The lingering death. There was a man in our village who led an exceedingly
disreputable life. One morning, when he got up rather early, two men
appeared and led him away to the market place, where he saw a butcher
hanging half a pig. As they approached, the two men shoved him with
all their might against the dead animal, and lo his own flesh began to
blend with the pork before him, with his conductors hurrying off in the opposite
direction. By and by, the butcher wanted to sell a piece of meat,
and, seizing a knife, began to cut off the quantity required.
At each touch of the blade, our disreputable friend experienced a severe pang which
penetrated into his very marrow, and when at length an old man came and
haggled over the weight given him, crying out for a little bit more fat
or an extra portion of lean. Then, as the butcher sliced away the
pork ounced by ounce. The pain was unendurable in the extreme. By about
nine o'clock the pork was all sold, and our hero went home, whereupon
his family asked him what he meant by staying in bed so late. He
then narrated all that had taken place, and on making inquiries, they found
that the pork butcher had only just come home. Besides which our friend was
able to tell him every pound of meat he had sold and every slice he
had cut off. Fancy a man being put to a lingering death like this
before breakfast. The End of the Lingering Death translated and annotated by Herbert A. Giles,