My friends make fun of my weakness for the colour of _yellow_.
I confess that I adore it, notwithstanding that I have good reason to
detest it. Truly, human nature is a bundle of contradictions!
I love yellow because of a certain episode in my life which occurred
when I was but eight years of age. I love nankeen above all on account
of a jacket of that material, which played in that episode an important
part.
Ah! that jacket of nankeen!
How came it about that I was smitten with the insane desire of
possessing such a thing? The cause is not far to seek. It was _Love_!
Love in a child of eight? Why not? You will see presently that I speak
without any exaggeration.
At that now distant time we resided at Auxerre.
I knew how to read, write, and count. For the further progress of my
education I was sent to a small day-school, kept by two maiden
ladies--humble, gentle souls, who in affectionate care for their pupils
satisfied in some degree their instinct of maternal tenderness.
Poor Demoiselles Dulorre!
Our school, which had been placed under the pious patronage of Saint
Elisabeth, was a mixed one. That is to say, up to the age of ten years,
boys and girls worked and played together. In spite of occasional
quarrels, the system, on the whole, worked very well.
I had not been eight days at Saint Elisabeth's before I fell in love. Do
not laugh! I loved with all the strength of my child-nature, with a love
disinterested, simple, sincere.
It was Georgette whom I loved, but, alas! Georgette did not love me.
How much I suffered in consequence! I used to hide myself in corners,
shedding many tears, and racking my brains to find some means of
pleasing the obdurate fair one. Labour in vain, a thankless task, at
eight years of age or at thirty!
To distinguish myself in my studies, to win by my exemplary conduct the
encomiums of the sisters Dulorre--all this made no impression upon cruel
Georgette. She made no secret of her preference for a dull, idle,
blustering fellow of nine years old, who won all the races, who could
fling a ball farther than anyone else, carry two huge dictionaries under
his arm, and administer terrible thumps.
This hero was rightly nicknamed _Met-a-Mort_.
I knew what his blows were like, having been the involuntary recipient
of some of them. Some, do I say? I had received more than a dilatory
donkey on the road to the fair!
And Georgette had only laughed!
[Illustration: "MY REDOUBTABLE RIVAL."]
Obviously, it was absurd to think of employing physical force against my
redoubtable rival, and intellectual superiority in this case availed me
nothing. I determined, therefore, to annihilate _Met-a-Mort_ by my
overpowering magnificence.
Naturally, our parents did not send us to school attired in our best
clothes. On the contrary, most of us wore there our oldest and shabbiest
garments. Consequently, I opined that it would be no difficult
achievement to outshine all my schoolfellows.
I should have to coax my parents into loosening their purse-strings, and
get them to buy me a beautiful new jacket.
It took me a very long time to decide what colour this jacket should be.
I mentally reviewed all the colours of the rainbow. Red tempted me; but
I doubted whether a jacket of that colour would be attainable. Should it
be blue, green, indigo, violet? No! Not one of these colours was
sufficiently striking.
I paused at yellow. That might do. It is a rich colour; there is
something sumptuous and royal about it. Summer was approaching. I
decided finally upon a jacket of nankeen.
Without delay, I set to work on my school garments. It was a work of
destruction, for I wanted to make them appear as disreputable as
possible. I slyly enlarged the holes, wrenched off the buttons, and
decorated my person lavishly with spots and stains of all kinds. Day by
day I watched, with a secret joy, the rapid progress of this work of
dilapidation.
In what I judged to be an opportune moment, I timidly expressed my
desire.
I had to do more--much more than that--before I could obtain my will. I
begged, stormed, grumbled, sulked. I became almost ill with hope
deferred. At length, for the sake of peace, my parents granted my
eccentric wish.
It was a proud moment for me when, for the first time, I arrayed myself
in that resplendent nankeen jacket, won at the cost of so many struggles
and persevering efforts. Standing before the mirror, I surveyed myself
admiringly for a full hour. I was grand! superb!
"Ah! my Lord _Met-a-Mort_! You will find yourself ousted at last! My
shining jacket will soon snatch from you the _prestige_ acquired by your
stupid, brute force. Georgette, astonished, fascinated, dazzled, and
delighted, will run towards me, for I shall now be the handsomest boy in
the school. _Met-a-Mort_ will weep for chagrin, as I have so often wept
for jealousy and mortification."
Such were my complacent reflections as, with the stride of a conqueror,
I entered the precincts of our school.
Alas for my rose-coloured anticipations! I was greeted with a broadside
of laughter. Even our gentle mistress, Ermance Dulorre, could not
repress a smile, and, above all other voices, I heard that of Georgette,
who cried mirthfully:--
"Oh! look at him! Look at him! He is a canary-bird!"
The word was caught up instantly. All the scholars shouted in chorus:
"He is a canary! A canary!"
Words fail me to describe my bitter disappointment, my burning shame and
chagrin. I saw my folly now. But it was too late--the awful deed was
done! Worse than all, in order to obtain this now odious jacket, I had
spoiled all my other jackets, and had nothing else to wear! When, on the
evening of that most miserable day, I told my troubles to my father and
mother, they were merely amused, and said to me:--
"It is entirely your own fault. You insisted upon having the jacket, and
now you must put up with it!"
Thus was I condemned to the perpetual wearing of my yellow jacket, which
entailed upon me no end of petty miseries.
Every day, at school, I was jeered at and insulted. Even the babies of
three years--sweet, blue-eyed, golden-haired cherubs--pointed at me with
their tiny fingers, and lisped, "Canary! Canary!"
[Illustration: "I WAS JEERED AT AND INSULTED."]
How was I to extricate myself from this extremely unpleasant situation?
One upper garment still remained to me--an old, thick, heavy, winter
mantle. The idea occurred to me that I might utilize this to conceal my
too gorgeous plumage. We were now in the month of June, and the weather
was tropical. No matter! In class and playground, I appeared buttoned up
in my big cloak, bathed in perspiration, but happy in having hidden my
shame.
To Mademoiselle Ermance's expression of surprise, I answered that I had
a cold. I did not deviate widely from the truth. Two days later, thanks
to this over-heating, I had a very real one.
The device did not serve me long. My parents found me out, and promptly
deprived me of my protecting shell, thus obliging me to attend school
again in the costume of a canary. The former annoyances re-commenced.
Vacation time was at hand, and Georgette, of whom I was more enamoured
than ever, remained still cold and indifferent.
One day we were playing the game of brigands and gendarmes. I was one of
the gendarmes, who were invariably beaten.
_Met-a-Mort_ had nominated himself captain of the brigands, and chose
Georgette for his _vivandiere_.
Presently, for a few minutes there was a suspension of hostilities.
Brigands and gendarmes fraternized, as they quenched their thirst, and
expatiated upon the joys of the fray. Suddenly Georgette, with her
accustomed vivacity, broke in upon our little group. She bore in her
hands a glass ink-bottle.
"See!" said her sweet voice. "Whoever will drink this ink shall,
by-and-by, be my little husband!"
_Met-a-Mort_ and the rest exploded with laughter.
When we resumed our game, I discovered that I had lost all interest in
it. Georgette's words haunted me.
Cries of joy arose from our camp. The enemy's _vivandiere_ had been
captured. I was told off to guard the prisoner; you may guess whether I
was happy!
Georgette tried bribery.
"Oh! let me go! let me go! and I will give you ten pens."
Much I cared for her pens!
"Did you mean what you said just now, mademoiselle?" I timidly inquired.
"What?"
"That whoever would drink the ink should be your little husband?"
"Yes, stupid! But let me go--"
"Then it is true?"
"Of course it is. Let me go!"