258 LIFE OF ELIE METCHNIKOFF 



at its full value. Do not fail, in my biography, to 

 emphasise how deeply I feel it, and how grateful I 

 am. I want them to know it." 



Yet all the care and devotion of which he was the 

 object could neither arrest the fatal progress of disease 

 nor spare cruel sufiering to him who had thought of 

 nothing but relieving the pains of others. All our 

 efforts were as flowers scattered over a tomb ; he, 

 poor tortured one, was slowly, consciously sinking 

 into it through the implacable logic of Fate. From 

 the beginning of his illness, he foresaw the issue ; he 

 lived in constant expectation of death, on the threshold 

 of which his calm and serenity remained as unalter- 

 able as were his patience and resignation. 



After a temporary and comparative lull, which 

 lasted until the end of December, the disease began 

 to progress again, and almost every week brought a 

 fresh alarming symptom. It was especially during 

 the night that the pain, treacherously, reappeared. 

 After dropping asleep fairly early, he would begin to 

 breathe with difficulty and then awake in an inde- 

 scribable state of anguish ; perspiration drenched his 

 head, neck, and chest, several towels often being 

 required to dry him. His breathing was hard; 

 during bad attacks, the wheezing of his bronchial 

 tubes was terrifying. 



He would sit up, his hands clenched, his face blue 

 and contracted by suffering, his darkened lips apart, 

 his eyes dilated — ^the face of a man on the rack. He 

 gasped like a suffocating man ; at last a tearing 

 cough supervened, followed by expectoration, and 

 the attack gradually subsided. 



For a time we were able to relieve him without the 

 use of narcotics. As long as there was a ray of hope 



