Two years later I found the house closed and its tenants
gone. The furniture was being sold. In memory
of them I bought the hideous flayed hand. On
the grass an enormous square block of granite bore
this simple word: “Nip.” Above
this a hollow stone offered water to the birds.
It was the grave of the monkey, who had been hanged
by a young, vindictive negro servant. It was
said that this violent domestic had been forced to
flee at the point of his exasperated master’s
revolver. After wandering about without home
or food for several days, he returned and began to
peddle barley-sugar in the streets. He was expelled
from the country after he had almost strangled a displeased
customer.
The world would be gayer if one could often meet homes
like that.
This story appeared in the “Gaulois,”
November 29, 1882. It was the original sketch
for the introductory study of Swinburne, written by
Maupassant for the French translation by Gabriel
Mourey of “Poems and Ballads.”
It was a men’s dinner party, and they were sitting
over their cigars and brandy and discussing magnetism.
Donato’s tricks and Charcot’s experiments.
Presently, the sceptical, easy-going men, who cared
nothing for religion of any sort, began telling stories
of strange occurrences, incredible things which, nevertheless,
had really occurred, so they said, falling back into
superstitious beliefs, clinging to these last remnants
of the marvellous, becoming devotees of this mystery
of magnetism, defending it in the name of science.
There was only one person who smiled, a vigorous young
fellow, a great ladies’ man who was so incredulous
that he would not even enter upon a discussion of such
matters.
He repeated with a sneer:
“Humbug! humbug! humbug! We need not discuss
Donato, who is merely a very smart juggler. As
for M. Charcot, who is said to be a remarkable man
of science, he produces on me the effect of those
story-tellers of the school of Edgar Poe, who end
by going mad through constantly reflecting on queer
cases of insanity. He has authenticated some cases
of unexplained and inexplicable nervous phenomena;
he makes his way into that unknown region which men
are exploring every day, and unable always to understand
what he sees, he recalls, perhaps, the ecclesiastical
interpretation of these mysteries. I should like
to hear what he says himself.”
The words of the unbeliever were listened to with
a kind of pity, as if he had blasphemed in an assembly
of monks.
One of these gentlemen exclaimed:
“And yet miracles were performed in olden times.”
“I deny it,” replied the other: “Why
cannot they be performed now?”
Then, each mentioned some fact, some fantastic presentiment
some instance of souls communicating with each other
across space, or some case of the secret influence
of one being over another. They asserted and maintained
that these things had actually occurred, while the
sceptic angrily repeated:
