Чума
Part I
Ononesideoftheglasswasthecool,freshskyofspring;ontheotherwasthewordthatstillresoundedroundtheroom:plague.Thewordcontainednotonlywhatsciencehadseenfittoputinit,butalongsuccessionofextraordinaryimagesthathadnothingtodowiththisgreyandyellowtown,moderatelybusyatthistime,hummingratherthannoisy,happyinshort,ifitispossibletobehappyanddrabatoneandthesametime.Andsuchpeacefulandunthinkingtranquillityalmosteffortlesslycontradictedtheoldimagesofpestilence:Athensstricken,abandonedbyitsbirds;Chinesetownsfullofpeopledyinginsilence;theconvictsofMarseillepilingdrippingcorpsesintoholes;thebuildingofthegreatwallinProvenceinthehopeofholdingbacktheragingwindofplague;Jaffaanditsghastlybeggars;beds,dampandrotten,stickingtotheearthfloorofthehospitalinConstantinople;sickpeopledraggedalongbyhooks;thecarnivalofmaskeddoctorsduringtheBlackDeath;thelivingcopulatinginthecemeteriesofMilan;thecartsofthedeadinaLondonparalysedwithterror;anddaysandnightsfilled,everywhereandalways,withtheendlesscriesofmen.Allthiswasnotyetpowerfulenoughtodestroythepeaceoftheday.Onthefarsideoftheglass,theclankofaninvisibletramresoundedsuddenly,inaninstantcontradictingcrueltyandpain.Onlythesea,beyondthedullchequerboardofhouses,wasevidenceofallthatisdisturbingandforeverrestlessinthisworld.
