At the end of January 1873, between two classes, Metchnikoff received a letter from his sister-in-law telling him to come in haste if he wished to find his wife still living. He delivered his lecture like an automaton, then went to obtain his leave and hurried off. He accomplished the whole journey without a break. On arriving at Madeira he found his wife so changed that he scarcely knew her, and it was only through sheer force of will that he kept his alarm from her. She suffered so much that she had to be given morphia constantly and could no longer leave her bed. Metchnikoff himself was in very poor health; his eyes were so sensitive from overwork that he had to remain in the dark, only going into the garden at dusk to observe spiders and snails. Time was progressing slowly and miserably, and bringing nothing but anxiety as to the means to support this sad existence. Metchnikoff had hoped to receive the Baer prize for a zoological work, but did not obtain it: it was refused on the pretext that his memoir had been presented in manuscript instead of being printed. In reality, the German party had wished to give it to a fellow-German. A friend of his, who sent him the bad news, offered to lend him 300 roubles, and Metchnikoff accepted; he could now think of nothing but holding out till the end. One morning the patient's condition suddenly became much worse. The doctor was sent for in a hurry and declared that it was now a question of a few hours.... When Metchnikoff went back to his wife he found her with eyes wide open and so full of mortal anguish and utter despair that he could bear it no longer and went out hastily, not to show her his dismay. This was his last impression; he never saw her again. Only half conscious, he walked up and down the drawing-room, opening and closing books without seeing them, his mind full of disconnected pictures; he wondered to himself how his family would hear the news. Time passed without his realising it. Then his sister-in-law came to tell him that all was over. This was on the 20th April 1873. Metchnikoff's feelings were complex: a mixture of crushing despair and of relief at the thought that the terrible agony was at last ended.... During the whole of the sad first night he sat with his sister-in-law in a distant room, talking of those things which are only mentioned in moments such as these. When Dr. Goldschmidt came in the morning to offer Metchnikoff his sympathy and help he found him apparently almost calm. Metchnikoff asked him to make a post-mortem examination of the deceased and to look after her sister. A Scottish minister came to bring religious comfort and to exhort him to look there for consolation. Metchnikoff thanked him, but firmly assured him that it was not possible to him.