He was anxious to prove that his end, which seemed premature at first sight, did not contradict his theories, but had deep causes such as heredity and the belated introduction of a rational diet. He had only begun to follow it at fifty-three. Facts corroborated him after his death, for the post-mortem examination showed that the heart lesions were of long standing. He himself thought they went back at least to 1881, when he had had a very grave relapsing fever. The doctors even wondered how he had lived with his heart in such a state, and only accounted for it by the strict régime which he had followed during the latter part of his life.
And indeed when it is remembered how pugnacious, how vehement he was—always, so to speak, in a state of ebullition, feverishly active, intensely sensitive—it must be admitted that his life really held more than an ordinary life of longer duration.
He was very desirous that the example of his serenity in the face of death should be encouraging and comforting. It should prove that, at the end of his vital cycle, man fears death no longer; it has lost its sting for him.
Early in June his condition became still worse. The nights were so painful that, every evening, recourse had to be had to pantopon.[35] It was with the greatest impatience that he awaited his “dear Darré and dear Salimbeni,” as he called them.
After Dr. Darré had finished his complete and thorough medical examination, we three remained talking around Elie’s bed for a short hour. He often recalled his personal or scientific memories when he was not too weary; we talked of the war, of medical questions; often, too, we would evoke, with Salimbeni, recollections of our journey to the Kalmuk Steppes.
We loved that peaceful hour, which ended by an injection of pantopon, the only relief, alas, that could be procured for him. He would thank Dr. Darré with gratitude, and drop his poor weary head on the pillow, awaiting in absolute security the blessed sensation of warm heaviness which pervaded him, for he knew that sleep and rest from his sufferings would not be long in coming. The spectre of tragical nights never ceased to haunt us.
Until the hot weather came, he was quite comfortable in the small flat in the Pasteur hospital; the temperature there had been perfectly regular all through the winter; but now he began to be incommoded by the heat.
M. Roux then proposed that we should be transferred to Pasteur’s old flat; the rooms were spacious and much cooler. This idea rejoiced and touched Elie very much. As he thanked M. Roux, he said to him: “See how my life is bound with the Pasteur Institute. I have worked here for years; I am nursed here during my illness; in order to complete the connection I ought to be incinerated in the great oven where our dead animals are burnt, and my ashes could be kept in an urn in one of the cupboards in the library.” “What a gruesome joke!” answered M. Roux, really taking those words for a joke. But directly after he was gone Elie turned to me with an anxious look and said, “Well, what do you think of my idea?” I saw by his earnest expression that he meant what he said, and I answered that I thought it a very good idea. The Pasteur Institute had become his refuge, the centre of all his scientific interests; he loved it; he had spent his best years there. Let his ashes be laid there some day; it would be in perfect harmony with his past. Let us only hope that would not be too soon! But why had he given his words that jesting form which must have misled M. Roux? He explained it to me: knowing how deeply conscientious his friend was, he did not wish to express his desire as a dying wish in order that he should feel no obligation. A simple jest, on the contrary, left him absolutely free.
On the 26th June, Elie was carried into Pasteur’s flat; it was a very great satisfaction to him, it brought him nearer his laboratory. Now and then, very seldom now, he thought he might return there one day; he said I should wheel him there in his bath-chair. “I know I could scarcely work there myself. But perhaps I might still play the part of a ferment, be useful to my pupils by giving them advice. I am leaving so much unfinished work which it would be interesting to go on with: the question of intestinal flora, that of diabetes, which surely is an infectious disease—but that will have to be proved,—and my experiments on the subject were scarcely begun. I think the study of gonorrhœa will give very interesting results when they succeed in inoculating it in new-born animals. And the question of tuberculosis is well started! I could still help my pupils and encourage them if I were a little better!... But I have no illusions! I must live now only from day to day....”
Those words were uttered with heart-rending resignation.