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 Sacrement did what he asked her, and M. Rosselin promised to speak
to the Minister about it. Then Sacrement 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 theatres 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, zoölogy, anatomy, etc., etc., 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 half-penny subscription.
"The people," M. Sacrement said, "will only disturb itself for the sake
of its pleasures, and since it will not go to instruction, instruction
must come to it," etc., etc.
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, already very grave and important, who kept
touching the buttons of electric-bells to summon ushers, and footmen, and
officials inferior to himself. He declared to the applicant that his case
was going on quite favourably, and advised him to continue his remarkable
labours. So M. Sacrement 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. Rosselin was
decorated, although nobody knew exactly what he had done to deserve such
a distinction.
He told Sacrement 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 honours 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 favour for you. The
Committee on Historical Works is going to intrust you with a commission.
There are some researches to be made in various libraries in France."
Sacrement 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 a bore to all the
librarians.
One day, happening to be at Rouen, he thought he should like to 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, as 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 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 Honour 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 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 had fallen to the floor out of the pocket
of the overcoat. Sacrement picked it up; it was a visiting-card, and he
read out:
"Rosselin--Deputy."
"You see how it is," said his wife.
He wept with joy, and, a week later, it was announced in the "Journal
Officiel" that M. Sacrement had been awarded the Legion of Honour on
account of his exceptional services.