France -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
It was a large sheet of paper, yellow with age, with folds cut by wear,
on which was drawn boldly a symbolical tree, whose branches spread and
subdivided into five rows of broad leaves; and each leaf bore a name,
and contained, in minute handwriting, a biography, a hereditary case.
A scientist’s joy took possession of the doctor at sight of this labor
of twenty years, in which the laws of heredity established by him were
so clearly and so completely applied.
“Look, child! You know enough about the matter, you have copied enough
of my notes to understand. Is it not beautiful? A document so complete,
so conclusive, in which there is not a gap? It is like an experiment
made in the laboratory, a problem stated and solved on the blackboard.
You see below, the trunk, the common stock, Aunt Dide; then the three
branches issuing from it, the legitimate branch, Pierre Rougon, and the
two illegitimate branches, Ursule Macquart and Antoine Macquart; then,
new branches arise, and ramify, on one side, Maxime, Clotilde, and
Victor, the three children of Saccard, and Angelique, the daughter of
Sidonie Rougon; on the other, Pauline, the daughter of Lisa Macquart,
and Claude, Jacques, Étienne, and Anna, the four children of Gervaise,
her sister; there, at the extremity, is Jean, their brother, and here
in the middle, you see what I call the knot, the legitimate issue and
the illegitimate issue, uniting in Marthe Rougon and her cousin
François Mouret, to give rise to three new branches, Octave, Serge, and
Désirée Mouret; while there is also the issue of Ursule and the hatter
Mouret; Silvère, whose tragic death you know; Hélène and her daughter
Jean; finally, at the top are the latest offshoots, our poor Charles,
your brother Maxime’s son, and two other children, who are dead,
Jacques Louis, the son of Claude Lantier, and Louiset, the son of Anna
Coupeau. In all five generations, a human tree which, for five springs
already, five springtides of humanity, has sent forth shoots, at the
impulse of the sap of eternal life.”
He became more and more animated, pointing out each case on the sheet
of old yellow paper, as if it were an anatomical chart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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