Some people are born with a predominant instinct, with some vocation or
some desire which has been evoked as soon as they begin to speak or to
think.
Ever since he was a child M. Caillard had only had one idea in his
head--to be decorated. When he was still quite a small boy he used to
wear a zinc Cross of the Legion of Honor in his tunic, just like other
children wear a soldier's cap, and he took his mother's hand in the
street with a proud look, sticking out his little chest with its red
ribbon and metal star so that it might show to advantage.
His studies were not a success, and he failed in his Examination for
Bachelor 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, like many rich middle-class people do, mixing with
their own particular set, without going among other people, and proud of
knowing a Deputy, who might perhaps be a Minister some day, while two
Chiefs of Division were among their friends.
But Mons. Caillard could not get rid of his one absorbing idea, and he
felt constantly unhappy because he had not the right to wear a little
bit of colored ribbon in his buttonhole.
When he met any men who were decorated, on the boulevards, he looked at
them askance, with intense jealousy. Sometimes, when he had nothing to
do in the afternoon, he would count them, and say to himself: "Just let
me see how many I shall meet between the Madeleine and the Rue Druot."
Then he would walk slowly, looking at every coat with a practiced eye
for the little bit of red ribbon, and when he had got to the end of his
walk he always said the numbers out aloud. "Eight officers and seventeen
knights. As many as that! It is stupid to sow the Cross broadcast in
that fashion. I wonder how many I shall meet going back?"
And he returned slowly, unhappy when the crowd of passers-by interfered
with his seeing them.
He knew the places where most were to be found. They swarmed in the
Palais Royal. Fewer were seen in the Avenue de l'Opera than in the Rue
de la Paix, while the right side of the boulevard was more frequented by
them than the left.
They also seemed to prefer certain cafés and theaters. Whenever he saw a
group of white-haired old gentlemen standing together in the middle of
the pavement, interfering with the traffic, he used to say to himself:
"They are officers of the Legion of Honor," and he felt inclined to take
off his hat to them.
He had often remarked that the officers had a different bearing to the
mere knights. They carried their head differently, and one felt that
they enjoyed a higher official consideration, and a more widely-extended
importance.
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 passing 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."