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 na?veté; 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."
