“What’s the difference? Tell us.”
But Marcelle could not, or would not, tell them, and from joking with her the family soon passed to a state of wrath, endeavoring in every way to overcome her “stupid obstinacy.” Their anger in turn gave way to fear, when, one night, noticing a glimmer of light in her room, they entered, and found her standing, fully dressed, before the bed.
“But what is this!” they exclaimed, in amazement. “Why don’t you get your clothes off and go to bed?”
“Because,” she cried, “I can’t undress!”
And, all arguments proving vain, it was necessary for her sister to disrobe her as though she were a tiny child. Next day a consultation was held, and it was decided to take her to the Salpêtrière.
“She doesn’t seem insane,” her mother explained, when applying to have her admitted. “She talks sensibly about most things. Can it be that she is really suffering from some kind of paralysis?”
“Most assuredly,” was the reply, “and we will do our best to discover what it is and cure it.”
This turned out to be no easy matter. Doctor Janet, into whose care she came, had no difficulty in determining that the specific malady which afflicted her was an extreme form of “aboulia,” a disease involving temporary paralysis of the will, and thereby preventing all muscular movement. But it was one thing to make a diagnosis, and another to effect a cure.
Presently, too, indications of mental disturbance developed. Doctor Janet had discovered that by distracting her attention he could induce her to rise, extend her hands, and perform other acts that were impossible to her when she concentrated her attention on them. He utilized this as an argument to try and persuade her that she could always control her limbs if she only made sufficient effort.
“But you are quite wrong,” she calmly informed him. “I have not left my chair, I have not put out my hand.”