The Flayed Hand Free Audio Book.
BY GUY DE MAUPASSANT.
From the Public Domain 1904.
Audio Book, Video Audio by J.T Attard.
One evening about eight months ago I met with some college comrades at the lodgings of our friend Louis, We drank punch and smoked, talked of literature and art, and made jokes like any other company of young men. Suddenly the door flew open, and one who had been my friend since boyhood burst in, like a hurricane.
“Guess where I come from?” he cried.
“I bet on the Mabille,” responded one. “No,” said another, “you are too gay; you come from borrowing money, from burying a rich uncle, or from pawning your watch.” “You are getting sober,” cried a third, “and, as you scented, the punch in Louis’ room, you came up here to get drunk again.”
“You are all wrong,” he replied. “I come from Normandy, where I have spent eight, days, and whence, I have brought one of my friends, a great criminal, whom I ask permission to present to you.”
With these words he drew from his pocket a long, black hand, from which the skin had been stripped. It had been severed at the wrist. Its dry and shriveled shape, and the narrow, yellowed nails still clinging to the fingers, made it frightful to look upon. The muscles, which showed that its first owner had been possessed of great strength, were bound in place by a strip of parchment-like skin.
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“Just fancy,” said my friend, “the other day they sold, the effects of an old sorcerer, recently deceased, well known in all the country. Every Saturday night he used to go to witch gatherings on a broomstick; he practised the white magic and the black, gave blue milk to the cows, and made them wear tails like that, of the companion, of Saint Anthony.
The old scoundrel always had a deep affection for this hand, which, he said, was that of a celebrated criminal, executed in 17-36 for having thrown his lawful wife head first into a well—for which I do not blame him—and then hanging, in the belfry, the priest who had married him. After this double exploit he went away, and, during his subsequent career, which was brief but exciting, he robbed twelve travellers, smoked a score of monks, in their monastery, and made a seraglio of a convent.”
“But what are you going to do with this horror?” we cried.
“I will probably, make it the handle to my door-bell and frighten my creditors.”
“My friend,” said Henry Smith, a big, phlegmatic Englishman, “I believe that this hand is only a kind of Indian meat, preserved by a new process; I advise you to make done, of it.” “worry not, ” said, with the utmost care, a medical student who was three-quarters drunk, “but if you follow my advice, Pierre, you will give this piece of human debris Christian burial, for fear it's lest, owner should come to demand it. Then, too, this hand has acquired some bad habits, for you know the proverb, ‘Who has killed, will murder again.’”
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