“Catalepsy is a state——” Blumentrost began to explain.
“You are in a catalepsy yourself, you fool!” cried Peter and turned away.
The executioner had stopped for a moment to take breath.
“Don’t dawdle! flog!” ordered the Tsar. The man resumed his work. Yet to the Tsar it seemed his blows were less hard, out of pity for the Tsarevitch. Peter thought he saw pity and indignation on all faces.
“Flog, flog!” Peter started up and stamped with his foot. All looked at him with terror: he seemed to have gone out of his mind.
“Strike as hard as you can! or have you forgotten how flogging is done?”
“I strike; how else should I strike?” Kondrashka grumbled in an undertone, and again he stopped. “I do my work in the Russian way; I have not learnt it from the foreigners. I am an Orthodox. It is so easy to commit a crime. So easy to kill. See he scarcely breathes, poor fellow! He is not a beast after all, but a Christian!”
The Tsar rushed towards the man.
“You just wait, you devil’s son; I will teach you how to strike!”