“We were speaking of him whom my mother caused to be born gardener at Saint-Omer and whom she christened. He existed from that time on.”
“Willingly,” replied Monsieur Bergeret. “There was no gardener. The gardener did not exist. My mother said: ‘I am waiting for the gardener.’ At once the gardener was. He lived.”
“Dear master,” said Monsieur Goubin, “how could he live since he did not exist?”
“He had a sort of existence,” replied Monsieur Bergeret.
“You mean an imaginary existence,” Monsieur Goubin replied, disdainfully.
“Is it nothing then, but an imaginary existence?” exclaimed the master. “And have not mythical2 beings the power to influence men! Consider mythology3, Monsieur Goubin, and you will perceive that they are not real beings but imaginary beings that exercise the most profound and lasting4 influence on the mind. Everywhere and always, beings who have no more reality than Putois have inspired nations with hatred5 and love, terror and hope, have advised crimes, received offerings, made laws and customs. Monsieur Goubin, think of the eternal mythology. Putois is a mythical personage, the most obscure, I grant you, and of the lowest order. The coarse satyr, who in olden times sat at the table with our peasants in the North, was considered worthy6 of appearing in a picture by Jordaens and a fable7 by La Fontaine. The hairy son of Sycorax appeared in the noble world of Shakespeare. Putois, less fortunate, will be always neglected by artists and poets. He lacks bigness and the unusual style and character. He was conceived by minds too reasonable, among people who knew how to read and write, and who had not that delightful8 imagination in which fables9 take root. I think, Messieurs, that I have said enough to show you the real nature of Putois.”
“Putois was. I can affirm it. He was. Consider it, gentlemen, and you will admit that a state of being by no means implies substance, and means only the bonds attributed to the subject, expresses only a relation.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Jean Marteau; “but a being without attributes is a being less than nothing. I do not remember who at one time said, ‘I am that I am.’ Pardon my lapse12 of memory. One cannot remember everything. But the unknown who spoke13 in that fashion was very imprudent. In letting it be understood by this thoughtless observation that he was deprived of attributes and denied all relations, he proclaimed that he did not exist and thoughtlessly suppressed himself. I wager14 that no one has heard of him since.”—“You have lost,” answered Monsieur Bergeret.
“He corrected the bad effect of these egotistical expressions by employing quantities of adjectives, and he is often spoken of, most often without judgment15.”—“I do not understand,” said Monsieur Goubin.—“It is not necessary to understand,” replied Jean Marteau. And he begged Monsieur Bergeret to speak of Putois.—“It is very kind of you to ask me,” said the master.—“Putois was born in the second half of the nineteenth century, at Saint-Omer. He would have been better off if he had been born some centuries before in the forest of Arden or in the forest of Brocéliande. He would then have been a remarkably16 clever evil spirit.”—“A cup of tea, Monsieur Goubin,” said Pauline.—“Was Putois, then, an evil spirit?” said Jean Marteau.—“He was evil,” replied Monsieur Bergeret; “he was, in a way, but not absolutely. It was true of him as with those devils that are called wicked, but in whom one discovers good qualities when one associates with them. And I am disposed to think that injustice18 has been done Putois. Madame Cornouiller, who, warned against him, had at once suspected him of being a loafer, a drunkard, and a robber, reflected that since my mother, who was not rich, employed him, it was because he was satisfied with little, and asked herself if she would not do well to have him work instead of her gardener, who had a better reputation, but expected more. The time had come for trimming the yews19. She thought that if Madame Eloi Bergeret, who was poor, did not pay Putois much, she herself, who was rich, would give him still less, for it is customary for the rich to pay less than the poor. And she already saw her yews trimmed in straight hedges, in balls and in pyramids, without her having to pay much. ‘I will keep an eye open,’ she said, ‘to see that Putois does not loaf or rob me. I risk nothing, and it will be all profit. These vagabonds sometimes do better work than honest laborers20. She resolved to make a trial, and said to my mother: ‘Dearest, send me Putois. I will set him to work at Mont-plaisir.’ My mother would have done so willingly. But really it was impossible. Madame Cornouiller waited for Putois at Montplaisir, and waited in vain. She followed up her ideas and did not abandon her plans. When she saw my mother again, she complained of not having any news of Putois. ‘Dearest, didn’t you tell him that I was expecting him?’—‘Yes! but he is strange, odd.’—‘Oh, I know that kind. I know your Putois by heart. But there is no workman so crazy as to refuse to come to work at Montplaisir. My house is known, I think. Putois must obey my orders, and quickly, dearest. It will be sufficient to tell me where he lives; I will go and find him myself.’ My mother answered that she did not know where Putois lived, that no one knew his house, that he was without hearth22 or home. ‘I have not seen him again, Madame. I believe he is hiding.’ What better could she say?”
Madame Cornouiller heard her distrustfully; she suspected her of misleading, of removing Putois from inquiry23, for fear of losing him or making him ask more. And she thought her too selfish. “Many judgments24 accepted by the world that history has sanctioned are as well founded as that.”—“That is true,” said Pauline.—“What is true?” asked Zoe, half asleep.—“That the judgments of history are often false. I remember, papa, that you said one day: ‘Madame Roland was very ingenuous25 to appeal to the impartiality26 of posterity27, and not perceive that, if her contemporaries were ill-natured monkeys, their posterity would be also composed of ill-natured monkeys.’”—“Pauline,” said Mademoiselle Zoe severely28, “what connection is there between the story of Putois and this that you are telling us?”—“A very great one, my aunt.”—“I do not grasp it.”—Monsieur Bergeret, who was not opposed to digressions, answered his daughter: “If all injustices29 were finally redressed30 in the world, one would never have imagined another for these adjustments. How do you expect posterity to pass righteous judgment on the dead? How question them in the shades to which they have taken flight? As soon as we are able to be just to them we forget them. But can one ever be just? And what is justice? Madame Cornouiller, at least, was finally obliged to recognize that my mother had not deceived her and that Putois was not to be found. However, she did not give up trying to find him. She asked all her relatives, friends, neighbors, servants, and tradesmen if they knew Putois, Only two or three answered that they had never heard of him. For the most part they believed they had seen him. ‘I have heard that name,’ said the cook, ‘but I cannot recall his face.’—‘Putois! I must know him,’ said the street-sweeper, scratching his ear. ‘But I cannot tell you who it is.’ The most precise description came from Monsieur Blaise, receiver of taxes, who said that he had employed Putois to cut wood in his yard, from the 19th to the 28d of October, the year of the comet. One morning, Madame Cornouiller, out of breath, dropped into my father’s office. ‘I have seen Putois. Ah! I have seen him.’—‘You believe it?’—‘I am sure. He was passing close by Monsieur Tenchant’s wall. Then he turned into the Rue17 des Abbesses, walking quickly. I lost him.’—‘Was it really he?’—‘Without a doubt. A man of fifty, thin, bent31, the air of a vagabond, a dirty blouse.’—‘It is true,’” said my father, “‘that this description could apply to Putois.’—‘You see! Besides, I called him. I cried: “Putois!” and he turned around.’—‘That is the method,’ said my father, ‘that they employ to assure themselves of the identity of evil-doers that they are hunting for.’—‘I told you that it was he! I know how to find him, your Putois. Very well! He has a bad face. You had been very careless, you and your wife, to employ him. I understand physiognomy, and though I only saw his back, I could swear that he is a robber, and perhaps an assassin. The rims32 of his ears are flat, and that is a sign that never fails.’—‘Ah! you noticed that the rims of his ears were flat?’—‘Nothing escapes me. My dear Monsieur Bergeret, if you do not wish to be assassinated33 with your wife and your children, do not let Putois come into your house again. Take my advice: have all your locks changed.’—Well, a few days afterward34, it happened that Madame Cornouiller had three melons stolen from her vegetable garden. The robber not having been found, she suspected Putois. The gendarmes35 were called to Montplaisir, and their report confirmed the suspicions of Madame Cornouiller. Bands of marauders were ravaging36 the gardens of the countryside. But this time the robbery seemed to have been committed by one man, and with singular dexterity37. No trace of anything broken, no footprints in the damp earth. The robber could be no one but Putois. That was the opinion of the corporal, who knew all about Putois, and had tried hard to put his hand on that bird. The ‘Journal of Saint-Omer’ devoted38 an article to the three melons of Madame Cornouiller, and published a portrait of Putois from descriptions furnished by the town. ‘He has,’ said the paper, ‘a low forehead, squinting39 eyes, a shifty glance, crow’s-feet, sharp cheek-bones, red and shining. No rims to the ears. Thin, somewhat bent, feeble in appearance, in reality he is unusually strong. He easily bends a five-franc piece between the first finger and the thumb.’ There were good reasons for attributing to him a long series of robberies committed with surprising dexterity. The whole town was talking of Putois. One day it was learned that he had been arrested and locked up in prison. But it was soon recognized that the man that had been taken for him was an almanac seller named Rigobert. As no charge could be brought against him, he was discharged after fourteen months of detention40 on suspicion. And Putois remained undiscoverable. Madame Cornouiller was the victim of another robbery, more audacious than the first. Three small silver spoons were taken from her sideboard. She recognized in this the hand of Putois, had a chain put on the door of her bedroom, and was unable to sleep....
About ten o’clock in the evening, Pauline having gone to her room, Mademoiselle Bergeret said to her brother: “Do not forget to relate how Putois betrayed Madame Cornouiller’s cook.”—“I was thinking of it, my sister,” answered Monsieur Bergeret. “To omit it would be to lose the best of the story. But everything must be done in order. Putois was carefully searched for by the police, who could not find him. When it was known that he could not be found, each one considered it his duty to find him; the shrewd ones succeeded. And as there were many shrewd ones at Saint-Omer and in the suburbs, Putois was seen simultaneously41 in the streets, in the fields, and in the woods. Another trait was thus added to his character. He was accorded the gift of ubiquity, the attribute of many popular heroes. A being capable of leaping long distances in a moment, and suddenly showing himself at the place where he was least expected, was honestly frightening. Putois was the terror of Saint-Omer. Madame Cornouiller, convinced that Putois had stolen from her three melons and three little spoons, lived in a state of fear, barricaded42 at Montplaisir. Bolts, bars, and locks did not reassure43 her. Putois was for her a frightfully subtle being who could pass through doors. Trouble with her servants redoubled her fear. Her cook having been betrayed, the time came when she could no longer hide her misfortune. But she obstinately44 refused to name her betrayer.”—“Her name was Gudule,” said Mademoiselle Zoe.—“Her name was Gudule, and she believed that she was protected from danger by a long, forked bead45 that she wore on her chin. The sudden appearance of a beard protected the innocence46 of that holy daughter of the king that Prague venerates47. A beard, no longer youthful, did not suffice to protect the virtue48 of Gudule. Madame Cornouiller urged Gudule to tell her the man. Gudule burst into tears, but kept silent. Prayers and menaces had no effect. Madame Cornouiller made a long and circumstantial inquiry. She adroitly49 questioned her neighbors and tradespeople, the gardener, the street-sweeper, the gendarmes; nothing put her on the track of the culprit. She tried again to obtain from Gudule a complete confession50. ‘In your own interest, Gudule, tell me who it is.’ Gudule remained mute. All at once a ray of light flashed through the mind of Madame Cornouiller: ‘It is Putois!’ The cook cried, but did not answer. ‘It is Putois! Why did I not guess it sooner? It is Putois! Miserable51! miserable! miserable!’ and Madame Cornouiller remained convinced that it was Putois. Everybody at Saint-Omer, from the judge to the lamplighter’s dog, knew Gudule and her basket At the news that Putois had betrayed Gudule, the town was filled with surprise, wonder, and merriment....
With this reputation in the town and its environs he remained attached to our house by a thousand subtle ties. He passed before our door, and it was believed that he sometimes climbed the wall of our garden. He was never seen face to face. At any moment we would recognize his shadow, his voice, his footsteps. More than once we thought we saw his back in the twilight52, at the corner of a road. To my sister and me he gradually changed in character. He remained mischievous53 and malevolent54, but he became childlike and very ingenuous. He became less real and, I dare say, more poetical55. He entered in the artless Cycle of childish traditions. He became more like Croquemitaine,* like Père Fouettard, or the sand man who closes the children’s eyes when evening comes.
*The national “bugaboo” or “bogy man.”
It was not that imp11 that tangled56 the colts’ tails at night in the stable. Less rustic57 and less charming, but equally and frankly58 roguish, he made ink mustaches on my sister’s dolls. In our bed, before going to sleep, we listened; he cried on the roofs with the cats, he howled with the dogs, he filled the mill hopper with groans59, and imitated the songs of belated drunkards in the streets. What made Putois ever-present and familiar to us, what interested us in him, was that the remembrance of him was associated with all the objects about us. Zoe’s dolls, my school books, in which he had many times rumpled60 and besmeared the pages; the garden wall, over which we had seen his red eyes gleam in the shadow; the blue porcelain61 jar that he cracked one winter’s night, unless it was the frost; the trees, the streets, the benches—everything recalled Putois, the children’s Putois, a local and mythical being. He did not equal in grace and poetry the dullest satyr, the stoutest62 fawn63 of Sicily or Thessaly. But he was still a demigod. He had quite a different character for our father; he was symbolical64 and philosophical65. Our father had great compassion66 for men. He did not think them altogether rational; their mistakes, when they were not cruel, amused him and made him smile. The belief in Putois interested him as an epitome67 and a summary of all human beliefs. As he was ironical68 and a joker, he spoke of Putois as if he were a real being. He spoke with so much insistence69 sometimes, and detailed70 the circumstances with such exactness, that my mother was quite surprised and said to him in her open-hearted way: ‘One would say that you spoke seriously, my friend: you know well, however...’ He replied gravely: ‘All Saint-Omer believes in the existence of Putois. Would I be a good citizen if I deny him? One should look twice before setting aside an article of common faith.’ Only a perfectly71 honest soul has such scruples72. At heart my father was a Gassendiste.* He keyed his own particular sentiment with the public sentiment, believing, like the countryside, in the existence of Putois, but not admitting his direct responsibility for the theft of the melons and the betrayal of the cook. Finally, he professed73 faith in the existence of a Putois, to be a good citizen; and he eliminated Putois in his explanations of the events that took place in the town. By doing so in this instance, as in all others, he was an honorable and a sensible man.
“As for our mother, she reproached herself somewhat for the birth of Putois, and not without reason. Because, after all, Putois was the child of our mother’s invention, as Caliban was the poet’s invention. Without doubt the faults were not equal, and my mother was more innocent than Shakespeare. However, she was frightened and confused to see her little falsehood grow inordinately76, and her slight imposture77 achieve such a prodigious78 success, that, without stopping, extended all over town and threatened to extend over the world. One day she even turned pale, believing that she would see her falsehood rise up before her. That day, a servant she had, new to the house and the town, came to say to her that a man wished to see her. He wished to speak to Madame. ‘What man is it?’—‘A man in a blouse. He looks like a laborer21.’—‘Did he give his name?’—‘Yes, Madame.’—‘Well! what is his name?’—‘Putois.’—‘He told you that was his name?’—‘Putois, yes, Madame.’—‘He is here?’—‘Yes, Madame. He is waiting in the kitchen.’—‘You saw him?’—‘Yes, Madame.’—‘What does he want?’—‘He did not say. He will only tell Madame.’—‘Go ask him.’
“When the servant returned to the kitchen Putois was gone. This meeting of the new servant with Putois was never cleared up. But from that day I think my mother commenced to believe that Putois might well exist and that she had not told a falsehood after all.”
The End
The End
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1
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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mythical
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| adj.神话的；虚构的；想像的 | |
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mythology
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| n.神话，神话学，神话集 | |
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lasting
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| adj.永久的，永恒的；vbl.持续，维持 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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fable
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| n.寓言；童话；神话 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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fables
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| n.寓言( fable的名词复数 )；神话，传说 | |
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discourse
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| n.论文，演说；谈话；话语；vi.讲述，著述 | |
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imp
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| n.顽童 | |
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lapse
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| n.过失，流逝，失效，抛弃信仰，间隔；vi.堕落，停止，失效，流逝；vt.使失效 | |
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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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wager
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| n.赌注；vt.押注，打赌 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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remarkably
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| ad.不同寻常地，相当地 | |
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rue
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| n.懊悔，芸香，后悔；v.后悔，悲伤，懊悔 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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yews
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| n.紫杉( yew的名词复数 ) | |
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laborers
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| n.体力劳动者，工人( laborer的名词复数 )；（熟练工人的）辅助工 | |
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laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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judgments
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| 判断( judgment的名词复数 )； 鉴定； 评价； 审判 | |
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ingenuous
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| adj.纯朴的，单纯的；天真的；坦率的 | |
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impartiality
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| n. 公平, 无私, 不偏 | |
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posterity
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| n.后裔，子孙，后代 | |
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severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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injustices
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| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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redressed
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| v.改正( redress的过去式和过去分词 )；重加权衡；恢复平衡 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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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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assassinated
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| v.暗杀( assassinate的过去式和过去分词 )；中伤；诋毁；破坏 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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gendarmes
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| n.宪兵，警官( gendarme的名词复数 ) | |
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ravaging
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| 毁坏( ravage的现在分词 )； 蹂躏； 劫掠； 抢劫 | |
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dexterity
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| n.(手的)灵巧，灵活 | |
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devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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39
squinting
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| 斜视( squint的现在分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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40
detention
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| n.滞留，停留；拘留，扣留；(教育)留下 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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barricaded
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| 设路障于，以障碍物阻塞( barricade的过去式和过去分词 )； 设路障[防御工事]保卫或固守 | |
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reassure
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| v.使放心，使消除疑虑 | |
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44
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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bead
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| n.念珠；(pl.)珠子项链；水珠 | |
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46
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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47
venerates
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| 敬重（某人或某事物），崇敬( venerate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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48
virtue
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| n.德行，美德；贞操；优点；功效，效力 | |
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49
adroitly
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| adv.熟练地，敏捷地 | |
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50
confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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51
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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52
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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53
mischievous
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| adj.调皮的，恶作剧的，有害的，伤人的 | |
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54
malevolent
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| adj.有恶意的，恶毒的 | |
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55
poetical
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| adj.似诗人的；诗一般的；韵文的；富有诗意的 | |
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56
tangled
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| adj. 纠缠的，紊乱的 动词tangle的过去式和过去分词 | |
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57
rustic
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| adj.乡村的，有乡村特色的；n.乡下人，乡巴佬 | |
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frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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groans
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| n.呻吟，叹息( groan的名词复数 )；呻吟般的声音v.呻吟( groan的第三人称单数 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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rumpled
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| v.弄皱，使凌乱( rumple的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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porcelain
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| n.瓷；adj.瓷的，瓷制的 | |
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stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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fawn
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| n.未满周岁的小鹿；v.巴结，奉承 | |
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symbolical
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| a.象征性的 | |
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philosophical
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| adj.哲学家的，哲学上的，达观的 | |
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compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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epitome
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| n.典型，梗概 | |
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ironical
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| adj.讽刺的，冷嘲的 | |
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insistence
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| n.坚持；强调；坚决主张 | |
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detailed
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| adj.详细的，详尽的，极注意细节的，完全的 | |
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perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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scruples
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| n.良心上的不安( scruple的名词复数 )；顾虑，顾忌v.感到于心不安，有顾忌( scruple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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professed
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| 公开声称的，伪称的，已立誓信教的 | |
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follower
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| n.跟随者；随员；门徒；信徒 | |
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exponent
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| n.倡导者，拥护者；代表人物；指数，幂 | |
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inordinately
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| adv.无度地，非常地 | |
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imposture
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| n.冒名顶替，欺骗 | |
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prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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