eeling came
over him, the priest quickly pressed the cross to his lips, without a
word--a little silver cross it was-and he kept on pressing it to the
man's lips every second. And whenever the cross touched his lips, the
eyes would open for a moment, and the legs moved once, and he kissed the
cross greedily, hurriedly--just as though he were anxious to catch hold
of something in case of its being useful to him afterwards, though he
could hardly have had any connected religious thoughts at the time. And
so up to the very block.

"How strange that criminals seldom swoon at such a moment! On
the contrary, the brain is especially active, and works
incessantly--probably hard, hard, hard--like an engine at full pressure.
I imagine that various thoughts must beat loud and fast through
his head--all unfinished ones, and strange, funny thoughts, very
likely!--like this, for instance: 'That man is looking at me, and he
has a wart on his forehead! and the executioner has burst one of his
buttons, and the lowest one is all rusty!' And meanwhile he notices and
remembers everything. There is one point that cannot be forgotten, round
which everything else dances and turns about; and because of this
point he cannot faint, and this lasts until the very final quarter of
a second, when the wretched neck is on the block and the victim listens
and waits and KNOWS--that's the point, he KNOWS that he is just NOW
about to die, and listens for the rasp of the iron over his head. If I
lay there, I should certainly listen for that grating sound, and hear
it, too! There would probably be but the tenth part of an instant left
to hear it in, but one would certainly hear it. And imagine, some people
declare that when the head flies off it is CONSCIOUS of having flown
off! Just imagine what a thing to realize! Fancy if consciousness were
to last for even five seconds!

"Draw the scaffold so that only the top step of the ladder comes in
clearly. The criminal must be just stepping on to it, his face as white
as note-paper. The priest is holding the cross to his blue lips, and the
criminal kisses it, and knows and sees and understands everything.
The cross and the head--there's your picture; the priest and the
executioner, with his two assistants, and a few heads and eyes below.
Those might come in as subordinate accessories--a sort of mist. There's
a picture for you." The prince paused, and looked around.

"Certainly that isn't much like quietism," m