The Other Einstein(73)

With the mention of electricity, Albert and Madame Curie launched into a discussion about the elusive power, and Albert shared his own family’s struggles to set up an electrical business. She laughed at Albert’s garrulous account of his family’s failings, and I saw that she enjoyed Albert not just for his intellect but his casual manner. I imagined that his relaxed, charming demeanor must be a welcome respite from the usual serious formality with which the Nobel Prize winner was treated. Watching him like this—exuding a charismatic disposition he could turn on and off at will—reminded me of the Albert of my youth. Now lost to me when we were alone.

Madame Curie’s face lit up when she and Albert engaged in this spirited scientific exchange. In that moment, I could see the youthful Marya Sklodowska she had once been, the young Polish student eager to excel at the disciplines reserved for boys. The sort of young girl I’d once been.

At they chatted, I assumed that, as had become typical, Albert wouldn’t invite my participation in their conversation about electricity. I stayed respectfully quiet and allowed myself to marvel at the omnibuses and tramcars whizzing past us on the boulevard. How antiquated and slow the horses and buggies that still roamed the Zürich streets seemed in comparison to all this motion. I felt the same way about the many cafés we passed en route to the restaurant; Zürich’s establishments appeared stuffy and few compared to these plentiful bistros, brimming with patrons engaged in animated chatter.

Madame Curie turned to me and asked, “What are your thoughts on the interior makeup of atoms that Mr. Ernest Rutherford raised during the Solvay Conference, Mrs. Einstein?”

Was Madame Curie actually asking for my opinion? I panicked; I hadn’t been closely following their conversation. “Pardon me?”

“Mr. Rutherford’s hypothesis is that, based on his experiments with a sort of radioactivity called alpha rays, atoms are almost entirely empty with only tiny nuclei orbited by electrons at their centers. Do you have any thoughts on this?”

Once, Albert and I would have hashed out Rutherford’s idea and arrived at conclusions of our own. Not now. Now, I was utterly unprepared for her question. I stammered, “I didn’t have the honor of hearing his presentation firsthand at the conference.”

“I understand. I am sure, however, that your husband spoke of Mr. Rutherford’s theories to you. In addition, Mr. Rutherford has fleshed out this theory in papers since the conference, which I’m guessing you’ve read. Many have dismissed him, but I’m withholding judgment. Do you have an opinion on them?”

I racked my brain for the nuggets of information about Rutherford’s ideas that I gleaned from Albert and the cursory reading I’d done on his work and said, “I have wondered whether the idea that light is composed of quanta, as Albert has advanced, might be applied equally to the structure of matter as light and could bolster Mr. Rutherford’s notions about the construction of atoms.”

Madame Curie was quiet at first, and Albert looked over at me in horror. Had I said something idiotic? Should I not have responded? I didn’t care what he thought, but I cared very much what Madame Curie thought.

Finally, she spoke. “Well said, Mrs. Einstein. That’s a perspective I hadn’t considered. It’s revolutionary, but I quite agree. Do you, Albert? It would certainly be an interesting link to and expansion on your own theories.”

Albert’s expression morphed from embarrassment into pride. But it was too late for me to care about his feelings toward my intellect. I had conversed with Madame Curie and held my own. That was my treasure.

The next morning, Madame Curie and I sat under the leafy green branches of a horse chestnut tree in the garden outside her family apartment on rue de la Glacière, cups of tea balanced on our laps. Albert had left for his lecture, and she and I were alone for the first time. Even though I’d made a solid contribution to the conversation the night before, my palms were so sweaty at the thought of a private discourse with a scientific legend that I could barely keep a grip on my cup. What topic should I initiate with this amazing woman? I’d read her most recent article on polonium, but my science was so outdated, I feared raising it. And chemistry, for which she was more recently noted, had never been my field. Aside from the favorable exchange we’d had about Mr. Rutherford’s views on the way to our dinner at Tour d’Argent, the oldest restaurant in Paris and one of the finest, she and I hadn’t spoken much.

I glanced at Madame Curie, who had asked me to call her Marie last evening, but I struggled to think of her as anything but Madame. In the silence, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I studied physics at university as well.”

She nodded but didn’t respond. Had I said something utterly stupid?

“Not that I’m comparing us, of course.” I hastened to explain myself. I never wanted to appear presumptuous.

After staring down into the depths of her teacup, she said, “Mrs. Einstein, I’m familiar with your extensive education and your intellect. And I know you completed your coursework in mathematics and physics at the Zürich Polytechnic. But I wonder why you never returned to work. Your mind must be so active, so full of science. How can you squander it on the home?”

I was speechless. Was I receiving compliments from Madame Curie? What excuse could I offer for my failure to return to science? Did I dare hint at my involvement in the authorship of the now-famous 1905 papers? I couldn’t. Albert would kill me.