Sometimes again the worthy man would be seized with a furious hatred for everyone who was decorated; he felt like a Socialist towards them.
Then, when he got home, excited at meeting so many Crosses--just like a poor hungry wretch is on pa.s.sing some dainty provision shop--he used 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 all the decorations were sold, and he examined all the emblems of various shapes and colors. He would have liked to possess them all, and to have walked gravely at the head of a procession with his crush-hat under his arm and his breast covered with decorations, radiant as a star, amid a buzz of admiring 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 to obtain the Legion of Honor unless he is some public functionary. Suppose I try to get appointed an officer of the Academy!"
But he did not know how to set about it, and spoke to his wife on the subject, 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 how to set about it. You are quite stupid at times."
She smiled. "You are quite right; I don"t understand anything about it."
An idea struck him: "Suppose you were to speak to M. Rosselin, the Deputy, he might be able to advise me. You understand I cannot broach the subject to him directly. It is rather difficult and delicate, but coming from you it might seem quite natural."
Mme. Caillard did what he asked her, and M. Rosselin promised to speak to the Minister about it, and then Caillard began to worry him, till the Deputy told him he must make a formal application and put forward his claims.
"What were his claims?" he said. "He was not even a Bachelor of Arts."
However, he set to work and produced a pamphlet, with the t.i.tle, "The People"s Right to Instruction," but he could not finish it for want of ideas.
He sought for easier subjects, and began several in succession. The first was, "The Instruction of Children by means of the Eye." He wanted gratuitous theaters to be established in every poor quarter of Paris for little children. Their parents were to take them there when they were quite young, and, by means of a magic-lantern, all the notions of human knowledge were to be imparted to them. There were to be regular courses.
The sight would educate the mind, while the pictures would remain impressed on the brain, and thus science would, so to say, be made visible. What could be more simple than to teach universal history, natural history, geography, botany, zoology, anatomy, &c., &c., thus?
He had his ideas printed in tract form, and sent a copy to each Deputy, ten to each Minister, fifty to the President of the Republic, ten to each Parisian and five to each provincial newspaper.
Then he wrote on "Street Lending-Libraries." His idea was to have little carts full of books drawn about the streets, like orange-carts are. Every householder or lodger would have a right to ten volumes a month by means of a halfpenny subscription.
"The people," M. Caillard said, "will only disturb itself for the sake of its pleasures, and since it will not go to instruction, instruction must come to it," &c., &c.
His essays attracted no attention, but he sent in his application, and he got 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 interview with the Minister of Public Instruction, and he was received by a young subordinate, who already was very grave and important, and who kept touching the k.n.o.bs of electric-bells to summon ushers, and footmen, and officials inferior to himself. He declared to M. Caillard that his matter was going on quite favorably, and advised him to continue his remarkable labors, and M. Caillard set at it again.
M. Rosselin, the Deputy, seemed now to take a great interest in his success, and gave him a lot of excellent, practical advice. He was decorated, although n.o.body knew exactly what he had done to deserve such a distinction.
He told Caillard what new studies he ought to undertake; he introduced him to learned Societies which took up particularly obscure points of science, in the hope of gaining credit and honors thereby; and he even took him under his wing at the Ministry.
One day, when he came to lunch with his friend (for several months past he had constantly taken his meals there), he said to him in a whisper as he shook hands: "I have just obtained a great favor for you. The Committee 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 week later he set out. He went from town to town, studying catalogues, rummaging in lofts full of dusty volumes, and was hated by all the librarians.
One day, happening to be at Rouen, he thought he should like to go and embrace his wife, whom he had not seen for more than a week, so he took the nine 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 at the idea of the surprise he was going to give her. She had locked herself 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 bed and speak to herself, as if she were in a dream. Then she went to her dressing-room, opened and closed the door, and went quickly up and down her room barefoot two or three times, shaking the furniture till the vases and gla.s.ses 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, like he did everything, and from a chair he took his overcoat, which he was in the habit of hanging up in the hall. But, suddenly, he remained motionless, struck dumb with astonishment--there was a red ribbon in the b.u.t.tonhole!
"Why," he stammered, "this--this--this--this overcoat has got the rosette in it!"
In a second his wife threw herself on him, and taking it from his hands, 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 it has the Legion of Honor on it."
She tried to take it from him, terrified, and hardly able to say:
"Listen ... listen ... give it 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 belong to 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 an armchair.
"I am ... you say I am ... decorated?"