TOUS LES MATINSTous les matins, à s

TOUS LES MATINS

Tous les matins, à sept heures précises, le réveil de Papa faisait entendre sa petite sonnerie grelottante.Papa ouvrait un œil, puis l’autre, s’étirait, bâillait, embrassait Maman sur la joue, se levait en titubant un peu, retenant d’une main ses pantalons de pyjama, et frappait au mur de ma chambre.
– Il est sept heures! criait-il.
Comme si je ne l’avais pas deviné!..
Il attendait quelques instants, pendant les quels j’émergeais douloureusement du som-meil. Puis il criait de nouveau, à travers la porte:
– Tu as entendu, Robert?
– J’avais entendu, hélas!
– Voilà! répondais-je. .
Et, atteignant sur la descente de lit une de
mes babouches, je la ra clais contre le parquet pour faire croire que je venais de me lever.
– Enfin! disait Papa, rassuré.
Il revenait vers sa table de nuit, y prenait une rustine de “corned plaster”, qu’il appli-quait soigneusement sur son petit orteil. Il attei¬gnait alors sous son lit ses deux petits haltères et commençait ses mouvements respiratoires:
– Une ... deux!... Une deux!... Une …
Il s’interrompait pour crier, à mon intention:
– Alors... Je ne t’entends pas!
Le quart d’heure de culture physique familiale était l’un de ses bons moments de la journée.
Je me hâtais, toujours couché, d’inspirer et d’expirer avec un bruit de soufflet de forge, susceptible d’être entendu à travers la porte:
– Mm... Pff! .. Mm ... Pff!...
– Pas si vite, pas si vite! protestait alors Papa, pour la forme, mais on devinait à sa voix qu’il était ravi.
Nous utilisions ensuite le lavabo, en file infinie. Papa faisait sa toilette le premier. Il se rasait avec un “sabre”. Et tandis qu’il procédait à cette dangereuse opération, il répétait à mi-voix une phrase, toujours la même:
– Ce sont ces vieilles chaussettes qui sèchent, disait une duchesse de vieille souche ...
Paroles sibyllines, qui s’expliquaient dès qu’on savait que Papa avait eu dans sa jeunesse un défaut de prononciation, dont il s’était débarrassé à force d’exercices opiniâtres, renouvelés de Démosthène1.
Sans doute à cause de cela, le célèbre orateur grec était son maître et son dieu ... “Quand vous rencontrez une difficulté, avait-il l’habitude d’énoncer, dites-vous simplement: que ferait Démosthène s’il était à ma place?...”
Entre-temps, Maman s’était levée, et nous prenions tous les trois notre petit dé jeuner – pain, beurre et café noir – dans la salle à manger.
– “... Région parisienne. – Temps beau mais lourd avec des nuages passagers. Température maximale supérieure à 25°...” nasillait la radio ...
Et Maman, poète, ajoutait:
– Les nuages sont merveilleux, ce matin.
Papa, pratique, concluait alors:
– Tu as raison, je vais prendre mon parapluie.
Venait ensuite la cérémonie de l’heure exacte.
– “Au quatrième top”, annonçait la radio ...
Mon père, qui avait un œil fixé sur sa montre et l’autre sur le cadran de la pendule, les mettait à l’heure toutes les deux. Alors seulement, il consentait à s’asseoir, et trempait machinalement ses tartines tout en parcourant le journal.

Les nouvelles politiques avaient le don, chaque matin, de le remplir d’une allègre amertume:
– Il y a des canailles que je me ferais une joie de mettre en prison, l’entendions-nous murmurer.
– Tu as bien raison, répondais-je.
– Tiens! disait Papa, étonné. Pour une fois nous sommes d’accord.
Ce n’était pas vrai, bien entendu. Nous ne parlions pas de mêmes canailles, voilà tout. Papa était un ancien anarchiste devenu conservateur en attrapant la cinquantaine. Et j’étais sans doute un futur conservateur qui me croyais anarchiste parce que j’avais vingt-trois ans et pas encore mal au foie. Quant à Ma¬man, ses opinions étaient très personnelles. D’une indiffé¬rence olym¬pienne en ce qui concernait la lutte des classes et l’avenir de la démocratie, elle votait pour les candidats qui lui avaient fait la meilleure impression. La couleur de leurs yeux avait beau¬coup plus d’importance pour elle que leur programme.
Maman détestait que nous parlions politique au petit déjeuner.
– Servez-vous, tenez, cela vaudra mieux! grondait-elle.
Mais c’était elle qui nous servait. Elle trônait, telle une cais¬sière de café, distribuait les tartines, veillait au sucre, au beurre, et à ma façon de manger.
– Robert, tiens-toi droit, me disait-elle.
Ou bien:
– Ton pauvre frère, lui, ne se jetait pas sur le sucre comme la pauvreté sur le monde.
Mon pauvre frère!... Ah! elle ne me permettait pas de l’ou¬ l’ou¬blier, mon frère Paul, décédé à l’âge de quatre ans.
Mais Papa avait fini de manger. Il pliait sa serviette de table, mettait sous son bras gauche sa serviette en cuir, posait sur sa tête son chapeau noir à bord roulé ... Lui et moi embrassions Maman, chacun sur une joue, et nous partions, lui pour Sainte-Beuve à Auteuil2, moi pour le cabinet Turpin, boulevard Hauss¬mann, près de Saint-Lazare3.
Maman se mettait alors à sa table de travail, et se plongeait dans ses traductions. De temps à autre, elle relisait une phrase à haute voix.

D’après Jean-Paul Le Chanois et Marcel Aymé,
Papa, Maman, la Bonne et Moi

1 Démosthène (384-322 av. J.-C.) est un homme d'État athé¬nien, l'un des plus grands orateurs attiques. Ses problèmes d'élo¬cution lui valurent le surnom de “bègue”, défaut qui, dit la légende, le con¬trai¬gnit à s'entraîner à parler avec des cailloux dans la bouche.
2 Auteuil – le quartier de Paris
3 Saint-Lazare – la gare à Paris

Результаты (английский) 1:

EVERY MORNINGEvery morning, at seven specific, the awakening of dad was hear his small shaking ringtone. Papa opened one eye, then the other, stretched, bâillait, kissed MOM on the cheek, rose in reeling a bit, holding his Pajama pants with one hand and hit the wall of my room. -It is seven hours! cried.As if I had not guessed!...He waited a few moments, during the which I painfully som-meil am. Then again, shouting through the door:-You have heard, Robert?-I had heard, alas!-This is! answered I. .And up on the bed a descent from my slippers, I ra clais against the Prosecutor's office to make believe that I'd just get up.-Finally! said dad, reassured.He returned to her bedside table, there was a patch of "corned plaster", that it app-quait carefully on his little toe. He attei¬gnait then under his bed his small two dumbbells and began its respiratory movements:-One... two!... One two!... One...He interrupted to shout to my intention:-Then... I can't hear you!The quarter of an hour of family physical culture was one of its moments of the day.I bettered myself, always lying, to inspire and to expire with a bellows forge, likely to be heard through noise the door: -Mm... PFF!.. Mm... PFF!...-Not so fast, not so fast! then protested dad, for the form, but one role to his voice he was pleased.We then use the lavatory, in infinite file. Dad made her the first toilet. He shaved with a "sabre". And while conducting this dangerous operation, he repeated to softly a sentence, always the same:-What are these old socks that dry, said a Duchess of old stock...Cryptic words, which are explained as soon as we knew that dad had in his youth a defect of pronunciation, which it was RID by the dint of stubborn, renewed by demosthene1 exercises.Probably because of this, the famous Greek orator was his master and his God... "When you encounter a difficulty, he used to set out, just tell you: that Demosthenes would do if he were in my place?..."Meanwhile, MOM was lifted, and we take all three our little of breakfast - bread, butter and coffee black - in the dining room.– “... Paris region. -Beautiful but heavy with passengers clouds time. Maximum temperature above 25 °..."nasillait radio...And MOM, poet, added:-The clouds are wonderful, this morning.Dad, practical, then concluded:-You're right, I'll take my umbrella.Then came the ceremony of the exact time.-"To the fourth top", announced the radio...My father, who had an eye fixed on his watch and the other on the dial of the clock, put at the time both. Then only, he consented to sit, and mechanically dipped his lunch while perusing the newspaper. The new policies had the gift, every morning, to fill a lively bitterness:-There are scoundrels that I'd be a joy to put in jail, meant it we whisper.-You're quite right, said I.-Wish! said dad, amazed. For once we agree.It wasn't true, of course. We speak not of same scoundrels, that's all. Dad was a former anarchist become conservative in catching the 50. And I was probably a future conservative who thought I was anarchist because I was twenty-three years and yet evil to the liver. As for Ma¬man, his views were very personal. Of an indiffe¬rence olym¬pienne with respect to the class struggle and the future of democracy, she was voting for candidates who had made the best impression on him. The color of their eyes had beau¬coup more important to it than their program.MOM hated that we were talking about policy at breakfast.-Serve you, hold, it will be better! She rumbled.But it was she who served us. It was such a cais¬siere of coffee, doled out the toast, was watching the sugar, butter, and my way of eating.-Robert, stand right, told me.Or:-Your poor brother, him, threw itself on sugar as poverty on the world.My poor brother!... Ah! It was not ou¬ the ou¬blier, my brother Paul, died for me at the age of four. But Papa had finished eating. He folded his napkin, placed under his left arm his briefcase, leather, raised his black hat on board rolled on his head... Him and me Kiss MOM, each on one cheek, and we were leaving it for Sainte-Beuve to Auteuil2 me for cabinet Turpin, boulevard Hauss¬mann, near Saint-Lazare3.MOM then went at his work table and plunged into his translations. From time to time, she replayed a sentence aloud.And after John Paul the Chanois and Marcel Aymé,. Dad, MOM, good and me1 Demosthenes (384-322 BC) was a statesman athe¬nien, one of the greatest orators. Its elo¬cution problems earned him the nickname of "Barney", which says the legend, the con¬trai¬gnit training to talk with pebbles in his mouth.2 Auteuil - Paris District3 saint-Lazare station in Paris

Результаты (английский) 2:

EVERY MORNING Every morning at seven o'clock, the alarm Papa was heard ringing his little grelottante.Papa opened one eye, then the other, stretched, yawned, kissed Mom on the cheek, rose a staggering little, holding in one hand his pajama pants and hit the wall of my room. - It is seven hours! he shouted. As if I had not guessed! .. He waited a few moments, during which I painfully émergeais som-meil. Then he cried again through the door: - You heard, Robert? - I had heard, alas! - There! I replied. . And up on the descent of the bed of my slippers, I ra clais against the floor to make it appear that I had to get up. - Finally! Dad said, reassured. He was returning to his night table, it took a patch of "corned plaster", he carefully app-cated on his little toe. It attei¬gnait under his bed while her two small dumbbells and began his respiratory movements - One ... two ... two ... A ... A! He broke off to shout, for me: - So. .. I can not hear you! The fifteen minutes of family fitness was one of his good moments of the day. I hurried, still lying, inspire, and exhaling with a bellows noise forge, which can be heard through the door - Mm ... Phew! Mm ... .. Phew ...! - Not so fast, not so fast! Papa then protested for form, but one divined in his voice that he was delighted. We then used the sink in endless queue. Papa was dressing first. He shaved with a "sword". And while he was conducting this dangerous operation, he repeated softly phrase, always the same: - It is those old socks drying, said a duchess old stock ... cryptic lyrics, which were due soon we knew that Dad had been in his youth a speech impediment, which he had gotten rid of stubborn force exercises of Démosthène1 renewed. Perhaps because of this, the famous Greek orator was his master and god ... "When you encounter a problem, he had the habit of stating tell you simply: Demosthenes would do if he were in my place ...?" Meanwhile, Mom had risen, and we take all three dice our little lunch - bread, butter and black coffee - in the dining room. - "... Paris region. - Time beautiful but heavy clouds with passengers. Maximum temperature above 25 ° ... "nasillait the radio ... And Mom, poet, added: -. The clouds are wonderful this morning Dad, practice, then concluded: - You're right, I'll take my umbrella. Then came the time the ceremony. - "In the fourth top", announced the radio ... My father, who had one eye on his watch and the other on the dial of the clock, put them in every two hours. Only then, he consented to sit and mechanically dipped her bread while perusing the newspaper. The new policies had the gift every morning, fill it with a gleeful bitterness: - There are scoundrels that I would a joy to jail, we heard him murmur. - You are right, 'I replied. - Look! Dad said, astonished. For once we agree. It was not true, of course. We were not talking about the same scoundrels, that's all. Dad was a former Conservative anarchist become catching fifties. And I was probably a conservative future that anarchist thought I was because I was twenty-three and not harm the liver. As for Ma¬man, opinions were very personal. In olym¬pienne indiffé¬rence with regard to the class struggle and the future of democracy, she voted for candidates who had given him the best impression. The color of their eyes beau¬coup was more important to her than their program. Mom hated that we were talking politics at breakfast. - Help yourself, here, it will be better! she scolded. But she was serving us. She sat like a coffee cais¬sière, distributed sandwiches, watched sugar, butter, and my way of eating. - Robert, stand right, she told me. Or: - Your poor brother, him does not cast upon sugar as poverty in the world. My poor brother! ... Ah! it did not allow me to ou¬ the ou¬blier, my brother Paul, who died at the age of four years. But Dad had finished eating. He folded his napkin, put under his left arm his briefcase in leather, her head rested on his black hat with rolled edge ... He and I kissed Mom, everyone on the cheek, and we left him to Sainte-Beuve Auteuil2 to myself for Turpin firm Hauss¬mann Boulevard, near Saint-Lazare3. Mom then placed at his work table, and immersed himself in his translations. From time to time, she was reading a sentence aloud. According to Jean-Paul Le Chanois and Marcel Ayme, Papa, Mama, and Me Good 1 Demosthenes (384-322 BC.) Is a man athé¬nien of State, one of the largest Attic orators. His problems élo¬cution earned him the nickname "stutterer" default which, according to legend, the con¬trai¬gnit to practice speaking with pebbles in his mouth. 2 Auteuil - Paris neighborhood 3 Saint-Lazare - the train station in Paris

Результаты (английский) 3:

EVERY MORNING

every morning, at seven o'clock sharp, the alarm clock of Papa was hear his small ringing grelottante.Papa opened an eye, then the other, once stretched, yawned, kiss mum on the cheek, rose wobbled a little, holding in one hand his pyjama bottoms, and knocked on the wall of my house.
- It is seven hours! Cried-it.
as if I had not guessed! ..
He was waiting a few moments, during which i emergeais painfully of the som-best. And then he was yelling again, through the door:
- thou hast heard, Robert?
- I had heard, alas!
- that is! Responding-i. .
And, reaching it on the descent of a bed of
my babouche slippers, i the ra clais against the prosecutor to make believe that I had just lifted.
- Finally! Said Papa, reassured.
He was returning to his night table, there was a patch of "corned plaster", that he appli-tial carefully on his little toe. It attei¬gnait then under his bed its two small free weights and began its respiratory motion:
- a ... deux! ... A deux! ... A …
it was interrupted to scream, to my intention:
- Then ... I do not hear thee not!
The quarter of an hour of physical culture family was one of its moments of the day.
i rushed, always layer, to inspire and expire with a noise of gaiter of forge, likely to be heard through the door:
- mm. .. Pff! .. Mm ... Pff! ...
- Not so fast, not so fast! Protesting then Papa, for the form, but we prefered to his voice that he was delighted.
We use then the sink, in infinite queue. Dad was making his toilet the first. He shaved his with a "sabre". And while he was in this dangerous operation, he repeated to mid-voice a sentence, always the same:
- These are the old socks that dry, said a duchess of old strain ...
words so cryptic,That is explained in that we knew that Dad had been in his youth a fault of pronunciation, which he had discarded to force of strenuous exercises, being renewed Demosthene1.
without doubt because of this, the famous Greek orator was his Master and his god ... "When you encounter a difficulty, had the habit of stating, do you say simply:That Demosthenes would be if he were in my place? ... "
Between-time, Mom was lifted, and we take all three our small of serves light lunches - bread, butter and black coffee - in the dining room.
- " ... Paris Region. - Time beautiful but heavy with clouds passengers. Maximum Temperature greater than 25° ... " nasillait radio ...
and Mom, poet, added:
- The clouds are wonderful, this morning.
Papa, practice, then concluded:
- Thou hast reason, I will take my umbrella.
then came the ceremony of the exact time.
- "The fourth top", announced the radio ...
my father, who had one eye on his watch and the other on the dial of the pendulum, put to the hour every two. Only then, he consented to sit down,And rote smacked his toast while perusing the newspaper.

The new policies had the gift, each morning, fill it with a cheerful bitterness:
- There is the dross that i'd be happy to put them in prison, the hear-we mutter.
- Thou hast well reason, was responding-i.
- Want! Dad said, surprised. For once we agree.
This was not true,Of course. We are not talking about same rascals, that is all. Daddy was a former anarchist become a conservative by grasping the fifties. And I was without doubt a future conservative which i thought anarchist because I had twenty-three years and still not damage the liver. As to Ma¬man, her opinions were very personal.A indiffe¬rence olym¬pienne in regard to the struggle of the classes and the future of democracy, it was voting for the candidates that he had made the best impression. The color of their eyes had beau¬coup more importance to it that their program.
Mom hated that we were talking about policy at breakfast.
- Use you, hold, it will be best! Rumbled-it.
But it was she who served us. She glowered, such a cais¬siere of coffee, distributing the toast, ensured the sugar, the butter, and to my way of eating.
- Robert, wish-thee right, told me-it.
or well:
- thy poor brother, him, will not be cast not on sugar as poverty on the world.
my poor frere! ... Ah! She did not permit me to the ou¬ the ou¬blier, my brother Paul,Died at the age of four years.
But dad had finished eating. It accedes its napkin, placed under his arm left his towel in leather, raised on his head his black hat with roll edge ... He and I have kissed and made up Mum, each on a played, and we were leaving, him for Sainte-Beuve to Auteuil2, me for the cabinet Turpin, boulevard Hauss¬mann, close to Saint Lazare 3.
Mom was then at its work table, and was immersed in its translations. From time to time she would reread a sentence aloud.

OF after John Paul The Chanois and Marcel Ayme,
Papa, Mama, good and I

1 Demosthenes (384-322 av. J. -C. ) is a man of State athe¬nien, one of the greatest speakers attic. Its problems of elo¬cution earned him the nickname of "begue", default which,The legend says, the con¬trai¬gnit to train in talk with rocks in the mouth.
2 d'Auteuil - the district of Paris
3 Lazare - the train station in Paris