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Now the mothers, unable to restrain their joy, began to dance and shout. The fathers stood by, bewildered. When the girls lifted their dresses to catch the gold coins given by the doctor, their legs and underclothing were exposed, which sent the men into paroxysms of lust. Fiddles screeched, drums pounded, trumpets blared. The uproar was deafening. Twelve-year-old boys were mated with “spinsters” of nineteen. The sons of substantial citizens took the daughters of paupers as brides; midgets were coupled with giants, beauties with cripples. On the last two slips appeared the names of the gentleman from Cracow and Hodle, the daughter of Lipa the ragpicker.
    The same old man who had called out previously said, “Woe unto us, the girl is a harlot.”
    “Come to me, Hodle, come to your bridegroom,” the doctor bade.
    Hodle, her hair in two long braids, dressed in a calico skirt, and with sandals on her feet, did not wait to be asked twice. As soon as she had been called she walked to where the gentleman from Cracow sat on his mare, and fell to her knees. She prostrated herself seven times before him.
    “Is it true, what that old fool says?” her prospective husband asked her.
    “Yes, my lord, it is so.”
    “Have you sinned only with Jews or with Gentiles as well?”
    “With both.”
    “Was it for bread?”
    “No. For the sheer pleasure.”
    “How old were you when you started?”
    “Not quite ten.”
    “Are you sorry for what you have done?”
    “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “Why should I be?” she answered shamelessly.
    “You don’t fear the tortures of hell?”
    “I fear nothing—not even God. There is no God.”
    Once more the old man began to scream, “Woe to us, woe to us, Jews! A fire is upon us, burning, Jews, Satan’s fire. Save your souls, Jews. Flee, before it is too late!”
    “Gag him,” the gentleman from Cracow commanded.
    The guards seized the old man and gagged him. The doctor, leading Hodle by the hand, began to dance. Now, as though the powers of darkness had been summoned, the rain and hail began to fall; flashes of lightning were accompanied by mighty thunderclaps. But, heedless of the storm, pious men and women embraced without shame, dancing and shouting as though possessed. Even the old were affected. In the furor, dresses were ripped, shoes shaken off, hats, wigs and skullcaps trampled in the mud. Sashes, slipping to the ground, twisted there like snakes. Suddenly there was a terrific crash. A huge bolt of lightning had simultaneously struck the synagogue, the study house, and the ritual bath. The whole town was on fire.
    Now at last the deluded people realized that there was no natural origin to these occurrences. Although the rain continued to fall and even increased in intensity, the fire was not extinguished. An eerie light glowed in the marketplace. Those few prudent individuals who tried to disengage themselves from the demented crowd were crushed to earth and trampled.
    And then the gentleman from Cracow revealed his true identity. He was no longer the young man the villagers had welcomed, but a creature covered with scales, with an eye in his chest, and on his forehead a horn that rotated at great speed. His arms were covered with hair, thorns, and elflocks, and his tail was a mass of live serpents, for he was none other than Ketev Mriri, Chief of the Devils.
    Witches, werewolves, imps, demons, and hobgoblins plummeted from the sky, some on brooms, others on hoops, still others on spiders. Osnath, the daughter of Machlath, her fiery hair loosened in the wind, her breasts bare and thighs exposed, leaped from chimney to chimney, and skated along the eaves. Namah, Hurmizah the daughter of Aff, and many other she-devils did all sorts of somersaults. Satan himself gave away the bridegroom, while four evil spirits held the poles of the canopy, which had turned into writhing pythons. Four dogs escorted the groom. Hodle’s dress fell from her and she stood naked. Her breasts hung