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- Альбер Камю
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- Стр. 187/187
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Rieux
was
already
going
up
the
stairs
.
The
great
cold
sky
was
shining
above
the
houses
and
,
near
the
hills
,
the
stars
were
hard
as
flint
.
This
night
was
not
so
different
from
the
one
when
Tarrou
and
he
had
come
out
on
this
same
roof
to
forget
the
plague
.
The
sea
was
louder
than
it
had
been
then
,
at
the
foot
of
the
cliffs
.
The
air
was
still
and
light
,
freed
from
the
tainted
breath
brought
by
the
warm
winds
of
autumn
.
The
noise
from
the
town
,
however
,
was
still
beating
with
a
sound
like
waves
around
the
bottom
of
the
terraces
.
But
this
night
was
that
of
deliverance
,
not
of
rebellion
.
Far
off
,
a
dark
reddening
marked
the
boulevards
and
well
-
lit
squares
.
In
the
now
free
night
,
desire
came
unbridled
and
this
was
the
rumbling
that
Rieux
could
hear
.
Out
of
the
dark
port
rose
the
first
rockets
of
the
official
celebrations
.
The
town
greeted
them
with
a
long
,
muffled
exclamation
.
Cottard
,
Tarrou
,
the
men
and
the
woman
whom
Rieux
had
loved
and
lost
,
all
,
dead
or
guilty
,
were
forgotten
.
The
old
man
had
been
right
,
men
were
always
the
same
.
But
this
was
their
strength
and
their
innocence
,
and
it
was
at
this
point
,
above
all
suffering
,
that
Rieux
felt
he
was
one
of
them
.
In
the
midst
of
the
cries
that
increased
in
strength
and
duration
,
echoing
a
long
way
right
to
the
foot
of
the
building
,
while
the
many
-
coloured
wreaths
and
showers
of
fireworks
rose
in
ever
greater
numbers
into
the
sky
,
Dr
Rieux
decided
to
write
the
account
that
ends
here
,
so
as
not
to
be
one
of
those
who
keep
silent
,
to
bear
witness
on
behalf
of
the
victims
,
to
leave
at
least
a
memory
of
the
violence
and
injustice
that
was
done
to
them
,
and
to
say
simply
what
it
is
that
one
learns
in
the
midst
of
such
tribulations
,
namely
that
there
is
more
in
men
to
admire
than
to
despise
.
However
,
he
knew
that
this
chronicle
could
not
be
a
story
of
definitive
victory
.
It
could
only
be
the
record
of
what
had
to
be
done
and
what
,
no
doubt
,
would
have
to
be
done
again
,
against
this
terror
and
its
indefatigable
weapon
,
despite
their
own
personal
hardships
,
by
all
men
who
,
while
not
being
saints
but
refusing
to
give
way
to
the
pestilence
,
do
their
best
to
be
doctors
.
Indeed
,
as
he
listened
to
the
cries
of
joy
that
rose
above
the
town
,
Rieux
recalled
that
this
joy
was
always
under
threat
He
knew
that
this
happy
crowd
was
unaware
of
something
that
one
can
read
in
books
,
which
is
that
the
plague
bacillus
never
dies
or
vanishes
entirely
,
that
it
can
remain
dormant
for
dozens
of
years
in
furniture
or
clothing
,
that
it
waits
patiently
in
bedrooms
,
cellars
,
trunks
,
handkerchiefs
and
old
papers
,
and
that
perhaps
the
day
will
come
when
,
for
the
instruction
or
misfortune
of
mankind
,
the
plague
will
rouse
its
rats
and
send
them
to
die
in
some
well
-
contented
city
.