“See, wife, here is an egg that I found on the road.”
The woman shook her head:
“An egg on the road? In this kind of weather! You must be drunk, surely.”
“No, no, woman, it certainly was at the foot of the hedge, and not frozen but still warm. Take it; I put it in my bosom so that it wouldn’t cool off. You shall have it for your dinner.”
The egg was soon shining in the iron pot where the soup was simmering, and the smith began to relate what he had heard around the country. The woman listened, pale with excitement.
“Of course I have heard some whistling,” said she, “but it seemed to come from the chimney.”
They sat down to table, ate their soup first and then, while the husband was spreading the butter on his bread, the woman took the egg and examined it with suspicious eye.
“And if there should be something in this egg,” said she.
“What could there be in it?”
“How do I know?”
“Go ahead and eat it. Don’t be a fool.”
She opened the egg. It was like all eggs, and very fresh. She started to eat it but hesitated, tasting, then leaving, then tasting it again. The husband said:
“Well, how does that egg taste?”
She did not answer, but finished swallowing it. Then, suddenly, she stared at her husband, with fixed, haggard, terrified eyes, raised her arms, turned and twisted them, convulsed from head to foot, and rolled on the floor, sending forth horrible shrieks. All night she struggled in these frightful spasms, trembling with fright, deformed by hideous convulsions. The smith, unable to restrain her, was obliged to bind her. And she screamed without ceasing, untiringly:
“I have it in my body! I have it in my body!”
I was called the next day. I ordered all the sedatives known, but without effect. She was mad. Then, with incredible swiftness, in spite of the obstacle of deep snow, the news, the strange news ran from farm to farm: “The smith’s wife is possessed!” And they came from everywhere around, not daring to go into the house; from a safe distance they listened to the cries of the frightened woman, whose voice was so strong that one could scarcely believe it belonged to a human creature.
The village priest was sent for. He was a simple old man. He came in surplice, as if to administer comfort to the dying, and pronounced with extended hands some formulae of exorcism, while four men held the foaming, writhing woman on the bed. But the spirit was not driven out.
Christmas came without any change in the weather. On Christmas Eve morning the priest came for me.
“I wish,” said he, “to have this unfortunate woman at Mass, tonight. Perhaps God will work a miracle in her favour at the same hour that he was born of a woman.”
I replied: “I approve heartily. If she can be touched by the sacred service (and nothing could be more likely to move her), she can be saved without other remedies.”
The old priest murmured: “You are not a believer, Doctor, but you will help me, will you not?” I promised him my help.
The evening came, and then the night. The bell of the church was ringing, throwing its plaintive voice across the dreary waste, the vast extent of white, frozen snow. Some black figures were wending their way slowly in groups, obedient to the call from the bell. The full moon shone with a strong, pale light on the horizon, rendering more visible the desolation of the fields. I had taken four robust men with me, and with them repaired to the forge.
The possessed woman was bound to her bed, and was shouting continually. They clothed her properly, in spite of her violent resistance, and carried her out. The church, illuminated but cold, was now full of people, the choir chanted their monotonous notes; the serpent hummed; the little bell of the acolyte tinkled, regulating the movements of the faithful.
I had shut the woman and her guards into the kitchen of the parish house and awaited the moment that I believed favourable.
I chose the time immediately following communion. All the peasants, men and women, had received their God, to soften His rigour. A great silence prevailed while the priest finished the divine mystery. Upon my order, the door opened and the four men brought in the mad woman.
When she saw the lights, the crowd on their knees, the choir illuminated, and the gilded tabernacle, she struggled with such vigour that she almost escaped from us, and she gave forth cries so piercing that a shiver of fright ran through the church. All bowed their heads; some fled. She had no longer the form of a woman, as she writhed and twisted in our grasp, her countenance drawn, her eyes mad. They dragged her up to the steps of the choir, and then she was firmly held squatting on the floor.
The priest arose; he was waiting. When there was a moment of quiet, he took in his hands the monstrance, bound with bands of gold, in the middle of which was the white wafer, and, advancing some steps, extended both arms above his head and presented it to the frightened stare of the maniac. She continued to howl, with eyes fixed upon the shining object. And the priest remained so motionless that he looked like a statue.
This lasted a long, long time. The woman seemed seized with fear, fascinated; she looked fixedly at the monstrance; she was still seized with terrible shivering fits, but they
