If in this sad last chapter I occasionally dwell on details which may seem insignificant in themselves, it is because, at this supreme moment of Elie Metchnikoff’s existence, everything was full of significance, for everything converged to emphasise the powerful unity and the ascending and continuous progress of his ideas.
His attitude in the face of illness and death was a teaching, a support, and an example. That is why, relating the story of his last days, I piously describe everything.
Towards the end of November, he caught a slight cold, which did not prevent him from leading his usual life, but which, nevertheless, was the starting-point of the illness which took him from us.
On the 2nd of December, during a walk, he suddenly felt a cardiac commotion such that he thought he was dying. For hours, his pulse remained intermittent and very rapid, and from that day he felt unwell but continued to go to the laboratory.
On the 9th of December his condition became worse and forced him to interrupt his normal life. All the doctors were away or very busy on account of the war, and it was only on the 11th that Dr. Renon could give him a consultation at the Laënnec Hospital. He found Metchnikoff’s heart very tired and nervous, prescribed a treatment, and told us to come back in twenty-five days.
But the disease was making giant strides. In the night of the 12th to 13th a first attack of cardiac asthma supervened, an extremely painful one; we had the impression that the end was near. Elie suffered agonies but remained morally calm and ready for death, as he had ever been since his first heart attack, two years previously. He repeated that he had accomplished his task and run through his vital cycle; that what he could yet do would be but a supplement, and that it was better to die than to outlive his own decadence.
He only wished not to suffer too long, but that humble desire was not to be realised. We spent two more nights at Sèvres, terrible nights not to be forgotten if one had centuries to live, and we then decided to go to a nursing home in Paris, as it was imprudent to remain any longer isolated as we were.
Having heard of Metchnikoff’s illness, Dr. Roux offered to receive us at the Pasteur Institute in a small lodging which was now free, the house-physician who had occupied it having been killed.
Dr. Widal, in whom Metchnikoff had absolute confidence, came to Sèvres on the 14th and found myocarditis. Thanks to an absolutely incomprehensible phenomenon, Elie had suddenly ceased to realise the rapidity of his pulse; he had 160 beats in a minute and only perceived less than half; it was therefore easy to keep the truth from him.
After a last night of suffering we left our Sèvres nest, which we had so loved. Leaning on my arm, he slowly walked through the little garden and gazed for the last time at the home that we were leaving for the unknown.... He looked worn and bent under the weight of suffering, but he was quite calm, and his eyes, though firm and gentle, already seemed to me to be looking very far away.