Putois | Page 3

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 mythical beings the power to influence men! Consider
mythology, Monsieur Goubin, and you will perceive that they are not
real beings but imaginary beings that exercise the most profound and
lasting influence on the mind. Everywhere and always, beings who
have no more reality than Putois have inspired nations with hatred 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 worthy of appearing in a
picture by Jordaens and a fable 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 delightful imagination in which fables take root. I
think, Messieurs, that I have said enough to show you the real nature of
Putois."
"I understand it," said Monsieur Goubin. And Monsieur Bergeret
continued his discourse.
"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 lapse of memory. One cannot remember
everything. But the unknown who spoke 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
wager 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 judgment."--"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 remarkably 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 injustice 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 yews. 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 laborers. 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