The Legion of Honor
From the time some people begin to talk they seem to have anovermastering desire or vocation.Ever since he was a child, M. Caillard had only had one idea in his head-to wear the ribbon of an order. When he was still quite a small boy heused to wear a zinc cross of the Legion of Honor pinned on his tunic,just as other children wear a soldier's cap, and he took his mother'shand in the street with a proud air, sticking out his little chest withits red ribbon and metal star so that it might show to advantage.His studies were not a success, and he failed in his examination forBachelor of Arts; so, not knowing what to do, he married a pretty girl,as he had plenty of money of his own.They lived in Paris, as many rich middle-class people do, mixing withtheir own particular set, and proud of knowing a deputy, who mightperhaps be a minister some day, and counting two heads of departmentsamong their friends.But M. Caillard could not get rid of his one absorbing idea, and he feltconstantly unhappy because he had not the right to wear a little bit ofcolored ribbon in his buttonhole.When he met any men who were decorated on the boulevards, he looked atthem askance, with intense jealousy. Sometimes, when he had nothing todo in the afternoon, he would count them, and say to himself: "Just letme see how many I shall meet between the Madeleine and the Rue Drouot."Then he would walk slowly, looking at every coat with a practiced eye forthe little bit of red ribbon, and when he had got to the end of his walkhe always repeated the numbers aloud."Eight officers and seventeen knights. As many as that! It is stupid tosow the cross broadcast in that fashion. I wonder how many I shall meetgoing back?"And he returned slowly, unhappy when the crowd of passers-by interferedwith his vision.He knew the places where most were to be found. They swarmed in thePalais Royal. Fewer were seen in the Avenue de 1'Opera than in the Ruede la Paix, while the right side of the boulevard was more frequented bythem than the left.They also seemed to prefer certain cafes and theatres. Whenever he saw agroup of white-haired old gentlemen standing together in the middle ofthe pavement, interfering with the traffic, he used to say to himself:"They are officers of the Legion of Honor," and he felt inclined to takeoff his hat to them.He had often remarked that the officers had a different bearing to themere knights. They carried their head differently, and one felt thatthey enjoyed a higher official consideration and a more widely extendedimportance.Sometimes, however, the worthy man would be seized with a furious hatredfor every one who was decorated; he felt like a Socialist toward them.Then, when he got home, excited at meeting so many crosses--just as apoor, hungry wretch might be on passing some dainty provision shop--heused to ask in a loud voice:"When shall we get rid of this wretched government?"And his wife would be surprised, and ask:"What is the matter with you to-day?""I am indignant," he replied, "at the injustice I see going on around us.Oh, the Communards were certainly right!"After dinner he would go out again and look at the shops where thedecorations were sold, and he examined all the emblems of various shapesand colors. He would have liked to possess them all, and to have walkedgravely at the head of a procession, with his crush hat under his arm andhis breast covered with decorations, radiant as a star, amid a buzz ofadmiring whispers and a hum of respect.But, alas! he had no right to wear any decoration whatever.He used to say to himself: "It is really too difficult for any man toobtain the Legion of Honor unless he is some public functionary. SupposeI try to be appointed an officer of the Academy!"But he did not know how to set about it, and spoke on the subject to hiswife, who was stupefied."Officer of the Academy! What have you done to deserve it?"He got angry. "I know what I am talking about. I only want to know howto set about it. You are quite stupid at times."She smiled. "You are quite right. I don't understand anything aboutit."An idea struck him: "Suppose you were to speak to M. Rosselin, thedeputy; he might be able to advise me. You understand I cannot broachthe subject to him directly. It is rather difficult and delicate, butcoming from you it might seem quite natural."Mme. Caillard did what he asked her, and M. Rosselin promised to speak tothe minister about it; and then Caillard began to worry him, till thedeputy told him he must make a formal application and put forward hisclaims."What were his charms?" he said. "He was not even a Bachelor of Arts."However, he set to work and produced a pamphlet, with the title, "ThePeople's Right to Instruction," but he could not finish it for want ofideas.He sought for easier subjects, and began several in succession. Thefirst was, "The Instruction of Children by Means of the Eye." He wantedgratuitous theatres to be established in every poor quarter of Paris forlittle children. Their parents were to take them there when they werequite young, and, by means of a magic lantern, all the notions of humanknowledge were to be imparted to them. There were to be regular courses.The sight would educate the mind, while the pictures would remainimpressed on the brain, and thus science would, so to say, be madevisible. What could be more simple than to teach universal history,natural history, geography, botany, zoology, anatomy, etc., etc., in thismanner?He had his ideas printed in pamphlets, and sent a copy to each deputy,ten to each minister, fifty to the President of the Republic, ten to eachParisian, and five to each provincial newspaper.Then he wrote on "Street Lending-Libraries." His idea was to have littlepushcarts full of books drawn about the streets. Everyone would have aright to ten volumes a month in his home on payment of one sou."The people," M. Caillard said, "will only disturb itself for the sake ofits pleasures, and since it will not go to instruction, instruction mustcome to it," etc., etc.His essays attracted no attention, but he sent in his application, and hegot the usual formal official reply. He thought himself sure of success,but nothing came of it.Then he made up his mind to apply personally. He begged for an interviewwith the Minister of Public Instruction, and he was received by a youngsubordinate, who was very grave and important, and kept touching theknobs of electric bells to summon ushers, and footmen, and officialsinferior to himself. He declared to M. Caillard that his matter wasgoing on quite favorably, and advised him to continue his remarkablelabors, and M. Caillard set at it again.M. Rosselin, the deputy, seemed now to take a great interest in hissuccess, and gave him a lot of excellent, practical advice. He, himself,was decorated, although nobody knew exactly what he had done to deservesuch a distinction.He told Caillard what new studies he ought to undertake; he introducedhim to learned societies which took up particularly obscure points ofscience, in the hope of gaining credit and honors thereby; and he eventook him under his wing at the ministry.One day, when he came to lunch with his friend--for several months pasthe had constantly taken his meals there--he said to him in a whisper ashe shook hands: "I have just obtained a great favor for you. TheCommittee of Historical Works is going to intrust you with a commission.There are some researches to be made in various libraries in France."Caillard was so delighted that he could scarcely eat or drink, and a weeklater he set out. He went from town to town, studying catalogues,rummaging in lofts full of dusty volumes, and was hated by all thelibrarians.One day, happening to be at Rouen, he thought he should like to go andvisit his wife, whom he had not seen for more than a week, so he took thenine o'clock train, which would land him at home by twelve at night.He had his latchkey, so he went in without making any noise, delighted atthe idea of the surprise he was going to give her. She had lockedherself in. How tiresome! However, he cried out through the door:"Jeanne, it is I!"She must have been very frightened, for he heard her jump out of her bedand speak to herself, as if she were in a dream. Then she went to herdressing room, opened and closed the door, and went quickly up and downher room barefoot two or three times, shaking the furniture till thevases and glasses sounded. Then at last she asked:"Is it you, Alexander?""Yes, yes," he replied; "make haste and open the door."As soon as she had done so, she threw herself into his arms, exclaiming:"Oh, what a fright! What a surprise! What a pleasure!"He began to undress himself methodically, as he did everything, and tookfrom a chair his overcoat, which he was in the habit of hanging up in thehall. But suddenly he remained motionless, struck dumb withastonishment--there was a red ribbon in the buttonhole:"Why," he stammered, "this--this--this overcoat has got the ribbon init!"In a second, his wife threw herself on him, and, taking it from hishands, she said:"No! you have made a mistake--give it to me."But he still held it by one of the sleeves, without letting it go,repeating in a half-dazed manner:"Oh! Why? Just explain-- Whose overcoat is it? It is not mine, as ithas the Legion of Honor on it."She tried to take it from him, terrified and hardly able to say:"Listen--listen! Give it to me! I must not tell you! It is a secret.Listen to me!"But he grew angry and turned pale."I want to know how this overcoat comes to be here? It does not belongto me."Then she almost screamed at him:"Yes, it does; listen! Swear to me--well--you are decorated!"She did not intend to joke at his expense.He was so overcome that he let the overcoat fall and dropped into anarmchair."I am--you say I am--decorated?""Yes, but it is a secret, a great secret."She had put the glorious garment into a cupboard, and came to her husbandpale and trembling."Yes," she continued, "it is a new overcoat that I have had made for you.But I swore that I would not tell you anything about it, as it will notbe officially announced for a month or six weeks, and you were not tohave known till your return from your business journey. M. Rosselinmanaged it for you.""Rosselin!" he contrived to utter in his joy. "He has obtained thedecoration for me? He--Oh!"And he was obliged to drink a glass of water.A little piece of white paper fell to the floor out of the pocket of theovercoat. Caillard picked it up; it was a visiting card, and he readout:"Rosselin-Deputy.""You see how it is," said his wife.He almost cried with joy, and, a week later, it was announced in theJournal Officiel that M. Caillard had been awarded the Legion of Honor onaccount of his exceptional services.
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