Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 3
Thenextdaybroughtdeathandjudgement,stirringhissoulslowlyfromitslistlessdespair.Thefaintglimmeroffearbecameaterrorofspiritasthehoarsevoiceofthepreacherblewdeathintohissoul.Hesuffereditsagony.Hefeltthedeathchilltouchtheextremitiesandcreeponwardtowardstheheart,thefilmofdeathveilingtheeyes,thebrightcentresofthebrainextinguishedonebyonelikelamps,thelastsweatoozingupontheskin,thepowerlessnessofthedyinglimbs,thespeechthickeningandwanderingandfailing,theheartthrobbingfaintlyandmorefaintly,allbutvanquished,thebreath,thepoorbreath,thepoorhelplesshumanspirit,sobbingandsighing,gurglingandrattlinginthethroat.Nohelp!Nohelp!He—hehimself—hisbodytowhichhehadyieldedwasdying.Intothegravewithit.Nailitdownintoawoodenboxthecorpse.Carryitoutofthehouseontheshouldersofhirelings.Thrustitoutofmen’ssightintoalongholeintheground,intothegrave,torot,tofeedthemassofitscreepingwormsandtobedevouredbyscuttlingplump-belliedrats.
Andwhilethefriendswerestillstandingintearsbythebedsidethesoulofthesinnerwasjudged.Atthelastmomentofconsciousnessthewholeearthlylifepassedbeforethevisionofthesouland,ereithadtimetoreflect,thebodyhaddiedandthesoulstoodterrifiedbeforethejudgementseat.God,whohadlongbeenmerciful,wouldthenbejust.
