The Phantom of Rue Royale (25 page)

‘You’ve come just at the right time!’ he cried. ‘I was resting a little in your room when I heard a strange noise. Soon after, Miette started one of her attacks.’ The surgeon, who seemed to have aged, looked at him wild-eyed. ‘She spoke with the voice of Madame Lardin!
3
We had to strap her to the bed.’  

Semacgus described what had occurred so far that night, corroborating Nicolas’s previous accounts. The surgeon was so distressed by what he had seen that he almost doubted his own sanity and spoke of consulting a colleague to check the state of his health. He lost himself in conjectures, each more unlikely than the last, trying to find an explanation to assuage his doubts and anxieties. Nicolas refrained from exulting at this turn around, but he was pleased and reassured that his friend could now share the burden of his confusion. As for Père Raccard, he was rubbing his hands with a kind of glee, like an old soldier preparing to mount an attack on a redoubt. His good humour acted as a stimulant on Semacgus, dispelling his low spirits. Meanwhile Nicolas, his senses ever alert, had been aware, ever since entering the house, of the distant sound of Naganda’s drum. For a moment – although he did not linger on it – the idea struck him that there might be some connection between these savage practices and the drama unfolding once again in Miette’s room, the
obscure, threatening force tormenting the maid’s body and mind.

Cries suddenly reached them from the second floor. Almost immediately, Jean Galaine, bathed in sweat, his hair matted and his shirt torn, came hurtling down the stairs, screaming more than speaking. Miette had got free! An unknown force had broken the straps holding her to the bed. Père Raccard calmed everyone down. He opened his portmanteau, took out his stole, which he kissed and put round his neck, then the bottle of holy water and the other liturgical objects. He lit the candles and distributed them. They had been joined by the other members of the family, apart from Charles Galaine who had stayed with Marie Chaffoureau outside the door of Miette’s room, which no one dared enter. The exorcist asked for a plate, into which he poured a little holy water. He prayed, then dipped the branch of
boxwood
into the water, and sprinkled it at the four cardinal points. He ordered everyone to kneel. In a loud and determined voice, he uttered a first admonition.

‘I implore you, ancient serpent, in the name of the judge of the living and the dead, the creator of the world who has the power to cast you down into Gehenna, to leave this house at once. Cursed demon, He commands it. He who is obeyed by the winds, the sea and the tempest commands it. He who, from the heights of heaven, flung you down into the bowels of the earth commands it. He who has the power to make you draw back commands it. Listen, Satan, and tremble. Be gone from here, crawl away defeated. I implore you in the name of Our Lord Jesus Christ who will come to judge the living and the dead. Amen.’

He continued sprinkling holy water and made everyone recite the Pater Noster. The dull murmur of the prayer was punctuated
by dreadful screams. Now Charles Galaine and the cook, both terrified, came down and joined the group. The priest asked for coals. They were brought from the stove in the servants’ pantry on a small terracotta plate-warmer. From the little silver box he took the incense and placed it, in the shape of a cross, on the coals. The ground floor filled with smoke.

‘Do you perform exorcisms from a distance?’ asked Semacgus.

‘Not at all. First I must try to cleanse the house. Then we will deal with the patient.’ He put his hands together and resumed, ‘I implore you, demon, to leave this place, to cease frightening those who live here and not to place any curse on it. May God Almighty, creator of all things, sanctify this house and all its dependencies, may all phantoms disappear from it, all mean actions, all clever ways, all diabolical tricks and all unclean spirits.’

He began again to bless the house.

‘By this sign, we command him to cease this instant and forever all his vexations, that his spells and illusions may disappear and the terror of this poisonous serpent vanish forever. Through the Lord who will come to judge the living and the dead and will purify the world in fire. Amen.’

The sounds from upstairs suggested that furniture was flying and smashing against the walls. Loud thuds shook the house.

Père Raccard rubbed his hands: ‘He’s reacting, the rascal! That’s a good start. All of you, go back to your rooms. I shall officiate upstairs in the presence of the Commissioner and Monsieur …?’

He pointed to Semacgus. Nicolas made the introductions.

‘The Faculty,’ said Raccard, ‘will not be out of place in our
battle with the unnameable. Monsieur Le Floch has told me of your scepticism. Be our reason and our conscience, now that you are convinced of the reality of these phenomena.’

‘You can count on me, Father,’ said Semacgus, resolutely.

Nicolas was pleased to see these two men, one a friend of long standing, the other a more recent acquaintance, forming such an effortless bond.

Looking more relaxed now, Dr Semacgus added, with a laugh, ‘It’s always better to hunt a wolf in packs.’

‘If only we were dealing merely with a wolf! The devil is a sinister joker, filled with hate. He loves mocking poor humans, ingratiating himself and playing the fool, the better to lead his victims astray. He is the father of lies, and his name is legion. He will be sure to lay traps to try and put us off the scent! But I promise you, we will see this through.’

He gathered his tools, entrusting the plate-warmer to Semacgus.

The three of them climbed the stairs and found the cook pinned to the wall on the landing, staring in astonishment at Miette, who was sitting in the air above her bed, looking at them with bright, bloodshot eyes and a wicked smile on her lips.

‘The hussy!’ said Père Riccard. ‘I’ll wipe that smile off her face, you wait and see!’

He approached Miette, and her head turned like a dummy’s, following his movements with her stony gaze. He placed his hand on her head. Her body swayed like a soap bubble caught between two currents of air. She began to moan dully, like an animal containing its rage.

‘Yes, yes, prepare to recognise your master and obey him.’

Miette opened her mouth and spat at him. Without showing any emotion, the priest wiped himself with the back of his sleeve. Now a man’s voice emerged from the tortured little body.

‘Monk, you make me laugh! You have no power over me, remember that.’

Imperturbably, the father arranged the contents of his portmanteau on a little table. Semacgus placed the plate-warmer with the coals beside them. The sacred odour of incense filled the room. Miette’s growls rose in volume and pitch until they were deafening, and her head went back until it was almost at right angles to her body. She was howling like a wolf baying at the moon, as if struggling against the heady perfume.

‘It isn’t possible!’ said Semacgus. ‘Look how distended the muscles and skin are!’

‘Oh, I’ve seen worse than that!’ growled Raccard. ‘I’ve seen possessed people stretch so much they added a quarter to their length.’

‘Is that an illusion, a sham? Is someone pulling the wool over our eyes?’

‘Oh, no, these phenomena are dramatic and disturbing, but very real. We must keep a cool head.’

He took his stole and moved it over Miette’s face. The girl tried to grab it with her claw-like hands, and in doing so her nails scraped the silk fabric, scratching in passing the silver cross embroidered on it. She fell back heavily on the bed.

‘That has an effect on you, does it, strumpet?’ said the exorcist. ‘Have no fear, we’re going to free you of your visitor.’

Nicolas admired Père Raccard for retaining his composure, humour and courage even in these hallucinatory circumstances.
But the priest’s mobile, piercing eyes remained constantly alert, like those of a hunter tracking a dangerous prey, anticipating its every move.

‘You two, hold her firmly, and press down on her with all your weight. It doesn’t matter if she struggles, and don’t worry about crushing her. The most important thing is to stop her getting away from you.’

Semacgus and Nicolas took up position on either side of Miette. Nicolas had assumed that she would be hot and feverish, but when he touched her, he found that her skin was freezing cold. She was moaning softly. The father put his stole back on and resumed the ritual. After several minutes of silent prayer, he spoke again.

‘Lord God of virtue, receive the prayers we offer you, unworthy as we are, for your servant Ermeline. Deign to grant her forgiveness for her sins and rescue her from the demon that torments her. Holy God, Eternal Father, cast a favourable glance upon your servant, who is in the grip of a painful affliction …’

A deep groan came from inside Miette. In some strange way, it merged for a moment with the moaning, then swelled and rose above it in volume. To the alarm of those present, the girl’s body produced two different cries at the same time, one low, the other shrill. Père Raccard could see that his companions were on the verge of panic. Again he sprinkled holy water.

‘Back, back, foul beast, return to your lair. Back, back, back!’

He looked at Nicolas and Semacgus.

‘Do not be disturbed, these are just some of the preliminary tricks used to batter our defences, wear down our will and deceive our faith. Remember that the kingdom, the power and the glory are within us!’

Miette had fallen silent now, but a kind of slime – which reminded Nicolas, somewhat incongruously, of snails plunged into nettles by Catherine in her kitchen in Rue Montmartre – was flowing in an uninterrupted stream from her mouth, gradually covering her poor chest.

‘I implore you, demon,’ Raccard resumed, ‘in the name of Our Lord who rose again on the third day, to flee the body of this servant of God, with all your iniquities, your evil spells, your incantations, your ligatures and all your acts. Do not remain here, foul spirit. The day of everlasting judgement is at hand and you and your apostate angels will be flung into a raging inferno for all eternity.’

Suddenly, the two friends were thrown back against the walls of the room. Miette’s thin arms, having turned as stiff as steel, had swollen beneath their fingers, and they had felt an incredible force push them away.

‘He’s resisting,’ screamed Raccard, ‘he’s resisting!’

Nicolas had lived through many dramas and seen many horrible sights in his time, but the scene that followed would lodge itself in his memory and would stay with him until the day he died. Père Raccard was breathing as heavily as a woodcutter trying to fell a great tree, as he mustered all his strength to overcome and chase away the demon possessing Miette. It seemed as though the muscles and tendons were multiplying over the servant’s body, hardening it to an extraordinary extent. The priest’s face was scarlet, sweat was pouring into his eyes, and the veins on his forehead and temples were swollen and bluish, ready, it seemed, to burst. And all through this combat, the thing poured out, in a grating voice, a stream of obscenities which left Raccard
impassive, but which horrified Nicolas and Semacgus. Now the priest was shouting to drown out the voice of the demon.

‘Whoever you are, proud and cursed creature, who, despite the invocation of the Divine Name, continue your vexations against this child and spew forth filth, do not think you are safe from the wrath of the Almighty, for fire, hail, snow, ice and the spirit of the storms will be your portion!’

Miette was breathing heavily now, like an animal at bay. Père Raccard redoubled his efforts. He held out the crucifix. As the sacred object came close to her face, the girl sank into the bed, whistling and spitting like a cat and giving off a foul smell.

‘I exorcise you, vile spirit! Leave the body of this creature of God! It is not I, a sinner, who commands you, but the immaculate lamb. The archangels and the angels, the apostles, the martyrs, the confessors and the virgins are coming to vanquish you. Your diabolical forces are collapsing. Restore to your victim the strength of her limbs and the unity of her senses. Do not appear to her either when she is awake or when she is asleep, and do not trouble her in her search for everlasting life. Cursed Satan, accept your sentence. I cast you out and uproot you from the body of this servant. God Almighty, through your mercy, may this tormented body be entirely delivered from the devil’s wiles. Through Jesus Christ Our Lord, who will judge the living and the dead and the century with fire. Amen.’

Exhausted, Père Raccard fell back against the wall. The others felt a strange sensation, as though a hot, fetid breath were passing by them. The pane in the little window shattered, and silence fell once more on the room. Miette lay there calmly, apparently freed from the oppression that had held her in its grip for days. The
excreta with which she had been covered at the height of her attack disappeared, as if they had evaporated. Nicolas noticed that Naganda’s drum had ceased its obsessive rhythm. Miette began to move suddenly, with her eyes closed. She rose stiffly and, without looking at the three men, opened the door, went out on the landing and descended the stairs. Nicolas seized a candle and rushed after her, motioning to the others to come with him but putting a finger to his lips to indicate that they should observe complete silence. He wanted to avoid disturbing what seemed to be an attack of somnambulism, doubtless a result of the possession or of whatever had taken its place.

They did not encounter any members of the family, who were all still shut away in their rooms. On reaching the ground floor, the maid entered the servants’ pantry and opened a half-arched, latticed wooden door leading to a steep staircase. At the bottom, they found themselves in a rather large cellar, filled with bundles of hessian, which, to judge from the animal smell that pervaded the room, probably contained the hides used in the Galaines’ business. Miette stopped in front of one of the bundles, fell to her knees and began weeping and putting her hands together as if in prayer, then suddenly collapsed lifeless on the floor. The priest and Semacgus ran to help her. Nicolas pushed aside the bundle: beneath it, the beaten earth showed signs of having been recently disturbed, as if a hole had been dug and then smoothed over. He looked for a tool, but found only his pocket knife. He scratched at the earth, which was still quite loose at this spot, and dug up a few bushels of it with his hands. Soon, his fingers touched a piece of cloth. The smell of decomposition rose to his nostrils,
overcoming
the acrid odour of the hides. Carefully, he continued
working away at the earth and at last brought out a small, light, oblong mass wrapped in cloth: the already rotting body of a baby in its swaddling clothes.