{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_23219/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_23219","id":"gutenberg_23219","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23219","summary":null,"tags":["Category: French Literature","Category: Humour","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Category: Novels","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Nobel Prizes in Literature","Short stories"],"text":"Produced by David Widger\n\n\n\n\n\n\nPUTOIS\n\nBy Anatole France\n\nTranslated by William Patten.\n\nCopyright, 1907, by P. F. Collier & Son.\n\nDedicated to Georges Brandes\n\n\n\n\nI\n\nThis garden of our childhood, said Monsieur Bergeret, this garden that\none could pace off in twenty steps, was for us a whole world, full of\nsmiles and surprises.\n\n\u201cLucien, do you recall Putois?\u201d asked Zoe, smiling as usual, the lips\npressed, bending over her work.\n\n\u201cDo I recall Putois! Of all the faces I saw as a child that of Putois\nremains the clearest in my remembrance. All the features of his face and\nhis character are fixed in my mind. He had a pointed cranium...\u201d\n\n\u201cA low forehead,\u201d added Mademoiselle Zoe.\n\nAnd the brother and sister recited alternately, in a monotonous voice,\nwith an odd gravity, the points in a sort of description:\n\n\u201cA low forehead.\u201d\n\n\u201cSquinting eyes.\u201d\n\n\u201cA shifty glance.\u201d\n\n\u201cCrow\u2019s-feet at the temples.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe cheek-bones sharp, red and shining.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis ears had no rims to them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe features were devoid of all expression.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis hands, which were never still, alone expressed his meaning.\u201d\n\n\u201cThin, somewhat bent, feeble in appearance...\u201d\n\n\u201cIn reality he was unusually strong.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe easily bent a five-franc piece between the first finger and the\nthumb...\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich was enormous.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis voice was drawling...\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd his speech mild.\u201d\n\nSuddenly Monsieur Bergeret exclaimed: \u201cZoe! we have forgotten \u2018Yellow\nhair and sparse beard.\u2019 Let us begin all over again.\u201d\n\nPauline, who had listened with astonishment to this strange recital,\nasked her father and aunt how they had been able to learn by heart this\nbit of prose, and why they recited it as if it were a litany.\n\nMonsieur Bergeret gravely answered:\n\n\u201cPauline, what you have heard is a text, I may say a liturgy, used by\nthe Bergeret family. It should be handed down to you so that it may\nnot perish with your aunt and me. Your grandfather, my daughter, your\ngrandfather, Eloi Bergeret, who was not amused with trifles, thought\nhighly of this bit, principally because of its origin. He called it \u2018The\nAnatomy of Putois.\u2019 And he used to say that he preferred, in certain\nrespects, the anatomy of Putois to the anatomy of Quaresmeprenant. \u2018If\nthe description by Xenomanes,\u2019 he said, \u2018is more learned and richer\nin unusual and choice expressions, the description of Putois greatly\nsurpasses it in clarity and simplicity of style.\u2019 He held this opinion\nbecause Doctor Ledouble, of Tours, had not yet explained chapters\nthirty, thirty-one, and thirty-two of the fourth book of Rabelais.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not understand at all,\u201d said Pauline.\n\n\u201cThat is because you did not know Putois, my daughter. You must\nunderstand that Putois was the most familiar figure in my childhood and\nin that of your Aunt Zoe. In the house of your grandfather Bergeret we\nconstantly spoke of Putois. Each believed that he had seen him.\u201d\n\nPauline asked:\n\n\u201cWho was this Putois?\u201d\n\nInstead of replying, Monsieur Bergeret commenced to laugh, and\nMademoiselle Bergeret also laughed, her lips pressed tight together.\nPauline looked from one to the other. She thought it strange that her\naunt should laugh so heartily, and more strange that she should laugh\nwith and in sympathy with her brother. It was indeed singular, as the\nbrother and sister were quite different in character.\n\n\u201cPapa, tell me what was Putois? Since you wish me to know, tell me.\u201d\n\n\u201cPutois, my daughter, was a gardener. The son of honest\nmarket-gardeners, he set up for himself as nurseryman at Saint-Omer. But\nhe did not satisfy his customers and got in a bad way. Having given\nup business, he went out by the day. Those who employed him could not\nalways congratulate themselves.\u201d\n\nAt this, Mademoiselle Bergeret, laughing, rejoined;\n\n\u201cDo you recall, Lucien, when our father could not find his ink, his\npens, his sealing-wax, his scissors, he said: \u2018I suspect Putois has been\nhere\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d said Monsieur Bergeret, \u201cPutois had not a good reputation.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs that all?\u201d asked Pauline.\n\n\u201cNo, my daughter, it is not all. Putois was remarkable in this, that\nwhile we knew him and were familiar with him, nevertheless--\u201d\n\n\u201c--He did not exist,\u201d said Zoe.\n\nMonsieur Bergeret looked at his sister with an air of reproach.\n\n\u201cWhat a speech, Zoe! and why break the charm like that? Do you dare say\nit, Zoe? Zoe, can you prove it? To maintain that Putois did not exist,\nthat Putois never was, have you sufficiently considered the conditions\nof existence and the modes of being? Putois existed, my sister. But it\nis true that his was a peculiar existence.\u201d\n\n\u201cI understand less and less,\u201d said Pauline, discouraged.\n\n\u201cThe truth will be clear to you presently, my daughter. Know then that\nPutois was born fully grown. I was still a child and your aunt was a\nlittle girl. We lived in a little house, in a suburb of Saint-Omer. Our\nparents led a peaceful, retired life, until they were discovered by\nan old lady named Madame Cornouiller, who lived at the manor of\nMontplaisir, twelve miles from town, and proved to be a great-aunt of\nmy mother\u2019s. By right of relationship she insisted that our father\nand mother come to dine every Sunday at Montplaisir, where they were\nexcessively bored. She said that it was the proper thing to have a\nfamily dinner on Sunday and that only people of common origin failed to\nobserve this ancient custom. My father was bored to the point of tears\nat Montplaisir. His desperation was painful to contemplate. But Madame\nCornouiller did not notice it. She saw nothing, My mother was braver.\nShe suffered as much as my father, and perhaps more, but she smiled.\u201d\n\n\u201cWomen are made to suffer,\u201d said Zoe.\n\n\u201cZoe, every living thing is destined to suffer. In vain our parents\nrefused these fatal invitations. Madame Cornouiller came to take\nthem each Sunday afternoon. They had to go to Montplaisir; it was\nan obligation from which there was absolutely no escape. It was an\nestablished order that only a revolt could break. My father finally\nrevolted and swore not to accept another invitation from Madame\nCornouiller, leaving it to my mother to find decent pretexts and varied\nreasons for these refusals, for which she was the least capable. Our\nmother did not know how to pretend.\u201d\n\n\u201cSay, Lucien, that she did not like to. She could tell a fib as well as\nany one.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true that when she had good reasons she gave them rather than\ninvent poor ones. Do you recall, my sister, that one day she said at\ntable: \u2018Fortunately, Zoe has the whooping-cough; we shall not have to go\nto Montplaisir for some time\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat was true!\u201d said Zoe.\n\n\u201cYou got over it, Zoe. And one day Madame Cornouiller said to my mother:\nDearest, I count on your coming with your husband to dine Sunday at\nMontplaisir.\u2019 Our mother, expressly bidden by her husband to give Madame\nCornouiller a good reason for declining, invented, in this extremity, a\nreason that was not the truth. \u2018I am extremely sorry, dear Madame, but\nthat will be impossible for us. Sunday I expect the gardener.\u2019\n\n\u201cOn hearing this, Madame Cornouiller looked through the glass door of\nthe salon at the little wild garden, where the prickwood and the lilies\nlooked as though they had never known the pruning-knife and were likely\nnever to know it. \u2018You expect the gardener! What for?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018To work in the garden.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd my mother, having involuntarily turned her eyes on this little\nsquare of weeds and plants run wild, that she had called a garden,\nrecognized with dismay the improbability of her excuse.\n\n\u201c\u2018This man,\u2019 said Madame Cornouiller, \u2018could just as well work in your\ngarden Monday or Tuesday. Moreover, that will be much better.\u2019 One\nshould not work on Sunday.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018He works all the week.\u2019\n\n\u201cI have often noticed that the most absurd and ridiculous reasons are\nthe least disputed: they disconcert the adversary. Madame Cornouiller\ninsisted, less than one might expect of a person so little disposed to\ngive up. Rising from her armchair, she asked:\n\n\u201c\u2018What do you call your gardener, dearest?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Putois,\u2019 answered my mother without hesitation.\n\n\u201cPutois was named. From that time he existed. Madame Cornouiller took\nherself off, murmuring: \u2018Putois! It seems to me that I know that name.\nPutois! Putois! I must know him. But I do not recollect him. Where does\nhe live?\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018He works by the day. When one wants him one leaves word with this one\nor that one.\u2019\n\n\u201c\u2018Ah! I thought so, a loafer and a vagabond--a good-for-nothing. Don\u2019t\ntrust him, dearest.\u2019\n\n\u201cFrom that time Putois had a character.\u2019\u201d\n\n\n\n\nII\n\nMessieurs Goubin and Jean Marteau having arrived, Monsieur Bergeret put\nthem in touch with the conversation.\n\n\u201cWe were speaking of him whom my mother caused to be born gardener at\nSaint-Omer and whom she christened. He existed from that time on.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear master, will you kindly repeat that?\u201d said Monsieur Goubin, wiping\nthe glass of his monocle.\n\n\u201cWillingly,\u201d replied Monsieur Bergeret. \u201cThere was no gardener. The\ngardener did not exist. My mother said: \u2018I am waiting for the gardener.\u2019\nAt once the gardener was. He lived.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear master,\u201d said Monsieur Goubin, \u201chow could he live since he did not\nexist?\u201d\n\n\u201cHe had a sort of existence,\u201d replied Monsieur Bergeret.\n\n\u201cYou mean an imaginary existence,\u201d Monsieur Goubin replied,\ndisdainfully.\n\n\u201cIs it nothing then, but an imaginary existence?\u201d exclaimed the master.\n\u201cAnd have not mythical beings the power to influence men! Consider\nmythology, Monsieur Goubin, and you will perceive that they are not real\nbeings but imaginary beings that exercise the most profound and lasting\ninfluence on the mind. Everywhere and always, beings who have no more\nreality than Putois have inspired nations with hatred and love, terror\nand hope, have advised crimes, received offerings, made laws and\ncustoms. Monsieur Goubin, think of the eternal mythology. Putois is a\nmythical personage, the most obscure, I grant you, and of the lowest\norder. The coarse satyr, who in olden times sat at the table with our\npeasants in the North, was considered worthy of appearing in a picture\nby Jordaens and a fable by La Fontaine. The hairy son of Sycorax\nappeared in the noble world of Shakespeare. Putois, less fortunate,\nwill be always neglected by artists and poets. He lacks bigness and the\nunusual style and character. He was conceived by minds too reasonable,\namong people who knew how to read and write, and who had not that\ndelightful imagination in which fables take root. I think, Messieurs,\nthat I have said enough to show you the real nature of Putois.\u201d\n\n\u201cI understand it,\u201d said Monsieur Goubin. And Monsieur Bergeret continued\nhis discourse.\n\n\u201cPutois was. I can affirm it. He was. Consider it, gentlemen, and you\nwill admit that a state of being by no means implies substance, and\nmeans only the bonds attributed to the subject, expresses only a\nrelation.\u201d\n\n\u201cUndoubtedly,\u201d said Jean Marteau; \u201cbut a being without attributes is a\nbeing less than nothing. I do not remember who at one time said, \u2018I am\nthat I am.\u2019 Pardon my lapse of memory. One cannot remember everything.\nBut the unknown who spoke in that fashion was very imprudent. In letting\nit be understood by this thoughtless observation that he was deprived of\nattributes and denied all relations, he proclaimed that he did not exist\nand thoughtlessly suppressed himself. I wager that no one has heard of\nhim since.\u201d--\u201cYou have lost,\u201d answered Monsieur Bergeret.\n\n\u201cHe corrected the bad effect of these egotistical expressions by\nemploying quantities of adjectives, and he is often spoken of,\nmost often without judgment.\u201d--\u201cI do not understand,\u201d said Monsieur\nGoubin.--\u201cIt is not necessary to understand,\u201d replied Jean Marteau. And\nhe begged Monsieur Bergeret to speak of Putois.--\u201cIt is very kind of you\nto ask me,\u201d said the master.--\u201cPutois was born in the second half of the\nnineteenth century, at Saint-Omer. He would have been better off if he\nhad been born some centuries before in the forest of Arden or in the\nforest of Broc\u00e9liande. He would then have been a remarkably clever evil\nspirit.\u201d--\u201cA cup of tea, Monsieur Goubin,\u201d said Pauline.--\u201cWas Putois,\nthen, an evil spirit?\u201d said Jean Marteau.--\u201cHe was evil,\u201d replied\nMonsieur Bergeret; \u201che was, in a way, but not absolutely. It was true\nof him as with those devils that are called wicked, but in whom one\ndiscovers good qualities when one associates with them. And I\nam disposed to think that injustice has been done Putois. Madame\nCornouiller, who, warned against him, had at once suspected him of being\na loafer, a drunkard, and a robber, reflected that since my mother, who\nwas not rich, employed him, it was because he was satisfied with little,\nand asked herself if she would not do well to have him work instead of\nher gardener, who had a better reputation, but expected more. The\ntime had come for trimming the yews. She thought that if Madame Eloi\nBergeret, who was poor, did not pay Putois much, she herself, who was\nrich, would give him still less, for it is customary for the rich to\npay less than the poor. And she already saw her yews trimmed in straight\nhedges, in balls and in pyramids, without her having to pay much. \u2018I\nwill keep an eye open,\u2019 she said, \u2018to see that Putois does not loaf\nor rob me. I risk nothing, and it will be all profit. These vagabonds\nsometimes do better work than honest laborers. She resolved to make a\ntrial, and said to my mother: \u2018Dearest, send me Putois. I will set him\nto work at Mont-plaisir.\u2019 My mother would have done so willingly.\nBut really it was impossible. Madame Cornouiller waited for Putois at\nMontplaisir, and waited in vain. She followed up her ideas and did not\nabandon her plans. When she saw my mother again, she complained of not\nhaving any news of Putois. \u2018Dearest, didn\u2019t you tell him that I was\nexpecting him?\u2019--\u2018Yes! but he is strange, odd.\u2019--\u2018Oh, I know that kind.\nI know your Putois by heart. But there is no workman so crazy as to\nrefuse to come to work at Montplaisir. My house is known, I think.\nPutois must obey my orders, and quickly, dearest. It will be sufficient\nto tell me where he lives; I will go and find him myself.\u2019 My mother\nanswered that she did not know where Putois lived, that no one knew his\nhouse, that he was without hearth or home. \u2018I have not seen him again,\nMadame. I believe he is hiding.\u2019 What better could she say?\u201d\n\nMadame Cornouiller heard her distrustfully; she suspected her of\nmisleading, of removing Putois from inquiry, for fear of losing him or\nmaking him ask more. And she thought her too selfish. \u201cMany judgments\naccepted by the world that history has sanctioned are as well founded as\nthat.\u201d--\u201cThat is true,\u201d said Pauline.--\u201cWhat is true?\u201d asked Zoe, half\nasleep.--\u201cThat the judgments of history are often false. I remember,\npapa, that you said one day: \u2018Madame Roland was very ingenuous to\nappeal to the impartiality of posterity, and not perceive that, if her\ncontemporaries were ill-natured monkeys, their posterity would be also\ncomposed of ill-natured monkeys.\u2019\u201d--\u201cPauline,\u201d said Mademoiselle Zoe\nseverely, \u201cwhat connection is there between the story of Putois and this\nthat you are telling us?\u201d--\u201cA very great one, my aunt.\u201d--\u201cI do not grasp\nit.\u201d--Monsieur Bergeret, who was not opposed to digressions, answered\nhis daughter: \u201cIf all injustices were finally redressed in the world,\none would never have imagined another for these adjustments. How do you\nexpect posterity to pass righteous judgment on the dead? How question\nthem in the shades to which they have taken flight? As soon as we are\nable to be just to them we forget them. But can one ever be just? And\nwhat is justice? Madame Cornouiller, at least, was finally obliged to\nrecognize that my mother had not deceived her and that Putois was not to\nbe found. However, she did not give up trying to find him. She asked all\nher relatives, friends, neighbors, servants, and tradesmen if they knew\nPutois, Only two or three answered that they had never heard of him. For\nthe most part they believed they had seen him. \u2018I have heard that name,\u2019\nsaid the cook, \u2018but I cannot recall his face.\u2019--\u2018Putois! I must know\nhim,\u2019 said the street-sweeper, scratching his ear. \u2018But I cannot tell\nyou who it is.\u2019 The most precise description came from Monsieur Blaise,\nreceiver of taxes, who said that he had employed Putois to cut wood in\nhis yard, from the 19th to the 28d of October, the year of the comet.\nOne morning, Madame Cornouiller, out of breath, dropped into my father\u2019s\noffice. \u2018I have seen Putois. Ah! I have seen him.\u2019--\u2018You believe\nit?\u2019--\u2018I am sure. He was passing close by Monsieur Tenchant\u2019s wall. Then\nhe turned into the Rue des Abbesses, walking quickly. I lost him.\u2019--\u2018Was\nit really he?\u2019--\u2018Without a doubt. A man of fifty, thin, bent, the air of\na vagabond, a dirty blouse.\u2019--\u2018It is true,\u2019\u201d said my father, \u201c\u2018that this\ndescription could apply to Putois.\u2019--\u2018You see! Besides, I called him. I\ncried: \u201cPutois!\u201d and he turned around.\u2019--\u2018That is the method,\u2019 said\nmy father, \u2018that they employ to assure themselves of the identity of\nevil-doers that they are hunting for.\u2019--\u2018I told you that it was he! I\nknow how to find him, your Putois. Very well! He has a bad face. You\nhad been very careless, you and your wife, to employ him. I understand\nphysiognomy, and though I only saw his back, I could swear that he is a\nrobber, and perhaps an assassin. The rims of his ears are flat, and that\nis a sign that never fails.\u2019--\u2018Ah! you noticed that the rims of his ears\nwere flat?\u2019--\u2018Nothing escapes me. My dear Monsieur Bergeret, if you do\nnot wish to be assassinated with your wife and your children, do not let\nPutois come into your house again. Take my advice: have all your\nlocks changed.\u2019--Well, a few days afterward, it happened that Madame\nCornouiller had three melons stolen from her vegetable garden. The\nrobber not having been found, she suspected Putois. The gendarmes were\ncalled to Montplaisir, and their report confirmed the suspicions of\nMadame Cornouiller. Bands of marauders were ravaging the gardens of the\ncountryside. But this time the robbery seemed to have been committed by\none man, and with singular dexterity. No trace of anything broken, no\nfootprints in the damp earth. The robber could be no one but Putois.\nThat was the opinion of the corporal, who knew all about Putois, and\nhad tried hard to put his hand on that bird. The \u2018Journal of Saint-Omer\u2019\ndevoted an article to the three melons of Madame Cornouiller, and\npublished a portrait of Putois from descriptions furnished by the town.\n\u2018He has,\u2019 said the paper, \u2018a low forehead, squinting eyes, a shifty\nglance, crow\u2019s-feet, sharp cheek-bones, red and shining. No rims to\nthe ears. Thin, somewhat bent, feeble in appearance, in reality he is\nunusually strong. He easily bends a five-franc piece between the first\nfinger and the thumb.\u2019 There were good reasons for attributing to him a\nlong series of robberies committed with surprising dexterity. The whole\ntown was talking of Putois. One day it was learned that he had been\narrested and locked up in prison. But it was soon recognized that the\nman that had been taken for him was an almanac seller named Rigobert. As\nno charge could be brought against him, he was discharged after fourteen\nmonths of detention on suspicion. And Putois remained undiscoverable.\nMadame Cornouiller was the victim of another robbery, more audacious\nthan the first. Three small silver spoons were taken from her sideboard.\nShe recognized in this the hand of Putois, had a chain put on the door\nof her bedroom, and was unable to sleep....\n\nAbout ten o\u2019clock in the evening, Pauline having gone to her room,\nMademoiselle Bergeret said to her brother: \u201cDo not forget to relate how\nPutois betrayed Madame Cornouiller\u2019s cook.\u201d--\u201cI was thinking of it, my\nsister,\u201d answered Monsieur Bergeret. \u201cTo omit it would be to lose the\nbest of the story. But everything must be done in order. Putois was\ncarefully searched for by the police, who could not find him. When it\nwas known that he could not be found, each one considered it his duty to\nfind him; the shrewd ones succeeded. And as there were many shrewd ones\nat Saint-Omer and in the suburbs, Putois was seen simultaneously in the\nstreets, in the fields, and in the woods. Another trait was thus added\nto his character. He was accorded the gift of ubiquity, the attribute\nof many popular heroes. A being capable of leaping long distances in\na moment, and suddenly showing himself at the place where he was least\nexpected, was honestly frightening. Putois was the terror of Saint-Omer.\nMadame Cornouiller, convinced that Putois had stolen from her three\nmelons and three little spoons, lived in a state of fear, barricaded at\nMontplaisir. Bolts, bars, and locks did not reassure her. Putois was\nfor her a frightfully subtle being who could pass through doors. Trouble\nwith her servants redoubled her fear. Her cook having been betrayed,\nthe time came when she could no longer hide her misfortune. But she\nobstinately refused to name her betrayer.\u201d--\u201cHer name was Gudule,\u201d said\nMademoiselle Zoe.--\u201cHer name was Gudule, and she believed that she was\nprotected from danger by a long, forked bead that she wore on her chin.\nThe sudden appearance of a beard protected the innocence of that holy\ndaughter of the king that Prague venerates. A beard, no longer youthful,\ndid not suffice to protect the virtue of Gudule. Madame Cornouiller\nurged Gudule to tell her the man. Gudule burst into tears, but kept\nsilent. Prayers and menaces had no effect. Madame Cornouiller made a\nlong and circumstantial inquiry. She adroitly questioned her neighbors\nand tradespeople, the gardener, the street-sweeper, the gendarmes;\nnothing put her on the track of the culprit. She tried again to obtain\nfrom Gudule a complete confession. \u2018In your own interest, Gudule, tell\nme who it is.\u2019 Gudule remained mute. All at once a ray of light flashed\nthrough the mind of Madame Cornouiller: \u2018It is Putois!\u2019 The cook cried,\nbut did not answer. \u2018It is Putois! Why did I not guess it sooner? It\nis Putois! Miserable! miserable! miserable!\u2019 and Madame Cornouiller\nremained convinced that it was Putois. Everybody at Saint-Omer, from the\njudge to the lamplighter\u2019s dog, knew Gudule and her basket At the news\nthat Putois had betrayed Gudule, the town was filled with surprise,\nwonder, and merriment....\n\nWith this reputation in the town and its environs he remained attached\nto our house by a thousand subtle ties. He passed before our door, and\nit was believed that he sometimes climbed the wall of our garden. He was\nnever seen face to face. At any moment we would recognize his shadow,\nhis voice, his footsteps. More than once we thought we saw his back in\nthe twilight, at the corner of a road. To my sister and me he gradually\nchanged in character. He remained mischievous and malevolent, but he\nbecame childlike and very ingenuous. He became less real and, I\ndare say, more poetical. He entered in the artless Cycle of childish\ntraditions. He became more like Croquemitaine,* like P\u00e8re Fouettard, or\nthe sand man who closes the children\u2019s eyes when evening comes.\n\n     *The national \u201cbugaboo\u201d or \u201cbogy man.\u201d\n\nIt was not that imp that tangled the colts\u2019 tails at night in the\nstable. Less rustic and less charming, but equally and frankly roguish,\nhe made ink mustaches on my sister\u2019s dolls. In our bed, before going to\nsleep, we listened; he cried on the roofs with the cats, he howled with\nthe dogs, he filled the mill hopper with groans, and imitated the songs\nof belated drunkards in the streets. What made Putois ever-present and\nfamiliar to us, what interested us in him, was that the remembrance of\nhim was associated with all the objects about us. Zoe\u2019s dolls, my school\nbooks, in which he had many times rumpled and besmeared the pages; the\ngarden wall, over which we had seen his red eyes gleam in the shadow;\nthe blue porcelain jar that he cracked one winter\u2019s night, unless it\nwas the frost; the trees, the streets, the benches--everything recalled\nPutois, the children\u2019s Putois, a local and mythical being. He did not\nequal in grace and poetry the dullest satyr, the stoutest fawn of\nSicily or Thessaly. But he was still a demigod. He had quite a different\ncharacter for our father; he was symbolical and philosophical. Our\nfather had great compassion for men. He did not think them altogether\nrational; their mistakes, when they were not cruel, amused him and\nmade him smile. The belief in Putois interested him as an epitome and a\nsummary of all human beliefs. As he was ironical and a joker, he spoke\nof Putois as if he were a real being. He spoke with so much insistence\nsometimes, and detailed the circumstances with such exactness, that my\nmother was quite surprised and said to him in her open-hearted way:\n\u2018One would say that you spoke seriously, my friend: you know well,\nhowever...\u2019 He replied gravely: \u2018All Saint-Omer believes in the\nexistence of Putois. Would I be a good citizen if I deny him? One should\nlook twice before setting aside an article of common faith.\u2019 Only\na perfectly honest soul has such scruples. At heart my father was a\nGassendiste.* He keyed his own particular sentiment with the public\nsentiment, believing, like the countryside, in the existence of Putois,\nbut not admitting his direct responsibility for the theft of the\nmelons and the betrayal of the cook. Finally, he professed faith in the\nexistence of a Putois, to be a good citizen; and he eliminated Putois in\nhis explanations of the events that took place in the town. By doing so\nin this instance, as in all others, he was an honorable and a sensible\nman.\n\n     * A follower of Gassendi (d. 1655), an exponent of Epicurus.\n\n\u201cAs for our mother, she reproached herself somewhat for the birth of\nPutois, and not without reason. Because, after all, Putois was the child\nof our mother\u2019s invention, as Caliban was the poet\u2019s invention. Without\ndoubt the faults were not equal, and my mother was more innocent than\nShakespeare. However, she was frightened and confused to see her little\nfalsehood grow inordinately, and her slight imposture achieve such a\nprodigious success, that, without stopping, extended all over town\nand threatened to extend over the world. One day she even turned pale,\nbelieving that she would see her falsehood rise up before her. That day,\na servant she had, new to the house and the town, came to say to her\nthat a man wished to see her. He wished to speak to Madame. \u2018What man\nis it?\u2019--\u2018A man in a blouse. He looks like a laborer.\u2019--\u2018Did he give his\nname?\u2019--\u2018Yes, Madame.\u2019--\u2018Well! what is his name?\u2019--\u2018Putois.\u2019--\u2018He told\nyou that was his name?\u2019--\u2018Putois, yes, Madame.\u2019--\u2018He is here?\u2019--\u2018Yes,\nMadame. He is waiting in the kitchen.\u2019--\u2018You saw him?\u2019--\u2018Yes,\nMadame.\u2019--\u2018What does he want?\u2019--\u2018He did not say. He will only tell\nMadame.\u2019--\u2018Go ask him.\u2019\n\n\u201cWhen the servant returned to the kitchen Putois was gone. This meeting\nof the new servant with Putois was never cleared up. But from that day\nI think my mother commenced to believe that Putois might well exist and\nthat she had not told a falsehood after all.\u201d","title":"Putois: 1907","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":4610}