especially useful because this subject was so little known in France. His other
lessons dealt with radioactivity, set forth the discoveries made in this new
domain, and the revolution they had caused in science.
Even though he was very
much absorbed in the preparation of his course, and often ill, my husband
continued, nevertheless, to work in the laboratory, which was becoming better
and better organized. He had a little more space now, and could receive a few
students. In collaboration with A. Laborde, he carried on investigations in
mineral waters and gases discharged from springs. This was the last work he
published.
His intellectual
faculties were at this time at their height. One could but admire the surety
and rigor of his reasoning on the theories of physics, his clear comprehension
of fundamental principles, and a certain profound sense of phenomena which he had
by instinct, but which he perfected during the course of a life entirely
consecrated to research and reflection. His skill in experiment, remarkable
from the beginning, was increased by practice. He experienced the pleasure of
an artist when he succeeded with a delicate installation. He enjoyed, too,
devising and constructing new apparatus, and I used jokingly to tell him that
he would not be happy unless he made at least an attempt of this kind once
every six months. His natural curiosity and vivid imagination pushed him to
undertakings in very varied directions; he could change the object of his
research with surprising ease.
He was scrupulously
careful of scientific probity and of complete accuracy in his publications.
These are very perfect in form, and none the less so in those parts where he
applies the critical spirit to himself, expressing his determination never to
affirm anything that does not seem entirely clear. He expresses his thought on
this point in the following words:
"In the study of unknown phenomena, one can make very general
hypotheses and then advance step by step with the help of experience. This
method of progress is sure but necessarily slow. One can, on the contrary, make
daring hypotheses in which he specifies the mechanism of phenomena. Such a
method of procedure has the advantage of suggesting certain experiments, and,
above all, of facilitating reasoning by rendering it less abstract through the
employment of an image. But on the other hand, one cannot hope thus to conceive
a complex theory in accord with experiment. The precise hypothesis almost
certainly includes a portion of error along with a portion of truth. And this
last portion, if it exists, forms only a part of a more general proposition to
which it will be necessary in the end to return." Moreover, even though he never hesitated to make
hypotheses, he never permitted their premature publication. He could never
accustom himself to a system of work which involved hasty publications, and was
always happier in a domain in which but a few investigators were quietly
working. The considerable vogue of radioactivity made him wish to abandon this
field of research for a time, and to return to his interrupted studies of the
physics of crystals. He dreamed also of making an examination of diverse
theoretical questions.
He gave much thought to
his teaching, which constantly improved, and which suggested to him ideas on
the general orientation of studies and on methods of teaching, which he
believed should be based on contact with experience and nature. He hoped to see
his views adopted by the Association of Professors as soon as it was formed,
and to obtain the declaration "that the teaching of the sciences must be
the dominant teaching of both the boys' and girls' lycées."
"But," he
said, "such a notion would have little chance of success."
But this last period of
his life, so fecund, was, alas, soon to end. His admirable scientific career
was to be suddenly broken at the very moment when he could hope that the years
of work to come would be less hard than those which had preceded.
In 1906, quite ill and
tired, he went with me and the children to spend Easter in the Chevreuse
Valley. Those were two sweet days under a mild sun, and Pierre Curie felt the
weight of weariness lighten in a healing repose near to those who were dear to
him. He amused himself in the meadows with his little girls, and talked with me
of their present and their future.
He returned to Paris
for a reunion and dinner of the Physics Society. There he sat beside Henri
Poincaré and had a long conversation with him on methods of teaching. As we
were returning on foot to our house, he continued to develop his ideas on the
culture that he dreamed of, happy in the consciousness that I shared his views.
The following day, the
19th of April, 1906, he attended a reunion of the Association of Professors of
the Faculties of the Sciences, where he talked with them very cordially about
the aims which the Association might adopt. As he went out from this reunion
and was crossing the rue Dauphine, he was struck by a truck coming from the
Pont Neuf, and fell under its wheels. A concussion of the brain brought
instantaneous death.
So perished the hope
founded on the wonderful being who thus ceased to be. In the study room to
which he was never to return, the water buttercups he had brought from the
country were still fresh.
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 Curie- therapie 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 competely.
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 bad 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, bad 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.
[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."
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.
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.
The fatigue resulting
from the effort exceeding our forces, imposed by the unsatisfactory conditions
of our labor, was augmented by the invasion of publicity. The overturn of our
voluntary isolation was a cause of real suffering for us and had all the effect
of disaster. It was serious trouble brought into the organization of our life,
and I have already explained how indispensable was our freedom from external
distraction, in order to maintain our family life and our scientific activity.
Of course, people who contribute to that kind of trouble generally mean it
kindly. It is only that they do not realize the conditions of the problem.
In 1904 our second
daughter, Eve Denise, came to us. I had, of course, to interrupt my work in the
laboratory for a while. In the same year, because of the awarding of the Nobel
prize and the general public recognition, a new chair of physics was created in
Sorbonne, and my husband was named as its occupant. At the same time I was
named chief of work in the laboratory that was to be created for him. But in
reality the laboratory was not constructed then, and only a few rooms taken
from other uses were available to us.
In 1906 just as we were
definitely giving up the old shed laboratory where we had been so happy, there
came the dreadful catastrophe which took my husband away from me and left me
alone to bring up our children and, at the same time, to continue our work of
research.
It is impossible for me
to express the profoundness and importance of the crisis brought into my life
by the loss of the one who had been my closest companion and best friend.
Crushed by the blow, I did not feel able to face the future. I could not
forget, however, what my husband used sometimes to say, that, even deprived of
him, I ought to continue my work.
The death of my
husband, coming immediately after the general knowledge of the discoveries with
which his name is associated, was felt by the public, and especially by the
scientific circles, to be a national misfortune. It was largely under the
influence of this emotion that the Faculty of Sciences of Paris decided to
offer me the chair, as professor, which my husband had occupied only one year
and a half in the Sorbonne. It was an exceptional decision, as up to then no
woman had held such a position. The University by doing this offered me a
precious mark of esteem and gave me opportunity to pursue the researches which
otherwise might have had to be abandoned. I had not expected a gift of this
kind; I never had any other ambition than to be able to work freely for
science. The honor that now came to me was deeply painful under the cruel
circumstances of its coming. Besides I wondered whether I would be able to face
such a grave responsibility. After much hesitation, I decided that I ought at
least to try to meet the task, and so I began in 1906 my teaching in the
Sorbonne, as assistant professor, and two years later I was named titular
professor.
In my new situation the
difficulties of my life were considerably augmented, as I alone had now to
carry the burden formerly weighing on my husband and me together. The cares of
my young children required close vigilance; in this, my husband's father, who
continued to live with us, willingly took his share. He was happy to be
occupied with the little girls, whose company was his chief consolation after
his son's death. By his effort and mine, the children had a bright home, even if
we lived with our inner grief, which they were too young to realize. The strong
desire of my father-in-law being to live in the country, we took a house with a
garden in Sceaux, a suburb of Paris, from which I could reach the city in half
an hour.
This country life had
great advantages, not only for my father-in-law, who enjoyed his new
surroundings, and especially his garden, but also for my girls, who had the
benefit of walks in the open country. But they were more separated from me, and
it became necessary to have a governess for them. This position was filled
first by one of my cousins, and then by a devoted woman who had already brought
up the daughter of one of my sisters. Both of them were Polish, and in this way
my daughters learned my native tongue. From time to time, some one of my Polish
family came to see me in my grief, and we managed to meet in vacation time, at
the seashore in France, and once in the mountains of Poland.
In 1910 we suffered the
loss of my very dear father-in-law, after a long illness, which brought me many
sorrowful days. I used to spend at his bedside as much time as I could,
listening to his remembrances of passed years. His death affected deeply my
elder daughter, who, at twelve, knew the value of the cheerful hours spent in
his company.
There were few
resources for the education of my daughters in Sceaux. The youngest one, a
small child, needed principally a hygienic life, outdoor walks and quite
elementary schooling. She had already shown a vivid intelligence and an unusual
disposition for music. Her elder sister resembled her father in the form of her
intelligence. She was not quick, but one could already see that she had a gift
of reasoning power and that she would like science. She had some training in a
private school in Paris, but I had not wanted to keep her in a lycée, as I have
always found the class hours in these schools too long for the health of the
children.
My view is that in the
education of children the requirement of their growth and physical evolution
should be respected, and that some time should be left for their artistic
culture. In most schools, as they exist to-day, the time spent in various
reading and writing exercises is too great, and the study required to be done
at home too much. I also find these schools lacking, in general, in practical
exercises to accompany the scientific studies.
With a few friends in
the university circle who shared these views, we organized, therefore, a coöperative
group for the education of our children, each of us taking charge of the
teaching of a particular subject to all of the young people. We were all very
busy with other things, and the children varied in age. Nevertheless, the
little experiment thus made was very interesting. With a small number of
classes we yet succeeded in reuniting the scientific and literary elements of a
desirable culture. The courses in science were accompanied by practical
exercises in which the children took great interest.
This arrangement, which
lasted two years, proved to be very beneficial for most of the children; it was
certainly so for my elder daughter. Following this preparation, she was able to
enter a higher class in one of the collèges of Paris, and had no difficulty in
passing her bachelor's examination before the usual age, after which she
continued her scientific studies in the Sorbonne.
My second daughter,
although not benefiting by a similar arrangement for her earlier studies, at
first followed the classes of a collège only partially, and later completely.
She showed herself a good pupil, doing satisfactory work in all directions.
I wanted very much to
assure for my children a rational physical education. Next to outdoor walks, I
attach a great importance to gymnastics and sports. This side of a girl's
education is still rather neglected in France. I took care that my children did
gymnastics regularly. I was also careful to have them spend vacations either in
the mountains or at the seashore. They can canoe and swim very well and are not
afraid of a long walk or a bicycle ride.
But of course the care
of my children's education was only a part of my duties, my professional
occupations taking most of my time. I have been frequently questioned,
especially by women, how I could reconcile family life with a scientific
career. Well, it has not been easy; it required a great deal of decision and of
self- sacrifice. However, the family bond has been preserved between me and my
now grown-up daughters, and life is made brighter by the mutual affection and
understanding in our home, where I could not suffer a harsh word or selfish
behavior.
In 1906, when I
succeeded my husband at the Sorbonne, I had only a provisional laboratory with
little space and most limited equipment. A few scientists and students had
already been admitted to work there with my husband and me. With their help, I
was able to continue the course of research with good success.
In 1907, I received a
precious mark of sympathy from Mr. Andrew Carnegie, who donated to my
laboratory an annual income for research fellowships which enabled some
advanced students or scientists to devote their whole time to investigation.
Such foundations are very encouraging to those whose inclinations and talents
are such as to warrant their entire devotion to research work. They ought to be
multiplied in the interest of science.
As for myself, I had to
devote again a great deal of time to the preparation of several decigrammes of
very pure radium chloride. With this I achieved, in 1907, a new determination
of the atomic weight of radium, and in 1910 I was able to isolate the metal.
The operation, an extremely delicate one, was performed with the assistance of
a distinguished chemist belonging to the laboratory staff. It has never been
repeated since that time, because it involves a serious danger of loss of
radium, which can be avoided only with utmost care. So I saw at last the
mysterious white metal, but could not keep it in this state, for it was
required for further experiments.
As for the polonium, I
have not been able to isolate it, its quantity in the mineral being even much
less than the quantity of radium. However, very concentrated prolonium has been
prepared in my laboratory, and important experiments have been performed with
this substance, concerning especially the production of helium by radiation of
polonium.
I had to devote special
care to the improvement of the measuring methods in the laboratory. I have told
how important precise measurements were in the discovery of radium. It is still
to be hoped that efficient methods of quantitative determination may lead to
new discoveries.
I devised a very
satisfactory method for determining the quantity of radium by the means of a
radioactive gas produced by it and called "emanation." This method,
frequently used in my laboratory, permits of the measurement of very small
quantities of radium (less than a thousandth of a milligramme), with a fair
precision. More important quantities are often measured by their penetrating
radiation, named Gamma- rays. For this we also possess in my laboratory a
suitable equipment. It is easier and more satisfactory to measure the radium by
the emitted rays, than to weigh it in a balance. However, these measurements
require the disposition of reliable standards. So the question of a radium
standard had to be taken into careful consideration.
The measurements of
radium had to be established on a solid basis, for the benefit of laboratories
and scientific research, which, of course, is in itself an important reason,
and moreover, the growing medical utilization of this substance made it
necessary to control the relative purity of commercially produced radium.
The first experiments
on the biological properties of radium were successfully made in France with
samples from our laboratory, while my husband was living. The results were, at
once, encouraging, so that the new branch of medical science, called
radiumtherapy (in France, Curietherapy), developed rapidly, first in France and
later in other countries. To supply the radium wanted for this purpose, a
radium-producing industry was established. The first plant was created in
France and worked very successfully, but afterwards manufactures were founded
in other countries, the most important of which are now in America, where great
quantities of radium ore, named "carnotite," are available. The
radiumtherapy and the radium production developed conjointly, and the results
were more and more important, for the treatment of several diseases, and
particularly of cancer. As a consequence of this, several institutes have been
founded, in the large cities, for the application of the new therapy. Some of
these institutes own several grammes of radium, the commercial price of the
gramme being now about $70,000, the cost of production depending on the very
small proportion of radium in the ore.
It may be easily
understood how deeply I appreciated the privilege of realizing that our
discovery had become a benefit to mankind, not only through its great
scientific importance, but also by its power of efficient action against human
suffering and terrible disease. This was indeed a splendid reward for our years
of hard toil.
The success of the
therapy depends, of course, on the precise knowledge of the quantity of radium
which is used, so that the measurements of radium are as important for industry
and for medicine as for physicochemical research.
Considering all these
needs, a commission of scientific men of different countries was formed who
agreed to take as a base an international standard, formed of a carefully
weighed quantity of pure radium salt. Secondary standards were then to be
prepared for each country, and compared to the basic standard by means of their
radiation. I was appointed to prepare the primary standard.
This was a very
delicate operation, as the weight of the standard sample, quite small (about 21
milligrammes of chloride), had to be determined with great precision. I
performed the preparation in 1911. The standard is a thin glass tube, of a few
centimeters in length, containing the pure salt which was used for the
determination of atomic weight. It was accepted by the Commission and is
deposited in the International Bureau of Weights and Measures at Sèvres, near
Paris. Several secondary standards, compared with the primary one, have been
put into service by the Commission. In France the control of radium tubes, by
the measurement of their radiation, takes place in my laboratory, where any one
may bring the radium to be tested; in the United States this is done in the
Bureau of Standards.
Near the end of the
year 1910, I was proposed for the decoration of the Legion of Honor. A similar
proposal was made earlier in favor of my husband, who, however, being opposed
to all honorary distinctions, did not accept the nomination. As my husband and
I were too united in all things for me to act differently from him in this
matter, I did not accept the decoration, in spite of the insistence of the
Ministry. At that time also, several colleagues persuaded me to be a candidate
for election to the Academy of Sciences, of Paris, of which my husband was a
member during the last months of his life. I hesitated very much, as such a
candidacy requires, by custom, a great number of personal visits to Academy
members. However, I consented to offer myself a candidate, because of the
advantages an election would have f or my laboratory. My candidacy provoked a
vivid public interest, especially because it involved the question of the
admission of women to the Academy. Many of the Academicians were opposed to this
in principle, and when the scrutiny was made, I had a few votes less than was
necessary. I do not ever wish to renew my candidacy, because of my strong
distaste for the personal solicitation required. I believe that all such
elections should be based wholly on a spontaneous decision, without any
personal efforts involved, as was the case for several Academies and Societies
which made me a member without any demand or initiative on my part.
As a result of all the
cares devolving on me, I fell seriously ill at the end of 1911, when, for the
second time, I received, this time alone, the award of the Nobel prize. This
was a very exceptional honor, a high recognition of the discovery of the new
elements and of the preparation of pure radium. Suffering though I was, I went
to Stockholm to receive the prize. The journey was extremely painful for me. I
was accompanied by my eldest sister and my young daughter Irene. The ceremony
of delivery of the Nobel prizes is very impressive, having the features of a
national solemnity. A most generous reception was accorded me, specially by the
women of Sweden. This was a great comfort to me, but I was suffering so much
that when I returned I had to stay in bed for several months. This grave
illness, as well as the necessities of my children's education, obliged me to
move my home from Sceaux to Paris.
During the year 1912 I
had the opportunity of collaborating in the creation of a laboratory of radium
at Warsaw. This laboratory was founded by the Scientific Society of Warsaw
which offered me its direction. I could not leave France to go back to my
native country, but I willingly agreed to occupy myself with the organization
of the studies in the new laboratory. In 1913, having improved my health, I was
able to attend an inauguration fête in Warsaw, where a touching reception was
given, leaving me an unforgettable memory of national sentiment which succeeded
in creating useful work under particularly difficult political conditions.
While still only
partially recovered from my illness, I renewed my efforts for the construction
of a suitable laboratory in Paris. Finally it was arranged for, and work began
in 1912. The Pasteur Institute wished to be associated with this laboratory, and,
in accord with the University, it was decided to create an Institute of Radium,
with two laboratories, one of physics and one of biology, the first to be
devoted to studies of the physical and chemical properties of the radioactive
elements, the second to the study of their biological and medical applications.
But, because of the lack of financial means, the construction work proceeded
very slowly, and was not yet entirely finished when the war broke out in 1914.
IN 1914, it happened,
as it often had in other years, that my daughters had left Paris for their
summer vacation before me. They were accompanied by their governess, in whom I
had all confidence, and were living in a small house on the seashore in
Brittany, at a place where there were also the families of several of our good
friends. My work did not generally permit me to pass the entire vacation near
them without interruption.
That year I was
preparing to join them in the last days of July, when I was stopped by the bad
political news, with its premonitions of an imminent military mobilization. It
did not seem possible for me to leave under these conditions, and I waited for
further events. The mobilization was announced on August 1st, immediately
followed by Germany's declaration of war on France. The few men of the
laboratory staff and the students were mobilized, and I was left alone with our
mechanic who could not join the army because of a serious heart trouble.
The historic events
that followed are known to every one, but only those who lived in Paris through
the days of August and September, 1914, can ever really know the state of mind
in the capital and the quiet courage shown by it. The mobilization was a
general wave of all France passing out to the border for the defense of the
land. All our interest now centered on the news from the front.
After the uncertainties
of the first days this news became more and more grave.
First, it was the
invasion of Belgium and the heroic resistance of that little country; then the
victorious march of the German army through the valley of the Oise toward
Paris; and soon the departure of the French government to Bordeaux, followed by
the leaving of those Parisians who could not, or would not, face the possible
danger of German occupation. The overloaded trains took into the country a
great number of people, mostly of the well-to-do class. But, on the whole, the
people of Paris gave a strong impression of calm and quiet decision in that
fateful year of 1914. In the end of August and the beginning of September the
weather was radiant, and under the glorious sky of those days the great city
with its architectural treasures seemed to be particularly dear to those who
remained in it.
When the danger of
German attack on Paris became pressing, I felt obliged to put in security the
supply of radium then in my laboratory, and I was charged by the government to
take it to Bordeaux for safety. But I did not want to be away long, and hence
decided to return immediately. I left by one of the trains that were carrying
government staff and baggage, and I well remember the aspect of the national
highway which is at intervals in view from the train; it showed a long line of
motor-cars carrying their owners from the capital.
Arriving at Bordeaux in
the evening, I was very embarrassed with my heavy bag including the radium
protected by lead. I was not able to carry it and waited in a public place,
while a friendly ministry employee who came by the same train managed to find a
room for me in a private apartment, the hotels being overcrowded. The next
morning I hurried to put the radium in a safe place, and succeeded, although
not without difficulty, in taking a military train back to Paris in the evening
of the same day. Having opportunity for exchanging a few sentences with persons
on the place who wanted to ask information from people coming by the train, I
was interested to notice how they seemed surprised and comforted to learn of
some one who found it natural to return to Paris.
My trip back was
troubled by delays; for several hours the train rested immovable on the rails,
while the travelers accepted a little bread from the soldiers who were provided
with it. Finally arriving in Paris, I learned that the German army had turned;
the battle of the Marne had begun.
In Paris I shared the
alternating hope and grief of the inhabitants during the course of that great
battle, and had the constant worry of foreseeing a long separation from my
children in case the Germans succeeded in occupying the city. Yet I felt that I
must stay at my post. After the successful outcome of the battle, however, any
immediate danger of occupation being removed, I was able to have my daughters
come back from Brittany to Paris and again take up their studies. This was the
great desire of my children, who did not want to stay away from me and from
their work, even if many other families thought it wiser to stay in the
country, far from the front.
The dominant duty
imposed on every one at that time was to help the country in whatever way
possible during the extreme crisis that it faced. No general instructions to
this were given to the members of the University. It was left to each to take
his own initiative and means of action. I therefore sought to discover the most
efficient way to do useful work, turning my scientific knowledge to most
profit.
During the rapid
succession of events in August, 1914, it was clearly proved that the
preparation for defense was insufficient. Public feeling was especially aroused
by the realization of the grave failings which appeared in the organization of
the Health Service. My own attention was particularly drawn to this situation,
and I soon found a field of activity which, once entered upon, absorbed the
greatest part of my time and efforts until the end of the war, and even for
some time thereafter. The work was the organization of radiologic and radio-
therapeutic services for the military hospitals. But I also had to make the
change, during these difficult war years, of my laboratory into the new
building of the Institute of Radium and to continue, in the measure possible to
me, regular teaching, as well as to investigate certain problems, especially
interesting the military service.
It is well known that
the X-rays offer surgeons and doctors extremely useful means for the
examination of the sick and wounded. They make possible the discovery and the
exact location of projectiles which have entered the body, and this is a great
help in their extraction. These rays also reveal lesions of bones and of the
internal organs and permit one to follow the progress of recovery from internal
injuries. The use of the X-rays during the war saved the lives of many wounded
men; it also saved many from long suffering and lasting infirmity. To all the
wounded it gave a greater chance of recovery.
However, at the
beginning of the war, the Military Board of Health had no organization of
radiology, while the civil organization was also but little developed.
Radiologic installations existed in only a small number of importants
hospitals, and there were only a few specialists in the large cities. The
numerous new hospitals that were established all over France in the first
months of the war had, as a rule, no installation for the use of X-rays.
To meet this need I
first gathered together all the apparatus I could find in the laboratories and
stores. With this equipment I established in August and September, 1914,
several stations of radiology, the operation of which was assured by volunteer
helpers to whom I gave instruction. These stations rendered great service
during the battle of the Marne. But as they could not satisfy the needs of all
the hospitals of the Paris region, I fitted up, with the help of the Red Cross,
a radiologic car. It was simply a touring motor-car, arranged for the transport
of a complete radiologic apparatus, together with a dynamo that was worked by
the engine of the car, and furnished the electric current necessary for the
production of the rays. This car could come at the call of any of the
hospitals, large or small, in the surroundings of Paris. Cases of urgent need
were frequent, for these hospitals had to take care of the wounded who could
not be transported to more distant places.
The first results of
this work showed that it was necessary to do more. Thanks to special donations
and to the help of a very efficient relief committee called "le Patronage
National des Blessés," I succeeded in developing my initiative to a
considerable extent. About two hundred radiologic installations were
established or materially improved through my efforts in the zone of the French
and Belgian armies, and in the regions of France not occupied by the army. I
was able, besides, to equip in my laboratory and give to the army twenty radiologic
cars. The frames of these cars were donated by, various persons who wished to
be helpful; some of them offered also the equipment. The cars were of the
greatest service to the army.
These privately
developed installations were particularly important in the first two years of
the war, when the regular military service possessed but few radiologic
instruments. Later the Board of Health created, little by little, a
considerable radiologic service of its own, as the utility of the stations was
more clearly realized owing to the example given by private initiative. But the
needs of the armies were so great, that my coöperation continued necessary to
the end of the war, and even afterwards.
I could not have
accomplished this work without seeing for myself the needs of the ambulance
stations and hospitals. Thanks to the help of the Red Cross and to the
agreement of the Board of Health, I was able to make several journeys to the
army zones and to the other parts of France. Several times I visited the ambulance
stations of the armies of the north and in the Belgian zone, going to Amiens,
Calais, Dunkirk, Furnes, and Poperinghe. I went to Verdun, Nancy, Luneville,
Belfort, to Compiegne, and Villers-Cotterets. In the regions distant from the
front, I took care of many hospitals which had to do very intensive work with
little aid. And I keep as a precious recollection of that time, many letters of
warm recognition from those to whom I brought help in their difficulties.
The motive of my
starting on a journey was usually a demand from surgeons. I went with a
radiologic car which I kept for my personal use. In examining the wounded in
the hospital, I could gain information of the special needs of the region. When
back in Paris, I got the necessary equipment to meet these needs and returned
to install it myself, for very often the people on the ground could not do it.
I had then to find competent persons to handle the apparatus and show them how
to do it, in full detail. After a few days of hard toil, the manipulator knew
enough to work the apparatus himself, and at the same time a large number of
wounded had been examined. In addition, the surgeons of the region had gained
an idea of the usefulness of the radiologic examination (which few of them knew
at that time), and friendly relations were established which made the later
development of my work much easier.
On several of my trips
I was accompanied by my elder daughter, Irene, who was then seventeen years
old, and, having finished her preparatory studies, was beginning higher studies
at the Sorbonne. Because she greatly desired to be useful, she now studied
nursing and learned radiology, and did her best to help me under the most
varied circumstances. She did ambulance work at the front between Furnes and
Ypres, and also at Amiens, receiving, from the Chiefs of Service, testimonials
of work satisfactorily performed and, at the end of the war, a medal.
Of the hospital life of
those years, we keep many a remembrance, my daughter and I. Traveling
conditions were extraordinarily difficult; we were often not sure of being able
to press forward, to say nothing of the uncertainty of finding lodgings and
food. However, things always ended in arranging themselves, thanks to our
persistence and to the good will we met. Wherever we went I had to look after
each detail myself and see innumerable military chiefs to obtain passes and
permissions for transportation. Many a time I loaded my apparatus on to the
train myself, with the help of the employees, to make sure that it would go
forward instead of remaining behind several days at the station. And on arrival
I also went to extract them from the encumbered station.
When I traveled with
the radiologic car, other problems presented themselves. I had, for instance,
to find safe places for the car, to get lodgings for the assistants and to
secure the automobile accessories. Since chauffeurs were scarce, I learned to
drive the car, and did it when necessary. Owing to all this personal
supervision, my installations were usually swiftly made, whereas appeal to the
Central Health Service was answered slowly. So the military chiefs greatly
appreciated the assistance they could get from me, especially in cases of
urgent need.
We both, my daughter
and myself, have pleasant and grateful memories of the personnel of the
hospitals, and were on the best terms with the surgeons and nurses. One could
not but admire these men and women who were giving their services without
counting, and whose task was often overwhelming. Our collaboration was easy,
for my daughter and I tried to work in their spirit; and we felt that we were
standing side by side with friends.
While we were attached
to the Belgian Ambulance Service, we were present several times during visits
of King Albert and Queen Elizabeth. We appreciated deeply their devotion, their
solicitude for the wounded, their extreme simplicity, and the cordiality of
their behavior.
But nothing was so
moving as to be with the wounded and to take care of them. We were drawn to
them because of their suffering and because of the patience with which they
bore it. Almost everyone did his best to facilitate the X-ray examination,
notwithstanding the pain caused by any displacement. One learned very soon to
know them individually and to exchange with them a few friendly words. Those
who were not familiar with the examination, wanted very much to be reassured
about the effect of the strange apparatus they were going to experience.
I can never forget the
terrible impression of all that destruction of human life and health. To hate
the very idea of war, it ought to be sufficient to see once what I have seen so
many times, all through those years: men and boys brought to the advanced
ambulance in a mixture of mud and blood, many of them dying of their injuries,
many others recovering but slowly through months of pain and suffering.
One of my difficult
problems was to find the necessary trained assistants to operate my apparatus.
At the beginning of the war there was little knowledge of radiology, and
apparatus in the hands of those who did not understand how to handle it
deteriorated quickly and was soon useless. The practice of radiology in most
hospitals in war-time does not require much medical knowledge; it can be
sufficiently grasped by intelligent persons who know how to study and who have
some notion of electrical machinery. Professors, engineers, or university
students often made good manipulators. I had to look for those who were
temporarily free from military service, or who happened to be stationed in the
locality where I needed them. But even after I had secured them, these
operators were often transferred by military orders, and I had to search again
for others to fill their places. For this reason, I determined to train women
to do this work.
Accordingly, I proposed
to the Health Service to add a department of radiology to the Nurses' School
which had just been founded at the Edith Cavell Hospital. This they agreed to
do. And so, in 1916, the course was organized at the Radium Institute, and
provided in the following years of war for the training of one hundred and fifty
operators. Most of the pupils who applied had only an elementary education, but
could succeed if working in a proper way. The course comprised theoretical
studies and very extended practical training; it included also some instruction
in anatomy. It was given by a few persons of good will, among them my daughter.
Our graduates formed an excellent personnel very genuinely appreciated by the
Board of Health. Theoretically, they were supposed to serve as aides to
physicians, but several of them proved capable of independent work.
My continued and
various experience in war radiology gave me a wide knowledge of that subject,
which I felt should be made more familiar to the public. So I wrote a small
book called "Radiology and the War," in which I aimed to demonstrate
the vital importance of radiology and to compare its development during war
time with its use in the previous time of peace.
I come now to the
account of the founding of the service of radiumtherapy at the Radium
Institute.
In 1915, the radium, which
had been safely deposited in Bordeaux, was brought back to Paris, and not
having time for regular scientific research, I decided to use it to cure the
wounded, without, however, risking the loss of this precious material. I
proceeded to place at the disposal of the Health Service not the radium itself,
but the emanation which can be obtained from it at regular intervals. The
technique of the use of the emanation can readily be employed in the larger
radiumtherapy institutes, and, in many ways, is more practicable than the
direct use of radium. In France, however, there, was no national institute of
radiumtherapy, and the emanation was not used in hospitals.
I offered to furnish
regularly to the Health Service bulbs of radium emanation. The offer, was
accepted, and the "Emanation Service," started in 1916, was continued
until the end of the war and even longer. Having no assistants, I had, for a
long time, to prepare these emanation bulbs alone, and their preparation is
very delicate. Numbers of wounded and sick, military and civil, were treated by
means of these bulbs.
During the bombardment
of Paris, the Health Board took special measures to protect from shells the
laboratory in which the bulbs were prepared. Since the handling of radium is
far from being free of danger (several times I have felt a discomfort which I
consider a result of this cause), measures were taken to prevent harmful
effects of the rays on the persons preparing emanation.
While the work in
connection with the hospitals remained my major interest, I had many other
preoccupations during the war.
After the failure of
the German offensive in the summer of 1918, at the request of the Italian
government, I went to Italy to study the question of her natural resources in
radioactive materials. I remained a month and was able to obtain certain
results in interesting the public authorities in the importance of this new
subject.
It was in 1915 that I
had to move my laboratory to the new building in the rue Pierre Curie. This was
a trying and complicated experience, for which, once more, I had no money nor
any help. So it was only between my journeys that I was able, little by little,
to do the transportation of my laboratory equipment, in my radiologic cars.
Afterwards, I had much work in classifying and distributing my materials, and
arranging the new place in general, with the help of my daughter and of my
mechanic, who, unfortunately, was often ill.
One of my first cares
was to have trees planted in the limited grounds of my laboratory. I feel it
very necessary for the eyes to have the comfort of fresh leaves in spring and
summer time. So I tried to make things pleasant for those who were to work in
the new building. We planted a few lime trees and plane trees, as many as there
was room for, and did not forget flowerbeds and roses. I well remember the
first day of bombardment of Paris with the big German gun; we had gone, in the
early morning, to the flower-market, and spent all that day busy with our
plantation, while a few shells fell in the vicinity.
In spite of the great
difficulties, the new laboratory was organized little by little, and I had the
satisfaction of having it quite ready for the beginning of the school-year
1919-20, the period of demobilization. In the spring of 1919, I organized
special courses for some American soldier students, who also studied with much
zeal the practical exercises directed by my daughter.
The entire period of
the war was for me, as for many others, a period of great fatigue. I took
almost no vacation, except for a few days, now and then, when I went to see my
daughters on their holidays. My older daughter would scarcely take any, and I
was obliged to send her away sometimes to preserve her health. She was
continuing her studies in the Sorbonne, and besides, as said before, was
helping me with my war work, while the younger daughter was still in the
preparatory college. Neither of them wished to leave Paris during the
bombardment.
After more than four
years of a war which caused ravages without precedent, the armistice came at
last, in the autumn of 1918, followed by laborious efforts to reëstablish
peace, which is not yet general nor complete. It was a great relief to France
to see the end of that dark period of cruel losses. But the griefs are too
recent and life still too hard for calm and happiness yet to be restored.
Nevertheless, a great
joy came to me as a consequence of the victory obtained by the sacrifice of so
many human lives. I had lived, though I had scarcely expected it, to see the
reparation of more than a century of injustice that had been done to Poland, my
native country, and that had kept her in slavery, her territories and people
divided among her enemies. It was a deserved resurrection for the Polish
nation, which showed herself faithful to her national memories during the long
period of oppression, almost without hope. The dream that appeared so difficult
to realize, although so dear, became a reality following the storm that swept
over Europe. In these new conditions I went to Warsaw and saw my family again,
after many years of separation, in the capital of free Poland. But how
difficult are the conditions of life of the new Polish republic, and how
complicated is the problem of reorganization after so many years of abnormal
life!
In France, partly
devastated and suffering from the loss of so many of her citizens, the
difficulties created by the war are not yet effaced, and the return to normal
work is being attained only gradually. The scientific laboratories feel this state
of affairs and the same condition prevails for the Radium Institute.
The various radiologic
organizations created during the war still partially exist. The Radiographic
Nurses' School has been maintained at the request of the Board of Health. The
emanation service, which could not be abandoned, is also continued in a
considerably enlarged form. It has passed under the direction of Doctor Regaud,
Director of the Pasteur Laboratory of the Radium Institute, and is developing
into a great national service of radiumtherapy.
The work of the
laboratory has been reorganized, with the return of the mobilized personnel and
the students. But in the restrained circumstances under which the country still
exists, the laboratory lacks ways and means for its efficient development.
Particularly are wanted an independent hospital for radiumtherapy (which is
called Curietherapy in France), and an experimental station, outside of Paris,
for experiments on great quantities of material, such as are needed for the
progress of our knowledge of radioactive elements.
I myself am no longer
young, and I frequently ask myself whether, in spite of recent efforts of the
government aided by some private donations, I shall ever succeed in building up
for those who will come after me an Institute of Radium, such as I wish to the
memory of Pierre Curie and to the highest interest of humanity.
However, a precious
encouragement came to me in the year 1921. On the initiative of a generous
daughter of the United States, Mrs. W. B. Meloney, the women of that great
American country collected a fund, the "Marie Curie Radium Fund," and
offered me the gift of a gramme of radium to be placed entirely at my disposal
for scientific research. Mrs. Meloney invited me with my daughters to come to America
and to receive the gift, or the symbol of it, from the hands of the President
of the great republic, at the White House.
The fund was collected
by a public subscription, as well by small as by important gifts, and I was
very thankful to my sisters of America for this genuine proof of their
affection. So I started for New York at the beginning of May, after a ceremony
given in my honor at the Opera of Paris, to greet me before my departing.
I keep a grateful
memory of my sojourn in the United States for several weeks, of the impressive
reception at the White House, where President Harding addressed me in generous
and affectionate words, of my visits to the universities and colleges which
welcomed me and bestowed on me their honorary degrees, of the public reunions
where I could not but feel the deep sympathy of those who came to meet me and
to wish me good luck.
I had also the
opportunity of a visit to the Niagara Falls and to the Grand Canyon, and
admired immensely these marvelous creations of nature.
Unhappily, the
precarious state of my health did not permit of the complete fulfilment of the
general plan established by my visit to America. However, I saw and learned
much, and my daughters enjoyed to a full extent the opportunities of their unexpected
vacation and the pride in the recognition of their mother's work. We left for
Europe at the end of June, with the real sorrow of parting from excellent
friends whom we would not forget.
I came back to my work,
made easier by the precious gift, with an even stronger desire to carry it
forward with renewed courage. But as my aims are still wanting support in
essential parts, I am frequently compelled to give thought to a very
fundamental question concerning the view a scientist ought to take of his discovery.
My husband, as well as
myself, always refused to draw from our discovery any material profit. We have
published, since the beginning, without any reserve, the process that we used
to prepare the radium. We took out no patent and we did not reserve any
advantage in any industrial exploitation. No detail was kept secret, and it is
due to the information we gave in our publications that the industry of radium
has been rapidly developed. Up to the present time this industry hardly uses
any methods except those established by us. The treatment of the minerals and
the fractional crystallizations are still performed in the same way, as I did
it in my laboratory, even if the material means are increased.
As for the radium
prepared by me out of the ore we managed to obtain in the first years of our
work, I have given it all to my laboratory.
The price of radium is
very high since it is found in minerals in very small quantities, and the
profits of its manufacture have been great, as this substance is used to cure a
number of diseases. So it is a fortune which we have sacrificed in renouncing
the exploitation of our discovery, a fortune that could, after us, have gone to
our children. But what is even more to be considered is the objection of many
of our friends, who have argued, not without reason, that if we had guaranteed
our rights, we could have had the financial means of founding a satisfactory
Institute of Radium, without experiencing any of the difficulties that have
been such a handicap to both of us, and are still a handicap to me. Yet, I
still believe that we have done right.
Humanity, surely, needs
practical men who make the best of their work for the sake of their own
interests, without forgetting the general interest. But it also needs dreamers,
for whom the unselfish following of a purpose is so imperative that it becomes
impossible for them to devote much attention to their own material benefit. No
doubt it could be said that these idealists do not deserve riches since they do
not have the desire for them. It seems, however, that a society well organized
ought to assure to these workers the means for efficient labor, in a life from
which material care is excluded so that this life may be freely devoted to the
service of scientific research.
My beautiful voyage to
the United States of America resulted, as is known, from the generous
initiative of an American woman, Mrs. Meloney, editor of an important magazine,
the Delineator, who, having planned the gift of a gramme of radium to me by her
countrywomen, succeeded in a few months in bringing this plan to execution, and
asked me to come over and receive the gift personally.
The idea was that the
gift would come exclusively from the American women. A committee including
several prominent women and distinguished scientific men received some
important gifts, and made an appeal for a public subscription, to which a great
number of women's organizations, especially colleges and clubs, responded. In
many cases gifts came from persons who had experienced the benefit of
radiumtherapy. In this way was collected the "Marie Curie Radium
Fund" of more than one hundred thousand dollars for the purchase of a
gramme of radium. The President of the United States, Mr. Harding, kindly
agreed to deliver the gift in a ceremony at the White House.
The Committee invited
me and my daughters to the United States in May, and even though it was not
vacation time for me, I accepted the invitation with the consent of the
University of Paris.
All care of the voyage
was taken away from me. Mrs. Meloney came to France in time to be present at a
manifestation organized on the 28th of April in favor of the Radium Institute
of Paris by the magazine Je Sais Tout, and accompanied by sincere expressions
of sympathy for the American nation. On May 4th, we took passage at Cherbourg
on the Olympic for New York.
The program of my
voyage prepared by the Committee seemed very intimidating. It was announced
that I would not only attend the ceremony at the White House, but also visit
many universities and colleges in several towns. Some of these institutions had
contributed to the Fund; all desired to offer me honors. The vitality and the
activity of the American nation produces programs on a large scale. On the
other hand, the wideness of the country has developed in American citizens the
custom of long travel. But during all that travel I was protected with the
greatest care, in order to lighten as far as possible the inevitable fatigue of
the voyage and the receptions. America not only gave me a generous welcome, but
also true friends whom I could not thank enough for their kindness and their devotion.
After having admired
the grand view of the harbors of New York, and having been greeted by groups of
students, Girl Scouts, and Polish delegates, and welcomed by many gifts of
flowers, we took possession of a peaceful apartment in town. The following day
I made the acquaintance of the Reception Committee at a luncheon given by Mrs.
Carnegie in her beautiful home still filled with memories of her husband,
Andrew Carnegie, whose philanthropic achievements are well known in France. The
following day we went for a visit of a few days to Smith College, and Vassar
College, a few hours from New York. Later I also visited the colleges of Bryn
Mawr and Wellesley, and I saw some others on my way.
These colleges, or
universities for women, are very characteristic of American life and culture.
My short visit could not permit me to give an authorized opinion on the
intellectual training, but even in such a visit as I made one may notice
important differences between the French and American conception of girls'
education, and some of these differences would not be in favor of our country.
Two points have particularly drawn my attention: the care of the health and the
physical development of the students, and the very independent organization of
their life which allows a large degree of individual initiative.
The colleges are
excellent in their construction and organization. They are composed of several
buildings, often scattered in very large grounds between lawns and trees. Smith
is on the shore of a charming river. The equipment is comfortable and hygienic,
of extreme cleanliness, with bathrooms, showers, distribution of cold and hot
water. The students have cheerful private rooms and common gathering rooms. A
very complete organization of games and sports exists in every college. The
students play tennis and baseball; they have gymnasium, canoeing, swimming, and
horseback riding. Their health is under the constant care of medical advisers.
It seems to be a frequent opinion of American mothers that the existing
atmosphere of cities like New York is not favorable to the education of young
girls, and that a life in the country in the open air gives more suitable
conditions for the health and the tranquillity of studying,
In every college the
young girls form an association and elect a committee which has to establish
the internal rules of the college. The students display a great activity: they
take part in educational work; they publish a paper; they are devoted to songs
and music; they write plays, and act them in college and out of it. These plays
have interested me very much in their subjects and the execution. The students
are also of different social conditions. Many of them are of wealthy families,
but many others live on scholarships. The whole organization may be considered
as democratic. A few students are foreigners, and we have met some French
students very well pleased with the college life and the studies.
Every college takes
four years of study with examinations from time to time. Some students afterwards
do personal work, and acquire the degree of Doctor, which does not exactly
correspond to the same title in France. The colleges have laboratories with
many good facilities for experimentation.
I have been strongly
impressed by the joy of life animating these young girls and expanding on every
occasion, like that of one of my visit. If the ceremonies of the reception were
performed in a nearly military order, a spontaneity of youth and happiness
expressed itself in the songs of greeting composed by the students, in the
smiling and excited faces, and in the rushing over the lawns to greet me at my
arrival. This was indeed a charming impression which I could not forget.
Back in New York,
several ceremonies awaited me before my leaving for Washington. A luncheon of
the Chemists, a reception at the Museum of Natural History and the
Mineralogical Club, a dinner at the Institute of Social Sciences, and a great
meeting at Carnegie Hall, where many delegations represented the faculties and
students of women's colleges and universities. At all these receptions I was
greeted in warm addresses by prominent men and women, and I received honors
very precious to me because of the sincerity of the givers. Neither has the
part of national friendships been forgotten; the address of Vice-President
Coolidge was a noble recognition of the past where French and Polish citizens
have been helpful to the young American Republic, and is also a statement of
fraternity strengthened by the tempest of the last years.
It was in this
atmosphere of affection created by the convergence of intellectual and social
sympathies that there took place on May 20th the beautiful ceremony at the
White House. It was a deeply moving ceremony in all its simplicity, occurring
before a democratic gathering including the President and Mrs. Harding, cabinet
officers, Judges of the Supreme Court, high officers of Army and Navy, foreign
diplomats, representatives of women's clubs and societies, and prominent
citizens of Washington and other cities. It comprised a short presentation by
the French ambassador, M. Jusserand, a speech by Mrs. Meloney for the American
women, the address of President Harding, a few words of gratitude said by me, a
defile of the guests, and a group picture for a souvenir, all this in the
admirable setting of the White House, peaceful and dignified, white indeed
between its green lawns with wide prospects on that beautiful afternoon of May.
A remembrance never to be forgotten was left by this reception in which the
chief representative of a great nation offered me homage of infinite value, the
testimonial of the recognition of his country's pitizens.
The address of the
President had been inspired by the same sentiments as that of Vice- President
Coolidge, as far as concerned his appreciation of France and Poland. This
address gave also an expression of the American feeling which was emphasized by
an exceptional solemnity in the delivering of the gift.
The American nation is
generous, and always ready to appreciate an action inspired by considerations
of general interest. If the discovery of radium has so much sympathy in
America, it is not only because of its scientific value, and of the importance
of medical utilization; it is also because the discovery has been given to humanity
without reservation or material benefits to the discoverers. Our American
friends wanted to honor this spirit animating the French science.
The radium itself was
not brought to the ceremony. The President presented me with the symbol of the
gift, a small golden key opening the casket devised for the transportation of
the radium.
Our sojourn at
Washington following the principal ceremony included a very agreeable reception
at the French Embassy and the Polish Legation, a reception at the National Museum,
and some laboratory visits.
The itinerary of our
journey from Washington included visits to the cities of Philadelphia,
Pittsburgh, Chicago, Buffalo, Boston, and New Haven, a visit to the Grand
Canyon, and to Niagara Falls. On that trip I was the guest of several
universities which did me the honor of bestowing honorary degrees on me. I have
to thank for these the universities of Pennsylvania, of Pittsburgh, of Chicago,
the Northwestern University, Columbia University, Yale University, the Women's Medical
College of Pennsylvania, the University of Pennsylvania, Smith College, and
Wellesley College, while I thank Harvard University for her reception.
The delivery of
honorary degrees in American universities is accompanied by solemnities. In
principle, the presence of the candidate is required, and the delivery takes
place at the annual commencement, but, in some cases, special ceremonies were
organized in my favor. The university ceremonies in America are more frequent
than in France, and play a more important part in the university life.
Especially is this true at the annual commencement, which begins with an
academic procession over the grounds of the university, the procession
including the officials, the professors, and graduates in academic caps and
gowns. Afterwards all assemble in a hall where are announced the diplomas
corresponding to the grades of bachelor, master, and doctor. There is always a
musical part in the program, and addresses are delivered by the officials of
the university or invited orators. These addresses are naturally devoted to
dignifying the ideals and the humanitarian purposes of education; but in
certain cases it seems permitted to introduce a point of American humor. These
ceremonies are on the whole very impressive, and certainly contribute to keep a
bond between the university and the alumni. This is a favorable circumstance
for those great American universities which are sustained entirely on private
foundations. It is only in more recent times that most States have created
universities supported by the State.
At Yale University I
had the pleasure of representing the University of Paris at the inauguration of
President Angell, fourteenth president of the University. I was also pleased to
attend at Philadelphia a meeting of the American Philosophical Society and a
meeting of the College of Physicians, and at Chicago a meeting of the American
Chemical Society at which I delivered a lecture on the Discovery of Radium. The
medals of John Scott, Benjamin Franklin, and Willard Gibbs have been presented
to me by these societies.
Several meetings
organized in my honor by the American women's organizations have particularly
interested the American public. I have already mentioned the meeting of the
University Women at Carnegie Hall of New York; a similar meeting was held at
Chicago, where I was also received by the Association of Polish Women. I was
also greeted by women's organizations in the Carnegie Institute of Pittsburgh,
and by a delegation of Canadian university women at Buffalo. In all these
meetings it was impossible not to recognize the sincerity of the emotion in the
women who gave me their best wishes, at the same time expressing their
confidence in the future of feminine intelligence and activity. I did not feel
any opposition between these feministic aspirations and the masculine opinion.
As far as I could notice, the men in America approve of these aspirations and
encourage them. This is a very favorable condition for the social activity of
the American women which reveals itself in a strong interest in work for
education, for hygiene, and for the improvement of conditions of labor. But any
other unselfish purpose may rely on their support, as is proved by the success
of Mrs. Meloney's plan, and by the sympathy this plan encountered in women of
all social conditions.
I could not, to my deep
regret, give time enough to the visit to laboratories and scientific
institutes. These too brief visits were of great interest to me. I found
everywhere the greatest care for developing scientific activity and for
improving the facilities. New laboratories are in building, and in older
laboratories very modern equipment may be found. The available room never gives
that impression of insufficiency from which we suffer too often in France. The
means are provided by private initiative expressed in gifts and foundations of
various kinds. There exists also a National Council of Research established by
private funds for stimulating and improving scientific work, and for assuring
its connection with industry.
I have visited with
special interest the Bureau of Standards, a very important national institution
at Washington for scientific measurements and for study connected with them.
The tubes of radium presented to me were at the Bureau, whose officials had
kindly offered to make the measurements, and to take care of the packing and
delivery to the ship.
A new laboratory has
been created at Washington for researches on very low temperatures with the use
of liquid hydrogen and liquid helium. I had the honor of dedicating this
laboratory to its service.
I had the great
pleasure of meeting in their laboratories several very important American
scientific men. The hours I spent in their company are among the best of my
travel.
The United States
possesses several hospitals for radiumtherapy. These hospitals are generally
provided with laboratories for the extraction of radium emanation which is
sealed up in small tubes for medical use. These institutions own important
quantities of radium, have a very good equipment, and treat a great number of
patients. I have visited some of them, and this made me feel more deeply, if
possible, the regret of not having in France even one national institute
capable of rendering the same services. I hope that this lack will be filled in
the near future.
The industry of radium
has been started in France, but it is in America that it has had its greatest
development, owing to the presence of a sufficient supply of the ore
carnotite.[1] I was very much interested in my visit to the most important of
the factories, and I gladly recognize the spirit of initiative in this undertaking.
The factory owns a collection of documentary films which enable one to
appreciate the effort made each day in collecting the ore scattered in the
immense fields of Colorado, in carrying and concentrating this ore originally
very poor in radium. On the other hand, the means of extraction of radium are
still the same which have been described in earlier chapters.
The greatest courtesy
was paid me in my visit to the radium plant and laboratory. I found the same
reception at a factory of mesothorium which presented me with some material,
and where the officials expressed the desire to help in my scientific work.
To make complete these
travel impressions it would be necessary to speak of the nature of the country.
I recoil before the task, being incapable of expressing in a few words the
immensity and the variety of the spaces which opened before my eyes. The
general impression is one of unlimited possibilities for the future. I keep a
particularly vivid remembrance of the great falls of Niagara, and of the
magnificent colors of the Grand Canyon.
On June 28th I embarked
in New York on the same ship which had brought me to the United States less
than two months before. I would not take the liberty, after so short a period
of time, of giving an opinion on America and the Americans. I would only say
how deeply I have been touched by the warm reception which was tendered
everywhere to me and my daughters. Our hosts wanted to make us feel that we
were not with strangers; and, on the other hand, many of them assured me that
they felt in entirely friendly surroundings when on the soil of France. I got
back to France with a feeling of gratitude for the precious gift of the
American women, and with a feeling of affection for their great country tied
with ours by a mutual sympathy which gives confidence in a peaceful future for
humanity.
[1] Quite recently there has been started near Anverst an important
radium industry as a result of the discovery of uranium ore in the Belgian
Congo.