“Lucien, do you recall Putois?” asked Zoe, smiling as usual, the lips pressed, bending over her work.
“Do I recall Putois! Of all the faces I saw as a child that of Putois remains1 the clearest in my remembrance. All the features of his face and his character are fixed2 in my mind. He had a pointed3 cranium...”
“A low forehead,” added Mademoiselle Zoe.
And the brother and sister recited alternately, in a monotonous4 voice, with an odd gravity, the points in a sort of description:
“A low forehead.”
“Squinting eyes.”
“A shifty glance.”
“Crow’s-feet at the temples.”
“The cheek-bones sharp, red and shining.”
“His hands, which were never still, alone expressed his meaning.”
“In reality he was unusually strong.”
“He easily bent a five-franc piece between the first finger and the thumb...”
“Which was enormous.”
“His voice was drawling...”
“And his speech mild.”
Suddenly Monsieur Bergeret exclaimed: “Zoe! we have forgotten ‘Yellow hair and sparse8 beard.’ Let us begin all over again.”
Pauline, who had listened with astonishment9 to this strange recital10, asked her father and aunt how they had been able to learn by heart this bit of prose, and why they recited it as if it were a litany.
Monsieur Bergeret gravely answered:
“Pauline, what you have heard is a text, I may say a liturgy11, used by the Bergeret family. It should be handed down to you so that it may not perish with your aunt and me. Your grandfather, my daughter, your grandfather, Eloi Bergeret, who was not amused with trifles, thought highly of this bit, principally because of its origin. He called it ‘The Anatomy12 of Putois.’ And he used to say that he preferred, in certain respects, the anatomy of Putois to the anatomy of Quaresmeprenant. ‘If the description by Xenomanes,’ he said, ‘is more learned and richer in unusual and choice expressions, the description of Putois greatly surpasses it in clarity and simplicity13 of style.’ He held this opinion because Doctor Ledouble, of Tours, had not yet explained chapters thirty, thirty-one, and thirty-two of the fourth book of Rabelais.”
“I do not understand at all,” said Pauline.
“That is because you did not know Putois, my daughter. You must understand that Putois was the most familiar figure in my childhood and in that of your Aunt Zoe. In the house of your grandfather Bergeret we constantly spoke14 of Putois. Each believed that he had seen him.”
Pauline asked:
“Who was this Putois?”
Instead of replying, Monsieur Bergeret commenced to laugh, and Mademoiselle Bergeret also laughed, her lips pressed tight together. Pauline looked from one to the other. She thought it strange that her aunt should laugh so heartily15, and more strange that she should laugh with and in sympathy with her brother. It was indeed singular, as the brother and sister were quite different in character.
“Papa, tell me what was Putois? Since you wish me to know, tell me.”
“Putois, my daughter, was a gardener. The son of honest market-gardeners, he set up for himself as nurseryman at Saint-Omer. But he did not satisfy his customers and got in a bad way. Having given up business, he went out by the day. Those who employed him could not always congratulate themselves.”
At this, Mademoiselle Bergeret, laughing, rejoined;
“Do you recall, Lucien, when our father could not find his ink, his pens, his sealing-wax, his scissors, he said: ‘I suspect Putois has been here’?”
“Ah!” said Monsieur Bergeret, “Putois had not a good reputation.”
“Is that all?” asked Pauline.
“No, my daughter, it is not all. Putois was remarkable16 in this, that while we knew him and were familiar with him, nevertheless—”
“—He did not exist,” said Zoe.
Monsieur Bergeret looked at his sister with an air of reproach.
“What a speech, Zoe! and why break the charm like that? Do you dare say it, Zoe? Zoe, can you prove it? To maintain that Putois did not exist, that Putois never was, have you sufficiently17 considered the conditions of existence and the modes of being? Putois existed, my sister. But it is true that his was a peculiar18 existence.”
“I understand less and less,” said Pauline, discouraged.
“The truth will be clear to you presently, my daughter. Know then that Putois was born fully19 grown. I was still a child and your aunt was a little girl. We lived in a little house, in a suburb of Saint-Omer. Our parents led a peaceful, retired20 life, until they were discovered by an old lady named Madame Cornouiller, who lived at the manor21 of Montplaisir, twelve miles from town, and proved to be a great-aunt of my mother’s. By right of relationship she insisted that our father and mother come to dine every Sunday at Montplaisir, where they were excessively bored. She said that it was the proper thing to have a family dinner on Sunday and that only people of common origin failed to observe this ancient custom. My father was bored to the point of tears at Montplaisir. His desperation was painful to contemplate22. But Madame Cornouiller did not notice it. She saw nothing, My mother was braver. She suffered as much as my father, and perhaps more, but she smiled.”
“Women are made to suffer,” said Zoe.
“Zoe, every living thing is destined23 to suffer. In vain our parents refused these fatal invitations. Madame Cornouiller came to take them each Sunday afternoon. They had to go to Montplaisir; it was an obligation from which there was absolutely no escape. It was an established order that only a revolt could break. My father finally revolted and swore not to accept another invitation from Madame Cornouiller, leaving it to my mother to find decent pretexts24 and varied25 reasons for these refusals, for which she was the least capable. Our mother did not know how to pretend.”
“Say, Lucien, that she did not like to. She could tell a fib as well as any one.”
“It is true that when she had good reasons she gave them rather than invent poor ones. Do you recall, my sister, that one day she said at table: ‘Fortunately, Zoe has the whooping-cough; we shall not have to go to Montplaisir for some time’?”
“That was true!” said Zoe.
“You got over it, Zoe. And one day Madame Cornouiller said to my mother: Dearest, I count on your coming with your husband to dine Sunday at Montplaisir.’ Our mother, expressly bidden by her husband to give Madame Cornouiller a good reason for declining, invented, in this extremity26, a reason that was not the truth. ‘I am extremely sorry, dear Madame, but that will be impossible for us. Sunday I expect the gardener.’
“On hearing this, Madame Cornouiller looked through the glass door of the salon27 at the little wild garden, where the prickwood and the lilies looked as though they had never known the pruning-knife and were likely never to know it. ‘You expect the gardener! What for?’
“‘To work in the garden.’
“And my mother, having involuntarily turned her eyes on this little square of weeds and plants run wild, that she had called a garden, recognized with dismay the improbability of her excuse.
“‘This man,’ said Madame Cornouiller, ‘could just as well work in your garden Monday or Tuesday. Moreover, that will be much better.’ One should not work on Sunday.’
“‘He works all the week.’
“I have often noticed that the most absurd and ridiculous reasons are the least disputed: they disconcert the adversary28. Madame Cornouiller insisted, less than one might expect of a person so little disposed to give up. Rising from her armchair, she asked:
“‘What do you call your gardener, dearest?’
“‘Putois,’ answered my mother without hesitation29.
“Putois was named. From that time he existed. Madame Cornouiller took herself off, murmuring: ‘Putois! It seems to me that I know that name. Putois! Putois! I must know him. But I do not recollect30 him. Where does he live?’
“‘He works by the day. When one wants him one leaves word with this one or that one.’
“‘Ah! I thought so, a loafer and a vagabond—a good-for-nothing. Don’t trust him, dearest.’
“From that time Putois had a character.’”
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1
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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3
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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monotonous
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| adj.单调的，一成不变的，使人厌倦的 | |
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rims
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| n.（圆形物体的）边( rim的名词复数 )；缘；轮辋；轮圈 | |
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6
devoid
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| adj.全无的，缺乏的 | |
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7
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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8
sparse
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| adj.稀疏的，稀稀落落的，薄的 | |
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9
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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10
recital
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| n.朗诵，独奏会，独唱会 | |
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11
liturgy
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| n.礼拜仪式 | |
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12
anatomy
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| n.解剖学，解剖；功能，结构，组织 | |
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13
simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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14
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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15
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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16
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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17
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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18
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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19
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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20
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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21
manor
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| n.庄园，领地 | |
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22
contemplate
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| vt.盘算，计议；周密考虑；注视，凝视 | |
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23
destined
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| adj.命中注定的；(for)以…为目的地的 | |
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24
pretexts
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| n.借口，托辞( pretext的名词复数 ) | |
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25
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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26
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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27
salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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28
adversary
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| adj.敌手，对手 | |
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29
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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30
recollect
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| v.回忆，想起，记起，忆起，记得 | |
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