Yemelian looked at Tichon with an ambiguous smile, and the latter experienced that same sensation which the dance roused in him: the sensation of whirling flight. But whither? Whether up to God or down to the devil he knew not.
One night during the week preceding Palm Sunday, the Queen distributed small branches of palms and holy scourges, made of narrow twisted napkins. The brethren let down their tunics to the waist, the sisters lowered theirs, at the back down the waist, in front to their bosom, and they all began to spin round, beating themselves with the scourges and the palms. Some were singing:—
Serve the Lord,
Despise your bodies,
Serve the Lord,
Despise Martha.
Others chanted in a whistling tone:—
The lash whizzes through the air!
We are seeking Christ!
Many were beating themselves with bullets tied in rags, like slings; others were cutting themselves with knives, blood was flowing. Looking at the King, they all shouted: