ribbon on the coat which all Frenchmen prize so highly; for to be
"decorated," as it is called, is in France a spur to ambition of
something the same sort as a knighthood or a peerage in England, though
of course it lies within the reach of a far greater number of citizens.
There is something to our ideas rather absurd in the notion of bestowing
such a tag of ribbon on a man of Millet's aims and occupations; but all
honours are honours just according to the estimation of the man who
receives them and the society in which he lives; and Millet no doubt
prized his admission to the Legion of Honour all the more because it had
been so long delayed and so little truckled for.

To the end of his days, Millet never left his beloved Barbizon. He
stopped there, wandering about the fields, watching peasants at work,
imprinting their images firmly upon his eye and brain, and then going
home again to put the figures he had thus observed upon his vivid
canvas. For, strange to say, unlike almost every other great painter,
Millet never painted from a model. Instead of getting a man or woman to
sit for him in the pose he required, he would go out into the meadows
and look at the men and women at their actual daily occupations; and so
keen and acute was his power of observation, and so retentive was his
inner eye, that he could then recall almost every detail of action or
manner as clearly as if he had the original present in his studio before
him. As a rule, such a practice is not to be recommended to any one who
wishes to draw with even moderate accuracy; constant study of the actual
object, and frequent comparison by glancing from object to copy, are
absolutely necessary for forming a correct draughtsman. But Millet knew
his own way best; and how wonderfully minute and painstaking must his
survey have been when it enabled him to reproduce the picture of a
person afterwards in every detail of dress or movement.