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 title, "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 knobs 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 nobody 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 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, 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 buttonhole!
"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?"
"Yes, but it is a secret, a great secret."
She had put the glorious garment into a cupboard, and came to her
husband pale 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
not be officially announced for a month or six weeks, and you were not
to have known till your return from your business journey. M. Rosselin
managed it for you."
"Rosselin!" he contrived to utter in his joy; "he has obtained the
decoration 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 the
overcoat. Caillard picked it up; it was a visiting-card, and he read
out:
"Rosselin--Deputy."
"You see how it is," said his wife.
He almost cried with joy, and, a week later, it was announced in the
_Journal Officiel_ that M. Caillard had been awarded the Legion of Honor
on account of his exceptional services.