i

^ffueg KeppUer

THE FIRESIDE SPHINX. With 4 full-page
and 17 text Illustrations by Miss E. Bon-
SALL. i2mo, $2.00, ,7tet.

BOOKS AND MEN. i6mo, gilt top, $1.25.

POINTS OF VIEW. i6mo, gilt top, $1.25.

ESSAYS IN IDLENESS. i6mo, gilt top,
$1-25.

IN THE DOZY HOURS, AND OTHER PA-
PERS. i6mo, gilt top, ^1.25.

ESSAYS IN MINIATURE. i6mo, gilt top,
$1.25.

A BOOK OF FAMOUS VERSE. Selected
by Agnes Repplier. In Riverside Library
for Young People. i6mo, 75 cents ; Holiday
Edition, i6mo, fancy binding, $1.25.

VARIA. i6mo, ;?i.25.

HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & CO.
Boston and New York.

THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

/

%,
''^-

THE FIRESIDE
SPHINX

BY

AGNES REPPLIER ^U/

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY E. BONSALL

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY

1901

JIOSTON COLLJKQE LIBRAKY
CHEaTiJ4¥T HILL, MASS.

COPYRIGHT, 190I, BY AGNES REPPLIER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Published October^ igoi

57746

IN MEMORY OF
AGRIPPINA

" Les amoureux fervents et les savants atisteres
Aiinent egaleinenf, dans leur 77ture saison,
Les chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison^
Qui C07nine eux sont frileux^ et comnie eux^ sedentairesy

Charles Baudelaire,

FOREWORD

There is a sweet and sunny corner of the Ely-
sian fields, where drowse and play, and drowse and
play forever, a little band of cats, whose names, im-
perishable as their masters', are household words
to-day. We know them well, these gentle furry
ghosts, lifted to immortality by the human hands
that fondled them in life. We know the white
Muezza whom Mohammed loved, and Bouhaki of
Thebes, proudest of his proud race, and Dick
Whittington's thrice famous cat that made his
master's fortune. We know this sleek and shining
tortoise-shell, for she is Selima, fair and ill-fated,
whom the glint of gold-fish tempted to her grave.
This pensive pussy with clear topaz eyes shared
Petrarch 's heart with Laura ; this splendid beast,
red as a fox and stately as a lion, is Chateaubriand 's
Micetto, the sovereign Pontiff's gift; and his no
less arrogant companion sat, it is whispered, by the
side of Wolsey, when the butcher's son was Chan-
cellor of England.

Montaigne's grey cat is here, indolently super-
cilious as in old earthly days ; and Victor Hugo's

X FOREWORD

Chanoine, the sleepiest puss in Paradise ; and
Baudelaire's mysterious pet, with pale fire gleaming
'neath his half-shut lids ; and Moumoutte Blanche
and Moumoutte Chinoise, rivals for M. Loti's
fluctuating affections, and the superb dynasties,
both white and black, that ruled for years over
M. Gautier's heart and home. Here, too, is " great
Atossa," sung into fame by Mr. Arnold ; and that
sedate and serious tabby who slept too long in
Cowper's bureau drawer. And — honoured of all
their race — here are two happy and distinguished
cats whom we cannot remember without envy, nor
name without respect, — Dr. Johnson's Hodge,
and Hinse of Hinsefeld, the wise companion of Sir
Walter Scott.

Into this august assembly, into this sacred circle,
I fain in moments of temerity would introduce a
little shade who stole too soon from the warm sun,
and from the simple joys of life. She was dearly
loved and early lost, and the scanty honours years
of toil have brought me I lay at her soft feet for
entrance fee. May Hodge and Hinse champion
her cause with the Immortals for the sake of the
unfaltering love I have ever borne their masters,
and may her grace and beauty win for her what my
poor pen "is powerless to attain ! Dear little ghost,
whose memory has never faded from my heart,
accept this book, dedicated to thee, and to all thy

FOREWORD xi

cherished race. Sleep sweetly m the fields of
asphodel, and waken, as of old, to stretch thy
languid length, and purr thy soft contentment to
the skies. I only beg, as one before me begged of
her dead darling, that, midst the joys of Elysium, I
may not be wholly forgotten.

•' Nor, though Persephone 's own Puss you be,
Let Orcus breed oblivion of me."

A. R.

CONTENTS

CHAP. PAGE

I. The Cat of Antiquity . . . . i

II. The Dark Ages ..... 20

III. Persecution 52

IV. Renaissance d^

V. The Cat of Albion 82

VI. The Cat in Art 104

VII. The Cat Triumphant 126

VIII., Some Cats of France . . . . 179

IX. The Cat To-day .228

THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" Thine is the lore of Ra and Rameses."

THERE was — if we may trust the Arabic
chronicles as set down by that devout
scholar, Damirei — no cat in the Garden
of Paradise. Lion cubs and tiger cubs, little leo-
pards and little panthers. Eve had in numbers with-
out doubt ; but no pussy to grace and decorate her
domestic hearth. How far this loss was responsible
for the lamentable ennui which, Charles Lamb says,
forced our first parents to sin themselves out of
Eden, it would be difficult to determine ; but in
that desolate world of toil which lay beyond the
gleaming gates and sacred rivers of Paradise, no cat
was found to comfort the sad exiles on their way.
She sprang into existence at the Deluge ; for dur-
ing the long weeks in which the Ark floated over
the waste of waters, the rats and the mice increased

2 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

so alarmingly that the comfort — if there was any
comfort — of the inmates was threatened with de-
struction. Then Noah, equal to the emergency,
passed his hand three times over the head of the
lioness, and lo ! she sneezed forth the cat.

In connection with this venerable legend, it is
interesting to note the behaviour of Puss in the old
Italian pictures which represent the departure from
the Ark, a subject which Bassano has painted over
and over again. Invariably we see, walking at the
head of the procession, with a most self-satisfied
and arrogant air, as if she owned the newly recov-
ered earth, a large brindled cat. The lion and the
elephant, the camel and the horse, all the most
terrible and the most useful beasts linger with mod-
est diffidence in the background ; the cat presents
herself superbly to everybody's notice, and, as a
rule, begins her career of depredation by assailing
one of her late companions, — a fat frightened rab-
bit, or a trembling dove. No one would imagine
that she owed her existence to the incidental dis-
comforts of the Ark.

However mysterious and informal may have been
her birth. Pussy's first appearance in veracious his-
tory is a splendid one. More than three thou-
sand years ago she dwelt serenely* by the Nile, and
the great nation of antiquity paid her respectful
homage. Sleek and beautiful, she drowsed in the

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY 3

shadow of mighty temples, or sat blinking and
washing her face with contemptuous disregard alike
of priest and people. There is no mention of her
in Holy Writ ; but when Moses led the Children
of Israel into the desert, she watched him go,

" With sombre sea-green gaze inscrutable."

Deserts, indeed, offered scant allurement to her.
No wandering people have ever enjoyed her sweet
companionship. The Arabs loved and valued her ;
but could do no more than carry her across the
trackless sands for the enrichment of softer homes
than their black tents could offer.

" And the bubbling camels beside the load
Sprawled for a furlong adown the road ;
And the Persian pussy-cats, brought for sale,
Spat at the dogs from the camel-bale."

Poor faithful dogs, lovers of novelty and change
of scene, who dwell contentedly in tents, or huts,
or 'neath the open sky, and roam far and wide with
the masters whom they serve. The cat cares little
to see the world, and dislikes the discomforts of
travel. Some gracious instinct binds her to her
home. She feels the charm of the familiar, and her
fidelity to the sheltering hearth has made her —
now that her old honours have passed away — the
little god of domesticity, the friend of those who
are too happy or too wise for restlessness.

4 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Egypt, as the granary of the ancient world, had
especial need for Pussy's services, and the Egyptian
cat was a mighty hunter, not only of rats and mice,
— ancestral prey, — but of wild fowl caught in reedy
marshes, and in shallow waters where she could
swim with ease. Her sacred character was in no
wise impaired by her usefulness. She was the
favourite of Pasht, who, in smiling mood, had given
her to the world ; and the deep veneration in which
she was held provoked biting jests from travellers,
who then, as now, lacked sympathy for strange
customs and strange gods. Herodotus was plainly
of the opinion that the devotion manifested for
these cherished beasts produced some uncomfort-
able results. In the first place, there were too
many cats. The maintenance of those who lived
apart in temples, and who were fed with fish, and
bread soaked in milk, was a heavy burden upon the
state ; and the officials, whose privilege it was to
take care of them, seem to have been naturally, but
unendurably, proud. Then again, the enforced
mourning, the shaving of eyebrows, and all the
" mockery of woe " which followed the death of
even the smallest kitten, lent a funereal aspect to
many homes. Last, but not least, the law which
forbade the sinful slaying of a cat occasionally
brought vengeance upon the head of the unfortu-
nate who unwittingly killed one. For such an evil

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY 5

accident, says Diodorus of Sicily, a Roman citizen
was torn to pieces by the infuriated populace of
Thebes. So imminent, indeed, was this peril, that
an Egyptian who chanced to witness Pussy's death,

— happily no common occurrence, as a cat, like an
Englishman, considers dying a strictly private affair,

— stood trembling and bathed in tears, plaintively
announcing to the world that he at least had no part
in such a pitiful calamity. Yet even a tender and
far-reaching solicitude could not always save the
Egyptian cat from harm. Fires were of frequent
occurrence, and the creature's terror occasionally
prevented its rescue, and drove it straight into the
flames. "When this happens, it diffuses universal
sorrow," says Herodotus, with that graceful sym-
pathy which is so pleasing, because so rare, in the
historian.

Writers of a later date were far less tolerant of
feline dignities. Timocles observes cynically that
when irreverence to the great gods so often escapes
unpunished, he can hardly fear to violate the shrine
of a cat. Anaxandrides of Rhodes presents with
fine brutality the Greek point of view, in his comedy,
"The Cities." "If you see a cat indisposed,"
sneers one of the characters to an Egyptian, " you
weep for it. For my part, I am well pleased to kill
it for its skin."

The exact era of Pussy's domestication in Egypt

6 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

is lost in the dawn of history. It was so very long
ago that our minds grow dizzy, contemplating the
vast stretch of centuries. A tablet in the Berlin
Museum, which has on it a representation of a cat,
dates from 1600 b. c. : and another, two hundred
years older, bears an inscription containing the
word Mau, or cat. The temples of Bubastis, of
Beni Hasan, and of Heliopolus were the most
sacred haunts of this most sacred animal. There,
petted, pampered, wrapped in silken ease, and, above
all, treated with that delicate reverence she is so
quick to understand and appreciate, she lived her
allotted lives ; and there, when all nine were well
spent, her little corpse was lovingly embalmed, and
buried in a gilded mummy case with dignified and
appropriate ceremonial. Her

" splendid circled eyes
That wax and wane with love for hours,
Green as green flame, blue-grey like skies,"

were believed to be emblematic of the waxing and
the waning of the sun, and added to the mysterious
sanctity of her reputation.

Plutarch held that she also represented the
moon, because of her nocturnal habits, and of her
singular fecundity. " For it is said that she brings
forth at first one kitten, afterwards two, and the
third time, three ; and that the number increaseth
thus until the seventh and last birth, so that she

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY 7

bears in all twenty-eight young, or as many as the
moon hath revolutions. And though this may be
but a fable, yet it is certain that her eyes do enlarge
and grow brilliant with the filling of the moon, and
do contract and lose their light with its decline."

What a pleasure it must have been to study nat-
ural history in the ancient days, when the general
absence of information left the historian liberty and
leisure to tell really interesting things.

The temple of Bubastis, says Herodotus, was the
fairest in all Egypt, and the festival held in honour
of the goddess was the gayest of the year, thousands
of pilgrims speeding along the pleasant water-ways
to enjoy themselves piously at her shrine. Often
they carried with them the mummies of dear dead
cats, to be interred in the neighbourhood of the
temple ; and often they bore, as offerings to the
shrine, animals of great size and beauty, or with
especial markings that denoted sanctity, and insured
their admittance into the circle of the elect. To
these .pilgrimages, and to the sacredness of the
temple cats, may be traced — so says Ignace Gold-
ziher in his '' Culte des Saints chez les Musulmans "
— a curious custom which survived until recent
years among Egyptian Moslems. When the cara-
vans bound for Mecca were preparing to start from
Cairo, and the city was celebrating their departure
with the feasts of Mahmal, one camel was set apart

8 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

for the sole use of an old woman who bore the
honourable title, Mother of Cats, and whose duty it
was to carry to the Holy City a number of Persian
pussies. Her position was no sinecure, for all the
distinction it conferred, the cat's rooted aversion to
travel rendering it a troublesome charge ; and the
venerable " Mother " finally gave place to a young
and active man, better able to cope with his sackful
of turbulent prisoners. What strange survival of
an ancient practice induced pious Moslems to send
to the Prophet's shrine the animals that their far-
away ancestors had carried devoutly to the temple
of Bubastis ? No one knows. The links between
old and new have long ago been broken ; and, as so
often happens, the custom lingered on for countless
years after its significance had been lost to men's
unreasoning minds.

The great burying-grounds of favoured Egyptian
cats were the thrice blessed fields of Speos Artemi-
dos near the tombs of Beni Hasan, where thousands
of little mummies reposed for centuries. It was re-
served for our rude age to disturb their slumber, to
desecrate their graves, to fling their ashes to the
four winds of heaven, or, with base utilitarianism,
to sell the poor little swathed and withered bodies
— once so beautiful and gently tended — for any
trifling sum they would bring from ribald tourists
who infest the land. Many were even used as fer-

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY 9

tilizers of the ancient soil, — a more honourable fate,
and one which consigned them gently to oblivion.
The incredible number of such mummies found at
Beni Hasan and other sacred cemeteries proves
that Egypt, '4n the hour of her pride," was the
abode of countless pussy-cats, and explains the sar-
casm of that travelled Greek, who observed that,
on the banks of the Nile, it was more common to
meet gods than men.

Once outside of Egypt, where, thanks to inscrip-
tions, embalming, and an admirable pictorial art, we
know with exactness what we know at all, the his-
tory of the cat is shrouded in mystery and gloom.
There is no proof that she was domesticated in
Babylon or Assyria ; and what scanty information
we can gather as the centuries roll on is of a dis-
hearteningly fabulous character. There is a story
which used to be found in the school-books of our
youth, but which has probably been eliminated in
these duller days, of the infamous scheme devised
by Cambyses — and worthy of him — for the cap-
ture of Pelusium. Each Persian soldier was bidden
to carry in his arms a cat, so that he was safe from
the weapons of the Egyptians, who feared to wound
the sacred animal he bore. The tale, it must be
admitted, does not sound veracious. To march to
battle carrying a cat — a cat that must have been
eminently unwilling to go — would have required

10 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

more courage than to face an enemy. Moreover,
the Persians could hardly have done their own share
of fighting very effectively while they were clasping
legions of pussies to their bosoms. Perhaps the
ruthless disregard evinced by Cambyses for all his
fellow-men held dear and sacred may have given
rise to this once popular tradition.

There are others less well known, but much pret-
tier, as that of the Persian monarch, Hormus, who,
finding his kingdom invaded by a mighty army
under Prince Schabe, his own unworthy relative,
was warned by a soothsayer that he could never
conquer this enemy until his troops were led to
battle by a general having the face of a wild cat, —
*^qui eut la physionomie d'un chat sauvage," says
Moncrif, who tells the story with delight. After
searching far and wide, Hormus at last discovered
this treasure in the person of a rude mountaineer
named Baharan, or, as some say, Kounin, to whom
he joyfully gave the command of all his forces. The
result justified the prediction. The Persians, though
few and ill-trained, were yet so animated by the
assurance of victory, so exultant when they beheld
the fear-inspiring countenance of their leader, that
they easily routed the foe, and carried Schabe's
head back to their royal master.

In India the house cat was known from a very
early period, and was called by several composite

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY ii

names signifying rat-eater and mouse-enemy, to de-
note the useful character of her occupations. She
figures also in some of the oldest Indian fables,
always as an arrant hypocrite, fair-spoken and full of
guile. Her first entrance into the Chinese Empire
appears to have been about 400 a. d., and she is
described in ancient documents as a hunter of mice
and slayer of hens, unmistakable characteristics,
both of them. There is also a venerable proverb
which says, with true Chinese sententiousness, that
a lame cat is better than a swift horse when rats
infest the palace. The rampant creature that rears
itself aggressively on the royal banners of Korea is
some fierce wild cousin of the cat ; just as the ani-
mal held sacred for centuries along the Pacific
coast of South America, and which we see over and
over again in the terra cottas of lost Peruvian cities,
was forest born and bred, — ocelot perhaps, or jag-
uar, — not the sweet domestic deity of the Nile.

The saddest gap in the chronicles of the cat is
her conspicuous absence from " the glory that was
Greece," from "the grandeur that was Rome," —
an absence which extended over many hundreds of
years. No Greek monument shows her sitting at
her master's feet, as the Egyptian Bouhaki sat for
centuries at the feet of King Hana, in the Necrop-
olis of Thebes. Homer, who tells us the touching
story of the hound, Argus, has never a word for

12 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

the cat ; though we would give much to see her
watching with wise eyes Penelope's unfinished web,
or playing with the soft tangled wools in Helen's
silver work-basket. And what fitter companion for
Nausicaa than a white cat, beautiful, spotless and
urbane ? M. Henri Havard argues subtly that the
very essence of Greek civilization, as it slowly flow-
ered to perfection, was fatal to the domestication
of the cat. " What place could she fill," he asks,
" amid this restless glory ? What hold could she
hope to gain over a people enamoured of art, of
language, of eloquence ; over men who were at once
actors, athletes and poets ; and who — alternating
perpetually between physical and mental activity —
had elevated beauty of form to the height of a great
moral principle. This race so admirably endowed,
with ambitions ever unsatisfied, modelling, in insa-
tiable pride, its gods after its own likeness, and for-
cing Olympos to bear a part in its quarrels ; — this
superb race was far too arrogant to permit the cat
to participate in its apotheosis. Therefore the pru-
dent animal avoided a society unable to appreciate
or to understand her. What she required was a
people, gentle, submissive, prompt to obey, and ac-
customed, as were the Egyptians, to the inexorable
demands of tyranny."

It is always painful to disagree with M. Havard ;
but he forgets that the cat, although she doubtless

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY 13

prefers being worshipped as a divinity, has yet con-
sented to live with many nations on easier terms ;
that, notwithstanding her gentle imperiousness, she
is, as a rule, willing to accord to humanity the free-
dom she demands for herself ; and that the beauty
of well-ordered life — as that fair life of Athens —
has ever appealed to her exquisite sense of smooth-
ness and moderation. Sparta, with its rigorous
study of discomforts, might have repelled her sadly ;
but in Athens every instinct of her little heart
would have been sweetly satisfied. It was her
home of homes, and the unkind fates barred her
way.

When at last the cat entered Greece, the glory of
Greece had waned. Artemis remembered that, in
Egypt, Pussy had vaguely symbolized both moon
and sun, and took the small night-roaming creature
— furry as her old Arcadian emblem, the bear, —
under her protection ; but Artemis was no longer
the goddess "excellently bright." Her lustre was
dimming fast ; and the old myth, imported hazily
from the East, which represented the cat moon
devouring the grey mice of twilight, had faded from
the minds of men. As a plaything, as a pretty
household toy. Pussy was carried from Africa to
Europe a few hundred years before the Christian
era. Diodorus tells a strange story of a mountain
in Numidia which was inhabited by a common-

14 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

wealth of cats, so that no bird ever ventured to nest
in its woods ; and from this mysterious region, it
was said, adventurous hunters carried away a few
Httle captives to be enslaved by decadent Greece.
A more probable and a more romantic tale has been
adapted from the Greek by that graceful versifier,
and true lover of cats, Graham Tomson. It gives a
motive, at once cogent and reasonable, for the im-
portation of Pasht's pussies.

" Arsinoe the fair, the amber-tressed,

Is mine no more ;
Cold as the misunned snows are is her breast,

And closed her door.
No more her ivory feet and tresses braided

Make glad mine eyes ;
Snapt are my viol strings, my flowers are faded,

My love-lamp dies.

*' Yet, once, for dewy myrtle-buds and roses,

All summer long,
We searched the twilight-haunted garden closes

With jest and song.
Ay, all is over now, — my heart hath changed

Its heaven for hell ;
And that ill chance which all our love estranged

In this wise fell :

" A little lion, small and dainty sweet,
(For such there be !)
With sea-grey eyes and softly stepping feet,

She prayed of me.
For this, through lands Egyptian far away,
She bade me pass :

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY 15

But, in an evil hour, I said her nay ;

And now, alas !
Far-travelled Nicias hath wooed and won

Arsinoe,
With gifts of furry creatures, white and dun,

From over sea."

It is a melancholy truth that after the " little lion "
had been domesticated in Greece, we hear nothing
to her credit. Theocritus flouts her with a careless
word,

** Cats love to sleep softly ; "

and decadent poets, in place of singing her beauty
and her grace, as Homer sang of Helen on the
battlements of Troy, grow ethical and positively
evangelical over her too manifest shortcomings.
There was a cat of spirit belonging to the epigram-
matist, Agathias, who, when the occasion offered,
ate her master's tame partridge, for which deed she
has been handed down to posterity as an unnatural
and infuriate monster. Agathias solaced himself
by writing two poems on the tragedy, one of which
has been very charmingly — if very freely — trans-
lated by Mr. Richard Garnett.

" O cat in semblance, but in heart akin
To canine raveners, whose ways are sin ;
Still at my hearth a guest thou dar'st to be ?
Unwhipt of Justice, hast no dread of me ?
Or deem'st the sly allurements shall avail
Of purring throat and undulating tail .''

i6 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

No ! as to pacify Patroclus dead,
Twelve Trojans by Pelides' sentence bled,
So shall thy blood appease the feathery shade.
And for one guiltless life shall nine be paid."

Poor Pussy ! wasting thy soft purrs and delicate
blandishments on the destroyer. And, as if the
wrath of Agathias were not enough to damn thee
forever, Damocharis, a friend and disciple, must
needs pour forth his eloquent denunciations, liken-
ing thee to one of Aktaeon's hounds that tore its
master, — no such guilt was thine, — and reproach-
ing thee for long neglected duties. ''And thou,
base cat, thinkest only of partridges, while the mice
dance and play, regaling themselves upon the dainty
food that thou disdainest."

The episode is worthy of Hogarth's pencil; —
idleness leading the way, the straight, smooth way
to murder and the gallows. Alas ! for Egypt's
little god in that bleak atmosphere of morality.

Rome honoured, if she did not cherish the cat.
The conquerors of the world recognized and re-
spected the indomitable love of liberty which won
then, as it wins now, for this small weak animal an
independence lost wholly and forever by beasts of
many times her strength. The dog serves, the
horse, the camel, the elephant serve, and are slaves
of man. The cat has never served, save briefly and
capriciously, casting aside her allegiance when it

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY 17

pleased her to do so, and turning back to that half
savage freedom which she held always in reserve.
Libertas sine Lahore is, and has ever been, her
motto. The cat of Agathias had wearied of civiliza-
tion and well-doing when she forsook her duties in
the pantry, and decided to eat her master's bird.
It is true that Pliny, whose admirable imagination
deserts him strangely now and then, leaving him
stranded on the driest of facts, sees in Pussy little
but her usefulness. '' She keeps well-filled barns
free from mice." He even adds in the same breath
that weasels do the work better. Palladius echoes
this stupid sentiment, but Romans of more heroic
mould valued more heroic traits. Tiberius Grac-
chus placed an image of the cat within his Temple
of Liberty ; and, if we may trust that pleasant old
book. La Vraye et Parfaite Science des Armoiries^
published by Palliot in 1664, more than one Roman
legion marched to battle with Pussy blazoned on
their banners. The Ordines Atcgustei carried a
sea-green cat, courant ; the Felices Seniores a cat,
rampant, on a buckler gules ; and the Alpini a cat
with one eye and one ear, evidently a veteran war-
rior of the wall.

Coming late to Rome, and winning distinction
first as a lover of liberty, half tamed and wholly
brave, it was long before Pussy's sweeter qualities
were duly exhibited, or valued at their worth. That

i8 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

she was known in pleasure-loving Pompeii is proven
by the spirited mosaics in the Museum of Naples,
one of which represents her springing upon a par-
tridge, like the " base cat " reproached by Damo-
charis. There is something indefinably pitiless in
the attitude of this animal, a savage and ruthless
energy in the shedding of innocent blood, which
seems ill-calculated to soften the prejudiced mind.
Italy was indeed no school of gentleness. Cruelty
had been refined to a pleasure, and mercy had been
austerely banished from philosophy. Marcus Au-
relius could easily endure to sit for hours in the
amphitheatre, bored and distrait, it is true, but with
unmoved serenity. The slaughter of a hundred
lions afforded him no recreation ; but, as he had
generously given the animals to be killed for the
diversion of simpler souls, he found no fault with
their enjoyment of the spectacle. A creature,
beautiful and weak, might well be cherished one
hour for its beauty, and destroyed the next as a
penalty for its weakness. In " Marius the Epicu-
rean " there is a pretty description of a white cat
purring its way gracefully among the wine cups at
a feast given in honour of Apuleius, — " coaxed on-
ward from place to place by those at table, as they
reclined easily on their cushions of German eider-
down, spread over the long-legged carved couches."
This dainty and somewhat supercilious guest has
been brought to the supper by a young Roman ;

THE CAT OF ANTIQUITY 19

and, surfeited with cajolery, she sinks unconcern-
edly to sleep, until disturbed by the rude antics of
the young Commodus.

" It was then that the host's son bethought him
of his own favourite animal, which had offended
somehow, and had been forbidden the banquet. —
* I mean to shut you in the oven a while, little soft,
white thing ! ' he had said, catching sight, as he
passed an open doorway, of the great fire in the
kitchen, itself festally adorned, where the feast was
preparing ; and had so finally forgotten it. And it
was with a really natural laugh, for once, that, on
opening the oven, he caught sight of the animal's
grotesque appearance, as it lay there, half -burnt,
just within the red-hot iron door."

That light, cruel, natural laugh echoes through
the centuries, and follows the cat along her pathway
of pain. Mr. Pater, fretted to pity by his own tale,
eliminated from later editions of " Marius " the
heart-rending episode he could so ill endure. Would
that it were as easy to banish from Pussy's history
the gloomy records of sorcery and persecution.

be Dark ylqes

" O gin my sons were seven rats
Runnin' o'er the castle wa',
And gin that I were a great gray cat,
Fu' sune wad I worry them a'."

POPULAR tradition was
wont to maintain that the
cat was brought from the
P^ast, and introduced into northern
Europe by the first Crusaders. It
is one of those deh'ghtful misstate-
ments which lend colour and charm
to history. Who would not love to feel that we owe
this pleasant debt — as we owe so many others — to
those splendid soldiers who fought under Godfrey
de Bouillon, and carried the Cross to Palestine .'*
The Crusaders brought back to their rude and war-
like homes many of the refinements of life, many
dim appreciations of an older civilization, of beauty,
of learning, of subtleties that had no place within
the stern barriers of Feudalism. But they did not

THE DARK AGES 21

bring back the cat. Long before Peter the Hermit
preached to the loyal sons of Christendom, Pussy
slept* by English firesides, and was held in high
esteem in English nunneries, alike for her gentle-
ness and valour. A canon enacted in 1127 forbade
all nuns, even abbesses, to wear any costlier skins
than those of lambs and cats ; and the '^ Ancren
Riwle" of 1205 denied them possession of flocks,
cattle, swine, or other domestic animals, save only
the cat. " Ye, my dear sisters, shall have no beast
but a cat," says this excellent ordinance; — "no
best bute kat ane," is the old Saxon manuscript.
" An Anchoress that hath herds seemeth a better
housewife (as was Martha) than an Anchoress, and
in no wise may she be Mary with peacefulness of
heart."

To have sheep in the fold, cows in the barn,
mules in the stable, was to sin against holy Poverty,
— Our Lady Poverty, mother of all monastic virtues ;
but the cat stood for no such excess of indulgence.
Her value was small, but her services were great.
She gave to convents chill and bare that look of
home, that sweet suggestion of domesticity, which
all women, even cloistered women, love ; she played
with her kittens in the sun, affording a welcome
distraction from work and prayer ; and she held
herself ever in joyful readiness to

"Combat with the creeping Mouse,
And scratch the screeking Rat."

22 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

The nuns were not so badly off who were permitted
to keep a cat.

No one knows the date, and no one knows the
route of Pussy's westward voyage, a voyage fraught
with peril and disaster. From Cyprus she came, —
so say most authorities, — and there is an ancient
tradition of a Christian monastery near Paphos,
where the Greek monks kept a little colony of
highly trained and valorous cats, whose duty it was
to destroy the serpents that infested the island.
These cats hunted their prey daily " with admirable
zeal and address," — I quote from Moncrif, — and to
the great benefit of the neighbourhood. But when
the Turks snatched Cyprus, they burned the mon-
astery, and turned the homeless pussies, not to speak
of the homeless monks, adrift upon the world ; — a
strange piece of ill-doing for Moslems, who, how-
ever contemptuous of cloisters, have always cher-
ished cats with exceeding tenderness. The love
which Mohammed bore for his fair white cat, Mu-
ezza, has thrown a veil of sanctity over the whole
feline race ; and no good Ottoman ever forgets that
when Muezza slept one day upon her master's flow-
ing sleeve, the Prophet — being summoned to the
Council — cut off his sleeve, rather than disturb
her slumber.

Proud then, and justly proud, was that true be-
liever upon whom was conferred the title — -at once
magnificent and tender — of "Father of Cats."

THE DARK AGES 23

Great was the solicitude manifested throughout all
Islam for the welfare of these favoured animals,
whose brooding reserve and wise impassiveness
seemed but a reflection of the unchanging and un-
communicative East. M. Prisse d'Avennes tells us
that the Moslem warrior, El-Daher-Beybars, " brave
as Caesar and cruel as Nero," had so true an affec-
tion for cats that he bequeathed a fertile garden
called Gheyt-el-Quottah (the cat's orchard) for the
support of homeless and necessitous pussies. This
garden lay close to his own mosque, and but a
short distance from Cairo. With the revenue it
yielded, food was bought and distributed every
noon in the outer court of the Mehkemeh to all
cats who, wishing to live in freedom, were yet
driven by hunger or neglect to accept the generous
alms. There is an admirable permanence about
Oriental customs which we of the West — unstable
citizens of a protean world — regard with envious
scorn. Seven centuries have elapsed since El-
Daher-Beybars atoned for the misdeeds of his fierce
life by gentle charity. His gilded mosque has
crumbled into ruins, the site of his orchard is un-
known, his legacy has lapsed into oblivion. Yet as
late as 1 870 the cats of Cairo received their daily
dole, no longer in memory of their benefactor, but
in unconscious perpetuation of his bounty.

" How far that little candle throws his beams !
So shines a good deed in a naughty world."

24 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

It is rather disconcerting, when we are dwelling
so complacently upon the love of the Moslem for
his cat, to remember that the only bit of verse upon
the subject which has floated down to us from the
dim East is not more flattering or more kindly than
the epigrams of Agathias, Ibn Alalaf Alnaharwany,
a poet of Bagdad who died about 930, celebrated the
misdeeds and the punishment of his cat in a strain
of such uncompromising morality that we are still
uncertain as to whether he meant what he said, or
was referring in veiled language to some tragedy
of the harem. Alalaf s pussy steals forth to rob
a dove-cote, " fearing nothing save the loss of his
prey," and is pierced by an avenging arrow ere he
can escape with the bird. "Alas !" muses the \dr-
tuous chronicler, "had he but contented himself
with the lawful pursuit of mice, no such evil fate
had befallen him. Cursed be the refined taste which
led him to seek a daintier quarry, and cursed be the
forbidden joy which brings destruction in its wake."

To be slain in the moment of victory — even
though death turns triumph to defeat — is not, in
Moslem eyes, the worst of woes. The robber cat
of Bagdad — if he were a cat, indeed, and not an
adventurous lover — had doubtless enjoyed many a
moonlight raid before retribution overtook him ; and
this reflection should have soothed Alalaf's soul.

The Turk, although he enjoys scant reputation
for humanity, has never been, and is not now, cruel

THE DARK AGES 25

to animals. He could teach that lesson of kindness
to every Christian nation in the world. But his
benevolence has in it a curious element of caprice.
While the Pariah dog struggles from puppyhood to
old age for the bare livelihood yielded him by im-
memorial usage, the cat is still, as she has always
been, a pampered plaything, smothered in luxury,
surfeited with indulgence. Who that has ever seen
the cats of Stamboul can forget those beautiful Per-
sians, snow-white, indolent, amber-eyed, carried in
the arms of Nubian slave-women, and clawing un-
gratefully at their careful guardians ! And who that
has watched a surly little Turkish soldier soften and
brighten into smiles over the antics of a litter of
% kittens, snugly domiciled in his sentry-box where
surely kittens had no right to be, can doubt the
love the Moslem bears — in imitation of the Prophet
— for Muezza's furry kindred !

Travellers in the Orient have brought back strange
and delightful tales of Pussy's dignities and high
estate. According to these, probably fabulous, but
always pleasing reports, the cats belonging to the
Shah of Persia rival in numbers and in beauty the
wives of King Solomon. At Persian banquets,
troops of cats, stately and soft -footed, glide in and
out among the guests with silent courtesy, offering
no disturbance, but merely honouring with their
presence the master of the feast. In Siam and

26 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Burmah these thrice fortunate animals are treated
with becoming deference ; and the Hungarian scien-
tist, Vambery, tells of a Buddhist convent in east-
ern Thibet, where there were so many pussies, all
sleek and fat, that he could not forbear asking the
pious inmates why they deemed it necessary to keep
such a feline colony. '' All things have their uses,"
was the serene reply. " Cats are carnal-minded,
clamorous, and far from cleanly ; but they atone for
their sins by destroying rats, mice, and weasels, and
thus spare us the temptation of imbruing our hands
in the blood of our fellow creatures." — For the deli-
cate refinements of casuistry, one must still turn to
the subtle and contemplative East.

It was an ill day for Pussy when she left this land
of ease, and began her bleak northwestern journey.
Sir John Lubbock asserts that there is no proof of
her domestication in Great Britain or in France be-
fore the ninth century ; but the dim records of those
far-off years leave much untold, and she may have
arrived quietly and without ostentation a hundred
years or so earlier. That her usefulness was recog-
nized, and that she was highly prized as long as her
rarity enhanced her value, is shown by an ancient
statute ascribed to Howel Dda, or Howel the Good,
a Welsh prince whose life is otherwise shrouded
in obscurity. This admirable ruler — assuredly the
Wise as well as the Good — made a law in 948,

^^^t^T

THE DARK AGES 27

regulating the market price of cats ; a penny for a
kitten before its eyes were open, twopence until it
had caught its first mouse, fourpence when it was
old enough for combat. He who stole a cat from
the royal granaries forfeited either a milch ewe with
its fleece and lamb, or as much wheat as would
cover the body of the cat suspended by its tail, with
its nose touching the ground. A pleasant, pictur-
esque old law, discerning the artistic possibilities
of punishment, and insuring to Pussy her place in
economics. A penny was a vastly respectable coin
in the tenth century.

There are few golden pages, however, in the
broken annals of the cat during the long dark years
of mediaeval history. Feudalism with its splen-
dours and discomforts, its swift alternations of mag-
nificent loyalty and fierce rebellion, its restless am-
bitions and perpetual warfare, offered little but
misery to a cat. Change of any kind has ever been
abhorrent to her spirit, and those were days when
nothing was permanent save death. Order and
tranquillity are essential to her well-being ; and the
world, seething with strife, exulted in its own mea-
sureless confusion. The dog, faithful follower of
man's scattered fortunes, and trusted guardian of
all that was held dear, reached his apotheosis in
these troubled times. Baron and knight, burgher
and serf united in recognition of his merits. In

28 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

castle hall, by cottage hearth, at the door of my
lady's chamber, he kept loyal watch and ward.
Poets praised him, kings caressed him, beggars
bound him to their wretchedness ; and nuns, on
whom the rule of Poverty weighed not too heavily,
— like Chaucer's Prioresse, — carried him upon
blessed pilgrimages, and fed him daintily

" With rested flessh, or mylk and wastel breed."

Carved in stone and moulded in bronze, we see
him on beautiful old tombs, couchant at the feet of
mailed knights and noble dames, sharing the still
magnificence of death as he shared the glory and
the tumult of life. Mother Church took him under
her protection, for it was well known that when
Saint Roch appeared at • Heaven's court, his dog
stood by his side ; and Saint Peter, who values
faithful service, smiled as he opened wide the gates.
From countless altars of Catholic Christendom,
Saint Roch — most pitiful because most suffering
of Saints — showed, and still shows to poor human-
ity the plague spot on his knee ; and still at his feet
is the dumb friend whom no excess of misery could
alienate, the animal in whose heart God has im-
planted a steadfastness of affection which is one of
the kindly miracles of creation.

The colder temperament of the cat, her self-
sufficing independence of character, her impene-
trable reserve, her love of gentleness and luxury,

THE DARK AGES 29

unfitted her for the stern rude Hfe of the Middle
Ages. She was no loyal servant, no follower of
camps, no votaress of martial joys. Only in the
cities, where some semblance of order was usually
preserved, and some snug comforts guaranteed,
could she have found a home. It is a significant
circumstance that the commercial legend of Dick
Whittington is the only pleasant story in which the
English cat figures with prominence during several
centuries ; and surely no tale could better illustrate
the exact nature of her position.

In the first place, she was of trifling value. A
poor boy, who owned nothing else in the world,
owned a cat. Like the miller's son in '* Puss-in-
Boots," Dick possessed something which nobody
thought it worth while to take from him. That he
had little love for this cat is proven by the alacrity
with which he parted from her, sending her away
upon a long and perilous voyage, on the bare chance
of her yielding him a profit. She was in no wise
his friend and companion ; she was merely his
property, to be disposed of as any other piece of
merchandise. Dick was a tradesman to his finger
tips, and worthy of all the civic honours heaped
upon him. That his first speculation proved suc-
cessful was due wholly to the accident which car-
ried poor Pussy to a catless land, overrun by rats
and mice. Utilitarianism, commercialism, a flavour

30 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

of export and import pervade the tale. There is no
graceful sentiment to hallow it ; and the utmost we
can claim for young Richard is that he was not
a weakling like the miller's son, who had to be
dragged by Jiis cat to affluence and a throne. Once
started on the way, Dick built up his own fortunes
with a steady hand. Indeed, a boy who could so
lightly part with the only living thing he might
have held by his side, was in no danger of being
outstripped in the hard race for wealth.

Commonplace as is the story of Whittington's
cat, it is nevertheless a legacy which we have no
mind to lose ; and all conscientious chroniclers
should protest against the grovelling preciseness
which would banish it from England's annals.
There are records to show that " Richard Whityng-
don " was thrice Lord Mayor of London, serving in
1397, 1406, and 1409 ; that he was born in Glouces-
tershire, was a mercer by trade, that he married
Alice Fitzwarren, and that he lent one thousand
pounds — doubtless at goodly interest — to King
Henry the Fourth. There is also the evidence of
that venerable stone which was found in the garden
of a house in Westgate Stree't, Gloucester, where the
grand-nephew of the Lord Mayor is known to have
lived in 1460. This stone represents in bas-relief
a boy holding in his arms a cat, the ever-famous cat
that lifted her young master from penury ; and it is

THE DARK AGES 31

a pleasant proof that the Whityngdons were not
unmindful of the source whence sprang their wealth
and distinction.

What makes the historian so eager to dwell long
and lovingly upon every page gilded by Pussy's tri-
umphs is the deepening gloom through which we
see her little figure steal frightened and forlorn.
For centuries she is hidden from our sight ; and,
when she emerges out of the unknown, a strange
and melancholy change has come over her fortunes.
Here and there we find such scanty proof as I have
offered of toleration, and even of esteem, on the
score of usefulness ; but, as she grew in time to be
a familiar object in the homes of men, they looked
at her askance with cruel and troubled eyes. The
god of Egypt, the plaything of Rome, became, by
some sad ill chance, a symbol of evil things. Her
beauty, her grace, her gentleness availed her no-
thing. She was the witch's friend, and on many
a murky midnight had gazed unblinkingly upon
shameful spells. The Prince of the Power of Dark-
ness had taken her for his own, and she dwelt by
the hearths of men to lure them to destruction.
The cat that served seven masters, each for seven
years, carried the soul of the seventh into Hell.
Like the were-wolf, she set free the primitive, bes-
tial impulses of humanity. The wife who left her
sleeping husband's side to share the obscene revels

32 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

of warlocks and of witches, stole through the lattice
window as a sleek black cat. Perchance some
passing traveller, seeing her glide by, wounded her
with stone or sword ; and the next morning she was
found maimed and bleeding beneath the counter-
pane. In ruined churches, pillaged and desecrated
by the unsparing wickedness of war, there assem-
bled, on the eve of Saint John, hags and wizards
and young girls caught in Satan's toils, all creeping
through the darkness under the forms of cats, and
all afire with impious relish for sorcery and sin.

Innumerable legends cluster around the cat dur-
ing these picturesque centuries of superstition,
when men were poor in letters, but rich in vivid
imaginings ; when they were densely ignorant, but
never dull. Even after the Dark Ages had grown
light, there was no lifting of the gloom which
enveloped Pussy's pathway, there was no visible
softening of her lot. The stories told of her imp-
ish wickedness have the same general character
throughout Europe. We meet them with modest
variations in France, in Germany, in Sweden, Den-
mark, England, Scotland and Wales. It was a be-
lated woodcutter of Brittany who saw with horror-
stricken eyes thirteen cats dancing in sacrilegious
glee around a wayside crucifix. One he killed with
his axe, and the other twelve disappeared in a
trice. It was a charcoal-burner in the Black For-

THE DARK AGES 33

est who, hearing strange noises near his kiln at
night, arose from bed and stepped into the clear-
ing. Before him, motionless in the moonlight, sat
three cats. He stooped to pick up a stone, and
the relic of Saint Gildas he carried in his bosom
fell from its snapt string upon the ground. Im-
mediately his arm hung helpless, and he could not
touch the stone. Then one of the cats said to its
companions : " For the sake of his wife, who is my
gossip, sisters, let him go!" and the next morning
he was found lying unconscious, but unharmed,
across the forest road.

From Scandinavia, where the fair white cats of
Freija were once as honoured as were Odin's ravens
and Thor's goats, comes the tale of the .haunted
mill in which dreadful revelry was heard at night,
and which had been twice burned to the ground on
Whitsun Eve. The third year, a travelling tailor,
pious and brave, offered to keep watch. He
chalked a circle on the floor, wrote the Lord's
prayer around it, and waited with patience until
midnight. Then a troop of cats crept stealthily in,
carrying a great pot of pitch which they hung in
the fireplace, lighting the logs beneath it. Soon
the pitch bubbled and seethed, and the cats, swing-
ing the pot, tried to overturn it. The tailor drove
them away ; and when one, who seemed to be the
leader, sought to pull him gently outside the magic

34 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

circle, he cut off its paw with his knife. Upon this
they all fled howling into the night ; and the next
morning the miller saw with joy his mill standing
unharmed, and the great wheel turning merrily in
the water. But the miller's wife was ill in bed ;
and, when the tailor bade her good-by, she gave
hirn her left hand, hiding beneath the bedclothes
the right arm's bleeding stump.

There is also a Scandinavian version of the ever
famous story which Sir Walter Scott told to Wash-
ington Irving, which " Monk " Lewis told to Shel-
ley, and which, in one form or another,- we find
embodied in the folk-lore of every land, — the story
of the traveller who saw within a ruined abbey a
procession of cats lowering into its grave a little
coffin with a crown upon it. Filled with horror, he
hastened from the spot ; but when he reached his
destination, he could not forbear relating to a friend
the wonder he had seen. Scarcely had the tale
been told, when his friend's cat, who lay curled up
tranquilly by the fire, sprang to its feet, cried out,
" Then I am the King of the Cats ! " and disap-
peared in a flash up the chimney.

In the Norwegian tale, which lacks the subtle
suggestiveness of the German, the cat is a young
Troll, who, hiding from the jealous wrath of Knur-
remurre, lived for three years as a peaceful pussy in
the house of a Jutland peasant. One day this man,

THE DARK AGES 35

toiling to market with his basket of eggs, was met by
a Troll from Brono, who sang out to him lustily : —

" Hor du, Plat,
Siig til din Kat
At Knurremurre er dod."

(" Hark you, Plat,
Tell your, cat
That Knurremurre is dead,")

In no way enlightened by this message, the peasant
went home and repeated it to his wife ; whereupon
his cat leaped from the hearth, cried joyously,
"Then I am the Master Troll," and overturned the
pot of soup in his haste to scramble up the chimney,
and be gone.

In Sternberg's '^ Legends of Northamptonshire,"
we have the story of a woodman whose dinner was
stolen from him daily by a cat. After many vain
attempts, he succeeded in waylaying the creature
and cutting off one of its paws, only to find, when
he reached home, that his wife had lost her hand.
The curious deviltry which provoked witches to
plague their husbands, in preference to other men,
is one of the interesting points in the annals of
sorcery. Those were wild times, when strength
ruled the world roughly ; and the witch wife —
once innocent and weak — had doubtless a long
score of insults to avenge before she took to burn-
ing her husband's mill, or stealing his daily bread.

36 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

As for the poor cat, her fate was sealed ; and we
can hardly wonder at the deep suspicion with which
men regarded an animal so mysterious, and so
closely allied to the supernatural. Even when her
behaviour was harmless or beneficial, they feared a
lurking malice which never lacked the power for
evil things. M. Champfleury tells us of a French
woman, a native of Billancourt, who was peacefully
cooking an omelette, when a black cat strayed into
her cottage, and sat upright on the hearth. She
took no notice of the creature, but went on with
her work. The cat watched the omelette atten-
tively for a moment, and then said : '' It is done.
Turn it over." Indignant at advice from such a
quarter, the woman hastily flung her half-cooked
eggs at the beast's head, and the next morning had
the satisfaction of seeing a deep red burn on the
cheek of an evilly disposed neighbour.

The trials for witchcraft — always of absorbing
interest — offer ample proof of Pussy's wicked asso-
ciations. Again and again she figures with dire-
ful prominence in the records of demonology. A
black-hearted Scottish witch confessed in the year
1 591 that she had impiously christened a cat ; and
that she and other witches had carried this animal
'' sayling in their Riddles or Gives into the middest
of the sea, and so left it before the towne of Leith ;
whereupon there did arise such a tempest at sea, as

THE DARK AGES 37

a greater hath not been seen." Nor was this all.
It was against King Jamie — pious enemy of
witchcraft — that these hags worked their will.
"Againe it is confessed that the said christened
cat was the cause that the Kinges Majestic' s shippe,
at his coming forthe of Denmarke, had a contrairie
winde to the reste of the shippes then being in his
companie ; which thing was most straunge and true,
as the Kinges Majestic acknowledgeth. For when
the rest of the shippes had a fair and good winde,
then was the winde contrairie, and altogether
against his Majestic."

Evidence of a most disastrous character was
brought against the cat in countless other trials.
The famous Scotch witch, Isobel Gowdie, " convict
and brynt " — so saith the record — in 1662, con-
fessed that it was a common habit of the sister-
hood to change themselves into cats, and in that
guise to prowl at night over the country-side, steal-
ing into all the farmhouses that were not fenced
against them by prayer and charms. She herself
had a foolish preference for the form of a hare ;
and, as a consequence, had been twice hunted by
hounds, narrowly escaping death. Joan Peterson
was hanged at Wapping, ten years earlier, for visit-
ing and plaguing her neighbours under the sem-
blance of a black cat ; and a sister witch met the
same fate at Lynn, for sending an impish pussy to

38 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

sit at night upon the bed of one Cicely Balyer with
whom she had grievously quarrelled.

This kind of visitation was not infrequent, — nor
altogether surprising when one considers the noc-
turnal habits of cats, and the accessibility of cottage
chimneys, — but the horror of it brought many an
old wife to the scaffold. Janet Wishart and Alice
Kyteler were both convicted of sending a "wan-
toune cat " to work evil upon such as had offended
them ; and a nameless English witch, hanged in
King Jamie's reign, confessed that she wrought all
her charms with the help of a dun-coloured cat,
that came one night to her cottage when she was
cowering over her fire, nursing angry thoughts
against a farmer's wife. This beast dwelt with her
for months, stealing forth night after night to obey
her foul behests, until there was scarce a woman in
the village who had not suffered from its malignity.

Apparently there was no piece of mischief too
great or too trivial for an energetic and evilly dis-
posed cat. The mere presence of Isobel Grierson's
pussy in broad daylight would turn sound ale sour ;
and the most damning evidence brought against
John Fian, a Scottish schoolmaster, strangled as a
warlock in 1591, was that he had been seen by
neighbours in hot pursuit of a cat, leaping over
hedges and ditches like one with wings, so furious
was the chase. When questioned as to why he

THE DARK AGES 39

hunted the animal, he unwisely admitted — or so at
least deposed several garrulous witnesses — that
Satan had need of all the cats his servants could
bring him, being unable without their aid to raise
storms or to wreck ships, — a curious limitation of
diabolic power.

The trial which of all others, however, established
the Scotch cat's reputation for sorcery was that of
Margaret Gilbert and Margaret Olson, two women
of Caithness, who were accused of bewitching the
household of a stone-mason named Montgomerie
by means of a number of cats. No bolts nor bars
could exclude these emissaries of evil, nor could they
be killed like ordinary animals. When run through
by a sword, or cleft in twain by a hatchet, they
merely disappeared, to return again at some more
convenient opportunity. Moreover, they had a
habit of conversing together at night with human
voices, but in an unknown tongue ; — a habit which
seems to have thrilled the unfortunate Montgom-
eries with terror, and which, it may well be admit-
ted, was calculated to try the nerves. No wonder
that a little maid servant fled from the house in
mid-term, and would enter it no more, after she had
heard these cats talking by the kitchen fire. No
wonder that villagers came in time to look askance
upon all pussies as possible imps of Belial; — a
possibility which assumed definite shape and ma-

40 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

levolence when the ever famous witch-finder, Mat-
thew Hopkins, admitted that he himself had beheld
at dusk an evil spirit in the shape of a " white
kitlyn." This innocent looking object speedily
proved its diabolic nature by routing the pious
man's greyhound, which turned tail and fled before
the tiny creature ; while Hopkins, unmindful for
once of his serious duties, lost no time in following
his dog. It was certainly a " kitlyn " of pluck and
spirit that roamed the English lanes that pleasant
summer eve.

Continental cats were as deeply incriminated as
were those of Great Britain. A witch of Grand-
cour, named Elizabeth Blanche, confessed at her
trial that she was in the habit of rubbing her body
with a black ointment which transformed her into a
cat, and enabled her to steal unnoticed through the
darkness, when summoned to devilish rites. Ger-
man witches trooped to the Brocken on Walpurgis
night under the semblance of cats ; and many were
the witnesses who swore that they had tracked the
little footmarks for miles to the place of meeting.
El Gato Moro — the Moor-Cat — prowled in the
moonlight about the citadel of Toledo, and pious
Christians who beheld it prayed with exceeding fer-
vour to be delivered from its spell. Jean Bodin,
author of Deinonomanie des Sorciers, tells us with
sympathetic gravity a number of stories so curious

THE DARK AGES 41

and so startling that we envy the readers who were
fortunate enough to believe them. It is from
Bodin that we learn of the witch cats who in 1566
assembled in such numbers in the forests near
Vernon that they terrorized the neighbourhood,
and no man ventured to assail them. After a time
they became so bold that they attacked a party of
labourers, returning at nightfall from their work.
The men, seeing themselves thus horribly beset,
fought with desperation for their lives ; and, though
covered with wounds, managed to escape, having
killed one of the cats, and injured a number of
others. This battle proved the undoing of the
witches, for the next morning a dozen women of
Vernon were found bleeding and mutilated in their
beds ; and, being brought promptly to trial, made
full confessions, denouncing half their neighbours
in the country-side.

Bodin is also responsible for the statement that
the heretical Waldenses, when hard pushed by the
royal troops, summoned to their aid a demon cat,
under whose leadership and direction they again
and again escaped unwhipt of justice. This is es-
pecially worth hearing, because it seems to be one
of the few instances in which any practical assist-
ance was lent by the Powers of Darkness. No-
thing is more striking than the supreme impotence
of sorcerers and sacrilegists, when summoned to

42 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

answer for their ill-doing. With all the vast ma-
chinery of Hell to back them, they could neither
outwit nor outstrip the clumsy pursuit of man. A
rare exception to this rule was the case of a baker's
wife in Koln, who cruelly bewitched her husband's
little apprentice. When accused of the crime, she
manifested the unconcern of one who had nothing
to fear ; and neither threats nor exhortations could
move her to repentance. She was sentenced to the
stake ; but, to the end, defied the judge, laughed at
the executioner, and mocked the priest with appall-
ing blasphemies. The fagots were fired, the smoke
enveloped her thickly, the priest lifted his voice in
prayer, — when, with a wild exultant screech, there
leaped from out the flames a black cat, which dis-
appeared in a trice amid the terrified throng. The
witch had escaped ; but one trembles to think what
suspicion must have fallen for a time on all the
black pussies of Koln.

Perhaps, however, it was impossible to enhance
the guilt of an animal already credited with such
frightful depths of malignity. The very word
Grimalkin, or Greymalkin, which now we use so
lightly, was the name of a fiend, and bore a fearful
significance in the annals of witchcraft.

" Now I go, now I fly,
Malkin, my sweet spirit, and I,"

sings Hecate in Middleton's fantastic play. A still

THE DARK AGES 43

deeper horror clings to " Rutterkin," for by that
name was known one of the sinfullest of cats, — a
terrible cat, black, sinister, malevolent,

" with eyne of burning coal,"

who helped his most wicked mistress in the " sor-
rowful bewitchment " of the Countess of Rutland
and her two young sons, and who did more to blast
the fair fame of his race than any puss in Christen-
dom.

The record of the extraordinary trial in which
Rutterkin figures so darkly is to be found in the
"Churche Boke of Bottesford." Here is set forth
with many curious details the story of the witch,
Joan Flower, who conceived a venomous hatred of
the Earl of Rutland, and of his "noble Countess,"
— a woman so gracious, good, beautiful and kind,
that she was reverenced alike by rich and poor,
friends, servants and dependents. Joan, knowing
full well that she could strike the mother most
deeply through her son, stole a glove belonging to
the heir, soaked it in scalding water, pricked it with
pins, and rubbed it on the back of her " familiar,"
the black cat, Rutterkin. In consequence of this
deviltry, Henry, Lord Ross, sickened with strange
consuming pangs, which racked him in incessant
torture until he died. The hag, ill content even
with so dire a vengeance, next tried her arts upon
the younger boy, Francis, Lord Ross, who had sue-

44 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

ceeded to his brother's title and inheritance. Him,
too, she bewitched, with the ready aid of Rutterkin,
and the poor child, wasting in hideous pain, died in
his mother's arms. Then, to complete the ruin she
had wrought, and to insure the downfall of a noble
house, Joan possessed herself of some feathers from
the bed of the Countess, and rubbed them upon
Rutterkin's belly, that the now childless woman
might never again give birth to a living infant.
The feathers and the gloves she obtained through
her daughter, Margaret, who was a servant in the
castle, and who shared her mother's animosity, and
her mother's crimes.

Both Margaret and a younger sister, Phyllis
Flower, — what charming names this witch's brood
possessed ! — gave their evidence unreservedly at
the trial ; admitting all the circumstances related,
and hoping perhaps that, by freely incriminating
their parent, they might themselves escape. In
this hope they were deceived, and the two girls
were hanged in the year of grace 1618. Joan, how
ever, who was either a stout-hearted old sinner or a
deeply calumniated saint, refused to make any con-
fession, and maintained her innocence steadfastly,
in the face of her daughters' accusations. Even in
prison she persistently and solemnly denied the
charges brought against her, praying that the bread
she ate might choke her if she had ever been guilty

THE DARK AGES 45

of sorcery. Whereupon, — according to the chroni-
cle, — the bread, as it had been a living thing, stuck
in her throat, and slowly strangled her, to the su-
preme edification of the bystanders, who refused
to impiously interfere with the manifest workings
of Providence. In the parish church of Bottes-
ford may still be seen the beautiful tomb of the
Earl and Countess of Rutland, with the two little
boys kneeling at their parents' feet ; but what be-
came of Rutterkin, after his guilt had been estab-
lished, is nowhere mentioned, even in the garrulous
"Boke."

Cats played a prominent part in that most pitiful
of all such pitiful tales, — the bewitchment of the
children of Mohra. In 1669 this tranquil Swedish
village was cast into fearful consternation. Over
three hundred boys and girls, from six to sixteen
years of age, had been seduced, it was believed, by
charms and cajolery to visit nightly the witches'
meetings, and enroll themselves in Satan's ranks.
The p^or children freely and even eagerly confessed
their guilt, clinging with tenacity to all the painful
and grotesque details involved in such a story ;
babbling with infant tongues of things too evil for
their understanding ; and adding touch after touch
of loathsome extravagance, as their imaginations
became heated in the riotous atmosphere of credu-
lity. Among other particulars, they affirmed that

46 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

the Devil gave to each of them "a beast about the
bigness and shape of a young cat," which creature
was called a "carrier," its especial duty being to
steal the butter, cheese, milk, and bacon which
constituted their simple offerings to the Prince of
Darkness. These thievish cats accompanied them
to " Blockula," the palace of Satan, and shared
such entertainment as was given them.

The readiness of the children to incriminate
themselves was surpassed by the infatuation of
their judges. Fifteen of the poor little culprits
were actually condemned to death and executed
for their hallucinations. Thirty-six were whipped
every Sunday for a year before the church doors,
and others were punished with varying degrees of
severity. So widespread was the interest awakened
in this trial, that it extended even to England, then
much occupied with witches of her own. The Duke
of Holstein attempted to acquaint himself with
all the particulars ; but was discouraged by the
Swedish authorities, who deemed it best to bury the
matter in oblivion.

Girt with mystery, burdened with subtle associa-
tions of evil, abhorred by the timorous and devout,
how was the cat to escape from the long martyrdom
which awaited her ? The Church offered no asylum
to this poor fugitive, albeit she was not without her
advocates in Heaven, since both Saint Ives, patron

THE DARK AGES 47

of lawyers, and Saint Gertrude, gentlest of mystics,
had deigned to take her under their protection.
Moreover a pretty Italian legend softened in some
degree the asperity of her lot in that chosen land ;
for it was whispered that she was created — not to
mitigate the discomforts of the Ark — but to minis-
ter to the still greater needs of Saint Francis de
Paula, when the holy recluse was living in the
austere loneliness of his hermitage. Satan, having
failed many times to beguile the Saint from a rapt
ecstasy of prayer, sent, as a last resource, hundreds
of mice to torment him. They swarmed in his
narrow cell, gnawed his garments, nibbled at his
feet, and behaved with the shameless audacity of
vermin that knew their diabolic origin, and feared
no retribution. The monk's prayers seemed ended,
when suddenly there sprang from his loose sleeve
a small furry animal that attacked the invaders
with incredible speed and fury. So vigorous was
its onslaught, that only two mice escaped by hid-
ing in a crack of the wall ; and it is to find these
fugitives that the cat's descendants still sit motion-
less before every little hole and crevice, waiting, as
they have waited ever since, for their appointed
prey.

But neither the gratitude of Saint Francis, nor
the lukewarm patronage of Saint Ives and Saint
Gertrude could save poor Pussy from black calumny

48 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

and persecution. Deeper and deeper into the
hearts of men sank the belief that she was alHed
with demons, and that not only witches and
wizards, but their most terrible Master might be
seen by guilty mortals under the disguise of a cat.
The unhesitating acceptance of a personal Devil,
as an important factor in life, made our ancestors
exceedingly alert to defeat his designs. No broad-
minded doubts softened their fear and detestation ;
and Saint Dominic was not the only powerful
preacher who figured Satan as a black cat, that he
might thrill his startled hearers into a trembling
abhorrence of sin. One result of this darkening of
Pussy's character is that she can seldom be found
in church architecture or decoration, where more
innocent animals have frisked and gambolled for
centuries. Indeed there are antiquarians who ma-
liciously assert that her rare appearance — distorted
out of grace and beauty — in some dim corner of a
very old cathedral, is due, not to any softening of a
universal prejudice, but to that sombre Manichean
heresy which constantly found expression in sym-
bolizing triumphant evil. They profess to believe
that mediaeval stone-masons, tainted with this un-
holy creed, yet discreet enough to conceal their
errors from the Church's chastening hand, indicated
the nature of their views by carving, on pulpit
and on pillar, ravenous monsters, — lions, leopards,

THE DARK AGES 49

cats, all equally unrecognizable, but all alike glutted
with prey. Thus they handed down to posterity
the disquiet of their souls, without risking the short,
stern shrift of an ecclesiastical court.

The theory, like most theories, is entertaining ;
but even heresy can hardly be said to have given
the cat her due. She was practically banished
from cathedrals, save at Rouen, where we find her
bravely chasing a mouse around one of the pillars
in the nave. A careful search will also reveal her
occasional presence in the beautiful old choir stalls,
where the genius of the mediaeval wood-carver
resolved itself into an infinite capacity for taking
pains. Amid the riotous groups of greyhounds,
monkeys, and birds, we may see her — though very
rarely — curled up in a recess, or springing with
splendid freedom amid a network of oaken leaves.
There are two very droll cats in the choir of the
old Minster in the Isle of Thanet ; and on one of
the stalls of Great Malvern church a pair of rats
are engaged in the congenial task of gibbeting a
cat, — " le monde bestorne,'' as this reversal of a
natural law was called in ancient France.

Venice gives us a much finer exception in the
superb choir-stalls of San Georgio Maggiore, carved
by Albert de Brule at the very close of the sixteenth
century, when prejudice and superstition were
losing their ancient hold. They represent scenes

50 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

from the life of Saint Benedict ; and the Flemish
sculptor, deeming no convent complete without its
cat, has slyly introduced several into his pious
work. One stall shows us Pussy quarrelling in a
most unsanctified spirit with Benedict's blessed
raven ; and, in another, we see her eating a mouse
under the bed of a sleepy brother whom the Saint
is vainly endeavouring to arouse. The elaborate
oak panellings which surround the altar in the
upper sala of the Scuola di San Rocco are of a
much later date, so that we are hardly surprised at
the frank admission of a cat into Saint Roch's com-
pany. She sits on a well-curb, regarding him with
thoughtful indifference. The anxious solicitude of
his dog, the sleepy affection of Saint Jerome's lion,
the humble fidelity of Saint Anthony's pig, find no
reflection in her steadfast gaze. She merely stares
at the Saint, as she stares at Venice from one of
the columns of the Ducal Palace. Some subtle
lack of sentiment renders her curiously ill-adapted
for pious parts, notwithstanding her constant and
very charming presence in Italian art, of which
much may be said. Certain it is that she was
deliberately ignored throughout those earlier years,
when the great cathedrals rose slowly and superbly
into being. We cannot believe with M. Champfleury
that the sculptors of the Middle Ages failed to rec-
ognize the cat's beauty and grace ; she must have

THE DARK AGES

51

leaped as lightly then as now upon her quivering
prey ; but hers was a sinister loveliness which they
deemed unfit to adorn the splendid monuments of
Christendom.

t I ^HE aggressiveness of our fore-
fathers puzzles and repels us.
It is the quality which, of all
others, is least comprehensible to the
unconcern which we call tolerance, and
to the sensitiveness which we call hu-
manity. How, we ask ourselves, could
men have felt cock-sure of things about
which they knew nothing ; and why
should they have deemed it essential to beat their
convictions into other men's brains } The speed
and sincerity with which principles were translated
into action five hundred years ago kept all Christen-
dom in commotion. People did not then shrug

PERSECUTION 53

their shoulders and say, " 'T is a pity Neighbour
Hearne standeth apart from Church ; " or " 'T is
passing strange Dame Gurton should be so mali-
ciously disposed." By no means ! They saw to it
that Hearne either went to church, or stood his trial
for heresy ; and they brought the sour old woman
to a more amiable frame of mind, or to the witch's
stake. Neither did they observe with scholarly
composure that the adoption of the cat by the black
race of sorcerers was a " curious custom, worthy of
research." They said, " Like master, like servant ; "
and tossed poor Pussy into the terrible bonfire
which blazed for her on the Eve of Saint John.

Now and then a student, gentle and profound, as
one Balthazar Bekker of fragrant memory, asserted
the innocence of the cat, — perhaps he had a kitten
of his own, — and declared the dog to be more
deeply versed than she in the unholy arts of necro-
mancy. But the people knew better than this.
The frank integrity of the dog was unmistakable.
One wag of his honest tail disarmed suspicion.
Blunder he might, and fall perchance from grace ;
but the subtle witchery of the cat was far beyond
his canine comprehension.

Moreover the weight of evidence was always
against the cat. At the trial of Rebecca Walther,
a woman of Neuchatel who was strangled as a
sorceress in 1647, it was proven that a neighbour's

54 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

dog, trotting soberly along the road, fell dead in
the dust, when the witch came to her doorway, and
fixed her cold malignant eye upon him. Who ever
heard of a cat dying of such delicate susceptibility ?
Perronon Meguin, another witch of the same town,
did indeed contrive to kill an enemy's cat by smear-
ing it with a poisonous ointment ; but this was a
natural and laborious method, akin to bootjacks and
blunderbusses. People, unaided by Satan, have
done as much.

Finally, as proof indubitable of Pussy's guilt, we
have the report of the learned jurist, Kessner, who
collected the records of countless witch-trials, and
published them for the enlightenment of the curious,
and the edification of the devout. In the evidence
offered at these trials, it was shown that, whereas
the Arch-Fiend appeared to his followers but sixty
times as a cavalier, and but two hundred and fifteen
times as a he-goat, he took more than nine hundred
times the congenial form of a black cat ; — reason
enough for giving this accursed animal a wide and
cautious berth.

So it came to pass that Pussy entered upon long
years of persecution, and her annals are so freighted
with misery that, to one who loves her dearly, the
mere recital of her pain is beyond measure griev-
ous. There is still to be seen a receipt for two
hundred ^^ sols parisis,' dated 1575, and signed by

PERSECUTION 55

Lucas Pommoreux, — abhorred forever be his name !
— who for three years had supplied " all the cats
needed for the fire on Saint John's day." "To
toss_^;^ew cats into the flames on jthe festival of
Saint John was considered an encouragement to
'morality," observes M. de Meril ; and an old French
song celebrates with pitiless gayety the fate

" D'un chat qui, d'une course breve,
Monta au feu Saint Jean de Greve."

The custom continued in force, losing none of its
popularity, until 1604, when the gracious child,
afterwards Louis the Thirteenth, interceded at
court for the lives of these poor animals, and ob-
tained from Henry the Fourth an edict which ended
the barbarous sport.

What incited the villagers of France to build
these sacrificial fires was the widespread belief that
all cats attended the great Witches' Sabbath on
Saint John's Eve. Fontenelle told Moncrif — that
courtly chronicler of high-born pussies — that, when
he was a little boy, not even a kitten was to be
seen on this night of mystery. The whole feline
population was abroad — or so he conceived — intent
on deeds of mischief. In^ Picardy the burning of
cats t ook_jplac£„ on jthe first^^unday_oLJ:ient, and
jyas part of the "Bihourdi," a festival so old that
nobody is sure of its origm. Lanterns and torches
were carried through the village streets, bonfires

56 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

wereJLit, fiddlers scraped their bows, and j— crown-
ing relish of the entertainment — cats, fastened to
long poles, were dropped into the heart of Jhe
flames, while tTie children danced merrily, hand in
hand, laughing and screaming with delight. The
Flemish peasants, more stolid and unimaginative,
carried their cats in bags to the top of steeple or
belfry, and dropped the poor creatures from^his
cruel height. A statute of 1618 forbids the in-
habitants of Ypres the pleasure of hurling a cat
from their tower on the second Wednesday in
Lent, as had been their honoured custom for years.

To Brussels__is due the unenviable distinction of
having produced the first cat organ, in 1549. This
triumph of ingenuity was designed to lend merri-
ment to the street pageant in honour of Philip the
Second, and is described by Juan Cristoval, a Span-
iard in attendance upon the King.

" The organ," says Cristoval, "was carried on a
car, with a great bear for the musician. In place-
of pipes, it had twenty cats separately confined. in
narrow cases, from which they could not stir.
Their tails were tied to cords attached to the key-
board of the organ. When the bear pounded the
keys, the cords were jerked, and this pulled the
tails of the cats, and made them mew in bass or
treble notes, according to the nature of the airs."

Such an invention could have afforded, at best.

PERSECUTION 57

but doubtful entertainment ; yet the cat organ was
so widely appreciated that German humourists un-
dertook to alter and improve it ; and after a time a
choice variety of instruments were constructed, in
all of which cats were induced by some well applied
torture to furnish forth the necessary music. The
same ingenuity was revealed in forcing Pussy to
play other prominent but reluctant parts in public
celebrations or rejoicings, especially when these
were of a religious character ; for then the people
naturally felt that the cruelty which so pleased
their hearts was sanctified and devout,— at once a
protest against the shortcomings of their neighbours,
and an illustration of their own superior piety. In
an entertaining old book called " Twenty Lookes
over all the Round-heads in the World," which was
published in England in 1643, we find related with
honest pride an incident designed to show the zeal
of the London populace for the principles of the
Reformation.

" In the Reigne of Queene Mary (at which time
Popery was much exalted), then were the Round-
heads " — i. e., the monks and friars — " so odious
to the people, that in derision of them was a Cat
taken on a Sabbath day, with her head shorn e as a
Fryer's, and the likenesse of a vestment cast over
her, with her feet tied together, and a round piece
of paper like a singing Cake between them ; and

58 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

thus was she hanged on a gallows in Cheapside,
neere to the Crosse, in the Parish of Saint Mathew.
Which Cat, being taken down, was carried to the
Bishop of London, and by him sent to Doctor Pen-
dleton (who was then preaching at Paul's Cross),
commanding it to be shown to the Congregation.
The Round-head Fryers cannot abide to heare of
this Cat."

It would seem as though the friars might have
been less ashamed of such a cruel and ribald jest
than the perpetrators thereof ; but, to the robust
temper of the time, buffoonery dishonoured its vic-
tims. Whatever was made ridiculous was made
contemptible ; and the poor cat, swinging in its
priestly vestments, offered an argument against
Popery as simple as it was sound.

A still more forcible demonstration of the popu-
lar humour Jent vivacity to the rej qicings withjwhich
London celebrated the coronation of Queen Eliza-
beth. In the Hatton correspondence there is a
lively account of all the pageants, speeches, and
" mighty bonfires " which, on this august occasion,
gladdened loyal hearts ; and particular mention is
made of the burning of a "most costly Pope," con-
structed of wicker-work, and carried with mock
solemnity through the streets, accompanied by two
" divells." The interior of this Pope was filled with
live cats ; " which cats," says the writer gleefully.

PERSECUTION 59

"squalled in a most hideous manner as soon as they
felt the fire;" — to the delight of the spectators,
who jokingly pretended that it was the language of
the Pope and the devils which they heard. The
cat organ of the Brussels fete fades into mere
humanity alongside of playfulness like this.

Why, we ask ourselves, should the cat have been
ever the chosen victim of such savage sport ? All
animals can suffer ; most animals can cry out in
their pain. The pleasure derived from torturing a
cat could have been no keener than that which
might have been yielded by the suffering of any
other beast. Vyhat was it then that lent such pecu-
liar appropriateness and piquancy to the sacrifice
of this gentle little creature, unless her association
with witchcraft and the powers of evil placed her
beyond mercy's pale .'* Not only was there no pity
for her in the world ; but superstition had so claimed
her for its prey that foul murder dogged her steps
from innocent kittenhood, however softly and warily
she might tread. Bucolic England, thick-skulled
and heavy-witted, roasted her alive in its brick
ovens, simplyijbecause such a holocaust was be-
lieved, none knew why, to bring good luck to the
house. Scotland, more imaginative and more sin-
ister, spitted her before a_slow fire, as a means of
divining the future. It was thought that the witch
cats of the neighbourhood would come to their

6o THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

comrade's aid, — which does credit to their kind-
ness of heart, — and would answer any questions
to obtain her release.

Strange and gruesome remedies for rheumatism,
and ague, and all the ills that village flesh is heir
to, were extracted from Pussy's brains and bones ;
and countless means were devised by which she
might afford the rural population such entertain-
ment as it was best fitted to enjoy. Scottish pea-
sants amused themselves by hanging her up in a
small cask or firkin, half full of soot, at which men
and boys struck vigorous blows, striving to escape
before the soot fell on them. This primitive game
might have been played just as effectively without
the assistance of the cat ; but it would have been
flavourless had it lacked what Montaigne so admir-
ably calls "the tart, sweet pleasure of inflicting
pain."

In England, a cat tucked into a leathern bottle
was a favourite target for archery. - — " Hang me
in a bottleTi¥e~acat:,^and shoot at me," says Bene-
dick blithely ; and cat-worrying was for centuries
as much a recognized sport as cock-fighting, or bull
and badger baiting. It is hard to forgive Christo-
pher North for his apparent enjoyment of this most
cruel of amusements, which he describes with a zest
that does him infinite shame. In cock-fights and
dog-fights there is fair play, and the combatants

PERSECUTION 6i

are enamoured of the strife ; but the desperate
courage of a cat at bay can ill excuse the brutality
which matches it against an animal of many times
its strength. That a good sportsman like Wilson
should have relished such a spectacle, puts us out
of conceit with humanity.

In tracing the long and bitter persecutio,h' of the
cat, there are two points to be especially considered.
Its sinister reputation — obtained. Heaven knows
how, — as the accomplice of witches, and the chosen
emissary of the Fiend ; and the evil character it won
for itself — again. Heaven knows how, — as an ani-
mal equally perfidious and malign. In zoological
mythology, and in the folk-lore of every land, it
figures darkly, and without esteem. A Hindoo
fable represents the cat as living with pretended
austerity on the banks of the Ganges. The fame
of the new Saint's piety, of his long prayers and
rigorous fasts, inspires the little birds and mice
with such confidence that they gather around him
daily, and are daily devoured. From Alexandria
we have the story, retold by ^sop and La Fon-
taine, of the cat bride who leaps from her husband's
embraces after a scudding mouse. In an Alsatian
legend, a cat comes again and again as a nightmare
to torment a young joiner. He wakens once to
find her stealing into his room through a hole in
the chimney-place ; whereupon he stops up the hole,

62 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

and nails one of her paws to the floor. The next
morning reveals to him a beautiful young woman,
whom, with the customary fatuity of youth, he
promptly marries. But, after a year of wedded life,
the hole is by some luckless chance uncovered, and
the unfaithful wife disappears, never to be seen
again.

Every country adds its quota of dispraise. The
story of the nightmare cat appears with variations
in the folk-lore of Germany, Austria, and France.
Italy tells the fable of the cock who wants to be
Pope. His friend, the cat, offers to accompany the
foolish bird to Rome, and eats him up comfortably
on the first day's journey. In a Bavarian tale, the
cat marries the mouse, and sups, without a shadow
of remorse, on her small bridegroom. Now and
then the picture is brightened by some unexpected
touch of fidelity or gratitude, as in the Afanassieff^
where a peasant girl gives the witch's cat a piece of
ham, and is helped by him generously in return.
There is also a grisly Tuscan legend of a servant
maid who unwittingly disturbs the procession of
ghosts, on the terrible " Night of the Dead." When
the phantoms have swept noiselessly past, she finds,
to her horror, that she has a human hand in her
basket. By the advice of a wise woman, she keeps
this hand a year, and on the following Feast of All
Souls she ventures once again to stand in the road

PERSECUTION 63

at midnight, with the open basket at her feet, and a
black cat clasped tightly in her arms. " Take back
your hand, my masters ! " she pleads; and one of
the ghosts plucks it from the basket, whispering
grimly, " Were it not for the thing you carry, you
should walk this night by my side."

The protection afforded by the cat in such an in-
stance was, after all, involuntary, and by no means
lessened her disrepute. One does not lightly love
a guardian so uncanny. It is probable also that
the sailors' wives of Scarborough, who filched their
neighbours' black kittens to insure their husbands'
safe return from sea, regarded these stolen prizes
with more respect than affection. Even in in-
stances where the animal has manifested its own
too rare regard, there is often a subtle horror
associated with its faithfulness. We remember
apprehensively the cat that loved the poisoner,
Wainewright, that would not leave his side, and that
was the sole witness of his sudden death.

From Lyons comes a dreadful story of crime and
retribution. Towards the close of th^ last century,
a woman was found murdered in her home, her
throat brutally cut, her oaken chest rifled of its
scanty treasures. She had lived alone, with no
other companion than a great brindled cat, and this
cat was now discovered by the neighbours huddled
on a cornice of the cupboard, his glaring eyes fixed

64 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

full upon his dead mistress. No persuasion nor
artifice could move him from his post. For two
whole days and nights he crouched there like a
panther tense for the spring. On the third morn-
ing, a man, suspected of the murder, was brought
into the room, when suddenly, and with horrible
fury, the creature hurled himself upon the assassin,
biting and tearing him savagely. Confession and
execution followed ; but of the cat's fate we know no-
thing. Two hundred years earlier, his shrift would
have been a short one. Not even his avenging
rage could have saved him from sharing the mur^
derer's grave.

Innocence was no protection for an outcast of
his fated race. Among the famous French trials
of the seventeenth century is one of a woman who
had strangled in cold blood several little children
left by their mothers to- her care. For this hideous
crime she was condemned to be hung in an iron
cage over a slow fire, in company with fourteen cats
that had killed nobody, but that added to the horror
of the spectacle by clawing fiercely at the murderess
in the throes of their own death agony.

The page of Pussy's martyrdom has been long in
turning. It has been no pleasure, Heaven knows, to
linger over it ; but when we think of the strange and
bitter vicissitudes through which she has passed,
— this creature so small and helpless, so timid

PERSECUTION 65

and so brave, we come to a better understanding of
her complex, subtle, and, to many minds, unlovely
character. Self-sufificing by nature, she has learned
distrust through centuries of suffering. To see a
cat run across a street is to understand that her
race has for generation after generation been
hunted as cruelly as the hare. She scurries by
swiftly and fearfully, as did that poor ancestress of
hers whom the Puritan soldiers chased derisively
around the nave of Lichfield Cathedral, until Prince
Rupert interrupted their pious sport. She knows
nt>t now precisely what she dreads, — the coast
being clear, and no boys nor dogs in sight ; she
knew not three hundred years ago why she was
held responsible for theological errors in which she
had no share. Catholicism, Anglicanism, Puritan-
ism, — all were alike indifferent to her ; yet, as we
have seen, she bore the burden of man's devout
distaste for his neighbour's creed. Perhaps the last
authentic instance of feline persecution for con-
science' sake was the case of the "ecclesiastical
cat " that George Borrow met and rescued in Wales.
The Vicar of Llangollen, a most unpopular charac-
ter in a stronghold of sturdy dissent, had returned
to England, leaving behind him his black cat ; and
the antagonism formerly felt for the clergyman had
been transferred to the clerical pet. No house-
holder would give it food or shelter ; and, if it slunk

66

THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

trembling through the village streets, the children
pelted it with stones and clots of mud. "There
never was a cat so ill-treated as that poor Church
of England animal," says Borrow indignantly ; " and
altogether on account of the opinions which it was
supposed to have imbibed in the house of its late
master ; for I never could learn that the dissenters
of Llangollen were in the habit of persecuting other
cats. The cat was a Church of England cat, and
that was enough." Finally he was obliged to carry
away this unconscious and reluctant martyr, and
to seek for it an asylum in another village, where
it was charitably received by a young woman, who,
being herself an Anglican, w^as all the more ready
to aid an oppressed scion of the Establishment.

It is a touch of comedy with which to ring down
the curtain on Pussy's tragic past.

CHAPTER IV

RENAISSANCE

" Un horame cherissoit epeidument sa chatte ;
II la trouvoit mignonne, et belle, et delicate.
Qui miauloit d'un ton fort doux :
II etoit plus fou que les fous."

THE close of the sixteenth century saw
western Europe undergoing a curious and
comfortable change. Civilization, with
her handmaid, luxury, and her schoolmaster, the
printing-press, had seduced the souls of men. War
was no longer a pastime for princes ; it was a seri-
ous and expensive business, frowned upon by finan-
ciers, and deferred as tediously as possible. Men
built themselves costly homes, bought pictures and
tapestries and vellum-bound books, and began slowly

68 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

to understand the first rudiments of the noble art
of cooking. Rich merchants enjoyed the delights
of ostentation, and the great middle class studied
its own comfort with commendable industry. An
air of well-being spread over the towns, and, in
favoured lands like England, extended itself even to
the peasantry. Lazy and luke-warm antagonisms
supplanted the old fiery intolerance. Life grew
softer, sweeter, replete with self-indulgence and
self-satisfaction. All things were working harmoni-
ously for the reestablishment of the cat in popular
esteem. " The time had arrived," says M. Havard
prettily, "for her to profit by new and gracious con-
ditions. She became once more the assiduous guest
of a courteous and companionable society."

It is in France that we find the first distinct
proofs of Pussy's return to favour ; in France, where
the persecution of the peasant had yielded to the
love and pity of the prince, and where she was des-
tined, in later years, to rule over loyal hearts.
Indeed, M. Gautier always affirmed that only a
Frenchman could understand the fine and subtle
qualities of a cat. Nevertheless, it was very cau-
tiously that she ventured, with many a soft and shy
intrusion, to establish herself by friendly hearths.
Centuries of cruel injustice weighed upon her
spirits, and there were still men who shrank with
abhorrence from her panther-like beauty and grace.

RENAISSANCE 69

Henry the Third, who had so much affection to
spare for little dogs, could not look at a cat without
fainting ; and Ronsard confesses that he trembled
from head to foot if he met one, even at broad noon.

" Homme ne vis, qui tant haisse au monde
Les Chats que moi d'une haine profonde ;
Je hais leurs yeux, leur fronts, et leur regard."

Other and kinder voices, however, were raised,
even at this early date, in defence of Pussy's
charms. Joachim du Bellay was the first French
poet who sang the praises of his cat, — the beau-
tiful and amiable Belaud ; and Montaigne, in his
lazy, luminous fashion, " without a spur or even a
pat from Lady Vanity," wrote more than three
hundred years ago the final word upon the subject ;
a word which we have been assiduously repeating
and amplifying — but not improving — ever since.
"When I play with my cat," he muses softly, "who
knows whether she diverts herself with me, or I
with her ! We entertain one another with mutual
follies, struggling for a garter ; and, if I have my
time to begin or to refuse, she also has hers. It is
because I cannot understand her language that we
agree no better ; and perhaps she laughs at my sim-
plicity in making sport to amuse her."

This is the whole story of human and feline com-
panionship. This is the whole nature of the cat,
accepted with philosophy, and described with care-

70 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

less exactitude. The independence of character,
the coldness of heart, the alternations of playful-
ness and reserve, "the courteous but temperate
regard, granted on terms of absolute equality, —
these things were understood and respected by one
too wisely kind for intolerance. "Thus freely
speaketh Montaigne concerning cats," and there is
little to add to his words. The world is now so old
that everything we would like to say has been said
long ago by those who first had the opportunity.

Two proofs we find of Pussy's rapid progress in
esteem. The French country houses built between
the middle of the sixteenth and seventeenth cen-
turies were all furnished with " chatieres," little
openings cut in the doors for the accommodation of
the cat, who wandered in and out of the great chill
tapestried rooms as her restless fancy prompted
her. These chatieres indicate a careful study of
her convenience, yet, by the close of the seven-
teenth century, they had wholly disappeared ; — a
circumstance, says M. Havard, which points to but
one conclusion. In her hundred years of pampered
domesticity, the cat had accustomed mankind to
wait upon her pleasure. There was no longer any
need of creeping through a hole. If she wanted
to come in or go out, — and cats are perpetually
wanting to do one or the other, — somebody was
always ready to get up and open the door.

RENAISSANCE 71

Richelieu lent the weight of his all-powerful
example to the fast-growing passion for pussies,
although he limited his own appreciation to their
infant charms. He delighted in kittens, — the most
bewitching playthings in the world, — because they
amused him, and saved him now and then from the
bleak melancholy which lay ever waiting for a leisure
hour. But though he petted and fondled them,
smiled at their absurdities, and humoured their love
of mischief, the grace of attachment to these frolic-
some little friends was denied him all his life.
When they matured into sobriety, and put on the
delicate charm of mingled intelligence and caprice,
he sent them away, and gave their place in his
cabinet, and in what was by courtesy called his
heart, to a younger and gayer generation.

Mazarin's love for cats was a more sincere and
steadfast emotion. He cherished his beautiful pets
all their lives, and took pleasure in the supercilious-
ness of their behaviour. His attitude towards them
was one of parental care, sweetened and softened
by humility. Like Cardinal Wolsey, he reserved
his arrogance for men, whose knees are supple to
bend ; and, like Wolsey, he found in the companion-
ship of his cat the sure road to meekness and self-
abasement. For there is nothing so lowering to
one's self-esteem as the affectionate contempt of a
beloved cat.

72 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

** Half gentle kindliness and half disdain,
In salutation courtly and urbane,
Where naught disturbs the concord of her reign."

In the brilliant court of Louis the Fourteenth,
Pussy began that series of social triumphs which
led, step by step, to her grand apotheosis during the
following reign. Her beauty, her exquisite pro-
priety of demeanour, her velvet footfall, her gentle,
flattering purr, her love of luxury and repose, all
fitted her for the splendour of her surroundings.
The art with which she veiled her mind and mo-
tives was duly appreciated by courtiers, forever
occupied in masking their own emotions. She fol-
lowed unconsciously the advice of the old French
noble who sent his son to court with these wise
words : ** Seize everything, speak ill of nobody, and
sit down whenever you have the opportunity."
" Gracieuse, supple et perfide," she harmonized ex-
quisitely with a society which reflected her dominant
traits. Saint Simon, in an amusing passage of his
Memoirs, describes the intrusion of a kitten upon
one of the Royal Councils, and the delight of the
little king, Louis the Fifteenth, — a boy of eight, —
at this pleasant interruption of business. The kit-
ten, with the audacity of kittenhood, jumped first
upon the princely knee, and thence to the council
table, where it pranced and paddled among the
papers, tolerated for the sake of the pale tired child

RENAISSANCE 73

who presided silently and courteously for hours
over these tedious meetings. Indeed, Saint Simon,
then fuming with indignation at the recent appoint-
ment of new Councillors, proposed the adoption of
the kitten as a permanent member of the august
assembly ; — a jest which seems to have been con-
sidered by himself and others as exceedingly bitter
and well-timed.

It is to Francois Augustin Paradis de Moncrif
that we owe our intimate acquaintance with the
most distinguished cats of this period. Scotch by
descent, Parisian by birth, courtier by taste and
training, poet, dramatist, litterateur, and faithful
lover of the fair feline race, Moncrif, in happy
mood, conceived the idea of writing a series of let-
ters in praise of cats. No one was better fitted for
the task ; no one could have accomplished it more
gracefully. In his pages, the names of pussies,
long since dead, live sweetly embalmed in verse.
Here may we read of Marmalain, the beautiful cat
of Mme. la Duchesse du Maine, who inscribed to
her favourite a spirited rondeau, full of tender flat-
tery, and the fond conceits hallowed by true affec-
tion. When Marmalain died, his noble mistress
was too profoundly dejected to compose a fitting
epitaph ; so to M. La Mothe le Vayer was assigned
that honour, and his touching lines have been sym-
pathetically translated by Mr. Edmund Gosse.

74 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" Puss passer-by, within this simple tomb

Lies one whose hfe fell Atropos hath shred ;
The happiest cat on earth hath heard his doom,

And sleeps forever in a marble bed.
Alas ! what long delicious days I 've seen !

O cats of Egypt, my illustrious sires,
You who on altars, bound with garlands green,

Have melted hearts, and kindled fond desires ;
Hymns in your praise were paid, and offerings too,

But I 'm not jealous of those rites divine;
Since Ludovisa loved me, fond and true.

Your ancient glory was less proud than mine.
To live, a simple pussy, by her side,

Was nobler far than to be deified."

From Moncrif, too, we learn of Tata, the cat of
Mme. la Marquise de Montglas ; and of Dom Gris,
the cat of Mme. la Duchesse de Bethune ; and of
the incomparable Menine, *' morte vierge au prin-
temps de la vie," whom the young Duchesse de
Lesdiguieres cherished and lost.

" Menine, qui jamais ne connut de Menin,
Et qui fut, de son temps, des Chattes la Lucrece ;
Chatte pour tout le monde, et, pour les Chats, Tigresse."

When this fair Amazon died, Mme. de Lesdiguieres
built over the little corpse a noble mausoleum, with
a marble pussy sleeping upon a marble pillow,
whereon was engraved the following courtly epitaph :

" Ci git une Chatte jolie :
Sa Maitresse qui n'aima rien,
L'aima jusque a la folie ;
Pourquoi le dire ? On le voit bien."

RENAISSANCE 75

Still more pathetic is the story of Mile, du Puy's
music loving cat, who listened with critical atten-
tion when his mistress played upon the harp ; mani-
festing his pleasure if she played well, and his an-
noyance if she blundered. Mile, du Puy attributed
her skill as a harpist mainly to this cat's taste and
judgment ; and, to mark her gratitude for so great
a service, she bequeathed him at her death a town
house, a country house, and an income sufficient to
maintain both establishments. Her family, grasp-
ing and avaricious as are most kith and kin, con-
tested the will, and succeeded, after a long struggle
in the courts, in wresting from the legatee an estate
which, by every law of justice and morality, was his,
and his alone.

Of all the cats, however,. whom Moncrif delighted
to applaud, none fills so proud a place in his letters,
and in our regard, as Grisette, the beloved pet of
Mme. Deshoullieres.

*' Deshoullieres cares not for the smart

Her bright eyes cause, disdainful hussy !
But, like a mouse, her idle heart
Is captured by a pussy."

Grisette was a cat of parts. Her manners were
marked by gentle distinction ; and to her rare
beauty were added intelligence, and a somewhat
chilling sweetness of character. She inspired af-
fection in all whom she honoured with her notice ;

76 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

and we may read page after page of impassioned
verse addressed to her by the wits and poets of
her day, who veiled their own sentiments thinly
under the disguise of despairing feline suitors.
There seems to have been little coquetry in Gri-
sette. She granted few favours ; but preserved
that soft and courteous indifference, that exquisite
delicacy and tact, which compelled respect as well
as adoration. Yet she too had a charming poetic
gift, — Mme. Deshoullieres acting as her amanu-
ensis, — and nothing can be prettier than her shy
admission to Tata that his gallantry and valour
made her little heart beat fast ; or than these lines
which defy translation, but which may be accepted
as the highest standard of absolute good-breeding
for a cat. They should be hung, in their sweet old
French, on the walls of every kitten nursery in the
world.

" Sgavez-vous de quel air discret et raisonnable
J'ay ma part des bons repas ?
J'appuye discretement ma patte sur les bras
De ceux qui sont assis a table.
Si leur faim est inexorable,
Ma faim ne se rebute pas ;
Et d'un air tou jours agreable,
Je tire du moins charitable
Les morceaux les plus delicats."

It is melancholy to relate that Moncrif was pelted
with ridicule by the satirists of his day because of

RENAISSANCE 77

this pleasant " Histoire des Chats ; " and that, after
his election to the French Academy, he had the
weakness to withdraw the book from circulation.
Solid and serious scholars, who had inaugurated
what M. Champfieury calls " the grievous system
of professional literature," pretended to believe that
cats were unworthy of an Academician's momen-
tous regard. Wits made merry at the expense of
the " historiogriffe ; " and false friends, like Vol-
taire, flattered the poor poet out of his reason, and
then laughed sourly at the simplicity which credited
men with truth. Upon the awful and august occa-
sion of Moncrif's maiden speech, some wag, thrill-
ing with joy at his own brilliant jest, turned a cat
loose in the room ; and when the frightened crea-
ture began to mew, the Academicians laughed and
mewed in chorus, to the painful confusion of the
newly elected. — ** Rira mieux qui rira derniere."
To-day, when tomes of oppressive erudition lie
swathed in shrouds of dust ; when names once
honoured are well-nigh forgotten ; when Moncrif's
other writings — plays, and poems, and pastorals
— have slipped unobtrusively into oblivion ; this
" gravely frivolous " little book still gains a hear-
ing for its author. No one who truly loves cats
can afford to neglect so interesting a period in their
history, nor so veracious and admirable an histo-
rian.

78 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

If Moncrif be the first genuine chronicler, the
Froissart of cats, La Fontaine, says M. Feuillet de
Conches, is their Homer. " He painted them, as
he studied them, under all aspects, and with a mas-
ter's skill." But that he painted them unkindly is
too evident for denial. He borrowed Rodilardus
from Rabelais, and turned that feline Samson into
a cruel and insatiable tyrant,

" L'Attila, le fleau des rats,"

who wages day and night a relentless war of ex-
termination.

" Et Rodilard passoit, chez la gent miserable,
Non pour un chat, mais pour un diable."

This '' Alexander of cats " is as brave as he is
merciless, — cowardice has never been a cattish
trait, — but he is as false and malicious as he is
brave. He sows the seeds of dissension between
other animals, and laughs in his sleeve at their stu-
pidity. He refuses pity to the mouseling in these
terrible words, " Cats know not how to pardon."
He is a prince of hypocrites, and, like the hermit
of the Ganges, affects piety, and the spirit of uni-
versal brotherhood. When the foolish young rab-
bit quarrels with the weasel, she consents to abide
by the just decision of Raminagrobis, a saintly puss
of ascetic habits and incorruptible morals ; a "chate-
mite," who, sighing that he is old and deaf, per-

RENAISSANCE 79

suades the disputants to approach within reach of
his murderous claws. Where ^sop treats Pussy
with some kindness, as in the fable of "The Cat
and the Fox," La Fontaine is at pains to insist that
this pair of pilgrims are pious frauds, arch-dissem-
blers, who compensate themselves with many a
strangled chicken and stolen cheese for the hard-
ships of their pilgrimage. He sums up feline char-
acteristics in the surpassing cynicism of the old
rat's scornful speech; "No benefit can win grati-
tude from a cat."

And this defamer, we are bidden to believe, sings
Homerically of the race which he defames .-* What
if his good humour be ever unimpaired, and if his
comfortable laugh reminds us now and then that
he, for his part, does not seriously object to such
amazing scampishness ? We who are forced to ob-
ject, — as living in a sternly moral age, — wish that
a little mercy, or even a little justice, had tempered
these gay calumnies which will outlive truth itself.
For so great is La Fontaine's charm, so felicitous
is every finely chosen phrase, that the beauty of
his verse wins permanence for his most scandalous
characterizations. He admits the seductive quali-
ties of the cat. Like the amorous young Greek of
the fable, he finds her

" mignonne, et belle, et delicate,"

inspiring foolish and excessive affection, to which

8o THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

she returns a selfish indifference. He describes
exquisitely and precisely the '' gentle hypocrite,"
with her irreproachable modesty of demeanour, her
soft sleek fur, her noiseless step, her air of min-
gled graciousness and dignity, her sleepy eyes half
shut, lest their gleam should betray the tigerish
soul within. This is the cat of La Fontaine, an
unworthy picture, drawn with consummate skill.
France accepted her without shadow of protest,
granting to her courage, her cunning, and her love-
liness, pardon for many sins. After all, these amia-
ble critics may have urged, we forgive Achilles
much, because he is brave ; Odysseus more, be-
cause he is acute ; Helen most of all, because she
is beautiful. Why then pass priggish judgment
upon a creature brave as Achilles, acute as Odys-
seus, beautiful as Helen ? She has the qualities of
her defects ; and these things are as the wise gods
ordain. We cannot mould her to our liking ; Mon-
taigne has told us so. She will not strive for our
approval, any more than she will toil for our con-
venience. " Libertas sine Labored She walks her
chosen path by our side ; but our ways are not her
ways, our influence does not remotely reach her.
Let us abandon the office of critic, where there is
no mutual standard for criticism.

And so it was that Mme. la Duchesse de Bouillon
— true lover of cats and their most tender friend —

RENAISSANCE

8i

begged La Fontaine to give her a copy of every
fable in which her favourite animal played its un-
grateful part. These precious manuscripts, after
being lost for a century and more, were discovered
by M. Feuillet de Conches, stored away in a lumber
room with other interesting and valuable papers of
the de Bouillon family, whose estate had passed
into alien hands, and whose long-prized treasures
had been thrust into dusty oblivion.

CHAPTER V

THE CAT OF ALBION

" Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat,

Where have you been ? "
" I 've been to London,

To look at the Queen."

THIS beaste is called a Musion, for that
he is enimie to Myse and Rattes. He
is slye and wittie, and seeth so sharpely
that he overcommeth darknes of the nighte by the
sbyninge lyghte of his eyne. In shape of bodye he
is lyke unto a Leoparde, and hathe a great mouthe.

THE CAT OF ALBION 83

He dothe delight that he enjoyeth his Ubertye ; and
in his youthe he is swifte, plyante and merrie. He
maketh a rufull noyse and a gastefull when he pro-
fereth to fightewith an other. He isacruell beaste
when he is wilde, and falleth on his owne feete from
most high places, and seldom is hurt therewith.
When he hath a fay re skinne, he is, as it were,
prowde thereof, and then he goeth faste aboute to
be seene."

So writes John Bossewell, in his '' Workes of
Armorie," 1597; and the vigour and accuracy of
the description shame our feebler pens. Bosse-
well, it is true, found part of this admirable portrait
in a still older book, translated from the Latin by
Thomas Berthlet, and printed by Wynkyn de Worde
in 1498. In its curious pages, the wild cat of Great
Britain and his tamer brother are characterized with
minute fidelity, the writer dwelling upon their close
resemblance to the leopard, their swiftness, grace,
and savage playfulness.

" The Cat is surely most like to the Leoparde,
and hathe a great mouthe, and sharp teeth, and a
long tongue, plyante, thin and subtle. He lappeth
therewith when he drinketh, as other beastes do
that have the nether lip shorter than the over ; for,
by cause of unevenness of lips, such beastes suck
not in drinking, but lap and lick, as Aristotle saith,
and Plinius also. He is a swifte and merye beaste

84 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

in youthe, and leapeth, and riseth on all things that
are tofore him ; and is led by a straw, and playeth
therewith, and is a righte heavye beaste in age, and
full sleepye, and lyeth slyly in waite for Mice ; and
is ware where they bene more by smell than by
sighte, and hunteth, and riseth on them in privy
places. And when he taketh a Mouse, he playeth
therewith, and eateth him after the play. He is a
cruell beaste when he is wilde, and dwelleth in
woods, and hunteth there small beastes as conies
and hares."

There is something in the bald simplicity of the
statement, " And when he taketh a Mouse, he play-
eth therewith, and eateth him after the play," which
makes us wince. Why is the cat's pathway trailed
with blood ? We have grown so accustomed to the
little tragedy which is being acted over and over
again under our roofs, that its grimness fails to
move our hearts to pity. Moreover, apart from the
fact that the mouse enjoys an evil reputation as an
admittedly undesirable tenant, it is not the habit of
mankind to concern itself deeply over the suffer-
ings of small creatures. An animal must approach
nearer to our own bulk to make its pain respectable.
Only when Shakespeare uses this trivial incident as
an illustration of mortal anguish, do we recognize
its horror.

" Yet, foul night-waking cat, he doth but dally,
While in his holdfast foot the weak mouse panteth."

THE CAT OF ALBION 85

Maister Salmon, who published his " Compleat
English Physician," in 1693, describes "Catus, the
Cat," with careful minuteness, and with an ad-
miration founded apparently on the strange cures
wrought by a judicious use of its brains. '' As to
its Eyes," he continues gravely, " Authors say that
they shine in the Night ; and see better at the full,
and more dimly at the change of the Moon. Also
that the Cat doth vary his Eyes with the Sun ; the
Pupil being round at Sunrise, long towards Noon,
and not to be seen at all at Night, but the whole
Eye shining in the darkness. These appearances
of the Cat's Eyes, I am sure are true ; but whether
they answer to the times of the Day, I have never
observed. It is a crafty, subtle, watchful Crea-
ture, very loving and familiar with Mankind ; but
the mortal Enemy of the Rat, Mouse, and every
sort of Bird, which it seizes on as its Prey. Its
flesh is not generally eaten, yet in some Countries
is esteemed an excellent dish."

The cat's eyes seem to have been used as a sort
of rude clock for centuries in the East, where peo-
ple have few household utensils, and plenty of lei-
sure for observation. Pere Hue tells us that, when
travelling in the interior of China, he asked a pea-
sant boy, who was leading a buffalo to graze, if it
were yet noon. The child glanced first at the sky,
where the sun was hidden by driving clouds ; and.

86 ^ THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

reading there no answer to the question, he ran
back to the house, reappearing in a moment with
a large cat in his arms. Pushing open its eyeUds
with his forefinger, — an operation to which the
animal submitted with a patience evidently born of
long habitude, — he said carelessly, " Look, it wants
still an hour and more to noon." When the mis-
sionary expressed his amazement at this primitive
time-piece, other natives explained to him that on
cloudy days their cats always served them as dials.
" They pointed out that the pupils of the creature's
eyes grew gradually narrower until noon, when they
were little more than thin perpendicular lines, and
that with the descent of the sun began their slow
expansion."

It was the waxing and waning of the light in
Pussy's beautiful eyes, with the waxing and wan-
ing of the day, which gave her, centuries before,
her proud preeminence in the great Sun-temple of
Heliopolis.

Maister Salmon is the only English writer who
has a word to say on this subject, and even he con-
fesses he has never taken the trouble to make any
observations for himself. The sole use of the cat
in England was to hunt mice and rats ; and while
there are constant allusions in early English letters
to her vigilance and prowess, while she figures in
proverbs, and old saws, and rude rhymes, it is sel-

THE CAT OF ALBION 87

dom that a flattering or grateful word is spoken.
No pretty compliments here ; no charming allusions
to her beauty and distinction, as in those flowers
of Gallic verse. Chaucer, indeed, aptly compares
Pussy, snug and sleek in her soft fur, to a beneficed
Canon ; but Chaucer had no place in his heart for
cats. Perhaps his passionate love for birds preju-
diced him against their destroyer ; perhaps his
frankly masculine temperament debarred him from
sympathy with a creature so subtle and seductive.
He reproaches her bitterly because her passion for
the chase exceeds all other passions in her breast ;
and this is a just arraignment, for the cat which is,
by courtesy, called domestic, is as pure a beast of
prey as its wild cousin of the woods and mountains.
He also recognizes her beauty, but with a grudging
slur, — the slur which masculinity has, during all
ages, delighted to cast upon femininity ; and in
which femininity has, during all ages, failed to feel
the sting.

*' For whoso wolde senge a cattes skyn,
Thenne wolde the cat wel dwellen in hii" hi;
And if the cattes skyn be slyk and gay,
She wol nat dwelle in house half a day.
But forth she wol, er any day be dawed,
To shewe hir skyn, and goon a-caterwawed."

It may be remembered that John Bossewell, honest
man, assigns the same trait to the male cat, —

88 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

wild or tame, — acknowledging it possibly as a
universal and most excellent characteristic of all
sentient creatures. *' When he hath a fayre skinne,
he is, as it were, prowde thereof, and then he goeth
faste aboute to be scene."

Other sins, more flagrant than vanity, were laid
at Pussy's doors. Not only was she the ''mortal
Enemy " of rats and mice, which won her chill
esteem from selfish utilitarians ; but, like a true free-
booter, she waged war with the same frank enjoy-
ment upon " every sort of Bird," as Maister Salmon
sadly confesses ; making no nice distinction between
the feathered nestling of the woods arid her mas-
ter's treasured possessions. Farmers' wives were
wont to fasten little sprigs of rue beneath the wings
of their chicks and ducklings, in the belief that the
cat's distaste for this herb of grace would save the
barnyard innocents. The marauding spirit that sent
her pillaging the cupboard, and revelling in the
dairy, prompted her patient and sinister ambush
beneath the swinging wicker cage, wherein piped a
tame bullfinch or spiritless captive lark. The Greek
Agathias, passionately lamenting the death of his pet
partridge in the cat's cruel claws, is outclamoured
by John Skelton, who, for hundreds of lines in
"The Boke of Phylyp Sparowe," bewails the fate of
that insignificant bird, and hurls — in fair Margery's
name — breathless and terrible denunciations at its
destroyer.

THE CAT OF ALBION 89

" Gyb, our cat savage,
That in a furyous rage
Caught Phylyp by the head,
And slew him there starke dead."

Never was grief voiced with such sweet and shrill
absurdity. Never was such a formidable array of
curses launched at the head of any murderer, since
murders were known to man.

" That vengeaunce I aske and crye,
By way of exclamacyon,
On all the whole nacyon
Of cattes wylde and tame;
God send them sorowe and shame !
That cat especyally
That slew so cruelly
My lytell pretty sparowe
That I brought up at Carowe.

O cat of churlyshe kynde,
The Fynde was in thy minde
When thou ray byrde untwynde !
I would thou haddest ben blynde !
The leopardes savage,
The lyons in theyr rage,
Myght catche thee in theyr pawes !
And gnawe thee in theyr jawes !
The serpentes of Lybany
Myght stynge thee venymously !
The dragones with theyr tonges
Myght poyson thy lyver and longes !
The mantycors of the montaynes
Myght fede them on thy braynes !
Melanchates, that hounde
That plucked Actaeon to the grounde,

t

90 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Gave hym his mortall wounde,
Chaunged to a dere,
The story doth appere,
Was chaunged to an harte :
So thou, foule cat that thou arte,
' The selfe same hounde

Myght thee confounde,
That his owne lord bote,
Myght byte asondre thy throte !

Of Inde the gredy grypes
Myght tere out all thy trypes !
Of Arcady the beares
Myght plucke awaye thyne eares !
The wylde wolfe Lycaon
Byte asondre thy backe bone !
Of Ethna the brennynge hyll,
That day and nyghte brenneth styl,
Set in thy tayle a blase.
That all the world may gase
And wonder upon thee !
From Ocyan the greate sea
Unto the Isles of Orchady ;
From Tyllbery ferry
To the playne of Salysbery !
So trayterously my byrde to kyll,
That never ought thee evyll wyll ! "

Before this tremendous anathema niaranatha^ all

ordinary cursing, the mere "current compliments

of theological parting," soften into insignificance.

Was there ever such a wanton waste of wrath !

Was ever a trivial sin so exalted by punishment !

Not only is poor Gyb doomed to ignite his tail at

Etna, and

" like another Helen,"

THE CAT OF ALBION 91

fire Salisbury plain with his blazing torch ; but the
Arcadian bears, (she-bears probably, like Elisha's
terrible allies), the '' serpent es of Lybany," dragons,
lions, leopards, and those formidable

" mantycors of the montaynes,"

— whatever they may be — are all summoned from
the ordinary business of their lives to avenge a
sparrow's death upon a cat.

" These vylanous false cattes
Were made for myse and rattes,
And not for byrdes smalle ; "

explains Phylyp's mistress between her sobs ; but
this is precisely the point upon which she and Gyb
would naturally take issue. No broad-minded cat
recognizes such trivial classifications.

Gilbert, abbreviated to Gyb or Gib, was the com-
mon name for a male cat in Skelton's England, just
as Thomas or Tom is the common name to-day.
On the continent, Tybalt or Tybert — familiar to
all readers of " Reineke Fuchs " — became, by the
same process of contraction, Tyb or Tib. Mercutio,
in " Romeo and Juliet," insults Tybalt on this easy
score : —

" Tybalt, you rat-catcher, will you walk ?
Tybalt. W^hat wouldst thou have with me ?
Mercutio. Good king of cats, nothing but one of your nine lives."

The term gib cat or gil cat came in time to sig-
nify an old male, well past the heyday of his prime.

92 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" I am as melancholy as a gib cat,"

sighs Falstaff wearily. Grimalkin, on the other
hand, was less a domestic than a poetical appellation,
given often to Pussy in literature, but never in
friendly fireside intercourse. John Philips deemed
the word sufficiently Miltonic to fit his parody,
**The Splendid Shilling," published in 1703.

" Grimalkin, to Domestick Vermin sworn
An everlasting Foe, with watchful Eye
Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky Gap,
Protending her fell Claws, to thoughtless Mice
Sure Ruin."

Through long association with witchcraft — witches*
cats seem to have been constantly christened Grim-
alkin — the name became deservedly unpopular.

" Grimalkin, the foul Fiend's cat.
Grimalkin, the witche's brat."

runs an ancient and unsavoury rhyme, — one of a
number which served to blacken an innocent ani-
mal's reputation.

From many an old adage, from many a proverb
and rude snatch of rhyme, we may judge for our-
selves how Pussy gradually, and with soft insist-
ence, won her place by cottage hearth, and in the
snug English farm. Her characteristics were so
marked, her habits so unalterable, that she came
in time to stand for certain qualities, and to serve
as their homely illustration. Her chimney-corner

THE CAT OF ALBION 93

life made her, more than any other animal, the tar-
get for hourly observation ; and the sagacity of our
forefathers wove from her wise and wicked ways
some shrewd lessons for their own enlightenment.
" A blate cat makes a proud mouse," and " A half-
penny cat may look at a king," are among the pith-
iest of Scotch proverbs. "The cat with a straw
tail keeps away from the fire," is English. " Care
killed a cat," — originally "Care clammed a cat,"
comes from Herefordshire. " The cat sees through
shut lids," and " Honest as the cat when the meat
is out of reach," reflect more credit upon Pussy's
acuteness than upon her rectitude. "No playing -
with a straw before an old cat," is John Heywood's
contribution in 1562, and so is the well-known
couplet,

" Fain would the cat fish eat,
But she is loth to wet her feet ; "

while the still more familiar nursery rhyme,

" When the cat is away,
The mice may play ; "

was written by Thomas Hey wood in 1607. Even
George Herbert did not disdain to borrow an illus-
tration from this ever useful animal. " Send not
the cat for lard," is his method of saying. Lead
not your neighbour into temptation.

Mr. Harrison Weir has compiled a curious and
valuable glossary of words and idioms which owe

94 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

their derivation to the cat ; such as " cat-handed,"
a Devonshire term for awkward ; " a cat's walk,"
which in Cornwall signifies a little walk near home ;
"cat-lap," very weak tea or broth, fit only for
Pussy's food; "cat-nap," the lightest of dozes;
"cat-call,"

" Sound, sound, ye viols ; be the cat-call dumb."

" caterwauling,"

" What a caterwauling do you keep here ! "

and the familiar "cat's-paw," " cat's-eye," and "cat
o' nine tails." Allusions to the animal's nine lives
— Heaven knows she needed them ! — are frequent
in early English plays. " 'T is a pity you had not
ten lives, — a cat's and your own," says Jonson in
" Every Man in His Humour ; " and Middleton in
" Blurt, Master Constable," makes the off-hand as-
sertion that cats "have nine lives apiece, like a
woman."

Some of the most common expressions seem
meaningless enough, yet have been handed down
from parent to child for endless generations, until
they have become a tradition in every nursery.
How often has the word "she" been checked upon
our infant lips by the certainty of hearing for the
fiftieth time that "she" is the "cat's mother.?"
Little English children, however, especially if they
be bred in Norfolk, are told that " she " is the

THE CAT OF ALBION 95

*' cat's aunt ; " while a foolish boy who grins and
stammers instead of answering promptly is called
— Oh ! stinging reproach ! — the " cat's uncle.'*
There is even a name to denote this feline con-
sanguinity, — Grinagog, which sounds like the very
embodiment of contempt.

The wild-cat, that splendid and courageous beast
which roamed the English woods in savage free-
dom, was hunted both for the beauty of its skin,
and because, though small in stature, its strength
and fierceness made it a noble quarry. In those
old rough days the chase was a dangerous diver-
sion, and men loved it for the peril that it brought.
Richard the Second granted to the Abbot of Peter-
borough, who was a man of mettle, a license to
hunt wild cats in the royal forest. In Beaumont
and Fletcher's '' Scornful Lady," we find this allu-
sion to the sport : —

" Bring out the cat-hounds ; I '11 make you take a tree."

and Shakespeare does infinite honour to the animal's
spirit when he likens Katharine to one, in " Taming
of the Shrew."

" But will you woo this wild-cat ? "

It was the admitted courage of cats, both wild
and tame, which gave them their conspicuous place
in heraldry, ever since the days when Roman le-
gions and Vandal hordes carried their cat banners

96 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

streaming on the wind. The ancient Biirgundians
adopted the cat as their heraldic device, to intimate
an abhorrence of servitude ; and Clotilde, the fair
and saintly Burgundian wife of Clovis, had blazoned
on her armorial bearings a cat sable springing at a
mouse. The same symbol served many a noble
house. The Katzen family carried an azure shield,
with a cat argent holding a rat. The Chetaldie
family of Limoges carried two cats argent on an
azure shield. The princely Delia Gatta of Naples
bore a cat — a splendid cat couchant — on their
crest ; and in Scotland the well-known cognizance
of the Clan Chattan was a wild-cat, with the signifi-
cant motto, " Touch not the cat but " {i. e. without)
" the glove." Of a truth, Cervantes strayed not so
far into extravagance when he wrote of the '' ever
victorious and never vanquished" Timonel of Car-
cajona, Prince of New Biscay, who carried upon
his shield a golden cat, with the expressive motto,
" Miau," in honour of his lady, the beautiful and
peerless Miaulina, daughter of the great Alfeniquen
of the Algarve.

More peaceful memories cling around the an-
cient sign-boards, on which Pussy was ever a favour-
ite figure. " La Maisoii die Chat qui Pelote,'' and
" La Maison du Chat qui Peche" commended
themselves especially to French merchants ; and
M. Champfleury sadly regrets the disappearance of

THE CAT OF ALBION 97

"Z^ Chat Noiry' once so familiar above restaurants
and bakeries. The English " Cat and Fiddle," that
most common sign-board for rural inns, is said to
have been borrowed, not from the venerable nursery
rhyme, but from the French " Chat Fidele^' which
was equally — and more deservedly — popular with
Gallic landlords. So numerous were cat signs in
London two hundred years ago, that the " Spectator "
tells a pleasant story of a man who, being made ill
and faint by the proximity of a live cat, suffered a
corresponding degree of discomfort when passing
under the swinging boards on which Pussy was re-
peatedly painted.

Yet for all the frequency with which we encoun-
ter the cat in every phase of English life, for all
the maxims and proverbs and familiar superstitions
with which her name is linked, there is little to
show that she won more than tolerance in the
" free, fair homes " of that benighted land. If she
sneezed on a wedding-day, she brought luck to the
bride. If she jumped on a corpse, she presaged
misfortune. If she washed her face, or turned her
tail to the fire, men knew that rain was coming.

" Scratch but thine ear,
Then boldly tell what weather 's drawing near."

wrote Lord Westmorland, who had ample leisure
in which to observe the habits of his cat during
the long imprisonment which she shared.

98 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" True calendars as Pusse's eare,
Wash't o're to tell what change is neare,"

sang Herrick in his Devonshire vicarage ; and John
Swan, writing his " Speculum Mundi " in 1643, tells
us very seriously that the cat " useth therefore to
wash her face with her tongue ; and it is observed
by some that if she put her feet beyond the crown
of her head in this kind of washing, it is a signe of
raine."

In fact there was scarcely a movement of the
cat which had not its meaning for the villager, who
did his domestic Sphinx the honour of close scru-
tiny, and who attached so much significance to her
simplest actions that the poor creature, like other
oracles, was too often held responsible for the evils
she presaged. Thus the yokel, being told that
Pussy's ablutions foretold rain, passed, by an easy
mental process, to the conviction that they brought
rain ; and so — eager for the harvesting — killed
his cat, as the simplest method of escaping showers.
The sailor's wife, in her uncertainty as to whether
the fast rising wind was the cause or the effect of
Tabby's nervous clawing at bed curtain and table
leg, deemed it but common prudence to drown the
animal which might otherwise drown her good man
at sea. It is not wise nor well to herald calamity.
The part of Cassandra is ever an ungrateful one
to play.

THE CAT OF ALBION 99

There are a few isolated cases of cats who were
lauded and distinguished in England before the
eighteenth century, from which late period may be
traced their general popularity. The most striking
instance is, of course, the cat of Cardinal Wolsey,
who shared his master's wool-sack, or at least his
master's seat in Council, the wool-sack — emblem
of protected industries — being all unknown before
Elizabeth's day. He is said to have been a large
and beautiful beast with brindled fur, as arrogant
as the Lord Chancellor, but better bred ; delight-
ing in display and ostentation, yet ever mingling
suavity with pride. More pleasing to contemplate
is the faithful cat of that unfortunate Duke of
Norfolk who was imprisoned by Elizabeth for his
intrigues with her fair cousin of Scotland. This
loyal and valiant little friend followed her master
to the Tower, and, being denied admission, actually
made her way down a chimney into the Duke's
apartment, and was permitted thenceforth to share
that nobleman's captivity.

As a fact, imprisonment has scant terrors for the
cat. It accords too well with her serene and con-
templative disposition. Restless wanderer though
she appears, and true lover of liberty though she
is, and has ever been, she can yet live her life with
tranquil enjoyment in a ship, on the seventh floor
of an apartment house, in a granary which she is

100 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

never permitted to leave, or in London's Tower.
There were probably many French cats who passed
their days meditatively in the Bastile, content to be
immured with their masters, and accepting like phi-
losophers the restraints and the indulgences of that
ill-omened, but singularly comfortable fortress.

" Stone walls do not a prison make "

for a creature whose independence of character re-
mains untouched by the sternest and narrowest of
environments. Rather perhaps does she feel her-
self a captive when surrounded too strenuously by
the doting and troublesome affection of mortals,
who cannot be made to understand or to respect
her deep inviolable reserve. Lord Westmorland's
cat freely shared her master's confinement. Sir
Henry Wyatt's cat not only followed him to the
Tower, but is said to have saved him from starva-
tion by bringing him pigeons to eat ; and though it
is difficult to pin our faith to this part of the story,
we know that there still exists, by way of confirma-
tion, a painting of the knight, seated in his cell, and
of his cat dragging a pigeon through the window
bars. The present Earl of Romney, who is the happy
inheritor of this historic relic, likewise possesses a
separate portrait of the animal, with an inscription
stating plainly, " This is the cat that saved Sir
Henry Wyatt." Why should we remain sceptical

THE CAT OF ALBION loi

in the face of such interesting and cumulative evi-
dence !

It is a matter for endless regret that Shakespeare,
in whose plays we find so many allusions to the cat,
never once mentions it with admiration or esteem.
That tepid phrase of Shylock's,

" a harmless necessary cat,"

which might have been written by Joanna Baillie,
is about the kindest word vouchsafed to a creature
whose beauty alone should have won warmer praise.
And this chillness of comment is the more trying
to our souls because it is impossible to read any of
these allusions without knowing that Shakespeare
had looked closely at a number of cats, had noticed
their habits and characteristics, and had felt the
subtlety of their association with the supernatural.

" Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed,"

says the Witch in " Macbeth," and this simplest
and commonest of statements is fraught with dire
significance of evil. Falstaff knows whereof he
speaks when he declares he is " as vigilant as a cat
to steal cream ; " and so does Antonio, in " The
Tempest," when he uses the admirable similitude : —

" For all the rest,
They '11 take suggestion as a cat laps milk."

How full of stealthy horror these two lines in
"Pericles": —

102 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" The cat, with eyne of burnmg coal,
Now couches 'fore the mouse's hole."

How keenly descriptive of the struggle we have all
of us witnessed between Pussy's caution and cupid-
ity, is Lady Macbeth's scornful jibe : —

" Letting / dare not wait upon / would,
Like the poor cat i' the adage."

Yet in all this there is no touch of kindness ; and
when we go further, we fare worse.

" Every cat and dog.
And little mouse, every unworthy thing,"

moans Romeo, who ought to have been ashamed of
such a speech, even in the extremity of his anguish.

" Creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
Of no esteem ; "

says Cornelius in " Cymbeline."

'* Hang off, thou cat, thou burr : vile thing, let loose ! "

cries Lysander to poor Hermia ; and Bertram, in
"All 's Well that Ends Well," must needs air his
unwelcome views.

" I could endure anything before but a cat, and now he 's a cat
to me : "

is the angry word he flings at Parolles ; and, as his
resentment flames hotter and hotter, he can appar-
ently find no more stinging reproach : —

*' He is more and more a cat."
" He 's a cat still."

THE CAT OF ALBION

103

What wonder that Pussy failed long of her tri-
umph upon English soil, when the great poet of
England had nothing better than this to say in her
behalf ?

CHAPTER VI

THE CAT IN ART

" A little lion, small and dainty sweet,
With sea-grey eyes and softly stepping feet."

IF the cat has been exiled from ecclesiastical
architecture, she has triumphed in Christian
art. The early Italian masters admitted her
over and over again into their sacred pictures, paint-
ing her lovingly, and with a delicate appreciation,
not only of her grace, but of her domestic character,
as though they sought to represent through her the
human, earthly, simple life which they blended so
sweetly with the mysterious and divine. In many
pictures of the Annunciation we find a cat drows-
ing upon the Blessed Virgin's work-basket, or curled
up on a corner of her azure robe. We see her re-
peatedly in paintings of the Last Supper, the Mar-
riage Feast at Cana, and the birth of the Blessed

THE CAT IN ART 105

Virgin ; which final subject — so dear to the Italian
heart — was seldom deemed complete without the
introduction of a cat into the spacious bed-chamber
of Saint Ann. This is all the more pleasing be-
cause of Pussy's conspicuous absence from Pagan
art. The dog leaps by the side of Artemis, or bays
at the moon while Endymion slumbers. The kid
drinks from the shepherd's bowl, the young bull
is led garlanded to the sacrifice, the stag falls,
pierced by the hunter's dart. But of the little fire-
side Sphinx we have no sign nor token. She and
she alone finds no place among the marble animals
of the Vatican. Those wise and watchful hounds,
those lions and wolves and spotted leopards make
no room for her. We see the hare couching upon
her form, and the lobster lying on its rocky bed ;
but for the most beautiful of domestic animals we
search, and search in vain. Only in the Capitoline
Museum may be found a spirited bas-relief, of a late
period, which represents a woman trying to teach
her cat to dance to the music of a lyre. The cat, a
sullen beast with no love of music or dancing in its
soul, has paused in the unwelcome task to snap
viciously at a young duck, which, with obvious lack
of caution, is thrusting forward its inquisitive head.
Centuries later, Tintoretto painted just such a pussy
snapping at just such a duck, in his charming pic-
ture of Leda, — Leda caressing the amorous swan,

io6 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

while a dear little dog jumps up at her, vainly striv-
ing to attract attention. She was evidently partial
to pets.

Among the mosaics taken from Pompeii, and
placed in the Museum of Naples, are several ani-
mated representations of cats. Two of the finest
were found in the House of the Faun, — unlovely
pictures both of them, revealing Pussy as an outlaw
and marauder. That there were homes in which
she was prized and cherished is prettily proven by
a mutilated marble preserved at Bordeaux. It is a
Gallo-Roman tomb of the fourth century, and on
it we discern the broken outlines of a young girl
clasping her cat in her arms, as though in death
they were not divided.

From these fleeting glimpses of Pussy, before
she plunged into the long darkness of the Middle
Ages, it is a pleasure to turn to those later, calmer
years, when, having survived the depreciation and
persecution of centuries, we see her once again
basking in the light and warmth of a rapidly ripen-
ing civilization. Even during the stormiest period
of her career she was better off in Italy than in
fierce Northern lands ; and, with the dawning of
fairer days, no happier proof could be afforded of
the affection she inspired than her constant pre-
sence in Italian art. It is true that she makes an
equally early appearance upon Flemish canvases.

THE CAT IN ART 107

In the Gallery of Madrid there is a fantastic picture
by Hieronymus Bosch, representing the birth of
Eve, in which a fierce but very badly painted cat
is prematurely breaking the peace of Paradise by
eating a poor little tadpole ; and in Van Tulden's
"Orpheus taming the Beasts," — also in Madrid, —
we see the animals great and small listening to the
melody in a state of mild rapture, — like Germans in
a Munich beer-cellar, — with the solitary exception
of the cat, who erects an angry tail, and evinces a
disposition to fight a sleepy and music-loving lion.

The faithfully wrought scenes of common life,
which were the delight and triumph of the Dutch
and Flemish schools, afforded a sympathetic setting
for the cat. It would have been strange indeed
if Jan Fyt, who copied beast and bird with such
patient fidelity, had slighted this little model sitting
in his chimney corner, or prowling panther-like
along his neighbour's wall. He was well aware of
her value. He knew how finely her pliant strength
contrasted with the stillness of the poor dead phea-
sants whose ruffled plumage he so loved to paint.
In one of his pictures in Milan there are two splen-
did, greedy, thievish cats, instinct with life and
energy, that creep with cautious steps and gleaming
eyes about the heaped-up game. The subject com-
mended itself to other artists, but few gave it such
lively and forcible expression. Compare the treat-

io8 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

ment of Jan Fyt's work with that of the "Poul-
terer's Shop," by Van Mieris, which hangs in the
National Gallery of London, and in which a pretty
tortoise-shell pussy, soft-furred and innocent-eyed,
looks wistfully at a dead duck hanging well out of
her reach. The Flemish painter felt, and felt with
reluctant admiration, the lawlessness of the animals
he drew ; the Dutchman transferred to canvas his
own sleepy pet, curled up in the warmest corner of
his hearth. His cat is as gentle, for all her greed,
as is that comfortable beast, so drowsy and uncon-
cerned, in Jordaens's tumultuous " Twelfth Night ; "
or the mother puss who watches her five kittens
with tender and over-anxious solicitude in Jan
Steen's equally uproarious " Revellers."

Such pictures seem made for cats. To paint a
kitchen without one would be like painting a mea-
dow without cows. Worse, indeed ; for there is
no such air of destitution, of utter and melancholy
incompleteness about a cowless meadow, as about
a catless kitchen. No effort of imagination was
needed to introduce Pussy into a Dutch interior.
She was there by virtue of natural selection, of
justifiable and inevitable proprietorship; but to
gently insinuate her into the company of saints and
angels required more courage, or more affection.
Only now and then an early Flemish painter ven-
tured upon such a flight of fancy. There is in

THE CAT IN ART 109

Munich an Annunciation by Hendrick met de Bles,
in which the Blessed Virgin's cat, a large handsome
white animal, sits sleeping serenely by her side.

When we turn to Italy, however, we are charmed
to see how naturally and sweetly the cat slips into
sacred art. We expect to find her in the Garden
of Eden, though Domenichino, aware perhaps of
the legend which denies her this privilege, has
carefully excluded her from the group of animals
pressing uncomfortably close to his beautiful and
seductive Eve. Jacopo Bassano, on the contrary,
either did not know the story, or refused to give it
heed. The Ark with its crowded freight was, as
might be supposed, the great resource of such a
painter, forced by the current of his time into a re-
ligious groove. Bassano profited by the Deluge all
his life. He painted the beasts entering their asy-
lum ; he painted them departing ; he painted them
scattered upon Mount Ararat, making up their
minds where they would go next ; and always he
painted a cat, filling the most conspicuous place,
supercilious, combative, and alert. Among the
beautiful frescoes by Benozzo Gozzoli, on the walls
of the Campo Santo at Pisa, is one which repre-
sents the animals leaving the Ark ; and here, too,
we see a large cat facing all its companions with
the resolute and somewhat condescending air of an
assured favourite.

no THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

In pictures of the Annunciation, the cat that oc-
casionally lies curled at the Blessed Virgin's feet
lends to a subject, so fraught with spiritual signifi-
cance, an air of homely simplicity. Her presence,
like that of the water jar, or the open basket heaped
with unfinished sewing, serves to indicate the modest
routine of daily life, interrupted so strangely by the
Archangel's message. There is an Annunciation
by Barocci which hangs in the Vatican Gallery, and
in which we see a fine grey cat sleeping undisturbed
upon the Virgin's work ; while in another painting
by the same artist at Budapest, a cat rests tran-
quilly on a cushion, looking with half -shut, indiffer-
ent eyes at the angelic visitor. Indifference is, in
fact, her role in art. The most riotous Annunciation
in all Christendom is a partly obliterated fresco by
Taddeo Zucchero, on the portico of the hospital of
Santa Maria Nuova in Florence. Scores of angels,
broad-pinioned, athletic, and, for the most part,
naked, accompany Gabriel on his mission. They
wing their tumultuous flight through the air, darting
hither and thither, playing clamorously upon every
kind of musical instrument, and circling about the
Blessed Maid, who stands, timid and frightened, in
the farthest corner of the room. On a chair close
at hand lies a cat, drowsily w^atching the celestial
multitude. She uncurls her limbs, and lifts her
head a little, as though startled from sleep, but that

THE CAT IN ART iii

is all. Another minute, and she will settle softly-
down again upon her cushions. She is not in the
least disturbed.

The same spirit of unconcern distinguishes Saint
Ann's cat, who, keeping close to her mistress,
affects no interest in anything beyond her own
comfort and convenience. Among the frescoes by
Puccio, in the choir of the Orvieto Cathedral, are
two which represent respectively the vision of Saint
Ann, and the birth of the Blessed Virgin. In the
first, the Saint is accompanied by a very fine white
cat, who, with back high arched and tail erect,
drives from the room a meek, intruding dog. In
the second, the same pussy stands on her hind-legs,
and, profiting by the concentration of everybody's
attention upon the new-born baby, helps herself
with cool audacity from a little table which has
been neatly spread by the bedside. In the Oratorio
of Saint Bernardino at Sienna there is a charm-
ing treatment of the same subject ; and here Saint
Ann's cat is coal-black, with gleaming yellow eyes.
She looks intelligent, but unamiable, and watches
with grave attention the bustling maids who, pleased
and smiling, bathe the pretty child.

The picture which of all others, however, best
illustrates the temper of the cat, as the Italians
knew her two hundred years ago, and as we know
her to-day, was painted by Luca Giordano, and

112 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

hangs in the Imperial Gallery of Vienna. It is
another presentation of that ever familiar theme,
the birth of the Blessed Virgin. Saint Ann sits
upright on her bed. Saint Joachim enters the door.
The spacious room is full of attendants, engaged in
waiting on their mistress, in airing the baby linen,
in washing and admiring the infant. Everybody is
busy and excited. Everybody, save Saint Ann, is
standing, or kneeling on the floor. There is, in
fact, but one chair in the room. On that chair is
a cushion, and on that cushion sleeps, serene and
undisturbed, a cat.

It is to be regretted that Titian and Velasquez
and Murillo gave their manifest preference to' dogs.
Titian's lap-dogs are the most engaging in art ; and
the little white woolly creatures — like toy lambs —
that Murillo painted, beguile our souls with their
air of wistful and sympathetic intelligence. Who
does not remember — and remembering, love — the
poor little beast in the Louvre, who holds up one
paw beseechingly, and begs for a peep at the new-
born Virgin .'* A small, fat, azure-winged angel,
carrying a basket of baby linen, and bursting with
pride over the importance of his task, decides upon
his own authority that no dogs shall be permitted
to enter, and huffs the petitioner away. Velasquez,
though he painted a fine puss in " Las Hilanderas,"
ignored the race as a rule. His partiality was for

THE CAT IN ART 113

hounds. If we want to see cats, — splendid, pam-
pered, luxurious, quarrelsome cats, — we must look
for them in the great glowing canvases of Vero-
nese ; in those sumptuous scenes where noble Vene-
tians feast opulently, and which are christened —
out of courteous deference to the demands of the
Church — the " Marriage at Cana," the " Last
Supper," or "Christ in the house of Simon the
Pharisee." It is true that the Church, ungrateful
for an attention so manifestly insincere, protested
from time to time against the purely mundane
character of these pictures ; but Venice loved her
painter too well to suffer him to be unduly harassed.
He might receive grave warnings, gently spoken.
He might be officially bidden to blot out the offend-
ing jesters, dwarfs, and monkeys. But the Republic,
albeit deeply and passionately religious from her
birth, — when she turned brigand, it was to steal
the relics of a saint, — refused to be scandalized by
Veronese's art. Nothing ivas blotted out, not even
the cats ; and so we see them to-day curled around
the water jars on the floor, and paddhng away vig-
orously with their soft hind paws ; or tranquilly
devouring some chance bone under shadow of the
table ; or spitting at the handsome, spiritless dogs ;
or blinking and purring in the arms of negro attend-
ants. They are carelessly painted, all of them. It
evidently neyer occurred to the master to make an

114 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

accurate study of his feline model. What he sought
was that decorative touch which Pussy imparts so
graciously when in accord with her surroundings.
Her supple limbs, her thick soft fur, her air of ease
and arrogance harmonize beautifully with the rich
Venetian setting. The utmost point of splendour
and self-indulgence reached by nations can do no
more than meet and suffice the ordinary tastes of
a cat.

A very different view of the subject is afforded
us by the Florentine Cenacolas, those monastic
frescoes which, with exquisite taste and feeling,
adorned the refectory walls. In them we find the
sleek convent cat, who appears to have presented
herself invariably to the painter's notice, and to
have met with every possible attention at his hands.
Over and over again we see her ; sometimes curled
sleepily on the floor, as in Allori's fine but defaced
picture in the Carmine ; sometimes pilfering gravely
from the bread-basket ; oftenest sitting — where
we least like to see her — at the feet of Judas. In
that most lovely fresco by Ghirlandajo in the smaller
refectory of San Marco, the Apostles are ranged
round the board on high-backed settles. Saint John
as usual rests his head upon the table. Judas, quite
apart from the others, is balanced uncomfortably on
a three-legged stool. An open arcade beyond re-
veals rich glimpses of leafy trees, with peacocks and

THE CAT IN ART 115

other bright-hued birds perched on their branches.
In the foreground, close to Judas, sits bolt upright
a very intelligent cat, mistrustful, unfriendly, sullen.
Her attitude and expression cannot be misunder-
stood. We all know how a cat looks when com-
pelled to endure the society of a dog, with whom she
is assumed to be on friendly terms, but for whom
she cherishes the deep suspicion, and deeper ani-
mosity, of her race.

It was one of the traditions of Italian art to intro-
duce a cat into representations of the Last Supper,
even when these were not painted for convent walls.
There is a very fine puss in 'Andrea Schiavone's
picture which hangs in the Borghese Gallery ; and,
amid the gloom of Tintoretto's giant canvases, we
may occasionally see — if we look long enough —
a black cat lurking in the densest shadows, its
rounded back a mere patch of darkness against the
deeper darkness beyond. Even Benvenuto Cellini
has placed a cat at the feet of Judas in one of his
most beautiful bas-reliefs ; but then Cellini was
without doubt enamoured of the whole furry race.
Delicacy, daring, and an absence of moral standards
could not fail of their attractions for him. Among
the admirable specimens of his workmanship in the
treasury of the Pitti Palace is a silver dish, showing
in relief the blessing of Jacob. , Rebecca's cat lies
curled close at Isaac's feet, watching father and son

ii6 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

with contemptuous scrutiny, as if she fully under-
stood the deception which was being practised, but
forbore, in indifference, to betray it. On another
dish, Orpheus plays to the ravished beasts ; and
here a stately cat, very courteous and attentive, has
a whole section of the border to herself, the bigger
animals keeping at a respectful distance.

Raphael has introduced Pussy into at least one
of his cartoons, — the "Supper at Emmaus." He
has presented her in a most aggressive and dis-
agreeable humour. She crunches a big bone greed-
ily, eyeing meanwhile an unhappy dog that would
fain share the feast. Her roughened fur and undu-
lating tail betray the angry disturbance of her mind.
If we contrast this cat, so true to nature's self,
with some of the other animals wrought into the
Vatican tapestries ; — with that more than doubt-
ful elephant, upon whose back a playful ape is sport-
ing ; or with those curious, portly, short-necked
beasts, having heads like horses, and rings through
their noses to prove to the world they are camels,
we see the supreme advantage of the living model,
however seldom she may sit, however slightingly
she may be handled. Think of the infinite variety
of lions — none of them in the least like lions — that
accompany Saint Jerome in art ! Sometimes these
faithful creatures stand on their hind legs, or trot
by their master's side, like amiable dogs ; sometimes

THE CAT IN ART 117

they have Uttle bullet heads no larger than pan-
thers ; sometimes they are all head, like the Ameri-
can bison ; and occasionally they resemble overgrown
lambs, woolly, foolish, and innocent. It is a gen-
uine relief to look at that quaint old picture by
Antonello da Messina, in the National Gallery, and
see Saint Jerome sitting placidly in his study, —
his lion having gone out for a stroll, — while a very
nice cat lies curled up affectionately at his feet.
The painter's conception of the desert's king might
have been as vaguely humorous as Carpaccio's ;
but, when it came to cats, he had no lack of sub-
jects for his inspiration. By the close of the fif-
teenth century. Pussy had reestablished her position
— albeit a somewhat precarious one — throughout
Italy.

In all the pictures we have been considering, —
Italian, Dutch, or Flemish, — the cat is introduced
as a detail, usually as a bit of household furnishing.
She gives a pretty homelike touch, whether we see
her enjoying a bowl of Martha's bread and milk ; or
seeking her share of the feast at Cana ; or merely
basking in the sun, as Giulio Romano painted her,
while the Blessed Virgin and Saint Ann watch
their babies at play. She is never the first object
of the poet's art, and never even the salient point
of a composition ; though Barocci has not hesitated
to lodge a family of young kittens in the Madonna's

ii8 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

lap, nor to represent the little Saint John as mis-
chievously teasing a cat, by holding a captured bird
just beyond the reach of her claws. When she
accompanies Andrea Doria, it is merely because
that great sailor — after the fashion of sailors —
loved her heartily, and gave her a place of honour
by his side. There is, indeed, in the Academy of
Saint Luke in Rome, a well-known study of cats'
heads by Salvator Rosa, — a study ill calculated to
awaken enthusiasm, or to soften the asperity of the
disaffected. All Salvator's pussies are miauling
bitterly, their furry faces drawn into lines of wrath
and excitation. Involuntarily the chance spectator
covers his ears when he looks at them. Few mor-
tals can stand unmoved the curious and complicated
vocalism of the cat.

With this melancholy exception, however, we
search long ere we see Pussy drawn with the careful
and conscientious art of Albrecht Diirer's hare,
drawn or painted by herself, and for her own attrac-
tions. Cornelius Wissher's famous print is prob-
ably the first and finest of its kind. His great
round Chat Coiiche sl&Q'ps sp soundly, its head low-
ered, its paws tucked out of sight, that we can
almost hear the measured breathing, and see the
sleek furry sides heave gently in the very aban-
donment of repose. A hundred years later, Gott-
fried Mind, the sullen recluse of Berne, was deemed

THE CAT IN ART 119

a little mad because he painted nothing but cats,
and would endure no other companionship. All
day he sat in his shabby garret, sujfficiently occu-
pied by his work, sufficiently amused by his models.
Kittens perched on his shoulders, and frolicked
gayly among his few possessions. Their mothers
purred a murmurous accompaniment, and smiled on
him with indulgent contempt. For absolute vera-
city, his feline portraits have never been surpassed.
Mme. Lebrun, who deeply admired his genius, and
who purchased many of his finest works, gave him
the infelicitous title, *' Raphael of Cats ; " and the
genuine stupidity of the expression fixed it natu-
rally and inevitably in all men's memories. To this
day no one ever dreams of alluding to Mind in any
other words. His attachment to his furry friends
was as ardent and unchanging as was his aversion
to intrusive mortals. The sorrow of his life was
the massacre of cats in 1809, an epidemic having
broken out that year among the pussies of Berne
which necessitated this drastic measure. Eight
hundred perished at the hands of the police ; and
though Mind contrived to save most of his own
pets, yet the thought of those eight hundred inno-
cents troubled his poor heart until he died.

Eastern artists, the Chinese and Japanese more
especially, have devoted their skill for centuries td
painting the cat, lavishing upon this congenial sub-

120 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

ject all the delicate subtlety of the Orient. Their
work is little known in Europe and America. Only
now and then some rash collector hoards a few
priceless pictures, at which his friends stare super-
ciliously, valuing them, as Macaulay valued Celtic
manuscripts, — sixpence for the lot. Fifty years
ago, however, the drawings of Fo-Kou-Say, or,
as the Parisians christened him, Hok'sai, aroused
great enthusiasm throughout France ; and M.
Champfleury, in a somewhat fantastic spirit, likens
the Japanese to the Spanish painter, Goya, finding
in both the same capricious fancy, the same wanton
grace of outline, the same exquisite conception of
the waywardness of women and of cats. Several
of Hok'sai's beautiful sketches have been repro-
duced — though with little skill — in M. Champ-
fleury's volume ; and their finely imaginative char-
acter suggests to the sympathetic mind those
charming Oriental stories, so different from the
sombre legends of mediaeval Christendom. The
sinuous and light-limbed pussies that Hok'sai cop-
ied so daringly must surely have attended the mid-
night dances, held in flowery gardens heavy with
perfumes and soft with scattered petals, where —
so says an ancient Japanese tradition — assemble
under the round white moon such cats as are able
to pay the entrance fee, — a stolen silken handker-
chief. Or perhaps, in calmer mood, they may plod

THE CAT IN ART 121

patiently through the pleasant task which for cen-
turies has been assigned to all Persian pussies in
the East, — the reading of the '* Arabian Nights,"
from the first page to the last, twice in every year.
Vastly different from these mysterious darlings
is the sober simplicity of Burbank's honest cats ;
or the tigerish fierceness, so frank and free, of the
splendid creatures drawn by Delacroix ; or the in-
nocent playfulness of Lambert's kittens, almost
as well known and well beloved as those of Mme.
Henriette Ronner. In truth, Lambert and Mme.
Ronner may be said to divide the honours easily
between them, the larger share falling to the lady's
lot. Their pictures hang in the Luxembourg and
other great modern galleries. Prints and photo-
graphs have made their work familiar to the world.
They should both be held in some degree respon-
sible for the great wave of cat-worship which has
engulfed all Christendom in the past twenty-five
years. The lively affection which Mme. Ronner's
cats inspire in every heart has softened the asperi-
ties of life for the whole feline race. No one can
look without love upon these pretty creatures, these
baby pussies all gayety and grace, scrambling with
foolish temerity over chair and table, radiant in
their self-sufificiency, and always the objects of
deep maternal solicitude.

*' Kittens, than Eastern Houris fairer seen,
Whose bright eyes glisten with immortal green."

122 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

If Mme. Ronner's family groups are distinctly
artificial in composition, each kitling playing its
little part in a manner too effective for individual
caprice, her simpler studies are open to no such
untimely criticism. She has painted placid medi-
tative cats, immersed in thought or sinking sweetly
into slumber, that charm our souls with the dignity
of their egotism, the frank expression of their
supreme self-love. The weakness of her work is
possibly its aristocratic narrowness of field. Like
Watteau, she is a " Prince " — or Princess — '' of
Court Painters," never wandering from the sump-
tuous atmosphere of ease and elegance and repose.
Her earlier pictures were not cast in this mould ;
but for many years her pussies have been soft pam-
pered playthings, who frolic through life without a
care, and whose only burden is the courtly one, —
ennui. What Mr. Pater says of Watteau's men
and women might well apply to Mme. Ronner's
cats.

" Half in masquerade, playing the drawing-room
or garden comedy of life, these persons have upon
them, not less than the landscape he composes, and
among the accidents of which they group them-
selves with such a perfect fittingness, a certain
light we should seek for in vain upon anything
real."

In this engaging mummery, Mme. Ronner's beau-

THE CAT IN ART 123

tiful Persians play their parts to perfection ; but
while no one has a right to quarrel with an artist's
chosen field, or with the limitations thereof, we
cannot help wearying a little of so much softness
and luxury, of such perpetual alternations of pas-
time and sleep. Life has other aspects for a cat of
character. The pleasures of the chase in field and
barn and cupboard ; the excitement of being chased
in turn by her ancestral enemy, the dog ; the sweet
stolen moments of vagabondage ; the passionate
exaltation of the midnight serenade; the joy of
combat ; the amorous duplicity of courtship ; — what
fields of action stretch limitlessly out before a free-
born cat whose hardihood is tempered by discre-
tion,

" Quickened with touches of transporting fear."

Of all these things, Mme. Ronner's darlings, snug
in their silken bondage, reveal nothing. But turn
to Briton Riviere's spirited " Blockade Runner," -in ^
the Tate Gallery of London. See how his cat flat-
tens herself upon the wall along which she scuttles,
while the frantic dogs dance helplessly beneath.
What concentration of purpose in that swift yet
stealthy pace. She lowers her ears, and shortens
her legs, and depresses her tail, until she is little
more than a moving shadow on the bricks. Hatred
fires her heart ; terror speeds her on her way. The
king in his palace is not more safe than she, yet

124 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

never for an instant is her vigilance relaxed. She
is the inheritor of ancient animosity and of ancient
wrongs.

Another and equally admirable view of plebeian
cathood is presented in a picture by Claus Meyer,
which is one of the gems of the modern gallery in
Dresden. Three women sit gossiping in the bare
grey sacristy of a church or convent, and three
young cats sit near them on the floor ; — gutter
cats these, rough-coated, scrawny, suspicious from
infancy of a dubious world. A shallow dish of milk
has been set forth for their refreshment ; but only
one ventures hesitatingly, and, with her gaze fixed
on her companions, to lap a very little. The other
two eye each other cautiously from a safe distance.
The smallest and raggedest of the group is a mere
kitten, all ears and neck after the fashion of its
kind, owlish in aspect, and wise with uncanny wis-
dpm. Little

" Cat-gossips full of Canterbury tales,"

and only waiting for matured acquaintance to ex-
change confidences that will put mere human scan-
dal to the blush, they are all three adorable in their
hideousness. To the true lover of the race, shining
fur and rounded limbs are not the only charms.

" He that loves a rosy cheek,"

or its feline equivalent, may lose much in the char-

THE CAT IN ART

125

acter, the astuteness, the hundred winning and
delightful traits that oftenest accompany humble
parentage, and a plain little grey and black coat.
Many a common puss holds the hearts of a house-
hold in her keeping, because of qualities too subtle
to be defined, too dominant to be resisted or
ignored. When we know just what it is that we
value in friend or cat, the analysis blights our af-
fection.

CHAPTER VII

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT

" He stood, an ebon crescent, flouting that ivorj' moon.
Then raised the pibroch of his race, the Song without a Tuna."

OUT of the murky shadows which shroud
the cat during long centuries of passive
neglect or active persecution, there gleam
here and there flashes of brilliant light in v/hich we
see her sheltered by those whose protection was an
honour, cherished by those whose love was a conse-
cration. In Italy, poets as well as painters felt the
sweet charm of her companionship, and strove to
give their sympathy expression. Tasso addressed
to his cat a sonnet brimming with tender flattery ;
and of Petrarch's pet it has been prettily said that
she was her master's joy in the sunshine, his solace

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 127

in the shade. When she died, her httle body was
carefully embalmed ; and travellers who visited
Arqua, and the poet's home, hidden among the
Euganean Hills, have stared and mocked and won-
dered at this poor semblance of cathood, this fur-
less, withered mummy, which, more than five hun-
dred years ago, frolicked softly in the joyousness
of youth. Upon the marble slab on which she lay
were cut two epigrams by Antonius Quaerengus,
one of which gracefully commemorated the rival
passions that shared Petrarch's heart. " Maximus
ignis ego ; Laura secundus erat." Doubtless of
these conflicting emotions, the more simple and
sincere was the poet's affection for his cat.

As we search for Pussy's records in literature,
that we may better trace her half-hidden history
through several centuries of fluctuating fortunes,
we find that the striking of the personal note in-
variably heralds a growing appreciation and esteem.
When she figures in folk-lore, she is unsanctified
and maleficent, a candidate for " the uncharitable
votes of Hell." In proverbs, she serves as an illus-
tration of characteristics without charm, and of wis-
dom without distinction. In fable, she — or he —
is, for the most part, a clever hypocrite, the Rami-
nagrobis of La Fontaine, the Tybert of " Reineke
Fuchs." This latter rascal, if less sanctimonious
than the chatemitey or than the austere hermit of

128 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

the Ganges, is still an unscrupulous knave, and for
that reason, and that alone, is chosen as ambassa-
dor by his great kinsman, the Lion.

" 'T was then agreed the Cat should try
If he could not the Fox outvie
In trickery and dissimulation,
And thus do service to the nation.
For he was, by all men's admission,
A wary, skilful politician."

Frankly does the King of the Beasts admit the
cousinship and honourable station of his little rela-
tive. There is respect, mingled with cajolery, in the
monarch's parting words.

" Tybert, forget not, I beseech,
How far back doth your lineage reach ;
Much farther back than mice and rats,
Which but created were for cats.
So foolish folks who sometime curse them.
Were only made that they might nurse them.
Never forget, I pray, that ye
Spring from our old nobility."

" Well taught you are, and quick and wise.
Fulfilled of wit in all men's eyes ;
And plenteous therefore is my hope
That with this sinner you may cope.
For craft with craft may better fight.
Than mere brute strength that lacks foresight."

Tybert is foiled by the arch-villany of the Fox. He
comes to grief, and his prestige fades before Rey-
nard's superior knavery; yet, even in defeat, his

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 129

wariness saves him from the utter ruin of nobler
and duller beasts.

In the fable, as in folk-lore, it is always astute
rascality which wins a final triumph. Honesty is
never the best policy, and the Master Thief still
shines, a dazzling hero, despite our centuries of
ethics. Not for his integrity do we value Puss-in-
Boots, that hardy and brilliant impostor, who lifted
the miller's son on the crest of his splendid lies
until he landed the stupid lout, who could n't lie
for himself, at the foot of a throne, with a princess
for a bride. " Puss-in-Boots " was translated from
Italian into French in 1585, and from French into
English a few years later ; but the story itself is
very, very old. Like so many fairy tales, it may
be traced to India, where the cat's part was origi-
nally played by a fox, — a fox as unscrupulous as
Reineke, but more faithful, through whose cunning
and devotion a peasant lad becomes the son-in-law
of a king. The surpassing cynicism of the Eastern
tale lies in the ingratitude of the peasant, who,
having reached the summit of his ambition, has
no further need of his colleague, and drives him
shamefully from the palace doors. One is glad that
this touch of unutterable baseness has never con-
taminated our nurseries ; and that all children who
rejoice — as good children should — in the trium-
phant scampishness of Puss-in-Boots, are told in

130 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

the concluding sentence of his history that, after
his master's elevation, he was so well fed, he never
hunted mice any more, save for exercise and amuse-
ment.

** The White Cat," one of the prettiest and most
popular of fairy stories, comes from France. The
Comtesse D'Aunoy gave it to her grateful country
in 1682 ; and if the central theme of three rival
brothers bringing home the wonders of the world
be nearly as old as the world itself, yet the charm-
ing figure of the Cat — as lovely in her white fur,
and with pattes de velours, as after her transforma-
tion into a Princess — is distinctly modern, and
marks the fast swelling tide of admiration for fe-
line beauty, which during centuries of darkness had
been stupidly and blindly ignored. In France it
was Pussy's grace and sweetness which triumphed
finally over prejudice. In England and in Germany
it was the recognition of her domestic qualities
which won her, first tolerance, then esteem, then
loving and loyal devotion. Slowly and surely it
dawned upon dim mortal minds that a house is
transformed into a home when the small fireside
Sphinx takes tranquil possession of its chimney-
corner. With this discovery came the elevation of
individual pussies to the scrutiny, and consequently
to the admiration, of the world. The personal note
was struck, and the victory of the cat was won.

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 131

Herrick, as might be imagined, was the first of
English poets to feel the charm of her presence by
his hearth. In that pleasant Devonshire vicarage
where each season brought its appropriate joys ;
which, in fancy, we see decked with the hawthorn
boughs of May, and with the holly and mistletoe of
Christmas tide ; where the Bride-cake and the was-
sail-bowl,

" Spiced to the brink,"

passed cheerfully around in the glittering firelight ;
where the " little buttery " and " little bin " were
well stocked with more than pulse and water-cress ;
— surely this sweet old manse, sunshiny, rose-cov-
ered, cowslip-scented, was the fitting Paradise for a
cat. One envies the happy puss who spent her
days amid such pastoral plenty.

" A cat
I keep, that plays about my house,

Grown fat
With eating many a miching mouse,"

writes Herrick when counting up his " private
wealth ; " and when he urges the pleasures of a
country life — which none knew better than he —
upon his town-bred brother, this is one of the allure-
ments he has to offer :

" Yet can thy humble roof maintaine a quire
Of singing crickets by thy fire ;
And the brisk mouse may feast herselfe with crumbs.
Till that the green-eyed kitling comes."

132 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Nothing could be prettier than these four lines.
They surpass even the four lines in Heine's " Fire-
side Piece," where the poet sits meditating by the
hearth, while his cat, close cuddled, drowsy with
warmth, purrs a soft refrain to his rhythmic dreams.
They find their echo in that charming letter of
Shelley's to Peacock, which describes the shrines
of the Penates, " whose hymns are the purring of
kittens, the hissing of kettles, the long talks over
the past and dead, the laugh of children, the warm
wind of summer filling the quiet house, and the
pelting storm of winter struggling in vain for en-
trance."

Such things bring peace to our souls ; even the
reading of them is fraught with an exquisite sense
of tranquillity ; but be it remembered that little
kittens purr the first soft notes of this domestic
hymn.

Herrick alone in his generation paid tribute to
Pussy's fireside qualities. Other English poets had
observed her valour and grace ; and George Turber-
•ville, half a century earlier, had expressed in amor-
ous verse his ardent desire to be a cat, inasmuch as
his dear Mistresse greatly feared a mouse.

" The Squirrel thinking nought,
That feately cracks the nut ;
The greedie Goshawke wanting prey,
In dread of Death doth put ;

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 133

But scorning all these kindes,

I would become a Cat,
To combat with the creeping Mouse,

And scratch the screeking Rat.

" I would be present, aye,

And at my Ladle's call,
To gard her from the fearfull Mouse,

In Parlour and in Hall ;
In Kitchen, for his Lyf e,

He should not shew his hed ;
The Pease in Poke should lie untoucht

When shee were gone to Bed.

" The Mouse should stand in Feare,
So should the squeaking Rat ;
All this would I doe if I were
Converted to a Cat."

It is grateful to find Pussy's courage and devo-
tion so happily vindicated ; but we cannot ignore
the fact that this glowing tribute to the joys of war
is addressed — not to the valorous cat the poet en-
vies — but to the fair coward whom he loves. In
the same spirit of delicate flattery, Prior inscribes
some verses to " My Lord Buckhurst, Very young,
Playing with a Cat," which begin

*' The am'rous youth, whose tender breast
Was by his darling cat possest.
Obtained of Venus his desire ; "

and which go on to implore the little lord never to
prefer " so rash a prayer," lest the goddess of love,

134 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

beholding his beauty, should think her lost Adonis
restored to life, and grow jealous of the kitten in
his arms. These pretty conceits, in which Pussy
but serves to illustrate the text, have nothing in
common with the directness of Herrick, or with
the personal studies of cat and kittenhood which
Cowper and Wordsworth and Matthew Arnold sub-
sequently gave to the world. They are not even
akin to Gray's famous lines, half mocking and half
piteous, which deplore the untimely death of Wal-
pole's Selima, " Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes."
That Horace Walpole should have delighted in cats
was inevitable. Their beauty, their refinement,
their delicate appreciation of luxurious surround-
ings, could never have appealed more surely to any
nature than to his. " Not English," was the cen-
sure habitually passed upon him by his contempo-
raries, to whom a taste for curios, and a distaste
for hard drinking, were equally unintelligible eccen-
tricities. Even that fine statesman, Lord Minto,
pronounced him " a prim, precise, pretending, con-
ceited savage ; but a most un-English one ; " and in
proof, either of his primness, or of the gentle char-
acter of his savagery, Walpole loved and cherished
cats. When his favourite met her tragic death, he
wrote to Gray, bewailing the loss he had sustained ;
and the poet, in doubt as to which of his friend's
cats had bfeen drowned, replied with a playful letter

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 135

of condolence, (" Learn, my son, to bear tranquilly
the misfortunes of others,") and with the charming
verses which have immortalized Selima's memory.

" It would be a sensible satisfaction to me," he
wrote, " before I testify my sorrow, and the sincere
part I take in your calamity, to know for certain
who it is I lament. I knew Zara and Selima, (Se-
lima, was it, or Fatima i^) or rather I knew them
both together ; for I cannot justly say which was
which. Then as to your 'handsome Cat,' the name
you distinguish her by, I am no less at a loss, as
well knowing one's handsome cat is always the cat
one loves best ; or, if one be alive and one dead, it
is usually the latter which is the handsomer. Be-
sides, if the point were never so clear, I hope you
do not think me so ill-bred or so imprudent as to
forfeit all my interest in the survivor. Oh, no ! I
would rather seem to mistake, and to imagine to be
sure it must be the tabby one that has met with
this sad accident."

The poem which accompanied the letter, and a
portion of which was subsequently inscribed upon
the pedestal which held the ill-omened bowl, is
familiar to all readers of English verse ; but no book
upon cats would be complete without it.

" 'T was on a lofty vase's side,
Where China's gayest art had dyed
The azure flowers that blow ;

136 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Demurest of the tabby kind,

The pensive SeUma reclined,

Gazed on the lake below.

** Her conscious tail her joy declared ;
The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,
Her coat that with the tortoise vies,
Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes.
She saw, and purred applause.

" Still had she gazed, but 'midst the tide
Two angel forms were seen to glide.

The Genii of the stream :
Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue,
Through richest purple, to the view

Betrayed a golden gleam.

" The hapless Nymph with wonder saw :
A whisker first, and then a claw.

With many an ardent wish,
She stretched in vain to reach the prize :
What female heart can gold despise ?

What Cat 's averse to fish ?

" Presumptuous Maid ! with looks intent,
Again she stretched, again she bent.

Nor knew the gulf between.
(Malignant Fate sat by and smiled :)
The slippery verge her feet beguiled,
She tumbled headlong in.

" Eight times emerging from the floodj
She mewed to every watery God
Some speedy aid to send.

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 137

No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirred,
Nor cruel Tom, nor Susan heard ;
A Favourite has no friend !

" From hence, ye Beauties, undeceived,
Know one false step is ne'er retrieved,

And be with caution bold.
Not all that tempts your wandering eyes
And heedless hearts is lawful prize ;

Nor all that glisters, gold."

Mr. Edmund Gosse, in his notes on this poem,
objects to Gray's use of the word " tabby," "as if it
were synonymous with female cat." " Sehma," he
says, " cannot have been a tabby, if, as we presently
read, she was a tortoise-shell. Tabby cats are those
whose fur is of a cold brindled grey, like the surface
of the rich watered silk from Bagdad, called ' attdbiy
and, in English, tabby!' Mr. Harrison Weir, how-
ever, who is an excellent authority upon cats, points
out conclusively that the word tabby, though de-
rived from ribbed or watered silk, refers to the
markings only, and does not designate any especial
colour. He quotes, to prove his words, two lines
of English verse, dating from 1682,

" Her petticoat of satin,
Her gown of crimson tabby."

A brindled or brinded cat,

" Thrice the brinded cat hath mewed,"

is the same as a tabby, and in Norfolk and Suffolk

138 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

is still often called a Cyprus cat ; though the cloth
woven of hair and silk in wavy lines, and originally
brought from Cyprus, (as were many cats,) has dis-
appeared from English markets for perhaps two
hundred years. Cats can be "brindled tortoise-
shell," and are occasionally so described ; though,
when well-bred, the colour lies in broad deep
blotches, rather than in bars. That Gray did not
mean to indicate Selima's sex by the word tabby —
an inaccuracy of which the precise little poet was
wholly incapable — is proven by the letter in which
he refers to Fatima and Selima, both plainly fe-
males, and says, " I would rather seem to mistake,
and to imagine to be sure it must be the tabby one
that has met with this sad accident."

After Herrick, no English poet seems to have
fully recognized the domestic qualities of the cat
until Cowper paid her his litttle tribute of song.
From Goldsmith, indeed, we have the pretty verse
which illustrates his cheerful British conception of
a hermitage.

" Around, in sympathetic mirth,
Its tricks the kitten tries ;
The cricket chirrups on the hearth,
The crackling fagot flies."

But Cowper is more explicit. The well-ordered
household at Olney must necessarily have been
dominated by a cat. It offered precisely the atmos-

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 139

phere in which Puss is born to reign. Warm fires
by which to purr and drowse ; a bountiful tea-table
amply provided with cream ; the swirling of autumn
leaves around the garden paths if a little brisk exer-
cise was desired ; a comfortable supply of over-fed
mice when conscience suggested work ; eight pairs
of tame pigeons when Satan prompted mischief.
There were, to be sure, other pets ; too many of
them, by far, from a cat's point of view; — gold-
finches, canaries, and a caged linnet, all jealously
guarded from hostility ; the spaniel Beau, a foolish
squirrel, two imbecile guinea-pigs, and the ever-
famous hares, "canonized pets of literature," with
surly tempers that brooked no liberties. " One
evening," writes Lady Hesketh, " the cat giving one
of the hares a sound box on the ear, the hare ran
after her, and punished her by drumming on her
back with two feet as hard as drumsticks, till the
poor creature would actually have been killed, had
not Mrs. Unwin rescued her."

This was worse than encountering vipers, or being
shut up in a drawer. The tranquil home at Olney
was not without its dangers and alarms, and Cowper
did his cat the honour of immortalizing two of her
adventures. In that " delightful ' litsiis poetiacsj "
as Mr. Austin Dobson has kindly christened " The
Colubriad," he narrates her rescue, at his own hands,
from the snake which she was softly patting with

140 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

all the temerity of ignorance, " not in anger, but in
the way of philosophic inquiry and examination."

" As curious as the kittens erst had been,
To learn what this phenomenon might mean."

Cowper, who always made a point of looking at
things before he described them, which habit en-
abled him to convince eighteenth century readers
that there was such a thing as Nature, watched the
three kittens gathered close around the viper, re-
garding him with polite attention, and speculating
innocently on his possibilities as a playmate.

" Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,
Darting it full against a kitten's nose ;
Who, never having seen in field or house
The like, sat still and silent as a mouse j
Only projecting, with attention due,
Her whiskered face, she asked him, * Who are you ? ' "

He also watched on more than one occasion their
sedate and serious parent, the " Retired Cat," who
loved, like himself, a quiet corner in which to sit
and think,

*' I know not where she caught the trick, —
Nature perhaps herself had cast her
In such a raoxild ^hilosophigue,
Or else she learned it of her Master.
Sometimes ascending, debonnaire,
An apple-tree, or lofty pear.
Lodged with convenience in the fork,
She watched the gardener at his work ;
Sometimes her ease and solace sought

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 141

In an old empty watering-pot ;

There wanting nothing save a fan,

To seem some nymph in her sedan,

Apparelled in exactest sort,

And ready to be borne to Court." ^

Finally her taste for seclusion beguiled her into
an open drawer half full of linen, delicately laid
away in fragrant lavender by Mrs. Un win's careful
fingers.

" Puss, with delight beyond expression,
Surveyed the scene, and took possession.
Recumbent at her ease erelong,
And lulled by her own humdrum song,
She left the cares of life behind,
And slept as she would sleep her last;
When in came, housewifely inclined,
The chambermaid, and shut it fast,
By no mahgnity impelled,
But all unconscious whom it held."

For two days and a night the little prisoner re-
mained immured in her dungeon, and then at last
her

" long and melancholy mew "

reached the sleepless poet's ears, and he hastened
to save another of her lives by pulling open the
drawer.

The advent of a new and very frolicsome tor-
toise-shell kitten filled Cowper with delight, and he
describes her enthusiastically in a letter to Lady
Hesketh. — '' In point of size, she is likely to be a

142 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

kitten always, being extremely small for her age ;
but time, I suppose, that spoils everything, will make
her also a cat. You will see her, I hope, before
that m'felancholy period shall arrive ; for no wisdom
that she may gain by experience will compensate
her for the loss of her present hilarity."

What would the poet's pleasant winter evenings
have been worth, if uncheered by such gay com-
panionship .''

With the waning of the eighteenth century and
the dawn of its successor, the English cat assumes
a more intimate place in letters. Never granted
the tender and flattering preeminence of her
French sister, she is in some sort recompensed by
the tranquil domestic atmosphere, the fireside
warmth and glow in which we^ see her play her
gentle part. For a hundred years and more she
had not wanted friends. In 1702 the Duchess of
Richmond, that fair and lovable creature who had
"less wit and more beauty " than any lady at court,
bequeathed a maintenance to her old servants, her
old cats, and to several old gentlewomen whom she
had long befriended. It was this bounty that pro-
voked from Pope the ever-quoted line,

" Die, and endow a college or a cat : "

but to most of US it would seem as though such
gracious kindness merited a less satiric recogni-

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 143

tion. Lord Chesterfield, to whom the urbane com-
panionship of his cats brought many a soothing
hour, also provided like an honourable gentleman
for these little comrades who otherwise had been
left homeless at his death. Sir Isaac Newton's
affectionate solicitude for his cat and kittens is
well known, while the records of humbler life show
many similar instances of benignity. Fielding, in
his pathetic "Voyage to Lisbon," vouches for the
high regard in which the ship's cat and her trouble-
some young family were held by the captain and
his crew. On the nth of July, when off Spithead,
he writes in his Journal : —

"A most tragical incident fell out this day at
sea. While the ship was under sail, but making,
as will appear, no great way, a kitten, one of the
four feline inhabitants of the cabin, fell from the
window into the water. An alarm was immediately
given to the captain, who was then upon deck, and
who received it with many bitter oaths. He im-
mediately gave orders to the steersman in favour
of the poor thing, as he called it ; the sails were
instantly slackened, and all hands employed to re-
cover the animal. I was, I own, surprised at this ;
less, indeed, at the captain's extreme tenderness,
than at his conceiving any possibility of success ;
for if Puss had had nine thousand instead of nine
lives, I concluded they had all been lost. The

144 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

boatswain, however, was more sanguine ; for hav-
ing stripped himself of his jacket, breeches, and
shirt, he leaped boldly into the water, and, to my
great astonishment, in a few minutes returned
to the ship, bearing the motionless animal in his
mouth. Nor was this, I observed, a matter of such
great difhculty as it appeared to my ignorance, and
possibly may seem to that of my fresh-water reader.
The kitten was now exposed to air and sun on the
deck, where its life, of which it retained no symp-
toms, was despaired of by all.

" The captain's humanity did not so totally destroy
his philosophy as to make him yield himself up to
affliction. Having felt his loss like a man, he re-
solved to show he could bear it like one ; and, after
declaring he had rather have lost a cask of rum or
brandy, he betook himself to threshing at back-
gammon with the Portuguese friar, in which inno-
cent amusement they passed their leisure hours.''

Strange to say, this much prized kitten recovered
from its prolonged submersion, only to be found
smothered in a cabin bed a few days later, having
recklessly squandered all its little lives before one
of them reached maturity.

Steele makes constant allusions to his cat in the
" Tatler," — pretty homelike allusions, all of them,
though no man was more impatient than he of the
prodigal affection lavished by ladies upon their pets.

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 145

Who does not remember how Flavia buried with
equanimity two husbands and five children, but
never recovered from the loss of her parrot ? " I
know at this Time," he complains, " a celebrated
Toast, whom I allow to be one of the most agree-
able of her Sex, yet who, in the presence of her
Admirers, will give a Torrent of Kisses to her Cat,
any one of which a Christian would be glad of."

His own caresses were of a more temperate char-
acter. The first thing he did, on reaching home,
was to stir his fire and stroke his cat ; and he con-
tented himself night after night with the silent
company of Pussy and her friend, a little dog
whom, from long association, she had learned first
to endure, then to appreciate, and then almost to
love.

" They both of them sit by my Fire every Even-
ing, and await my return with Impatience ; and, at
my Entrance, never fail of running up to me, and
bidding me Welcome, each of them in its proper
Language. As they have been bred up together
from Infancy, and have seen no other Company,
they have acquired each other's Manners ; so that
the Dog often gives himself the Airs of a Cat, and
the Cat, in several of her Motions and Gestures,
affects the Behaviour of the little Dog."

On one occasion some audacious rogues pene-
trated into this quiet sanctuary, and endeavoured to

146 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

persuade Mr. Bickerstaff that they could turn water
into wine by merely adding to it a few drops of
some mysterious elixir. He asked to see and taste
this potent drug, and then — forgetful of friend-
ship and unworthy of confidence — ventured upon
a most unpardonable experiment.

**My Cat at this Time sat by me on the Elbow
of my Chair ; and, as I did not care to make the
Trial myself, I reached it to her to sip of it, which
had like to cost her her Life. For notwithstanding
that it flung her at first into freakish Tricks, quite
contrary to her usual Gravity, in less than a Quarter
of an Hour she fell into Convulsions ; and, had she
not been a Creature more tenacious of Life than
any other, she would certainly have died under the
Operation.

" I was so incensed by the Tortures of my inno-
cent Domestick, and by the wicked dealings of these
Men, that I told them if each of them had as many
Lives as the injured Creature before us, they de-
served to forfeit them for the pernicious Arts which
they used for their Profit."

After all, who gave the cat the poisonous stuff.-*
Steele's virtuous indignation at the consequence of
his own act must have amused Dr. Johnson, who
bade Miss Susan Thrale read Bickerstaff' s account
of his pet. It was not in such fashion that the
great scholar cherished his own cats. When we

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 147

come to them in the natural sequence of history,
we feel we are on the borderland between the old
life and the new ; between the tepid affection or
playful panegyrics which characterized the eigh-
teenth century, and the more sincere emotions
which succeeded. Dr. Johnson died sixteen years
before Cowper, yet it is plain that his sentiment
for Hodge was something very different from the
temperate regard of the poet, based upon unworthy
utilitarianism. Cowper, it is true, killed the viper,
lest it should rob the Olney household of the

" only cat
That was of age to combat with a rat ; "

but Johnson would have slain a wilderness of vipers
without thought of a mouse in the cupboard. " In-
dulgence " is the term applied by Bos well — who
cordially hated cats — to his patron's amiable weak-
ness ; and it is plain that it cost him some effort to
sympathize with so strange a partiality.

"I shall never forget the indulgence with which
he treated Hodge, his cat, for whom he himself
used to go out and buy oysters, lest the servants,
having that trouble, should take a dislike to the
poor creature. I am, unluckily, one of those who
have such an antipathy to a cat that I am uneasy
when I am in the room with one ; and I own I fre-
quently suffered a good deal from the presence of
this same Hodge.

148 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" I recollect him one day scrambling up Dr. John-
son's breast, apparently with much satisfaction,
while my friend, smiling and half whistling, rubbed
down his back and pulled him by the tail; and,
when I observed he was a fine cat, saying, * Why
yes, sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better
than this ; ' and then, as if perceiving Hodge to be
out of countenance, adding, ' but he is a very fine
cat, a very fine cat indeed.'

" This reminds me of the ludicrous account which
he gave Mr. Langton of the despicable state of a
young gentleman of good family : * Sir, when I
heard of him last, he was running about town
shooting cats.' And then, in a sort of kindly rev-
erie, he bethought himself of his own favourite, and
said, * but Hodge shan't be shot ; no, no, Hodge
shall not be shot.' "

Since Montaigne played with his cat in sleepy
Perigord, there has been no simpler or finer pic-
ture than this of mutual understanding and regard.
When we consider Dr. Johnson's unconcern at put-
ting mere mortals "out of countenance," and his
occasional indignation that they should presume to
have their feelings crushed under the heavy sledge-
hammer of his wit, we cannot help feeling that this
nice regard for the sensitiveness of a cat shows
what a humanizing influence Hodge had upon his
master. I wonder if the "white kitling," Lilly,

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 149

was the pussy whom Johnson " liked better " than
Hodge. On this point no Hght has ever been
thrown ; but Lilly was fair to see, and Hodge,
though Boswell politely called him a fine cat, ap-
pears to have been but modestly endowed in re-
spect to personal beauty. He had parts, and he
had that rare gift of sympathy which is so seldom
manifested by his race, perhaps because there is so
little in most of us to quicken it. His was a happy
fate. To sit purring on Johnson's knee, secure of
kindness, safe from that forcible contempt which
no one but Boswell could bear smilingly ; to be fed
with oysters by that generous hand, and to be im-
mortalized by the companionship which crowned his
little life with content ; — this seems to me the best
of feline fortunes, equalled only, and not surpassed,
by the joy of being Sir Walter's cat at Abbotsford.
Of Hinse of Hinsefeld it becomes us to speak
with respect. Staid in demeanour, irreproachable
in conduct, happily mingling affability with reserve,
a courteous cat along old-fashioned, gentlemanly
lines, he maintained the dignity of his position
through many tranquil years. For his master he
entertained a steadfast affection, the affection
which, as we well know, Scott inspired in every
animal he met. Cat or dog, pig or hen, it mattered
not. There lived no beast nor bird so stupid or so
ill-conditioned as to withhold allegiance.

150 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

The delightful thing to remember is that Scott,
who was not by nature a lover of cats, granted to
Hinse a fair share of friendship. He was wont to
say that his growing esteem for cats in general,
and for Hinse in particular, was a sign of old age,
of chimney - corner life, — dogs having been his
boon companions in the vigorous years of man-
hood. Maida is a name to conjure by, and there
is nothing in the wide world of English letters
more touching than that first lament for Abbots-
ford, when the clouds were gathering fast, and the
hopes of his heart were broken. '' I feel my dogs'
feet on my knees. I hear them whining and seek-
ing me everywhere."

Yet Hinse lorded it over the great hound with
all the arrogance of his race, and no one enjoyed
more than Sir Walter such superb and unwarranted
effrontery. Soon after the coming of Maida, he
wrote in high glee to Joanna Baillie : —

" I have added a most romantic inmate to my
family, — a large bloodhound, allowed to be the
finest dog of the kind in Scotland ; perfectly gen-
tle, affectionate and good-natured, and the darling
of all the children. I had him a present from Glen-
garry, who has refused the breed to people of the
very first rank. He is between the deer-greyhound
and mastiff, with a shaggy mane like a lion ; and
always sits beside me at dinner, his head as high

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 151

as the back of my chair. Yet it will gratify you to
know that a favourite cat keeps him in the greatest
possible order, insists upon all rights of precedence,
and scratches with impunity the nose of an animal
who would make no bones of a wolf, and pulls down
a red deer without fear or difficulty. I heard my
friend set up some most piteous howls, and I assure
you the noise was no joke, all occasioned by his
fear of passing Puss, who had stationed himself on
the stairs."

That other dogs were less forbearing than Maida,
Hinse found to his cost, when Nimrod arrived to
share the wide hospitality of Abbotsford. Maida's
tolerance extended to all creatures, save deer, that
he had been trained to hunt, and artists, whom he
hated because of the weary hours spent in sitting
for his portraits. The mere sight of a palette or a
box of colours would send him yawning from the
room. But Rinse's vanity was stimulated by hav-
ing his picture hung on the library wall, and by the
ever increasing respect and affection in which he
was held. When his placid career came to its
tragic close, Scott wrote to Richardson words of
genuine regret. — " Alack - a - day ! my poor cat,
Hinse, my acquaintance, and, in some sort, my
friend of fifteen years, was snapped at even by that
paynim Nimrod. What could I say to him, but
what Brantome said to some ferrailletcr who had

152 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

been too successful in a duel ? ' Ah ! mon grand
ami, vous avez tue mon autre grand ami.' "

To have been, even "in some sort," Sir Walter's
friend for fifteen happy years was as enviable a lot
as to have shared Dr. Johnson's London lodgings.
"Canonized pets of literature!" Why, here are
two who may lord it in Elysium through all the
centuries to come.

When Scott was absent from Abbotsford, he
was not insensible to the charms of other cats
who assiduously sought his society. " There are
no dogs in the hotel where I live," he wrote on one
occasion from London ; " but a tolerably conversa-
ble cat, who eats a mess of cream with me in the
morning." While at Naples, he visited the Arch-
bishop of Taranto, — "a most interesting old man,
whose foible is a passion for cats," — and was de-
lighted with the ecclesiastical pets. " One of
them," he noted in his journal, "is a superb brin-
dled Persian, a great beauty, and a particular fa-
vourite. I remember seeing at Lord Yarmouth's
house a Persian cat, but not so fine as the Bish-
op's." These pussies were famous in their day,
and Scott was not the only traveller to sing their
praises. Sir Henry Holland scarcely knew which
he admired the more, — the prelate or his cat.
Each was the exact picture of what each should
be ; and, as they sat side by side, the cat seemed

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 153

as grand a dignitary, if not as austere an ecclesias-
tic, as his master.

It was perhaps by way of compensation for
their evil repute, and for the unholy nature of their
associations throughout the Middle Ages, that cats,
when struggling back to respectability, should have
been so widely patronized and encouraged by the
Church. The shadow that rested on their fair
fame gave them, it may be, an added interest to
the clerical mind, which has ever a turn for exor-
cism. Washington Irving, sitting in the library of
Abbotsford, observed how attentively Hinse lis-
tened to the Arthurian legends which Scott was
reading aloud. *'Ah!" said the wise Sir Walter,
" cats are a mysterious kind of folk. There is
more passing in their minds than we are aware of.
It comes no doubt from their being so familiar with
warlocks and witches."

By this time they were equally familiar with the
Christian hierarchy. Gregory the Great was not
the only Pope who delighted to honour his cat.
Richelieu and Mazarin were not the only Cardinals
who cultivated the companionship of kittens. The
Abbe Galiani was not the only ecclesiastic who had
a passion for the race, though few others manifested
it in so strenuous a manner. Losing one of his pets
through the negligence of a servant, the inconsol-
able Abbe marked the severity of his displeasure

154 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

by dismissing his entire household. The Church
of Rome, indeed, was not long permitted the exclu-
sive privilege of sheltering and petting the cat.
The day came fast when her Sister of England
followed pliantly in her wake. If the poet Rogers
felt genuine delight at being allowed to dine in Italy
with a Cardinal and his cats, the guests of Bishop
Thirl wall were destined to enjoy the same simple
pleasure at Saint David's. His pussies sat on the
arms of his chair at table, and shared — or dispensed
— the hospitality of the palace. Of other luxuries
they appear to have had the monopoly. A visitor
who observed that his host looked wearied and
uncomfortable, asked him why he did not take an
easy chair. '' Don't you see who is in it already } '*
said the Bishop, pointing to a grey cat fast asleep
on the cushion.

Canon Liddon's " extravagant partiality " was
equally pronounced, and, let us hope, equally agree-
able to his friends. He was the proud possessor
of a number of cats, who appear to have all had
different residences assigned them. Two hand-
some brothers, christened stupidly Tweedledum
and Tweedledee, lived at Amen Corner ; another
shared his chambers; a fourth, named Campion,
was boarded out, and only visited the Canon occa-
sionally ; and a fifth preferred the Common room at
Christ Church to any other quarters. This cat was

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 155

of a reserved nature, presenting invariably the same
cold insolence of demeanour, the same " heartless
and deliberate rudeness " to all church dignitaries
save Liddon, whom he loved to distraction, and
whom it was his delight to entertain with acrobatic
feats. He would jump upon a bust of Dr. Busby
which stood on a bracket near the door, balance
himself for one instant upon that severe and rever-
ent brow, take a flying leap to the mantelpiece, and
returning, land with exquisite and unvarying accu-
racy on the bust, repeating this performance as
often as his master desired. Liddon's great amuse-
ment was to stand with his back to the bracket, and
fling a biscuit at Dr. Busby's head, the cat catching
it dexterously, and without losing his precarious
foothold.

One shivers even now at the thought of any man
who had once been a little boy, or of any cat who
had once been a little kitten, taking such unpardon-
able liberties with Dr. Busby. His awful shadow
looms dark and terrible in the history of childhood.
The brilliant scholars, the successful statesmen, the
pious and learned divines whom his rod had assisted
to eminence, trembled secretly when they heard his
name ; yet here were a canon and his cat encour-
aging each other in ribald acts of desecration. Was
there no lesser light whose "animated bust " could
have served as a pedestal for athletic sports ?

156 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

That sound scholar and true lover of animals,
Archbishop Whately, he who " ignored metaphysics
and minimized theology," was wont to say that only
one English noun had a true vocative case. " Nomi-
native, cat. Vocative, Puss." And it is a happy cir-
cumstance which gives us this soft and pretty appel-
lation, this endearing diminutive, so well suited to
the little animal it summons. The French are less
fortunate, and all their loving efforts to provide the
cat with a permanent vocative serve only to show
the greater fitness and sweetness of the English
word ; in frank recognition of which superiority,
M. Taine drops Moumoutte and Mimi, and fits
" Puss " prettily into his loving tribute of verse.

" Le plaisir, comme il vient ; la douleur, s'il le f aut,
Puss, vous acceptez tout, et le soleil la-haut,
Quand il finit son tour dans I'immensite bleue,
Vous voit, couchee en circle, au soir comme au matin,
Heureuse sans effort, resignee au destin,
Lisser nonchalamment les polls de votre queue."

We could ill spare this ancient patronymic, since
a somewhat ponderous Saxon humour is wont to
wax sportive over the naming of cats. Instead
of studying simplicity, as in Hodge and Hinse, or
grace, as in Selima and Fatima, — on such points
Walpole could not go astray, — we find too often
either sheer stupidity, like Canon Liddon's Tweedle-
dum and Tweedledee, or the fantastic foolishness

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 157

which made possible this often quoted passage in
a letter of Southey's to Bedford.

** Alas, Grosvenor, to-day poor Rumpel was found
dead, after as long and happy a life as cat could wish
for, if cats form wishes on that subject. His full
titles were : The Most Noble, the Archduke Rum-
pelstiltzchen, Marcus Macbum, Earl Tomlefnagne,
Baron Raticide, Waowhler and Scratch. There
should be a court-mourning in Catland, and if the
Dragon " (Bedford's cat) " wear a black ribbon
round his neck, or a band of crape a la militaire
round one of his forepaws, it will be but a becom-
ing mark of respect."

People who admired " The Cataract of Lodore,"
or "The March to Moscow," may possibly have
thought this letter amusing. We, if less easily
entertained, should at least forgive it, remembering
that Southey loved his cats, though he could joke
clumsily over their graves. He was sincerely at-
tached, not only to Rumpel, but to Othello, and
"the Zombi," — which sounds like a litter, but was
in reality a single puss, named after the' chief of the
Palmares negroes. All these animals enjoyed as
much consideration and respect as Bentham's fa-
mous cat, who began life as simple Langbourne,
was subsequently knighted, and known as Sir John
Langbourne, and ended his dignified days as Rev.
Sir John Langbourne, D. D.

158 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

. Turn where we may in this Augustan age, we
see the same consoling picture, — from Sterne's
cat purring by the fire, to Charles Lamb's faithful
old Pussy decorated with green ribbons to fit her
for her pastoral part in Edmonton. Lamb, as we
know, admired Miss Grey's "kitten eyes," with
their sweet pretence of innocence ; and offered his
own solution of a hitherto unanswered problem.
" I made a pun the other day," he writes to Man-
ning, " and palmed it upon Holcroft, who grinned
like a Cheshire cat. (Why do cats grin in Cheshire ?
— Because it was once a county palatine, and the
cats cannot help laughing whenever they think of
it, though /see no great joke in it.) "

Even Christopher North, guilty as he appears
in the matter of that brutal sport, cat-worrying, had
a sincere and well-founded admiration for his own
puss, who was a Nimrod among hunters, a Coeur
de Lion among fighters, and an Autolycus among
thieves. The genial depravity of this gifted cat,
and his wonderful readiness of resource, delighted
Wilson's soul. He it was who, having adroitly re-
moved the pigeon from a well-built pie, stuffed up
the hole with his master's ink-sponge, as matter
better suited to the literary appetite. He it was
whose clamorous battle-cry, ringing through the
frosty night, summoned all the warriors of the
wall to mortal combat, until Wilson's back green

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 159

was " absolutely composed of cats." And he it
was whose passionate love-songs banished slumber
from the eyes of men, and stirred the gentle Ettrick
Shepherd into an unwonted fury of denunciation.
" I 've often thocht it aneuch to sicken ane o' love
a' their days," he observes indignantly in the
" Noctes," "just to reflect that a' that hissin', and
spitting, and snuffing, and squeaking, and squeal-
ing, and howling, and growling, and groaning, a'
mixed up into ae infernal gallemaufry o' din, onlike
onything else even in this noisy world, was wi' these
creatures the saftest, sweetest expression o' the same
tender passion that from Adam's lips whispered per-
suasion into Eve's ear, in the bowers o' Paradise."

Perhaps, indeed, much of the unreasonable fear
and hatred with which the mediaeval peasant re-
garded his cat may be traceable to its extraordinary
vocal powers. Those long-drawn notes which sud-
denly pierce the silence of the night, so inhumanly
human in their swelling cadences ; those rising
tides of passion, those sudden plunges into unveiled
horror, — what wonder that they carried consterna-
tion to minds always attuned to the supernatural !
One remembers how Coleridge wrote of the cats
of Malta, who were in the habit of meeting under
his bedroom window, and to whose nocturnal sym-
phonies he listened with quaking heart. " It is the
discord of Torment, and of Rage, and of Hate, of

i6o THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

paroxysms of Revenge, and every note grumbles
away into Despair."

More sympathetic and less nervous hearers have
found much to interest them in the cat's vocalism,
with its flexibility and astonishing variations, " Le
chat mise en possession d'une belle et grande voix,"
wrote Moncrif appreciatively. M. Dupont de Ne-
mours, a close and loving student of animals, main-
tained that, whereas the dog possesses only vowel
sounds, the cat uses in her language no less than
six consonants, — m, n, g, h, v, and f. M. Champ-
fleury professed to have counted sixty-three notes
in the mewing of cats, though he acknowledged
that it took an accurate ear and much practice to
distinguish them. He also considered the sign or
gesture language used by cats to be even more
copious and expressive than their audible tongue.
The Abbe Galiani could discern only twenty notes
in the most elaborate mewing ; but insisted that
these sounds represent a complete vocabulary, inas-
much as a cat always makes use of the same note
to express the same sentiment. He was able to
distinguish clearly between the male and female
tones, which he held to be as different in the cry
of animals as in the singing of birds. It was his
opinion, moreover, that not a single quaver in all
the "infernal gallemaufry o' din," which we hear
from the moon-lit wall, voices that tender passion

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT i6i

which the Ettrick Shepherd fancied to vibrate in
every scale. Two cats, systematically separated
by him from all other companionship, did their
love-making silently, only a faint amorous purr or
sigh betraying the nature of their emotions. Those
clarion notes, those long wailing sobs, associated
with feline dalliance, are rather calls to the absent,
vituperations of rival suitors, jealous upbraidings,
protestations of innocence, clangorous summons
to battle, and paeans of victory over a routed foe.
Courtship, without these attendant agitations, must
be rather a colourless affair. To woo in a corner,
instead of in a tournament, is dull work for a spirited
cat.

For that Puss is, above all things, a hunter and
a fighter must never be forgotten nor ignored.
Little beast of prey unwearyingly pursuing her
quarry, little denizen of woods and caves installed
under our roofs, and softened into domesticity, —
the cat has retained her wild instincts through
centuries of repression. Chosen companion of stu-
dents, valued friend of careful housewives, and
genius of the quiet fireside, she gives to man, in
return for his protection, nothing but her gracious
presence by his hearth. The serenity of her habit-
ual attitude, which veils a stubborn fierceness of
soul, her indolent enjoyment of cushioned ease and
warmth, have endeared her naturally to men of

i62 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

thought rather than to men of action. Shelley
basking by the fire, Johnson immured in shabby
London lodgings, Scott, when his increasing lame-
ness deprived him of the outdoor pleasures that he
loved, Matthew Arnold in the simple country life
that pleased him best, — all learned to appreciate
the gentleness, the composure, the exquisite urban-
ity of the cat. Statesmen have ever been partial
to an animal whose subtlety of spirit far exceeds
their own. Colbert, following the example of Riche-
lieu, was w^ont to play for hours with his kittens,
and Canning wrote verses in praise of his cat. It
has even happened that sailors and soldiers, like
Admiral Doria and Marshal Turenne, have frankly
avowed the engrossing nature of their preference.
Doria was painted with his cat by his side ; Turenne
had whole families of pussies whom he loved and
cared for. Lord Heathfield, when Gibraltar was
besieged by the Spaniards, used to appear every
day on the walls, attended by his cats, — quiet,
composed beasts, who kept close to their master,
and seemed in no wise disturbed by the roar and
rattle of artillery. More strange and more pitiful
to relate, there were found, after the battle of Sebas-
topol, a number of cats clinging, frightened and for-
lorn, to the knapsacks of the dead Russian soldiers.
They had followed their only friends into the midst
of that terrible carnage, and, desperate with terror,
refused to be driven from the field.

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 163

Nevertheless, it must be acknowledged that the
feline war record, so far as it is known in history,
is not a brilliant one. The unwritten annals of the
race are dark, indeed, with strife. For matchless
courage, and for an animated joy in battle, the cat
can hardly be surpassed. But the combat must
be of his own choosing, and with his own kindred.
To the perpetual wrangling of humanity he offers
a mortifying indifference. That splendid spirit of
partisanship which made Prince Rupert's dog fly
at a Roundhead's throat is all unknown to the cat.
That intelligent understanding of a political situa-
tion which induced the wise and wary greyhound.
Math, to desert King Richard the Second, who
had reared him from puppyhood, and fawn upon
the victorious Bolingbroke ; or which inspired the
favourite spaniel of Charles of Blois to quit his
master's side before the battle of Auray, and seek
the safer shelter of John de Montfort's tent, would
be impossible — let us hope — for the cat. When
Puss has taken an active part in any warfare, — as
in the dastardly attack of Cambyses upon the pious
Egyptians, — he was but an irresponsible and unwill-
ing agent. Therefore he has seldom been the ad-
mitted friend of fighting men. Be it remembered
with regret that Napoleon detested cats as cordially
all his life as Lord Roberts detests them now.

The irritable race of authors have, on the other

i64 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

hand, found in Pussy's gentle presence a balm for
their sensitive souls. Lord Byron stands forth,
a striking exception to this rule. He was sensitive
enough, and irritable enough. Heaven knows, and
he had plenty of cats — five at one time in Ravenna
— to have afforded him all the consolation of which
he stood in need ; but he harboured them rather
from a passionate fancy for every kind of animal
than from a particular grace in selection. They
shared his indiscriminate hospitality with eight
dogs, ten horses, three monkeys, an eagle, a crow,
a falcon, five peacocks, two guinea-hens and an
Egyptian crane ; and must have had scant pleasure
in such varied and over-animated society. There
was even at one time a civet-cat added to this
mMagerie intime ; but it wisely ran away, after
scratching one of the monkeys, and was never heard
of again. Shelley, being of a nervous temperament,
was made unspeakably wretched by the superabun-
dance of birds and beasts in the Ravenna palace,
and expressed his views forcibly to Byron, who
could not be made to understand such discomfort.
He himself found them all delightful, and noted
down with deep concern in his journal the tempo-
rary lameness of the crow, and his apprehension
lest " some fool " had trodden on its foot.

In more homely households. Pussy's recognized
corner was the kitchen hearth. There dwelt the

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 165

grey cat of the Brontes, watching Emily's bread-
making with wise, attentive eyes. She was the
silent sister's favourite, and Charlotte has recorded
the grief at Haworth when the poor little creature
died. There dwelt the cheerful colony of Edge-
worthstown cats, or such of them, at least, as were
not on police duty in the stables. Miss Edgeworth,
though no enthusiast, has left us a pleasant descrip-
tion of these pussies, and of their delight at the
reappearance of a maid who had been absent with
the family at Longford. " I forgot to tell you a
remarkable feature of our return," she writes to her
cousin, Sophy Ruxton. '' All the cats, even those
who properly belong to the stable, and who had
never been admitted to the honours of a sitting in
the kitchen, crowded around Kitty with congratu-
latory faces, crawling up her gown, insisting upon
caressing and being caressed, when she reappeared
in the lower regions. Mr. Gilpin's slander against
cats, as selfish, unfeeling creatures, is refuted by
stubborn facts."

That is a pretty touch of " congratulatory faces,"
and worthy of the writer's pen. We can see the
topaz eyes gleaming softly in the firelight ; we can
hear the welcoming purr, and feel the gentle rub-
bing of the furry sides. It is from Miss Edgeworth,
too, that we learn of Joanna Baillie's cat, a splendid
Amazon, who once avenged the wrongs of her race

i66 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

by worrying a dog, to the huge delight of Sir Walter
Scott ; yet who, combining courtesy with valour,
was wont to awaken her mistress when she lay late
abed, by very gently placing one paw " with its
glove on " upon the closed lids. Perhaps this peer-
less creature was also, in the main, a kitchen cat,
Miss Baillie having strict views of her own as to
the nature of feline duties.

" Still be thou deemed by housewife fat,
A comely, careful, mousing cat,
"Whose dish is, for the public good,
Replenished oft with savoury food ; "

is the sober future she holds out to the kitten sport-
ing by the fire, — the tiny comedian whose irrespon-
sible gayety beguiled her heart, and prompted some
of her prettiest lines.

*' Backwards coiled, and crouching low,
With glaring eye-balls watch thy foe.
The housewife's spindle whirling round.
Or thread or straw, that on the ground
Its shadow throws, by urchin sly
Held out to lure thy roving eye ;
Then, onward stealing, fiercely spring
Upon the futile, faithless thing.
Now, wheeling round with bootless skill,
Thy bo-peep tail provokes thee still,
And oft, beyond thy curving side.
Its jetty tip is seen to glide.

The nimblest tumbler, stage-bedight,
To thee is but a clumsy wight.

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 167

Who every limb and sinew strains

To do what costs thee little pains.

But, stopped the while thy wanton play,

Applauses too thy feats repay :

For then, beneath some childish hand.

With modest pride thou takest thy stand ;

Dilated then thy glossy fur,

And loudly swells thy busy purr ;

As, timing well the equal sound,

Thy clutching feet bepat the ground,

And all their harmless claws disclose.

Like prickles of an early rose."

If this verse be far less graceful and poetic than
that in which Wordsworth has described for us the
kitten playing with the fallen leaves, it has the merit
of plain fidelity to facts. Joanna Baillie understood
how dear to kittenhood are attention and applause,
how much of the irresistible prancing and paddling
is pure comedy, designed to dazzle an audience.
Wordsworth, gazing serenely at the small impostor
on the wall, was deceived by a specious show of
innocence. With touching simplicity, he fancied
her unconscious of the admiration she was exciting,
and philosophized over the absence of that coquetry
which was rampant in her little bosom.

" But the kitten, how she starts,
Crouches, stretches, paws and darts !
First at one, and then its fellow,
Just as light and just as yellow ;
There are many now, -^ now one, —
Now they stop, and there are none.

i68 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

What intenseness of desire

In her upward eye of fire !

With a tiger leap half way,

Now she meets the coming prey,

Lets it go as fast, and then

Has it in her power again.

Now she works with three or four,

Like an Indian conjurer ;

Quick as he in feats of art,

Far beyond in joy of heart.

Were her antics played in the eye

Of a thousand standers-by,

Clapping hands with shout and stare,

What would little Tabby care

For the plaudits of the crowd ?

Over happy to be proud ;

Over wealthy in the treasure

Of her own exceeding pleasure."

Little Tabby was an arrant hussy to so shame-
lessly deceive a great poet; but when any living
creature contrives to look as supernaturally inno-
cent as a kitten, we had best remember " L'Ecole
des Femmes," and be sure qu elle fait V Agnes.

For Pussy at her very best, we must still turn
to homely hearths where her place is held sacred,
where her labours warrant her welcome, where her
sleepy ease suggests comfort, and her beauty gives
an indescribable touch of distinction to all her plain
surroundings. It is in such a humdrum song as
that of Auld Bawthren in the chimney-corner that
we see the domestic sweetness of the cat.

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 169

" The gudewife birrs wi' the wheel a' day,

Three threeds an' a thrum ;
A walth o' wark, an' sma' time for play,
Wi' the lint sae white and vvorset grey
Work hard she maun, while sing I may,

Three threeds an' a thrum.

" The gudewife rises frae out her bed,
Wi' her cozey nicht-mutch round her head,
To steer the fire to a blaze sae red,
An' her feet I rub wi' welcome glad.

" I daunder round her wi' blythesome birr,
An' rub on her legs my sleek warm fur ;
Wi' sweeps o' my tail I welcome her.
An' round her rin, wherever she stir.

*' The men-folk's time for rest is sma',
They 're out in the sunshine, an' out in the snaw,
Tho' cauld winds whistle, or rain should fa',
I, in the ingle, dae nought ava'.

" I like the gudeman, but loe the wife.
Days mony they 've seen o' leil and strife ;
O' sorrow human hours are rife ;
Their haud 's been mine a' the days o' my life.

" Auld Bawthren grey, she kitten'd me here,
An' wha was my sire I didna spier ;
Brithers an' sisters smoor'd i' the weir.
Left me alane to my mither dear.

'* As I grew a cat wi' look sae douse,
She taught me to catch the pilf rin mouse ;
Wi' the thievish rottons I had nae truce.
But banished them a' frae the maister's houseo

I/O THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" Mither got fushionless, auld, an' blin,
The bluid in her veins was cauld an' thin,
Her claws were blunt, an' she couldna rin,
An' t' her forbears was sune gathered in.

" Now I sit hurklin' aye in the ase.

The queen I am o' that cozey place ;

As wi' ilka paw I dicht my face,

I sing an' purr wi' mickle grace,

Three threeds an' a thrum,
Three threeds an' a thrum."

There was one hearth, humble enough for the
most part, where the cat led but a chequered and
comfortless career ; there was one great writer
whose supremely irritable soul she might have
soothed into serenity, had she been granted fuller
and sweeter sway. Carlyle should always have had
a cat at his elbow. It was the influence he needed
most, and which he vaguely welcomed, without
understanding its tranquillizing power. The wis-
dom of the centuries is embodied in the contempla-
tive self-sufficiency of the cat. Her superb repose
modifies the restless fidgeting of men, and Carlyle
fidgeted more than is permissible, even for a man.
Unhappily, his incomparable wife surpassed him on
this score, and it was she, alas ! who made Pussy's
post untenable. Her letters show as constant a
succession of cats as of servants. Each new ani-
mal, like each new domestic, was received with
enthusiasm ; and each was found, after a trial, to

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 171

be as far removed from an impossible standard
of perfection.

One feline Sybarite took an unworthy advantage
of Mr. Carlyle's absence to kitten on his bed ; and
another stole the red herring which the maid-of-all-
work had cooked for her own dinner. There was
at no time a superfluity of good cheer beneath that
meagre roof, and who, save the aggrieved maid,
could have censured so natural and necessary a
theft ? This hapless cat was afterwards — while
its mistress was away — ruthlessly drowned, " for
unexampled dishonesty," being expected, appar-
ently, to live upon nothing but mice.

The next incumbent was a vivacious black pussy,
known by the pretty name of Columbine. There
is an amusing letter from Mrs. Carlyle, — when is
she not amusing ! — in which Nero, the little dog,
gives his absent master a graphic picture of the
unhomelike home, with its Spartan rigours, and
bleak, clean, fussy discomfort. He winds up rue-
fully : " There was no dinner yesterday, to speak
of. I had, for my share, only a piece of biscuit
that might have been round the world ; and if Col-
umbine got anything at all, I did n't see it."

Possibly Columbine foraged for herself, after the
free-booting fashion of her race ; but the white cat
that succeeded her departed immediately from such
dinnerless quarters. Then Mr. Darwin offered

172 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Mrs. Carlyle his own excellent mouser, if she could
tolerate *' a cat with a bad heart." Apparently she
could n't ; but preferred one that was admittedly
clever, though "of an unsettled turn of mind."
This beast, wise in its restlessness, withdrew after
a brief experience ; and was followed by " a kitten,
black as soot, — a most agile kitten, and wonder-
fully confiding."

Dear little kit ! How long she stayed, or was per-
mitted to stay, we do not know. There is but one
more letter on the subject, and that one is not in-
cluded in the published volumes. It was unearthed
recently, and printed in the "Glasgow News." Its
recipient was Mrs. Carlyle' s maid, Jessie, of whom,
in other epistles, she makes bitter complaint ; but
with whom she appears to have corresponded on
the most intimate and animated terms. Writing
from Folkestone, whither she has gone for sea air,
she implores Jessie to have everything in readiness
for Mr. Carlyle's return. He is visiting his brother
in Annandale, and she has been trying hard to per-
suade him to remain there, or at Aldersley Park,
for another week.

" I hold out the inducement that I should be in
London, after Monday the twenty-eighth, to welcome
him. But I don't know. Man is born to contra-
diction, as the sparks fly upward. The very per-
suasion that he should absent himself a few days

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 173

more may give him an unconscious but irresistible
impulse towards home.

"Anyhow, you and Mrs. Warren will not be found,
like the foolish virgins, with lamps without oil ; and,
besides, you may be sure of his giving you due warn-
ing. Having his bedroom all right, and the upstairs
room fit to be seen, no other preparation need be
made 'till the day and hour of his coming have been
announced to you by himself. I still hope that he
may not come 'till I myself am home first ; but, if
he should, there is one thing which you must attend
to, and which you would not think of without being
told. That cat ! I wish she were dead ! But I can't
shorten her days, because, you see, my poor, dear,
wee dog liked her. Well, there she is ! And as long
as she attends Mr. C. at his meals (and she does n't
care a sheaf of tobacco for him at any other time),
so long will Mr. C. continue to give her bits of meat
and driblets of milk, to the ruination of carpets and
hearthrugs ! I have over and over again pointed
out to him the stains she has made, but he won't
believe them her doings. And the dining-room
carpet was so old and ugly that it was n't worth
rows with one's husband about. Now, however,
that nice new cloth must be protected against the
cat abuse. So what I wish is that you would shut
up the creature when Mr. C. has breakfast, dinner,
or tea ; and, if he remarks on her absence, say it

174 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

was my express wish. He has no idea what a
selfish, immoral, improper beast she is, nor what
mischief she does to the carpets. Kind regards to
Mrs. Warren. Yours sincerely,

Jane Carlyle."

Poor Pussy ! Poor clean, sad, catless dining-room !
Poor Mrs. Carlyle ! In another year she was dead,
and we can hardly fancy her resting unfretted in
her grave. But it is pleasant to picture the great
historian, whose disagreeable aspects have been put
forward so relentlessly for the consideration of the
world, feeding his cat with '' driblets of milk,"
and excusing — or denying — the mess she made.
There is a touch of Dr. Johnson's human kindness
about the simple deed. Had Carlyle been permitted
to live on terms of easy intimacy with Columbine
or the soot-black kitten, he might have learned from

" The perfect balance of their ways "

some useful lessons in philosophy.

Happily there are other and brighter prospects
to consider, even on England's uncongenial soil ;
there are other and brighter glimpses into homes
which seem to have been made — like Herrick's
vicarage — for Pussy's tranquil sway. To under-
stand the character of a cat, to respect her independ-
ence, to recognize and deplore her pitiless instincts.

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 175

to be charmed by her gentler moods, to admire her
beauty, to appreciate her intelligence, and to love
her steadfastly without being loved in return, —
these things are not often possible to the Anglo-
Saxon nature. It is an upright nature, but iron-
bound and exacting. It is wont to overrate the
virtues it possesses, and to underrate those to which
it lays no claim. It prizes the frank fidelity of the
dog, it mistrusts the suavity and subtlety of the
cat ; but then, as the cat remarks to the dog in
Mr. Froude's ''Pilgrimage," "There may be truth
in what you say, but I think your view is limited."
It is at least worthy of note that the Englishman
who so deeply offended his country-people by his
admiration for French traits and French literature,
embodied the one, and rivalled the other, in the
few admirable lines that immortalize his cat. Mr.
Arnold's Atossa is no "comely, careful" mouser,
no guileless kitling, innocent of sin. She is a red-
handed murderess, whose blandishments win easy
pardon for her crimes. His letters prove the affec-
tion he felt for her ; his poetry proves the clearness
with which he saw the depths of her misdoing.
He cheerfully fills page after page of his corre-
spondence with minute descriptions of her behaviour
by night and day, winding up with the heartfelt
assurance ; " She is a most interesting cat, and we
get fonder and fonder of her all the time."

176 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" I have just been called to the door," he writes
from Cobham to his mother, " by the sweet voice
of Toss, whose morning proceedings are wonderful.
She sleeps — She has just jumped on my lap, and
her beautiful tail has made this smudge, but I have
put her down again. I was going to say that she
sleeps on an arm-chair before the drawing-room
fire ; descends the moment she hears the servants
about in the morning, and makes them let her out ;
comes back and enters Flu's room with Eliza regu-
larly at half-past seven. Then she comes to my
door and gives a mew, and then — especially if I
let her in, and go on writing or reading without
taking any notice of her — there is a real demon-
stration of affection, such as never again occurs in
the day. She purrs, she walks round and round
me, she jumps in my lap, she turns to me and rubs
her head and nose against my chin, she opens her
mouth and raps her pretty white teeth against my
pen. Then she leaps down, settles herself by the
fire, and never shows any more affection all day."

Did ever another Englishman relate such infin-
itesimal details about a cat ? " Morning proceedings
are wonderful ! " Why, all well-bred pussies give a
courteous, and, in some sort, affectionate salutation,
by way of beginning the day. None are so unwise
as to prolong their caresses to the point of weari-

THE CAT TRIUMPHANT 177

ness. • The same enviable instinct which prompts
them to offer their gentle tokens of regard, teaches
them sobriety and reserve.

Mr. Arnold had a second and less distinguished
cat named Blacky, about whom we are told little,
save that he lost one of his legs by some sad acci-
dent, and went about contentedly on the remaining
three all the years of his life, the cheeriest and most
agile of cripples. Atossa was a very beautiful Per-
sian ; and who that has read the pathetic lament
for " Poor Matthias," can forget the description of
her compelling and sinister loveliness .''

" Thou hast seen Atossa sage
Sit for hours beside thy cage ;
Thou wouldst chirp, thou foolish bird,
Flutter, chirp, — she never stirred !
What were now these toys to her ?
Down she sank amid her fur ;
Eyed thee with a soul resign'd,
And thou deemedst cats were kind !
— Cruel, but composed and bland,
Dumb, inscrutable, and grand ;
So Tiberius might have sat,
Had Tiberius been a cat."

And so Montaigne might have written, had Mon-
taigne been a poet. The attitude of the two men
towards the animals they loved, but could not hope
to understand, — an unmoral, unjudicial attitude, as
remote from vindication as from denunciation, shows

178

THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

them to have been serene students of natural laws.
" Thus freely speaketh Montaigne concerning cats,"
observes Isaac Walton with gravity ; and thus freely
speaketh Matthew Arnold. Both knew whereof
they spoke.

CHAPTER VIII
SOME CATS OF FRANCE

" Ella jouait avec sa chatte ;
Et c'etait merveille de voir
La main blanche et la blanche patte
S 'ebattre dans I'ombre du soir."

IN the year 1865 ay2/^^<^<?/<^2^ of Fontainebleau,
from whom several householders had demanded
legal protection for their cats, pronounced this
admirable judgment.

'' That the domestic cat is not a thing of naught,
but the property of its master, and, as such, entitled
to the shelter of the law ;

"That the utility of the cat as a destroyer of
mischievous rodents being indisputable, equity de-
mands the extension of indulgence to an animal
which the law tolerates and protects ;

i8o THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" That even the domestic cat is of a mixed nature ;
that is to say, a creature which is partly wild, and
which must ever remain so, by reason of its destiny
and purpose."

The decision further asserts that no citizen is
justified in taking the life of a neighbour's cat, be-
cause of any depredations it may have committed ;
but the interesting clause is that which frankly
acknowledges Pussy's independence of restraint.
It is precisely because the French have always ad-
mitted this independence, and ungrudgingly granted
to the cat her freedom, that they have learned to
know her so well, and to cherish her so fondly.
Buffon says she is the only brute which accepts the
comforts, but rejects the bondage of domesticity;
the only one which is tamed without servitude. M.
Flourens maintains that she is not really domes-
ticated at all, because she neither serves us nor
associates with us, save capriciously, and as her own
whims dictate. M. Fee, in his delightful book,
"Etudes philosophiques sur 1' Instinct et I'lntelli-
gence des Animaux," defines domesticity as that
change in the habits of a bird or beast which brings
it within the scope of our influence, so that it lives
contentedly, and without severe restraint, amid
whatever surroundings we provide. According to
this definition, the cat is truly domestic. No animal
enjoys more keenly the luxury it is in our power to

SOME CATS OF FRANCE i8i

give, and no animal expresses its enjoyment with so
much grace and courtesy. '' The most untamable
of the carnivora," says M. Fee, ^4s the panther;
the most destructive is the cougar ; the gentlest is
the leopard ; the most intelligent is the cat. This
last consents to be our guest. She accepts the
shelter we offer, and the food we provide. She
even permits us to play with her, and fondle her,
when she is in a responsive humour. But she never
parts with her liberty. She will be neither our
servant nor our friend."

True lovers of the race have been attracted rather
than repelled by this spirit of equality, this attitude
of reserve. " I value in the cat," says Chateaubri-
and, '' the independent and almost ungrateful spirit
which prevents her from attaching herself to any
one, the indifference with which she passes from
the salon to the housetop. When we caress her,
she stretches herself, and arches her back respon-
sively ; but that is because she feels an agreeable
sensation, not because she takes a silly satisfaction,
like the dog, in faithfully loving a thankless master.
The cat lives alone, has no need of society, obeys
only when she pleases, pretends to sleep that she
may see the more clearly, and scratches everything
on which she can lay her paw."

This is what Chateaubriand called " labouring at
the rehabilitation " of his favourite animal ; but

i82 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

there have been those who felt he did her scant
justice. According to M. Fee, the cat is capable
of profound affection, though it is an affection dif-
ficult to win, and easy to forfeit. Moreover, the
manifestations of her regard can never be forced.
We must wait for her caresses until she is pleased
to bestow them ; she will accept ours, only when
she is in the mood for endearments. In all this
she offers a striking contrast to the dog, who, as
Mme. de Custine wittily said, " seems condemned
to love us," — to love us, however contemptible or
unworthy we may be. His steadfast, unreasoning
loyalty is beautiful beyond measure ; but we can
hardly deny that it feeds our vanity. Here is a
brave and intelligent animal with whom we can
be always as lordly as we please ; who never ques-
tions our godlike attributes ; who accepts punish-
ment meekly, and is exuberantly grateful for the
smallest attention, the most trifling token of esteem.
What wonder that we sound his praises, seeing that,
in praising him, we reflect such credit on ourselves ?
What wonder that we are disposed to resent the
self-sufficing nature of the cat, who will approach
us only on equal terms, who cherishes no illusions
concerning our goodness and greatness, and whose
somewhat contemptuous indifference wounds our
self-esteem .? Why, it is asked, should we humble
ourselves to win the fluctuating affections of a cat,

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 183

when a dog stands ever ready to give us his faithful
heart, without condition or reserve ?

Why, indeed, save that some of us most desire
that which is difficult to obtain ; that some of us
value most that which we fear to lose. When with
delicate blandishments we have beguiled a cat from
her reserve, when she responds, coyly at first, and
then with graceful aba^idon to our advances, when
the soft fur brushes our cheek, when the gleam-
ing eyes narrow sleepily, and the murmurous purr
betrays the sweetness of her content, we feel like
a lover who has warily and with infinite precaution
stolen from his capricious mistress the first tender
token of possible surrender. One cannot woo a cat
after the fashion of the Conqueror. Courtesy, tact,
patience are needed at every step ; and it may hap-
pen that when the victory seems fairly won, and
we think the wayward little animal is about to
spring upon our knee, she turns aside instead with
pointed coldness, retreats to the other end of the
room, and either demands to have the door opened
that she may escape from our presence, or coils
herself with humped and displeased back in some
shadowy corner where she may forget that we
exist. This is perhaps what Sir Thomas Browne
called "four-footed manners," but Pussy is never
rude. She contrives, on the contrary, to convey
the impression that it is the offensive nature of our

i84 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

devotion which compels her to quietly and modestly
withdraw.

All this, Chateaubriand understood, and accepted
without protest, when he granted to the cat her
freedom, and proclaimed himself the least exacting
of her lovers. Even the mysterious nature of her
past history allured rather than repelled him. He
it is who tells us the fantastic story of Count Com-
bourg's wooden leg, which, three hundred years
after its owner's death, was wont to walk abroad
on its own account, accompanied by a great black
cat. When the moon waned, and sleepers woke
trembling with the terrors of the night, they heard
this leg hop slowly down the winding turret stairs,
and they knew that, stealing before it in the dark-
ness, crept the cat, with tail erect, and eyes of lam-
bent flame. It would not have been a pleasant
thing to meet that little phantom, guarding its imp-
ish prize.

The ** Memoires d'outre Tombe " contain some
charming allusions to the many cats whom Chateau-
briand loved and lost. Through all the vicissitudes
of his changeful life, they were his solace, his diver-
sion, his delight. The dreary days of his English
exile were brightened and softened by the com-
panionship of two beautiful pussies, " white as
ermines, with black tips to their tails ; " — pussies
who possessed — or so at least the desolate French-

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 185

man fancied — more Gallic vivacity than falls to the
lot of most Saxon cats. For it was one of Chateau-
briand's favourite theories * that domestic animals
share in an extraordinary degree the national traits
of the people among whom their lives are spent.
He delighted, when travelling, to observe their
expressions and demeanour, declaring that he saw
reflected in them the expressions and demeanour
of their masters; — the gayety, the sadness, the
intelligence, the stupidity which they daily encoun-
tered in man. Thus the German beasts had, he
felt, " the temperate character of their reasonable
owners ; " while the serious silence, the subdued
reserve of English animals oppressed his cheerful
soul. "The London sparrow," he wrote in 1798,
" all blackened with smoke, hops drearily about the
streets. One seldom hears a dog bark, or a horse
neigh, and even the free and independent cat ceases
to mew upon the housetop."

The supreme egotism of Chateaubriand could
hardly fail to find expression in his most generous .
utterances, and it is amusing to hear him proclaim
himself to M. de Marcellus the champion and advo-
cate of the cat, because she was " one of the works
of God which is most despised by man." — "Buf-
fon," he added, " has belied this animal. I am
labouring at her rehabilitation, and hope to make
her appear a tolerably good sort of beast."

1 86 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

In reality, men were far more occupied with cats
about this time than they were with Chateaubriand,
though he managed to play throughout life so pro-
minent a part in the public eye. He followed the
trend of popular enthusiasm, and thought he led
it ; but it cannot be denied that his devotion to
his pets was sincere, intelligent, and interpretative.
He stood midway between the harsh depreciation
of Buff on and the ardent favouritism of M. Fee.
Buffon declared the cat to be selfish, treacherous,
and perverse ; thievish by instinct ; incapable of
either domesticity or affection ; and tolerated under
men's roofs only because she destroyed an animal
more disagreeable and more mischievous than her-
self. M. Fee, on the other hand, considered that
whatever seemed lacking in Pussy was due to the
stupidity or cruelty of her masters. She was, from
his point of view, not only the most beautiful of
beasts, but one of the most affectionate, if she could
but find an object worthy of her regard. "The
cat," he says proudly, "is not a commonplace crea-
ture when she loves."

Chateaubriand, free alike from antagonism or
delusion, was the most clear-sighted of the three.
He, at least, valued at her true worth the little
Sphinx whose ways are gentle, whose heart is cold,
whose character is inscrutable. Vain though he
was, his vanity stopped short of any claim upon

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 187

her confidence or devotion. He neither demanded
the loyalty he knew she would not give, nor ignored
the friendship she was sometimes ready to bestow.
Therefore there was a peculiar fitness in his inherit-
ing from Leo the Twelfth the superb cat who had
been for several years the Pontiff's most intimate
companion, and who had aroused the ambassador's
admiration by his beauty, his dignified demeanour,
and«a certain ascetic charm, derived from contact
with the papacy. The Pope was abstemious, after
the admirable fashion of Italians ; the cat, Micetto,
was abstemious too, living on a little polenta, and
wholly weaned from the carnivorous habits of his
race. Chateaubriand, in a well-known passage of
his " Memoires," has left us a pretty description
of the pontifical pet, who lived in France to a serene
old age, bearing his weight of honours with graceful
propriety, and hardening into arrogance only when
forced to repel the undue familiarity of visitors.

" My companion," he writes, " is a large grey and
red cat, banded with black. He was born in the
Vatican, in the loggia of Raphael. Leo the Twelfth
reared him on a fold of his white robe, where I
used to look at him with envy when, as ambassador,
I received my audiences. The successor of Saint
Peter being dead, I inherited the bereaved animal.
He is called Micetto, and surnamed *the Pope's
cat,' enjoying, in that regard, much consideration

i88 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

from pious souls. I endeavour to soften his exile,
and help him to forget the Sistine Chapel, and the
vast dome of Michael Angelo, where, far from
earth, he was wont to take his daily promenade."

Many Popes besides Leo have been ardently
attached to their cats, since the far-off days when
the great Gregory set them so honourable an ex-
ample. One of those who bore his name most
worthily, the gentle and learned Gregory the Fif-
teenth, — he who founded the Propaganda, yet for-
bade harsh treatment of the heretic, — was, as might
be surmised, the friend and patron of the race,
cherishing his own pets with exceeding fondness.
Pius the Ninth so delighted in his cat that he shared
his meals — simple as Leo's — with this little com-
panion, whose dish was placed at his feet, and filled
by his kind old hands.

Victor Hugo, as supreme an egotist as Chateau-
briand, but one whose egotism was more strongly
fortified by genius, found his path to humility lay
in the comradeship of his cats. The world shouted
itself hoarse over his greatness. France flung her
homage at his feet, and dashed her applause into
his face, until adamant would have softened into
vanity. " The nineteenth century," cried M. Bar-
bou in a wild access of hysteria, " will have but one
title for posterity. It will be called the century of
Victor Hugo." — " The twin towers of Notre Dame

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 189

are the H of Hugo," said M. Vacquerie ; and the
remark seems to have been considered impressive,
rather than exceptionally foolish. Even in child-
hood, this favourite of fortune was fed with sugared
praise. His schoolboy verses on " The Happiness
which Study Affords in all Situations of Life," were
received with serious transport, as though so admir-
able a sentiment were newly born ; and Chateau-
briand, reading them, exclaimed fervently, " Cet
enfant est un enfant sublime."

A man who is talked to and written about in this
fashion all his life needs the corrective influence
of cats, and happily Victor Hugo was blessed in
his feline society. His pussies were one and all
serene, supercilious, and inclined to ostentation,
deeming themselves of more importance than the
whole race of human scribblers. There was
Mouche, a magisterial cat, defiant and reserved ;
and the beautiful Chanoine, too indolent for self-
assertion, who spent most of her life sleeping grace-
fully and undisturbed, like the enchanted Princess
in the fairy tale ; and there was that superb beast,
deep-eyed and silken furred, whom M. Mery stroked
one day with cautious joy, observing : " God made
the cat that man might have the pleasure of caress-
ing the tiger." The curtained and cushioned dais
in the salon of the Place Royale mansion, about
which ill-natured critics laughed maliciously, was

190 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

more frequently occupied by cats than by the august
author of " Les Miserables." If he were well in-
clined to throne himself, so indeed were they ; and
the superior nature of their claims was readily
granted by the man in whom their empire kept
alive the saving grace of modesty. " When I was
young," says M. Champfleury, " I had the honour
of being received by Victor Hugo in a room with
a big red dais, on which reposed a cat who seemed
to await the homage of visitors. He had a huge
ruff of white fur like a Chancellor's tippet, his
whiskers resembled those of a Hungarian Magyar,
and when he advanced in a stately manner, his
brilliant eyes fixed full upon my face, I perceived
that he had modelled himself on the poet, and was
reflecting the majestic thoughts that seemed to fill
the chamber."

Did the cat model himself on the poet, or the
poet on the cat.-* When "each seemed either," it
was a difficult matter to decide.

About the time that Victor Hugo was gathering
his first rich crop of laurels, a certain M. Raton —
unknown to fame — published in Paris a very seri-
ous little treatise, " Sur 1' Education du Chat Domes-
tique," preceded by '' Son Histoire Philosophique
et Politique," and followed by an elaborate " Trait e-
ment de ses Maladies." It is a book of amazing
dulness. M. Raton did not love cats. How could

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 191

one of his name be reasonably expected to love
them ! " They are," he says, " deceitful and treach-
erous by instinct, depraved and cruel by habit."
The best that can be offered in their behalf is that
their perversity is less criminal than that of men,
being a natural trait instead of a premeditated ill-
doing. Buffon's traducing cynicisms are quoted
lengthily to prove that even the youngest kittens
are little monsters of iniquity, filled with inborn
malice, and with that propensity to evil which the
catechism teaches us is the dark shadow cast by
original sin. " Determined thieves, education only
makes them more supple and alert. They know
well how to conceal their purpose, to seize their
opportunity, to cover their flight, and to escape re-
tribution. They easily acquire the manners, but
never the morals of society."

How far the morals of society are in advance of
the morals of cats, it would be hard to determine.

" J'appelle un chat un chat, et Rolet un fripon; "

says Boileau, who plainly found little to choose
between them.

The really curious thing about M. Raton's treatise
is that it is embodied in a series of letters addressed
to Madame la Superieure du Convent des Visitan-
dines ; and one cannot help wondering why the
good nun should have desired so much information

192 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

upon such a subject. Is it possible that she did
not know in what manner cats catch mice, and
needed M. Raton's careful explanation ? Was she
educating little kittens as well as little girls in that
particular Visitation convent, and did she feel the
necessity for this manual of feline accomplishments,
this Young Cat's Guide to Learning ? Above all,
why should the author have chosen the ear of a
religious in which to pour the scandalous details
of Pussy's moonlight courtship ? The chapter en-
titled " Des Amours des Chats " appears hardly
fit for cloistered readers. " I venture to say,"
writes the Frenchman blithely, "that this is not
the least pleasant part of my narrative ; " and one
blushes at his temerity. What was Madame la
Superieure du Convent des Visitandines thinking
about, when she permitted such unseemly particu-
lars to receive the sanction of her name !

Neither Buff on, however, nor M. Raton — fee-
bler exponent of a fast dying antagonism — could
destroy the natural affinity between men of letters
and their cats, an affinity strengthened by mutual
understanding, and hours of silent companionship.
Sainte-Beuve's cat was perhaps the finest type of
his thoughtful race, — a studious animal, disinclined
alike to careless dalliance or to gladiatorial joys. His
pleasures were all of a meditative, sedentary char-
acter. He would sit for hours on his master's table,

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 193

watching that swift and steady pen travelling down
the page, and sometimes encouraging it with a soft
approving pat. He would step gently backward
and forward over the loose sheets ; the delight
which all cats take in the contact of crisp paper
being doubtless enhanced in his case by apprecia-
tion of the Cattseries with which those sheets were
covered. He was a striking contrast in every re-
gard to the vigorous animal that loved and scorned
Christopher North ; but then, if the cats were dif-
ferent, so were their masters. The verdicts of the
great French critic were respected by his favourite ;
but what cat could be asked to respect the early
criticisms of " Maga " ?

M, Prosper Merimee was one of the most ardent
and enthusiastic cat-lovers of his day. He found
no fault with these cherished creatures, save that
they were exquisitely sensitive, and too easily dis-
illusioned. Their intelligence amazed, their polite-
ness enchanted him. M. Taine was inspired by his
cats to rare poetic flights. Historian, essayist, and
critic, he willingly abandoned the paths of studious
prose to compliment in verse the suave little guests
who sat purring in white tippets by his fire. Twelve
sonnets prove the graceful nature of his attachment.
They are dedicated, " To three cats, ' Puss,' ' Ebene,'
and ' Mitonne,' residing at Menthon-Saint-Bernard,
Haute-Savoie ; " and they are signed, with mingled

194 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

confidence and humility, " their friend, master, and
servant, Hippolyte Taine." The prettiest of them
all is aptly christened —

" La Pratique

" * Cultive ton jardin,' disaient Goethe et Voltaire ;
Au-dela ton ouvrage est caduc et mort-ne ;
Enfermons nos efforts dans un cercle borne ;
Point d'ecarts ; ne cherchons que le del sur la terre.

** Ainsi fait notre ami. Comme un vieux militaire,
II brosse son habit sitot qu'il a dine ;
Dans son domaine etroit, librement confine,
Ministre de sa peau, tout a son ministere.

" II s'epluche, il se lisse, il sait ce qu'il se doit.
Pauvre petit torchon moins large que le doigt,
Sa langue est tour a tour eponge, etrille ou peigne.

" Son nez rejoint son dos ; il leche en insistant ;
Pas un poil si lointain que la rape n'atteigne.
Goethe, instruit par Voltaire, en a-t-il fait autant ? "

No Frenchman, save Baudelaire and Gautier,
have carried their appreciation to a higher pitch
than did Taine ; and, if his sentiment lacks the fer-
vid grace of Baudelaire's, it is of a simpler, saner,
and more comprehensible order. How far the
author of '' Fleurs du Mai " was sincere in his fan-
tastic passion for cats ; how far he diverted himself
by provoking the curiosity of the world, or by alarm-
ing its prejudices; and how far the world — its
curiosity and prejudices being well aroused — exag-

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 195

gerated the extravagant behaviour of the poet, are
questions hard to determine, and perhaps not worth
determining. M. Champfleury, who was a friend,
admits the lack of discretion in all of Baudelaire's
fancies. They began prettily, soon grew burden-
some, and ended too often in the grotesque. " Many
a time," he writes, "when he and I have been walk-
ing together, have we stopped at the door of a
laundry to look at a cat, curled luxuriously on a
pile of snow-white linen, and revelling in the fra-
grant softness of the newly-ironed fabrics. Into
what moods of contemplation have we fallen, while
the coquettish laundresses struck pretty attitudes
at their ironing-boards, under the delusion that we
were admiring them. If a cat appeared in a door-
way, or crossed the street, Baudelaire would coax
it softly, take it in his arms, and stroke its fur,
— sometimes the wrong way. Although I may
seem to confirm the stories that were circulated
when the poet was attacked by hopeless paralysis,
I must admit that his enthusiasm had in it some-
thing startling and excessive. This made him a
charming companion for an hour or so, after which
he became fatiguing, from the extreme excitability
which all who knew him recognized as character-
istic."

The foolish tales current at the time may easily
be discarded. It is not probable that the poet,

196 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

entering a friend's house, was " restless and un-
easy " until he had seen the cat ; or that, when the
animal was presented, he became so absorbed in its
society as to forget his hostess and her guests.
But in his own home, and during his brief years of
health, Baudelaire found an exquisite and soothing
pleasure in the companionship of

" Those suave and puissant cats, the household's pride,
Who love the sedentary life, and glow of fire."

He sang their praises in verse as delicate as their
gentle footfalls, as brilliant as their half-shut opal
eyes, as mysterious as their ineffable and sphinx-
like repose, which seems like the repose of centu-
ries. He pleaded their cause with the fervour of a
lover and the skill of an advocate. Their sweet and
subtle charm, '' lost on the vulgar," has never been
more finely expressed than in the little poem called
" Les Chats," which is simpler, even in its fantasies,
than Baudelaire's verse is often wont to be.

" Les amoureux fervents et les savants austeres
Aiment egalement, dans leur mure saison,
Les chats puissants et doux, orgueil de la maison,
Qui comme eux sont frileux, et comme eux sedentaires,

" Amis de la science et de la volupte,
lis cherchent le silence et I'horreur des tenebres ;
L'Erebe les eut pris pour ses coursiers funebres,
S'ils pouvaient au servage incliner leur fierte.

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 197

" lis prennent en songeant les nobles attitudes
Des grands sphinx allonges au fond des solitudes,
Qui semblent s'endormir dans un reve sans fin.

** Leur reins feconds sont plein d'etincelles magiques,
Et des parcelles d'or, ainsi qu'un sable fin,
Etoilent vaguement leur prunelles mystiques."

When the poet grows more personal, when he
addresses himself in an ecstasy of adulation to a par-
ticular cat rather than to the whole beloved race, his
lines become as extravagant in sentiment as they
are harmonious in utterance. The little verses be-
ginning —

" Viens, mon beau chat, sur mon coeur amoureux,
Retiens les griffes de ta patte,"

are riotous in their blandishments ; and even this
longer and finer poem, which I cannot forbear to
quote entire, is the most fantastic, if the most felici-
tous, tribute ever laid at Pussy's little feet, the most
highly imaginative verse that ever immortalized the
memory of a cat.

" Dans ma cervelle se promene,
Ainsi qu'en son appartement,
Un beau chat, fort, doux et charmant.
Quand il miaule, on I'entend a peine.

*' Tant son timbre est tendre et discret ;
Mais que sa voix s'apaise ou gronde,
Elle est tou jours riche et profonde ;
C'est la son charme et son secret

/

/

198 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" Cette voix, qui perle et qui filtre
Dans mon fond le plus tenebreux,
Me remplit comme un vers nombreux,
Et me rejouit comme un philtre.

" Elle endort les plus cruels maux,
Et contient toutes les extases ;
Pour dire les plus longues phrases,
EUe n'a pas besoin de mots.

" Non, il n'est pas d'archet qui morde
Sur mon coeur, parfait instrument,
Et fasse plus royal ement
Chanter sa plus vibrante corde,

" Que ta voix, chat mysterieux,
Chat seraphique, chat etrange,
En qui tout est, comme en un ange,
Aussi subtil qu'harmonieux !

II

" De sa fourrure blonde et brune
Sort un parfum si doux, qu'un soir
J'en fus embaume, pour I'avoir
Caressee une fois, rien qu'une.

" C'est I'esprit familier du lieu :
II juge, il preside, il inspire
Toutes choses dans son empire ;
Peut-etre est-il fee, est-il dieu ?

" Quand mes yeux, vers ce chat que j'aime
Tires comme par un aimant,
Se retournent docilement,
Et que je regard e en moi-meme.

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 199

" Je vois avec etonnement
Le feu de ses prunelles pales,
Clairs fanaux, vivantes opales,
Qui me contemplent fixement."

"The boast of our age," says a modern cynic,
"is the reverse of simplicity ; " but then the cat is
not a simple animal. When poets have chosen to
write simply about a creature so curiously complex,
they have succeeded merely in portraying a single
trait or aspect ; something easily compassed by
even a limited understanding, as Wordsworth de-
scribed the gambols of the kitten on the wall.
Nevertheless, there is a sweeter, homelier side to
man's tenderness for any animal ; there is affection
distinct from infatuation. It does not inspire the
poet, — how should it ! — but it warms our hearts,
as nothing save kindness and the knowledge of
kindness can ever warm them in a world chilled by
indifference to pain. Madame Michelet, the clever
wife and collaboratrice of the historian, has told us
in " L'Oiseau " a plain pathetic little story, which
contains all the elements of tragedy and of consola-
tion that go to make up life.

" My father," she writes, "had a strong sympathy
for cats. This was the result of early experience.
He and his brother, knocked pitilessly about in
their childhood between the harshness of home and
the cruelty of school, had, for solace and alleviation,

200 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

two well-loved cats. Affection for these animals
became a family trait. When we were young, each
of us had a kitten. We gathered round the fire at
night, and our sleek, well-fed pets sat at our feet,
basking in the grateful warmth.

"There was one cat, however, that never joined
the circle. He was a poor ugly thing, and so con-
scious of his defects that he held aloof with invinci-
ble shyness and reserve. He was the butt, the
souffre douleur of our little society ; and the inborn
malignity of our natures found expression in the
ridicule with which we pelted him. His name was
Moquo. He was thin and weak, his coat was
scanty, he needed the warm fireside more than the
other cats ; but the children frightened him, and
his comrades, wrapped snugly in their furry robes,
disdained to take any notice of his presence. Only
my father would go to the dim, cold corner where he
cowered, pick him up, carry him to the hearth, and
tuck him safely out of sight under a fold of his own
coat. There, warm, safe, and unseen, poor Moquo
would take courage, and softly purr his gratitude.
Sometimes, however, we caught a glimpse of him,
and then, in spite of my father's reproaches, we
laughed and jeered at his melancholy aspect. I can
still recall the shadowy creature shrinking away, and
seeming to melt into the breast of his protector,
closing his eyes as he crept backward, choosing to
see and hear nothing.

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 201

"There came a day when my father left us for a
long journey, and all the animals shared our grief
at his departure. Time after time his dogs trotted
a little way along the road he had taken to Paris,
howling piteously for their master. The most
desolate creature in the house was Moquo. He
trusted no one ; but, for a while, would steal to the
hearth, looking wistfully and furtively at my fa-
ther's vacant place. Then, losing hope, he fled
to the woods, to resume the wild and wretched life
of his infancy ; and, though we tried, we never
could entice him back to the home where he no
longer had a friend."

The faithful annalist is one who records with
equal grace the life of court and cottage. Not like
the gay old historians of the past who told of nothing
but kings and the doings of kings, of battles and
the glory of empire ; nor like their modern descend-
ants whose joyless work is confined to blue books
and statistics, who devote pages to the amendments
of some insignificant bill worrying its way through
Parliament, but apologize to their readers for a
chance allusion to the Queen. Rather should the
chronicler pass con amove from high to low, and
gladly back again ; leaving the " suave and puissant "
beasts of Baudelaire's fireside for their poor cousin
of the woods, and returning with pleasure to the
courtliest records of cat or kittendom ever penned

202 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

by Frenchman, since Moncrif flattered the high-
born pussies of Paris and Versailles.

The Black and White Dynasties that reigned
over M. Theophile Gautier's hearth have been
chronicled by him with surpassing gayety and grace.
He is the true *' historiogriff e," rather than poor
Moncrif, who writhed under the ridicule implied by
a title, which — albeit the pun is but a poor one —
would have delighted Gautier's soul. The author
of " Menagerie Intime " was as catholic in his
affection for animals as was Cowper or Lord Byron.
To dogs he was ever faithfully attached, and was
wont to make some boast of his friendship for them,
finding, as so many of us have found, that when he
said he liked dogs, people at once gave him credit
for frank and generous sentiments. Magpies, cha-
meleons, and white rats were also favourites, though
he vaunted their charms less loudly to a prejudiced
world. But cats were his supreme delight, the
crowning passion of his life. Unswerving in his
devotion, he loved them ardently from childhood ;
and tells with grateful pride how his mother's big
grey cat invariably took his part when he was in
disgrace, and used to bite Mme. Gautier's legs
when she scolded her little son. If, later on, he
transferred his allegiance lightly from one beautiful
pet to another, he excuses this apparent fickleness
by pleading the sad brevity of feline life, the incur-

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 203

able inconstancy of the human heart. *' Dynasties
of cats, as numerous as the dynasties of the Pharaohs,
succeeded each other under my roof," he confesses.
" One after another they were swept away by acci-
dent, by flight, by death. All were loved and re-
gretted ; but oblivion is our common fate, and the
memory of the cats we have lost fades like the
memory of men."

Which — or rather who — of these famous pussies
reigned preeminent over the rest ? To whom did
Gautier grant his flattering preference ? We can-
not tell, though Madame Theophile, first and fairest
of the group, held a more distinguished, — a more
legitimate position I had almost said, in the poet's
house. He acknowledges that he gave her his
name to show the intimacy of their friendship, the
closeness of their mutual regard. Like Chateau-
briand's Micetto, Madame Theophile was a reddish
cat, with snowy breast, soft blue eyes, and the
pinkest of little pink noses. She slept at the foot
of her master's bed ; she sat on the arm of his
chair while he wrote ; she walked sedately up and
down the garden by his side ; she was present at
all his meals, and frequently intercepted a choice
morsel on its way from his plate to his mouth.
She was the heroine of the delightful adventure
with the parrot, which is so well known to readers,
but which I cannot refrain from quoting once again.

204 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Indeed, though the whole history of the Black and
White Dynasties has been told and retold until it is
as familiar as fairy stories, it must bear yet one
more telling, because of the melancholy incomplete-
ness of any cat-book from which it were omitted.
Like Gray's verses to the ill-fated Selima, like the
legend of Dick Whittington, like Puss-in-Boots, or
the oft-repeated tale of Mohammed's Muezza, it is
part of the annals of cathood. To exclude this
narrative because of its charming familiarity, would
be like excluding the Crusades, the tournaments,
the Cavaliers, from England's glorious chronicles.
Great Pasht forbid that the history of pussies should
be written from the blue-book and statistic point of
view ; or that the shades of Madame Theophile, of
Eponine, of Don Pierrot, and Gavroche should ever
cease to smile upon their little brothers and sisters
who frolic by our hearths to-day.

The parrot that figures so dramatically in Gau-
tier's story was not by rights a member of the me-
nagerie. It was sent to the poet's hospitable home
to be entertained during its owner's absence from
Paris, and the fact that Madame Theophile had
never before -seen such a bird, intensified the inter-
est of their meeting. " Motionless as a cat mummy
in its swathing-bands," says Gautier, *' she fixed a
profoundly meditative gaze upon the creature, sum-
moning to her aid all the notions of natural history

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 205

that she had picked up in the garden and on the
roof. The shadow of her thoughts passed over her
changing eyes, and we could plainly read in them
the conclusion to which her scrutiny led : * De-
cidedly this is a green chicken.'

" Having determined so much, Madame Theophile
leaped from the table whence she had made her
observations, and crouched flat on the ground, in
the attitude of Gerome's panther, watching the
gazelles as they come down to drink. The parrot
followed every motion with feverish anxiety. He
ruffled his feathers, rattled his chain, lifted his feet
nervously, and rubbed his beak against the side of
his trough. Instinct told him that the cat was an
enemy, and meant mischief. Madame Theophile's
eyes were now fixed upon the bird with terrible
intensity, and they said in language which the poor
parrot distinctly understood : ' This chicken ought
to be good to eat, although it is green.' We
watched the little drama breathlessly, ready to inter-
fere at need. The cat crept slowly, almost imper-
ceptibly, nearer and nearer. Her pink nose quiv-
ered, her eyes were half closed, her claws moved
in and out of their velvet sheaths, slight thrills of
pleasure shivered along her spine at the thought of
the repast that awaited her. Such novel and exotic
food tempted her appetite.

"Suddenly her back bent like a bow, and with

2o6 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

a vigorous and elastic spring she leaped upon the
perch. The parrot, seeing the imminence of his
danger, cried in a voice as deep as M. Prudhomme's :
* As-tu dejeune, Jacquot ? '

" This utterance so terrified the cat that she fell
backwards. The blare of a trumpet, the report of
a pistol, could not have frightened her more thor-
oughly. All her ornithological ideas were over-
thrown.

" * Et de quoi ? — Du roti du roi ? ' continued the
parrot.

"Then might we, the observers, read in the coun-
tenance of Madame Theophile : ' This is not a
bird ; it speaks ; it is a gentleman.' "

The cat so loved and honoured by her master had
other tastes less carnal, other instincts less mur-
derous. She dehghted in perfumes and in music.
India shawls, lifted from their boxes of sandalwood,
and exhaling faint aromatic odours of the East, in-
toxicated her voluptuously. She stretched her deli-
cate limbs on their soft folds, and dreamed vague
dreams of caravans, and of fair Persian pussies car-
ried over the red sands of Arabia. The vibrations
of the piano or of the human voice thrilled her
with pleasure and with pain. She would listen
drowsily while the music was faint and low ; but
high notes irritated her nerves, and if a soprano
grew too piercingly sweet, she would leap up and

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 207

lay a gentle, remonstrating paw upon the singer's
lips. Again and again, says Gautier, this experi-
ment was tried by guests who deemed such inter-
ruption an amusement ; and again and again it had
the same result. Beyond a certain pitch, their
voices were never permitted to rise. " The dilettante
in fur was not to be deceived."

After Madame Theophile, the cat who seems to
have lain closest to his master's heart was Pierrot,
so named in -infancy because he wore spotless white ;
though later in life he won for himself a more dis-
tinguished title, — like Bentham's Sir John Lang-
bourne, — and became known to Parisian society as
Don Pierrot de Navarre. He was of an affectionate
disposition, though tranquil and self-contained ;
never effusive, but delighting in the refinements of
confidential and sympathetic intercourse. "He
shared the life of the household," writes M. Gautier,
"with that enjoyment of quiet fireside friendship
which is a characteristic of cats. He had his own
place on the hearth, and would sit there for hours,
listening to conversation with a well-bred air of
intelligence and interest. He glanced occasionally
from speaker to speaker, and addressed them with
little half - articulate sounds, as though protesting
politely against their statements, or offering an
opinion of his own upon the matter under discus-
sion. He loved books, and, when he found one

2o8 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

open upon the table, would lie down on it, turn over
the edges of the leaves with his paw, and, after a
time, fall asleep, for all the world as if he had been
reading a fashionable novel. He gave a good deal
of attention to my work, and, while I wrote, would
follow the movement of my pen with serious scru-
tiny, taking note of each new line, and sometimes
pushing the penholder gently from my fingers, as
though anxious to add a few words of his own. He
was an aesthetic cat, like Hoffmann's Murr, and had,
I strongly suspect, been guilty of writing his me-
moirs ; scribbling away probably at night, in some
shadowy gutter, by the light of his own lambent
eyes. Unhappily these invaluable reminiscences
have been lost.

" Don Pierrot made a point of never going to bed
until I came home. He used to wait for me in the
hall, greet me with friendly purrs, and precede me
to my chamber like a page. I have no doubt that,
if I had asked him, he would have carried the can-
dlestick. He slept on the back of my bedstead,
carefully balanced like a bird on a bough, and, when
I awoke in the morning, would jump down and
nestle beside me until I arose. He was strict as a
concierge, however, in his notions of the proper
time for all good people to be indoors, and would
tolerate nothing later than midnight. In those
days I belonged to a little society, known as *The

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 209

Four Candles Club; ' — the light in the room being
restricted to four candles, burning in four silver
candlesticks, at the four corners of the table.
Sometimes the talk became so animated that, like
Cinderella, I forgot the hour; and once or twice
Pierrot sat up for me until two o'clock in the morn-
ing. This appeared to him unreasonable ; therefore
he ceased his attentions altogether, and retired to
rest without me. I was touched by his mute pro-
test against my innocent dissipation, and resolved
to return thenceforth faithfully at twelve. Pierrot,
doubtful at first of the permanency of my reform,
waited until he saw that my conversion was sincere,
and then resumed his old post by the door.

** It is a difficult matter to gain the affection of
a cat. He is a methodical animal, tenacious of his
own habits, fond of order and neatness, and disin-
clined to extravagant sentiment. He will be your
friend, if he finds you worthy of friendship, but not
your slave. His tenderness never costs him his
freedom. Yet what confidence is implied in his
steadfast companionship through hours of solitude,
of melancholy, and of work. He lies for long even-
ings on your knee, purring contentedly, and forsak-
ing for you the agreeable society of his kind. In
vain, melodious mewings on the roof invite him to
one of those animated assemblies where fish bones
take the place of tea and cake. He is not to be

210 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

tempted from his post. Put him down, and he will
jump up again with plaintive murmurs of reproach.
Sometimes he sits at your feet, looking into your
face with an expression so gentle and caressing that
the depth of his gaze startles you. Who can be-
lieve that there is no soul behind those luminous
eyes !

"Don Pierrot de Navarre had a sweetheart as
dazzlingly white as he was himself. By her side the
ermine would have looked yellow. Seraphita, for
so this lovely creature was named in honour of Bal-
zac's Swedenborgian romance, was gentle, dreamy,
and contemplative. She would sit motionless on
her cushion for hours, wide awake, her eyes follow-
ing, in a rapture of attention, sights invisible to us.
She was the most luxurious of all my cats, and was
ever to be found on the softest rug, or in the easiest
chair. Though reserved, she was fond of caresses,
and would return them with grace to those whom
she favoured with her esteem. She devoted a great
deal of time every day to her toilet, cleaning and
polishing her glossy coat with her pink tongue until
it shone like burnished silver. If any one rumpled
the sleek fur, she would instantly and carefully lick
it smooth again. To be dishevelled was beyond
endurance. Perfumes delighted her, and she would
thrust her little nose into bouquets, bite daintily at
scented handkerchiefs, and walk with wary footsteps

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 211

among the bottles on a toilet-table, smelling wist-
fully at the stoppers. No doubt she would have
used the powder puff, had she been permitted.

*'Don Pierrot, who came from Havannah, required
a hothouse temperature, and in this he was always
gratified. The house was surrounded, however, by
spacious gardens, over the walls of which cats could
easily climb. Pierrot would often take advantage
of an open door, and go bird-hunting at dusk through
the wet grass and flower beds. It even happened,
now and then, that his cries for readmission were
not heard, and he was compelled to spend the night
out of doors. In this way he caught a heavy cold
which rapidly developed into phthisis. Before the
end of the year he had wasted to a skeleton, and
his fur, once so silky, was of a dull harsh white.
His eyes looked large in his shrunken face, the
pink of his little nose had faded, and he dragged
himself slowly along the sunny side of the wall,
looking with melancholy listlessness at the yellow
leaves as they danced and whirled in the wind.
We did all in our power to save him. The doctor
felt his pulse, sounded his lungs, and ordered him
ass's milk. He drank it with ready obedience out
of his own especial saucer. For hours he lay upon
my knee like the shadow of a sphinx. I felt his
spine under my finger tips like the beads of a rosary,
and he tried to respond to my caresses with a feeble

212 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

and rattling purr. On the day of his death he was
lying panting upon his side, when suddenly, and as
though by a supreme effort, he arose and staggered
weakly towards me. His great eyes were wide-
stretched, and raised to mine with a look of agonized
supplication, as though they said : ' Save me, save
me, you who are a man ! ' Then they glazed ; he
took a few faltering steps and fell down, uttering
a cry so lamentable and full of anguish that I stood
staring, dumb and horror-stricken, at his little
corpse. He was buried in the garden under a white
rose-tree which still marks his grave. Three years
later, Seraphita died, and was laid by his side.
With her the White Dynasty became extinct."

Of the Black Dynasty which succeeded, Gautier
has much to say ; but he never evinces for its small
autocrats the same tenderness of affection lavished
upon Pierrot and Madame Theophile. Nature, in a
jesting mood, had bestowed on Seraphita and her
mate three kittens, black as ebony. To indifferent
eyes they looked as much alike as three ink-spots ;
but, from their earliest infancy, Gautier distin-
guished with ease the little faces, " sooty as Harle-
quin's mask, and lighted by discs of emerald with
golden gleams." These kittens offered striking con-
trasts of character and disposition. Enjolras was
solemn, pretentious, aldermanic from his cradle;
even theatrical at times in his vast assumption of

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 213

dignity. Gavroche was a born Bohemian, enam-
oured of low company, and of the careless come-
dies of life. Their sister Eponine — best loved of
the three — was a delicate, fastidious little creature,
with an exquisite sense of propriety, and of the
refinements of social intercourse. Enjolras was
a glutton, caring for nothing so much as for his
dinner. Gavroche, more generous, would bring
in from the streets gaunt and ragged cats, who
devoured in a scurry of fright the food laid aside
for him. " I was often tempted to remonstrate,"
writes Gautier, "and to say to the little scamp,
* A nice lot of friends you do pick up ! ' But I re-
frained. After all, it was an amiable weakness.
He might have eaten his dinner himself."

Eponine was piquant rather than beautiful. Her
little velvety nose looked like a fine truffle of Peri-
gord. Her eyes had the oblique slant of the Orient,
and' were sea-green like the eyes of Pallas- Athene,
or of that fair Dame de Fayel, to whom the Sire
de Coucy, dying in the Holy Land, sent back his
heart by a trusted squire, and whose husband, dis-
covering the contents of the box, forced her to eat it,
of which horror she died. In the Sire de Coucy's
passionate verses, his lady's eyes are described as
green "like a cat's ; " for no other colour, cries the
lover rapturously, can inspire ardour and adoration
in the human heart.

214 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Eponine, with her sea-green eyes, her narrow
face, her impertinent nose, her small and delicate
limbs, had an air of distinction which charmed
Gautier's appreciative friends. She was a polite
little cat, rather fond of company, and would re-
ceive his guests with cordial pleasure, purring
as she stepped from one chair to another, as though
to say : " Don't be impatient. Look at the pictures,
or talk to me, if I amuse you. My master is coming
down." On his appearance, she would retire dis-
creetly to an armchair, or to a corner of the piano,
and listen to the conversation without interrupting
it, being French, and accustomed to good society.

If Gautier dined alone, Eponine's place was laid
opposite to his ; and, when he came into the dining-
room, he found her always in her chair, waiting
serenely for his arrival. She would place her fore-
paws daintily on the edge of the table, and present
her smooth forehead to be kissed, " like a well-bred
little girl who is affable and affectionate to relatives
and old people." Even the best trained children,
however, have their likes and dislikes in the matter
of food, and Eponine sometimes found it a hard
task to eat everything that was placed before her.
Soup was her particular aversion, and once in a
while she tried to omit that course from her dinner.
Then Gautier would say to her courteously but
firmly : " Mademoiselle, a young lady who is not

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 215

hungry for soup is not expected to have any appe-
tite for fish;" — whereupon — sensible to the re-
proof — she would obediently lap up her little plate
oi potage, and wait for her reward to come at fish
time.

Eponine survived her brothers many years. En-
jolras was tragically slain. Gavroche, seduced by
wild companions, envying them the uneasy freedom
of their lives, and agreeing, doubtless, with Meyer-
beer's small daughter that it was a great misfortune
to have had genteel parents, leaped one morning
from an open window, and was never seen again.
Little Bohemian of Paris, he bartered all the luxu-
ries of home for the hardships, the perils, the sweet
transient joys that the great, cruel, beautiful, and
best loved city in the world gives to its vagabond
children.

His place was filled by a silver-grey Angora
named Zizi, who spent her days in a kind of com-
templative trance, like a Buddhist saint. Music
alone could rouse her from her dreams. She would
listen with sleepy satisfaction, and even exert her-
self so far as to walk up and down the keys of the
piano, imitating, according to her fancy, the sounds
that she had heard. Zizi had little of the tact and
social grace which distinguished Eponine, and which
never deserted that adorable cat, even in advanced
age. Like so many famous Frenchwomen, she re-

2i6 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

tained her sprightliness and charm until the end ;
and left behind her nothing but cheerful memories
upon which it is a pleasure to dwell. She was the
last of the Black Dynasty. In her corner of Ely-
sium she plays forever with the other pussies of her
royal race; and perhaps her urbane little shade
was the first to greet and welcome two cats, — two
fortunate and famous cats who died in France not
very long ago ; Moumoutte Blanche and Moumoutte
Chinoise, immortalized by M. Loti's facile pen.

No one familiar with the "Vies de Deux Chattes,"
can hope to rival these short and exquisite biogra-
phies. Their perfection is at once the delight and
the despair of other toilers in the field. Written,
says the author, " for my son, Samuel, when he
knows how to read," they have recompensed many
of us for the sad labour of the alphabet ; for the
double labour of two alphabets, if we chance to be
Saxon born. People to whom a primrose is a prim-
rose, and a cat a cat, may be liberally educated by
a sympathetic study of these delicate and discrimi-
nating memoirs. Less playful and amusing than
M. Gautier's chronicles, they show a deeper insight
into feline character ; they are more close and ac-
curate in their descriptions, more touching in their
pathos, more clear-sighted in their generalizations.
Gautier's cats have, each and all, a charming individ-
uality. We feel their beauty, we acknowledge their

SOME CATS OF .FRANCE 217

virtues, we love their faults. But the two little
creatures who shared between them the fickle heart
of M. Loti have been painted for us in such gen-
erous colours, and with such consummate art, that
they live in his pages as the Black Prince and Du
Guesclin live in the heroic pages of Froissart.

Never were friends more widely separated by
birth, breeding, or the accidents of early life. Mou-
moutte Blanche was a Persian pussy, beautiful as
Scheherazade, gentle as Zobeide, discreet as Fatima,
— the Prophet's fair daughter, not Bluebeard's pry-
ing wife. She was adopted by M. Loti in early
kittenhood, when the innocence of infancy still lin-
gered in her lovely eyes, and the playfulness of
infancy prompted her to much '* ground and lofty
tumbling," wherein he took delight. She was not
wholly white, as her name would imply ; and her
patches of black fur suggested to his fancy — which
is a Gallic fancy always — a little bonnet shading
her smooth brow, and a little pelerine thrown over
her snowy shoulders. Her gentleness was reserved
for her master and for his household. Like the
beautiful and intrepid Menine of Mme. de Lesdi-
guieres, she was

" Chatte pour tout le monde, et pour les Chats, Tigresse."

" Refined, correct, an aristocrat to the tips of her
little claws," says Loti, " she so detested other cats,
as to forget her manners sadly whenever a visitor

2i8 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

ventured to call upon her. In her own domain she
brooked no intrusion. If over the garden wall two
little ears were raised, two little eyes peered fur-
tively ; if a rustle in the boughs, a trembling of the
ivy leaves awakened her suspicion, she sprang at
the stranger like a young Fury, her fur bristling
to the point of her tail. It was impossible to hold
her back, and presently we who listened would hear
the sound of scuffling, a fall, and lamentable cries."
A wayward, spoiled, capricious beauty was Mou-
moutte Blanche, loving her master after the fashion
of her race, steadfastly but without docility, and
extending some portion of her careless regard to
other members of the family. For five years she
reigned without a rival. For five years M. Loti
came and went, as the fortunes of war called him
to sea or permitted his return ; and ever she was
the first to welcome him under the roof she deemed
her own. Then came a day when, three thousand
miles from France, fate flung across his path the
strange and bizarre little creature known to us as
Moumoutte Chinoise, and he made swift surrender
of his affections.

" Men were deceivers ever ;
One foot in sea, and one on shore,
To one cat constant never."

The new favourite — like so many favourites —
was meanly born, poor and wretched. She was

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 219

also, which is the unusual feature of the case, dis-
tressingly ugly. It was at the close of a long skir-
mish — hardly worthy to be called a battle — in the
Yellow Sea, that she leaped from a Chinese junk
to the French warship, and, guided by instinct or
destiny, took refuge in Loti's cabin, — a piteous
object, meagre, terrified, miserable, the most forlorn
and desolate of intruders, but absolutely determined
to remain.

Loti, to do him justice, did not. yield without a
protest. The strange Moumoutte was not attrac-
tive, and she was sadly in the way ; but, when he
put her out, she scuttled directly back again, always
fixing on him a gaze so human and so imploring
that he was fascinated by its intensity. In the end
she triumphed, and was for seven months his close
and constant companion ; while Moumoutte Blanche,
far away in France, drowsed in the sunny garden
paths, and dreamed of his return. Propinquity, as
we know, is the one sure road to love ; and, during
those seven months, master and cat had rare oppor-
tunities for intimate acquaintance. A man-of-war
offers few distractions to the growing charms of
companionship.

"I well remember," writes M. Loti, "the day
when our relations became really affectionate. It
was a melancholy afternoon in September. The
first winds of Autumn roughened the sullen seas.

220 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

We were sailing eastward, and the ship groaned
and creaked as she shd into the hollow of the waves.
I sat writing in the semi-obscurity of my cabin,
which grew darker and darker as the green waters
rose and broke into foam over my closed port-hole.
Suddenly I saw a little shadow steal from under
my berth, very slowly, and as though with infinite
hesitation. There was something truly Oriental in
its fashion of holding one paw suspended in air, as
if uncertain where to place it for the next step.
And always it regarded me with a look of fixed and
plaintive interrogation.

" ' What can the cat want ? ' I said to myself.
* She has had her dinner. She is not hungry.
What is it she is after } '

" In answer to my unspoken question, la Chinoise
crept nearer and nearer until she could touch my
foot. Then, sitting upright, with her tail curled
close about her, she uttered a gentle little cry, gaz-
ing meanwhile straight into my eyes which seemed
to hold some message she could read. She under-
stood that I was a thinking creature, capable of pity,
and accessible to such mute and piteous prayer ;
and that my eyes were the mirrors in which her
anxious little soul must study my good or bad in-
tentions. It is terrifying to think how near an ani-
mal comes to us, when it is capable of such inter-
course as this.

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 221

" For the first time I looked attentively at the
little visitor who for two weeks had shared my lodg-
ings. She was tawny as a wild hare, and spotted
like a leopard. Only her face and neck were white.
Certainly an ugly and attenuated cat, yet perhaps
her very ugliness had in it a piquancy which ap-
pealed to the discriminating mind. For one thing,
she was so unlike the beautiful cats of France."
(Alas ! poor Moumoutte Blanche !) " Stealthy and
sinuous, with great ears standing erect, and a pre-
posterously long tail, she had nothing attractive
save her eyes, — the deep, golden orange eyes of
the Orient, unquiet, and wonderfully expressive.

" While I watched her, I carelessly laid my hand
on her head, and stroked for the first time the yellow
fur. It was not mere physical pleasure that she
felt in the caress ; but a consciousness of protec-
tion, of sympathy in her abandonment. It was for
this she had crept from her hiding-place; it was for
this, and not for food or drink, that she had come
to beg, after so much wistful hesitation. Her little
cat soul implored some company, some friendship
in a lonely world.

" Where had she learned this need, poor outcast
Pussy, never before touched by a kindly hand ;
never the object of affection, unless, indeed, the
paternal junk held some forlorn Chinese child, as
joyless, as famished, as friendless as herself; — a

222 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

child who, perishing of neglect, would leave in that
miserable abode no more trace of its feeble existence
than she had done.

" At last one small paw was lifted. Oh ! so deli-
cately, so discreetly ; and, after a long anxious look,
Moumoutte, believing the time had now come for
venturing all things, took heart of grace, and leaped
upon my knee.

" There she curled herself, but with subdued tact
and reserve, seeming to make her little limbs as
light as possible, a mere feather-weight, — and never
taking her eyes from my face. She stayed a long
while, inconveniencing me greatly ; but I lacked
the courage to put her down, as I might have done
unhesitatingly, had she been pretty and plump and
gay. Nervously aware of my least movement, she
watched me with intentness ; not as though fearing
I would do her harm, — she was far too intelligent
to believe me capable of such a thing, — but as
though to ask, ' Is it possible that I do not weary
or offend you ? ' After a time her expression soft-
ened from anxiety to cajolery, and her eyes, lifted
to mine, said with charming distinctness : ' On this
Autumn evening, so dreary to the soul of a cat, since
we two are isolated, and lost in the midst of dangers
I do not understand, let us bestow upon each other
a little of that mysterious something which sweetens
misery and softens death, which is called affection,

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 223

and which expresses itself from time to time by a

caress.' "

When M. Loti returned to France, he was met
by Moumoutte Blanche, and was accompanied by
Moumoutte Chinoise. It was an embarrassing situ-
ation, not unlike that of the Crusader who brought
home a Saracen wife, and presented her to his
Christian spouse. The poor little intruder was
lifted from her basket amid outcries at her ugliness ;
and, with an anxious heart, her master awaited the
result of the first crucial interview. It was unlike
anything he had anticipated, and reflected credit on
both rivals. The two cats flew to arms, and had a
battle royal for supremacy. The kitchen was the
scene of combat, desperate valour was shown by the
combatants, and only a liberal and impartial applica-
tion of cold water chilled their martial ardour, and
put an end to hostilities. Once separated, they
never fought again. Moumoutte Chinoise, wary
and alert, Moumoutte Blanche, pensive and sombre,
met each other in the daily intercourse of life, dis-
dainfully at first, then with growing cordiality, and
finally with an ardent friendship, beautiful to be-
hold. Jealousy was banished from their little hearts.
Intimate and inseparable, they dined and dozed and
played together, even making their toilets in com-
mon, and licking and smoothing each other's fur
with mutual tenderness and pride.

224 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Summer came, and la Chinoise, born and bred
upon the melancholy waters, revelled for the first
time in the joyous garden life which all cats dearly
love ; — that life, partly of hermit-like meditation
and repose, partly of venery and cruel sport. The
odour of rose and jasmin ; the tall trees, on whose
branches unsuspicious birds nested and sang ; the
miniature rocks circling the fountain, amid which
she lay concealed like a Liliputian tiger in its lair ;
all these wonders enraptured her sensitive soul.
She became sleek and gay, her brilliant eyes lost
their shadow of fear, her timidity vanished, her
delicate limbs grew round and strong. Even her
unconquerable ugliness lent a distinction of its own
to her intelligence and grace. Moumoutte Blanche,
once the proud and intolerant queen of this lovely
place, now shared its delights generously with the
stranger, with the little Mongolian who had come
from the Yellow Sea to claim half of her master's
home, and two thirds of his affection. I know of
no nobler cat in Christendom than Moumoutte
Blanche.

When summer waned, and the days grew short
and chill, la Chinoise abandoned the garden walks
for the greater luxury of the warm fireside. *' It is
with the approach of winter," says M. Loti, " that
cats become in an especial manner our friends and
guests. They sit in our chimney-corners, watch

SOME CATS OF FRANCE 225

with us the dancing flames, and dream with us
vague dreams, misty and melancholy as the deepen-
ing dusk. It is then, too, that they wear their rich-
est fur, and assume an air of sumptuous and delight-
ful opulence. With the first frost, Moumoutte
Chinoise patched up her meagre coat, which no
longer showed its old distressing rents ; and Mou-
moutte Blanche adorned herself with an imposing
cravat, a snow-white boa, which encircled her pretty
face like a vast Medicean ruff. Their affection for
each other was increased by their mutual love of
warmth and repose. On the hearth, on their cush-
ions, in the armchairs they slept for whole days,
snugly rolled into one great round ball of white and
yellow fur.

" It was Moumoutte Chinoise who, in an especial
manner, courted this comfortable companionship.
When, after a short and chilly stroll in the garden,
she found her friend sleeping before the fire, she
would steal up to her very, very softly, and with as
much caution as if she were surprising a mouse.
Blanche, always nervous, pettish, and averse to
being disturbed, would sometimes resent intrusion,
and give her a gentle slap by way of remonstrance.
It was never returned. La Chinoise would merely
lift her little paw with a mocking gesture, looking
at me meanwhile out of the corners of her eyes, as
though to say, ' She has a difficult temper, has n't

226 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

she ? But you know I never take her seriously.*
Then, with renewed precaution, she would return
resolutely to her purpose, which was always to nes-
tle up against her slumbering friend, and bury her
head in that warm, soft, snowy fur. This accom-
plished, she would compose herself to sleep, with a
final glance of triumph in my direction, which said
drowsily, but distinctly, 'This is what I was after,
and here I am.' "

Assuredly there was never a sweeter cat in Chris-
tendom than the beautiful Moumoutte Blanche.

Readers who seek to preserve as far as possible
the gayety of life may be pardoned for wishing that
M. Loti had spared them some of the pathetic de-
tails in which his soul delights. The few short
years allotted to a cat are spent so swiftly that we
who linger on our way are perpetually mourning
some little vanished friend, —

" doubly dead,
In that she died so young."

It would be kinder not to awaken our buried grief,
nor probe our wounds afresh ; but he who wrote
" Le Livre de la Pitie et de la Mort," has no com-
passion for our selfishness. Every step the two
cats took to their graves is described with minute
and haunting melancholy. The black dejection
that seized poor Moumoutte Chinoise as her end
drew near ; her last sad impulse to die away from

SOME CATS OF FRANCE

227

pitying eyes and helping hands ; the prolonged
agony of Moumoutte Blanche who fought piteously
for her fast ebbing life ; — these things we have
read in mournful moments, wishing them all the
time untold, just as we wish their author would not
suddenly intrude some unseemly jest upon us when
we are least attuned to its reception.

Yet never has a cat of character been drawn
with the careful and sympathetic art bestowed upon
Moumoutte Chinoise. She is the Jane Eyre of
pussies ; ugly, intelligent, sensitive, passionate, self-
controlled, intrepid, and vivacious. M. Loti can
hardly be said to resemble Rochester ; but, like
that beatified barbarian, he had the quality of dis-
cernment, which enabled him to see the spirit and
charm hidden beneath so mean and shabby an ex-
terior.

" Elle a, dans sa laideur piquante,
Un grain de sel de cette mer,
D'ou jaillit, nue et provocante,
L'acre Venus du gouffre amer."

CHAPTER IX

THE CAT TO-DAY

" Sphinx of my quiet hearth ! who deignst to dwell
Friend of my toil, companion of mine ease."

PERHAPS some portion of the tenderness
which falls to Pussy's happy lot in these
smooth days, when her star — eclipsed since
the fall of Pasht — has once more reached its zenith,
is due to the nursery rhymes which present her so
constantly to infant eyes and ears. " The cat," says
M. Champfieury, " is the nurse's favourite, and the
baby's earliest friend. It plays its part in little
rhythmical dramas, cunningly presented to the
drowsy child, who falls asleep with a familiar image
parading fantastically through his brain." French
rhymes are much the prettiest ; less bald than the
English, less banal than the German. There is a

THE CAT TO-DAY 229

gayety in their dancing measures, and the simplest
narratives have a touch of picturesqueness, never
lost on infancy. Even an A, B, C verse, which
we try to make as imbecile as words will allow, can
assume a pleasing form in the nurseries of France.
What, for example, could be more hopelessly unin-
teresting or irrelevant than the English

" Great A, little a, Bouncing B,
Cat 's in the cupboard, and can't see me."

Such a vapid statement insults the intelligence of
a baby. The Germans do better. They have sev-
eral rhymes, the shortest and simplest of which
was the first word picture ever grasped by my own
dawning intelligence.

"A, B, C,

Die Katze liegt im Schnee,
Der Schnee ging hinweg,
Die Katze liegt im Dreck."

Prettier than this is the version sung in Saxony
and Austria.

''A, B, c,

Die Katze liegt im Schnee ;
Als sie wieder 'raus kam,
Hatt' sie weisse Stiefeln an;
Weisse Stiefeln muss sie haben,
Dass sie kann nach Dresden traben."

Little Parisians, as well as little Teutons, delight
in Pussy's snowy socks.

230 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

"A, B, C,
Le chat est alle
Dans la neige ; en retournant,
II avait les souliers tous blancs."

All white like Baby's knitted shoes, held up for
illustration. The children see Pussy picking her
dainty way through the soft snow with little shivers
of cold, and little shakings of her paw at the chilli-
ness of her new foot-gear^ just as they see her mak-
ing her careful toilet in this bit of rhyme equally
familiar to their nurseries.

" Le chat a Jeannette
Est une jolie bete.
Quand il veut se faire beau,
II se leche le museau ;
Avec sa salive
II fait la lessive."

I wonder why the French cat is always "he,"
and the English cat is almost always "she," even
when confessedly a Tom. I have heard of college
cats, grave Fellows of Baliol and Magdalen, who
deeply resented being called "she" by feminine
visitors, unaware apparently of the laws which gov-
ern such institutions. But in the French nurseries,
no insult is ever offered to masculinity.

" II etait une bergere,
Et ron, ron, ron, petit patapon,
II etait une bergere
Qui gardait ses moutons,

Ron, ron,
Qui gardait ses moutons.

THE CAT TO-DAY 231

" Elle fit un fromage,
Et ron, ron, ron, petit patapon,
Elle fit un fromage
Du lait de ses moutons,

Ron, ron,
Du lait de ses moutons.

" Le chat qui la regarde,
Et ron, ron, ron, petit patapon,
Le chat qui la regarde
D'un petit air fripon,

Ron, ron,
D'un petit air fripon.

" * Si tu y mets la patte,
Et ron, ron, ron, petit patapon.
Si tu y mets la patte,
Tu auras du baton,

Ron, ron,
Tu auras du baton.'

'* II n'y mit pas la patte,
Et ron, ron, ron, petit patapon,
II n'y mit pas la patte,
II y mit le menton,

Ron, ron,
II y mit le menton,"

Pussy is scampish, and Pussy is pitiless in too
many of the verses meant for infant ears ; and it is
a proof of our innate depravity that youthful listen-
ers love her none the less.

" Le chat sauta sur les souris,
II les croqua toute la nuit.
Gen til coquiqui,

232 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Coco des moustaches, mirlo, joli,
Gentil coquiqui."

Children might dance over the bridge of Avignon
to the Hit of this cruel little song.

The most popular English and Scottish rhymes
are less gay, but not more merciful. If the perse-
cuted mice save their necks, it is only because they
sit starving at home.

" There was a wee bit mousikie,
That lived in Gilberaty, O ;
It couldna get a bite o' cheese,
For cheety-poussie-catty, O.

" It said unto the cheesikie :
' Oh, fain wad I be at ye, O,
If it were na for the cruel paws
O' cljeety-poussie-catty, O.' "

There are only three verses hallowed by Mother
Goose's sanction, in which the cat does not appear
as Nimrod, and which, in their way, are as pretty
as the French favourites.

*' Pussy sat beside the fire.
Pussy was so fair ;
In came a little dog,

' Pussy, are you there ? ' "

" Pussy cat, mew ! jumps over a coal ;
And in her best petticoat burns a great hole !
Pussy cat, mew ! shall have no more milk
Until her best petticoat 's mended with silk."

And, best and oldest of the three ;

THE CAT TO-DAY 233

" * Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat,

Where have you been ? '
' I 've been to London,
To look at the Queen.'

* Pussy-cat, Pussy-cat,

What did you do there ? '

* I frightened a little mouse

Under her chair.' "

It was good Queen Anne whom this adventurous
kitten had journeyed to see, and- the history of her
exploit has been told to children ever since. These
verses prepare the way for the fairy tales to follow :
— " Puss-in-Boots," "The White Cat," and the
legend of Dick Whittington. Perhaps in some
favoured nurseries — as, long ago, in mine — the
charming French story of " Mere Michel et son
Chat " has a place of honour on the bookshelves ;
and little readers follow with breathless suspense
the wonderful escapes of Moumouth, whose crown-
ing victory over the wicked Lustucru was one of
the joys of my childhood; a joy as fresh at the
twentieth reading as at the first, — more satisfac-
tory, perhaps, because then I knew it all along, and
so could better bear the trials and dangers that pre-
ceded it. Sir Thomas Browne would never have
envied " the happiness of inferior creatures, who in
tranquillity enjoy their constitutions," had he known
Mother Michel's cat. Mr. Aldrich translated this
story some years ago, so that it is now as accessible

234 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

to American as to French children ; and all may
read how Moumouth lived, suffered, triumphed,
died, and was honoured in his grave ; while the
cruel steward who persecuted him was appropri-
ately cooked and eaten by avenging cannibals,
sighing out with his last breath the name of the
innocent animal he had so barbarously sought to
destroy.

M. Bedolliere, author of this delightful and har-
rowing tale, borrowed M^re Michel and Lustucru
from an old song, familiar to many generations of
Gallic infancy.

" C'est la Mere Michel qui a perdu son chat,
Qui cri' par la fenetre a qui le lui rendra ;
Et le Compere Lustucru qui lui a repondu :
' Allez, Mere Michel, votre chat n'est pas perdu.'

" C'est la Mere Michel qui lui a demande :
' Mon chat n'est pas perdu ! vous I'avez done trouve ? '
Et le Compere Lustucru qui lui a repondu :
* Donnez une recompense, il vous sera rendu.'

" Et la Mere Michel lui dit : * C'est decide,
Si vous rendez mon chat, vous aurez un baiser.'
Le Compere Lustucru qui n'en a pas voulu,
Lui dit : ' Pour un lapin votre chat est vendu.' "

With schooldays come La Fontaine's Fables, —
unless indeed a surfeit of mathematics has by this
time driven even La Fontaine from the field, — and
youthful students learn, or should learn, of Rodilard

THE CAT -TO-DAY 235

and the saintly chatemite. When they have studied
Gray's verses, *' On the Death of a Favourite Cat,
Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes," their education
may be held complete, and their tastes carefully
cultivated in the right direction. No child brought
up along these lines will be indifferent to feline
character or charm. One source of pleasure, well
worth the cultivation, has been secured for life.

Yet how much more there is to read and learn !
Where shall we look without encountering an ani-
mal that has inspired poets and painters, that has
been the companion of scholars, the delight of
authors, the solace of statesmen, the friend of pre-
lates, the beloved of saints ! What an admirable
story is that which the holy deacon, John, deemed
worthy to be told in his '' Life of Saint Gregory,"
and which has at once the exquisite grace of asceti-
cism and the warmth and colour of humanity. There
lived, he says, during the pontificate of Gregory,
a poor hermit, pious, vigilant, and austere. To him
it was revealed in a vision that he would share in
Heaven the glory of the Pope, at which he mar-
velled much ,' partly because of his unworthiness,
and partly because — owning nothing in the world
but a female cat — he had hoped, in moments of
spiritual exaltation, that some especial reward would
be meted out to his rigorous self-denial. Then a
second vision was vouchsafed ; he looked into the

236 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

heart of the great Pontiff, and saw that it was de-
tached from all the splendours of his throne ; and
he knew that, fancying himself so poor in spirit,
he yet loved and valued his cat more than Gregory
loved and valued all his earthly possessions. The
Pope was the truer ascetic of the two.

We need not wander so far afield to learn
of Pussy's sweet seductiveness. Instances of her
supremacy may be found much nearer home. Did
not Washington's father rival the forbearance of
Mohammed by sitting habitually and uneasily on the
extreme edge of his chair, rather than disturb his
cat who loved to lie curled up on the cushion back
of him ? Such a man deserved to have George for
a son. It is a common habit of cats, when their
rule is unquestioned, to behave in this way, espe-
cially in winter time, — draughts being abhorrent
to their souls. I knew a large black Baltimore puss
who used to drive both household and visitors like
sheep from chair to chair, by jumping up behind
each unfortunate in turn, and curling his huge bulk
in that narrow space. To make room for him was
impossible, to put him down was out of the ques-
tion ; there was nothing to do but move on, — like
the poor Indian, — in the hope that after a while
one might reach some place sufficiently undesirable
for permanent possession.

Colonial records contain many pleasant allusions

THE CAT TO-DAY 237

to cats. In Watson's Annals we read of Elizabeth
Hurd and her husband who came to Philadelphia
with Penn's early colonists. They worked hard
side by side to build their first rude home, living
meantime, like so many of the poorer emigrants, in
a cave by the river's bank. One day while Eliza-
beth was carrying water, and mixing the mortar for
their chimney, her husband said to her with some
asperity : " Thou hadst better think of dinner ! "
— an essentially masculine remark, when there was
nothing but a little bread and cheese in the larder.
Elizabeth walked soberly back to the cave, think-
ing very hard, but quite unable to translate her
thoughts into provisions. On the way she met her
cat, holding in his mouth a fine large rabbit, " which
she thankfully received, and dressed as an English
hare. When her husband came in to dinner!' —
plainly expecting to be well fed, — " he was in-
formed of the facts, whereupon they both wept
with reverential joy, and ate their meal, which was
thus seasonably provided for them, in singleness
of heart."

The help afforded in this emergency was never
ungratefully forgotten ; for when Elizabeth Hurd
died, after many years of prosperity, she bequeathed
to her grand-niece, Mrs. Deborah Morris, a silver
tureen, on which was engraved a cat bearing a rabbit
in its mouth.

238 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

The interesting diary of Elizabeth Drinker tells
us of the strange mortality that prevailed among
the Philadelphia cats in the summer of 1797, and
which seems to have somewhat resembled the epi-
demic of 1809 in Berne. Cherished pussies were
found dead on doorsteps, in the streets, by the
kitchen fires, — and none knew whereof they died.
There was mourning and lamentation in many a
home ; and the " Cat's Coronach " might have
been chanted at night in the deserted yards, and
on lonely walls, no. longer guarded by resolute and
valiant Toms.

" And art thou fallen, and lowly laid,
The housewife's boast, the cellar's aid,

Great mouser of thy day !
Whose rolling eyes and aspect dread
Whole whiskered legions oft have fled

In midnight battle fray.
There breathes no kitten of thy line
But would have given his life for thine."

It is not only of cats in general that Elizabeth
Drinker deigns to write. She has much to say
from time to time of her own puss, who, at a ripe
old age, fell a victim to the prevailing disorder, and
for whom she seems to have entertained a precise
and Quaker-like esteem ; — "as good a regard as
was necessary," is her rather chilly way of record-
ing her affection. Neither does she deem it be-
neath the dignity of a diarist to note the arrival of a

THE CAT TO-DAY 239

little waif who sought shelter by her comfortable
hearth.

" A very pretty cat intruded herself on us this
evening. We did not make her welcome at first,
but she seemed to insist on staying. Sally then
gave her milk, and very soon after she caught a
poor little mouse ; and she is now lying on the cor-
ner of my apron by ye fireside, as familiarly as if
she had lived with us for seven years."

It is pleasant to hear the kind-hearted Quakeress
say "poor little mouse;" for the unconcern with
which most of us view the death agony of a mouse
contrasts strangely with our sentimental outpour-
ings over a murdered bird. The mouse might say
with Shylock, " If you prick us, do we not bleed ? "
— and feel with Shylock that no one heeds the
shedding of such blood. But, for the slaughter
of a bird, there is a different cry. Does not even
that sweet saint, Eugenie de Guerin, bewail in no
gentle words — in the most ungentle words her
journal holds — such a calamity ?

" I am furious with the grey cat. The wicked
creature has just robbed me of a young pigeon that
I was warming by the fire. The poor little thing
was beginning to revive ; I had meant to tame it ;
it would have grown fond of me ; and now all this
ends in its getting crunched up by a cat. What
disappointments there are in life ! "

240 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Only the cat's impartial mind draws no distinc-
tion between mouse and bird.

" They call me cruel. Do I know if mouse or song-bird feels ?
I only know they make me light and salutary meals."

"An ordinary cat," says Mr. Robinson unkindly,
" will devote a whole day to the circumvention of
the lodger's canary, rather than spend an hour
upon the landlady's rats. A single bullfinch in the
drawing-room is worth a wilderness of mice in the
pantry."

This I believe to be calumnious ; but, as St.
George Mivart remarks with a sapiency too obvious
to be instructive : " We cannot, without becoming
cats, perfectly understand the cat mind." When an
animal withholds its confidence, we have no power
to break the barriers of its reserve ; and who shall
boast that he enjoys — save in rare and fugitive
moments — the confidence or intimacy of a cat ?
Men have made this boast, I am aware, and they
have themselves believed the truth of their asser-
tion ; yet even Gautier and Loti wove into their
daily intercourse with their cats the brilliant web
of their own imaginings. Gifted beyond most mor-
tals with that delicate and subtle sympathy which
enabled them to establish a basis of companionship,
they unconsciously assumed a more complete under-
standing than could ever have existed. For whereas
the dog strives to lessen the distance between him-

THE CAT TO-DAY 241

self and man, seeks ever to be intelligent and intelli-
gible, and translates into looks and actions the words
he cannot speak, the cat dwells within the circle
of her own secret thoughts. She scorns la vie de
parade, and makes no effort to reveal herself to
us, save when we minister to her needs, or when,
in some sweet impulse of cajolery, she gives us
transient tokens of regard. Gautier and Loti en-
joyed many such moments, because they were so
sensitively attuned to their felicity ; but that they
held Madame Theophile or Moumoutte Chinoise
in the bonds of indissoluble friendship, I cannot
find it in my heart to believe. They would never
have prized so highly an affection of which they
entertained no doubt.

As for those foolish moderns who write papers
for magazines to prove that the cat is a sorely slan-
dered animal, and who represent their own pets as
entertaining for them a profound and respectful
passion, they cherish their illusions cheaply. " I
observe authors," says Mr. Lang, " who speak con-
cerning cats with a familiarity and a levity most
distasteful." Like the people who write gossipy
books about emperors and empresses, they assume
an air of easy intimacy, " a great and disrespectful
license," which they deem elevates them to equality.
They also attribute to their cats a host of intolerable
virtues which would put to shame the little girls

242 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

who shine in Sunday-school fiction. Thus a lady
Uving near Belfast writes that, when she was ill, her
devoted cat went poaching for her every day, brav-
ing the terrors of the law that he might provide
her with the partridges her delicate constitution
demanded, but which her purse was unequal to buy-
ing. He never touched the stolen birds himself,
having more conscience in the matter than his mis-
tress ; and, when she had recovered and desired
no more, he ceased his benevolent depredations.
Elizabeth Kurd's rabbit-hunting beast, to whom
she felt such life-long gratitude, sinks into insignifi-
cance alongside of this Irish Puss-in-Boots.

As for the astounding instances of feline gener-
osity which we are daily requested to consider, they
would lead us to suppose that cats live only to do
good. Gautier's little Bohemian, who shared his
dinner occasionally with disreputable friends out of
pure love for low company, shines but dimly by
comparison with the small Saint Elizabeths, who
apparently have no use for their dinners save to
give them to all the poor and starving cats in the
neighbourhood.

M. Jumelin, for example, tells us of his own
Angora who every day fed out of her allowance a
hungry companion ; and Mr. Larrabee is responsi-
ble for the edifying history of a Norman cat whose
conscience was troubled by the overabundance of

THE CAT TO-DAY 243

her supplies. Accordingly she brought home one
day a lean cottage animal to share the feast ; ob-
serving which, her master laid out for her a double
portion the following morning. Rejoiced to see
her opportunities for good thus unexpectedly in-
creased, the philanthropic cat journeyed further into
the village, and summoned a second impecunious
pussy. Her master added a third plate to the dinner
table. She found a third guest, and then a fourth
and fifth ; until, as the meals kept increasing, she
often had twenty pensioners around her generous
board, all of whom, we are assured, recognized their
position, and behaved with respectful propriety.

Stories of virtuous cats who cannot be tempted
to dishonesty ; of faithful cats who watch over chil-
dren confided to their care ; of affectionate cats
who live on terms of sweet serenity with birds, and
puppies, and guinea pigs, and white mice, would
seem to prove — could we but credit them — thatj.
of all four-footed prigs. Pussy is the most funda-
mentally priggish. These annals reach their climai
in the affecting narrative of a Norfolk lady, whose
pious Maltese — having apparently read " The Fair-
child Family," and " Elsie Dinsmore," — not only
attended Tamily prayers with circumspection, but
obliged her unfortunate kittens to be present, cuff-
ing them fervently if they betrayed any restless-
ness under the ordeal.

244 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

Less difficult to believe, yet far removed from
credence, are tales of Pussy's superhuman intelli-
gence and craft. Some years ago the " Specta-
tor " published, with enviable gravity, an account of
a cat that hunted up and found articles lost about
the house. He did not appear to have concealed
these things, and then produced them for reward ;
but to have made painful search for scissors and
spectacles, mislaid through the carelessness of the
family. Enthusiasts are always telling us how their
pets open closed doors, as though in training for
burglary ; and lay traps, like veteran hunters, for
birds and squirrels. A Scotch gentleman assures
me that his cat was in the habit of hiding in the
shrubbery, and leaping out upon the poor little
sparrows, that came every morning to breakfast on
the crumbs thrown them from the dining-room
window. One winter day these crumbs were
quickly covered over by falling snow ; whereupon
the astute highwayman was seen to lay them bare
again, brushing away the soft snow with his paws,
lest, from lack of decoy, he should lose his prey.
Indignant at such murderous purpose, the family
determined to circumvent the cat by scattering no
more bread. Pussy waited and wondered for two
mornings ; and then, realizing the nature of the
conspiracy, baffled it by the simple process of taking
a roll from the breakfast table, and carrying it him-

THE CAT TO-DAY 245

self to the shrubbery path. It only remains to be
told that he first baked the bread, and this veracious
chronicle will be complete.

Still more astounding is another story related of
a New England cat named June, who hid her four
kittens in a hole under the garret floor. After the
first week she ceased going to the garret, and the
family, fearing the kittens were dead, felt some not
unnatural annoyance at the thought of the trouble
it would be to disinter them. The matter was dis-
cussed in the presence of June, who lay on the sofa,
apparently asleep ; and her mistress observed with
asperity, — "I would give ten dollars this minute
if those kittens were out from under the floor."
Immediately the cat jumped down and left the
room, the door being shut after her. In a few min-
utes she was heard mewing in the hall ; and, when
the door was opened, there on the floor lay three
of the dead kittens. Her mistress — who tells the
tale in the " Spectator " — said, " Well done, June.
Go now and fetch the other one ; " whereupon she
made a fourth trip, and returned with the last little
corpse, laying it alongside of its brothers. It is to
be hoped the ten dollars were promptly paid ; but
one fears that a cat of such cupidity would be capa-
ble of killing her innocent offspring for the sake of
the promised reward.

"I am extremely distrustful of interesting or

246 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

touching stories about animals," observes M. Champ-
fleury, who well knew on what slender foundations
such pretty tales are built. Yet now and- then even
his skepticism was shaken by curious and clearly
proven facts which seemed to indicate, not only affec-
tion and intelligence, but conscience and the power of
reasoning, — uncomfortable attributes, from which
the lower orders of creation are presumably exempt.
Mere chance must be held responsible for many
semi-miraculous things in a world full of wonders,
and accident rules the lives of beasts as well as
those of men. A country cat of my acquaintance
was much disturbed and excited by the introduction
of a tame chipmunk into the household where for-
merly she had reigned supreme. It was impressed
upon her in the most strenuous manner that the
intruder should not be molested, and for a few
weeks she acquiesced sullenly in its unwelcome
presence. Nature, however, has not intended that
cats and chipmunks should dwell in amity together.
One unlucky afternoon the tiny creature darted
tantalizingly across the room. There was a flash of
pursuit, a faint thin shriek, a dead squirrel lying limp
and blood-stained on the carpet. Retribution fol-
lowed swiftly. The cat was punished, reproached,
held over its victim, and finally thrust angrily and
ignominiously from the house. She disappeared
for two days, and her mistress was beginning to

THE CAT TO-DAY 247

repent her severity, when, on the third morning,
she returned, bearing in her mouth a Uttle hve chip-
munk which she had captured in the woods, and
which she intended, apparently, should take the
place of the one she had murdered.

So at least believes every member of that deeply
affected family. The fact that cats frequently bring
live prey into the house, and that this particular
cat had done so on several other occasions, counts
for nothing. The coincidence was too striking, the
logical inference too conclusive. No reputation for
sanctity was ever more swiftly or more surely estab-
lished. It will bear many a sad rent in the future
before it ceases to cover a multitude of iniquities.

In one respect, and one only, the intelligence or
instinct of the cat passes our comprehension, and
leaves us lost in amazement. No homing pigeon
speeds more surely to its goal than does poor Pussy
when banished from the roof- tree that she loves.
The bird wings its safe flight through the broad
ether, without let or hindrance. The cat encounters
and overcomes obstacles that seem insuperable
when we think how small she is, how weak and
helpless. The authenticated stories of her exploits
in this regard are happily so marvellous that they
cannot be outdone by man's industrious invention.
One of the best is told by that " wise and honest
traveller," Arthur Young, who leased Samford Hall,

248 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

an old Essex place, formerly tenanted by a gentle-
man named Farquharson. Mrs. Farquharson had
a cat which she highly prized, and which she sent
by coach in a closed bag or basket to her new home
at Yatesby Bridge, in Hampshire. Five days later.
Young received a letter from her, bewailing the loss
of her favourite who had promptly disappeared as
soon as released from constraint ; and, on the fol-
lowing morning. Pussy made her appearance at
Samford Hall, looking very forlorn and out at
elbows, but plainly delighted to be home again.
She had not only travelled seventy miles over an
unknown country filled with dangers ; but had
actually crossed or skirted London, — " threaded
the Metropolis," says Young more poetically, — in
the course of her adventurous journey.

Mr. Andrew Lang is responsible for the story of
a cat which was carried from Saint Andrews to
Perth. He came back in less than a week. " Did
he swim the Tay and Eden," asks Mr. Lang medi-
tatively, '' or did he travel by rail, changing at
Dundee and Leuchars } " A Flemish cat, living
in the country near Malines, outsped twelve car-
rier pigeons, traversing eight leagues, crossing the
Scheldt, Heaven knows how ! and reaching home
well in advance of his winged competitors.

" Men prize the heartless hound who quits dry-eyed his native
land,
Who wags a mercenary tail, and licks a tyrant's hand.

THE CAT TO-DAY 249

The leal true cat they prize not, that if e'er compelled to roam,
Still flies, when let out of the bag, precipitately home."

An amusing instance of Pussy's incurable nos-
talgia is related by M. Champfieury. A country
cure of his acquaintance received a more important
charge in a neighbouring town, and moved thither
with his little household, consisting of an old ser-
vant, a tame crow, and a female cat. The crow
was a clever and voluble vaurien ; the cat — despite
her sex — an unprincipled freebooter ; the servant
an affectionate scold ; and the cure an amused spec-
tator of their constant and animated bickerings.
Two days after the journey to town. Pussy disap-
peared. The crow, uneasy at her absence, hopped
disconsolately about his new abode. The house-
keeper was loud in her lamentations. The cure felt
a reasonable alarm lest the current of her hourly
reproaches, checked in its ordinary course, might
before long be diverted in his direction.

A week passed, and a former parishioner came
to the priest's door, bearing in a bag the missing
cat, whom he had found mewing disconsolately at
the gate of her old home. She was welcomed with
delight, and the household seemed restored to its
former state of quarrelsome tranquillity, when, one
fair morning, behold ! her place by the hearth was
again vacant. This time she was promptly sought
for, and discovered prowling about the garden of

250 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

the village parsonage, thin, half-starved, wretched,
the shadow of her old defiant self. Carried back
once more to town, everything was done that might
content her restless little heart. The housekeeper
fed her with dainties, and even ministered delicately
to her predatory tastes by leaving the cupboard
door open, as if by accident, hoping to tempt her
failing appetite with the sweetness of stolen cream.

" Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing."

It was all in vain. The familiar walls called to her
from afar, and, obeying an instinct too strong for
rejection, she journeyed wearily back, to die, if need
be, in her kittenhood's home.

Then the wise old servant, feeling that only radi-
cal measures could cure so obstinate a disease,
devised a plan which shows how well she under-
stood the nature of a cat. There was a little pond
at the foot of the cure's country garden, where,
erstwhile, Pussy had been wont to lie dreaming the
summer days away. Going herself to the village,
the woman directed one of the farmer boys — an
active and mischievous lad — to catch her truant
pet, and dip her three times deep under the cold
and hateful water. It was enough. Felis amat
pisces, sed non vult tingere plantain. And to be
thus scandalously ill-treated in the spot she loved
best, where she had lorded it over the neighbouring

THE CAT TO-DAY 251

cats, and where hitherto no human hand had ever
dared to assail her. The dripping creature, furious,
frightened, outraged in her best feelings, flew to her
old friend for protection, went meekly back under
her sheltering cloak, and never again sought to
return to the now painful scene of her humiliation.
A ship cat loves its home as unswervingly as the
happier animal whose lot is cast amid gardens and
moonlit walls. To the landsman's prejudiced eye
there is little choice in boats, especially in the dis-
mal and dirty cargo boats " that sail the wet seas
roun'." They may be "England's pride; " but, as
permanent habitations, they seem to lack everything
that would appeal to the refined instincts and rest-
less habits of a cat. Yet Pussy is as faithful to her
" hollow oak " as poets have ever pretended to be,
and will not barter its manifold discomforts for the
pleasant firesides of earth. A very beautiful cat,
carried in infancy from some remote village in the
Apennines, was given as a mascot to the Italian
captain of an oil-tank steamer which ran between
Savona and Point Breeze, Philadelphia. In the
course of time she presented the ship with a family
of kittens, who were less than a month old when
the Philadelphia docks were reached. Like other
sailors, Pussy indulged in some irregularities while
on shore ; and, as the result of prolonged dissipa-
tion, she was found to be missing when the Bayonne

252 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

was loaded, and ready to depart. Search was made
in vain about the wharves, and Captain Hugo was
compelled, not only to sail without his mascot, but
to assume the responsibility for her abandoned
infants.

Two days later the prodigal came back. Another
and a larger boat filled the Bayonne's place. Re-
pentant and dismayed, she visited every steamer in
the docks ; then, convinced that her indiscretions
had made her both homeless and kittenless, she
took up her quarters in a watch-box, and patiently
awaited Captain Hugo's return. Week followed
week ; scores of barks arrived, and were each in
turn anxiously inspected ; and still, undiscouraged
by repeated disappointments, she bravely kept her
post. At last the Bayonne was sighted, and there
was no need this time to hunt for the cat. There
she stood, quivering with agitation, on the extreme
edge of the wharf, as the malodorous little craft
plied its way along the river. The captain's big
black dog. Pussy's old friend and companion, barked
his furious welcome from the deck. The sound in-
creased her excitement, and, when the steamer was
still twelve feet from the docks, she cleared with
flying leap the intervening space, and, mid the
cheers of the crew, ran straight to the captain's
cabin where she had left her kittens two months
before. They were well-grown young cats by this

THE CAT TO-DAY 253

time, and disposed to resent her intrusion ; but the
mother's joy was as excessive as if she had been
parted from them for but a single night.

In fact, maternal affection is the only sentiment
which can compete in the cat's little heart with her
fondness for her dwelling-place. She loves her kit-
tens, and she loves her home ; and, when these two
emotions contend for mastery, it will be generally
found that her love for her kittens triumphs. A
pathetic proof of this was afforded by a cat belong-
ing to an English military chaplain at Madras.
Her master, moving to the other side of the town,
left her behind, or rather gave her to the new
tenant, believing she would be more content under
her familiar rooftree. Six weeks later she stood at
his door, holding in her mouth a young kitten,

" Sole daughter of her house and heart,"

which, when admitted, she laid at his feet for sanc-
tuary. It was then discovered that the rest of her
litter had been drowned ; and the poor mother,
with an intelligence miraculously sharpened by love
and fear, had carried the one little survivor to her
only friend, to beg his pity and protection.

For what pangs are suffered all their lives by
these animals whose fecundity is their bane ; little
Rachels whose mute wretchedness no one heeds nor
commiserates, and who mourn, briefly, it is true.

254 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

but bitterly, the perpetual murder of their off-
spring. Cases, indeed, ar^ recorded of indifference,
of neglect, and even of cold-blooded butchery on
the part of young cat mothers ; but they count for
little when contrasted with the overwhelming evi-
dences of care and affection. M. Pierquin de Gem-
bloux, in his " Traite de la Folie des Animaux,"
asserts that female cats occasionally betray a jealous
detestation of their kittens, and instances a Spanish
Angora who destroyed all her young at their birth,
twice only sparing male kittens, which she ignored,
but permitted — through some cold caprice — to
live.

More repellant still are the authenticated stories
— happily very few — of pussies who prefer their
own selfish ease to the joys of motherhood. Of
two such cases I have melancholy knowledge. One
was that of an English cat who so neglected her
first litter that the poor little things were in danger
of perishing through starvation. To prevent this
catastrophe, and teach her the nature of her duties,
she was shut up with her kittens in the tool-house ;
whereupon she indignantly trampled them to death,
and, hiding the wee corpses in a corner, hastened,
when the door was opened, to more luxurious
quarters. She was young, and she was very pretty.
Her master pardoned her, but showed, in a manner
she could not mistake, his anger and disgust; caress-

THE CAT TO-DAY 255

ing the dead kittens with pitying hands, and refus-
ing to reinstate her into favour. The lesson was not
lost. Another litter arrived in the course of time,
and was endured with tolerable patience ; a third
awoke some languid interest in the maternal heart ;
and. she lived to rear a dozen families, — a solicitous,
painstaking, but never affectionate parent.

The second criminal was a New England cat,
and the motive for the crime was the same, — an
aversion to the care of children, and an unwilling-
ness to exchange the drawing-room rug for the
kitchen fire. This mother deliberately carried out
her kittens one by one, and dropped them in the
water-butt ; then returned to the house with a brow
as calm as if her conscience were at rest, and no
little dripping corpses could trouble her repose.

*' She 's ta'en the ribbons frae her hair,
And bound their bodies fast and sair.

She 's put them aneath a marble stane,
Thinking a maid to gae her hame."

But how rare these instances of depravity, and
how perpetual the proofs of Pussy's maternal love !
What terrors fill her anxious little heart, when —
warned by bitter experience — she tries to hide her
unwelcome family from human eyes. In attic, in
cellar, in barn or stable, she tucks them out of sight,
stealing to them with many pitiful precautions, lest

256 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

her presence should betray them to their death. She
sometimes seeks, in this her utmost need, help from
those whom her instinct bids her trust, as the poor
cat at Madras fled to her former master for pro-
tection. M. Pierquin de Gembloux tells us of a
cat that belonged to M. Moreau de Saint Mery,
and that had never been permitted to rear a single
kitten. When she gave birth to her third litter,
the servant, wishing to be as kind as cruelty would
permit, stole from her only one little victim each
day, in order that she might grow accustomed
"tout doucement " to her loss. For five mornings
this relentless robbery was continued, until but a
singl-e kitten remained in the basket. Then, des-
perate and determined, the cat carried this survivor
into her master's study, leaped to his lap, and laid
it gently upon his knee, looking in his face with a
mute prayer that could neither be misunderstood
nor rejected. M. de Saint Mery gave orders that
the kitten should be spared ; but its mother, too
fearful to trust her good fortune, brought it back
every morning for weeks, laid it regularly on his
knee or at his feet, and besought anew his merciful
interference.

Even in happier homes, maternity brings to the
cat a host of tender cares. She is never without
solicitude, and shows in a hundred pretty ways her
anxiety for the safety and welfare of her children.

THE CAT TO-DAY 257

A Boston puss, seeing the family preparing for
their summer exodus, deposited her kitten in one
of the open boxes, as a timely hint that it was not
to be left behind ; and another equally intelligent
animal, before engaging in combat with a rat,
dropped her kitten into a dresser drawer, determined
to have it out of danger. Mr. Lang tells the story
of a poor vagabond cat who, with her young son,
came daily to his door to beg. The kitten, being
pretty and vivacious, was adopted by a neighbour-
ing family, and reared in luxury ; but still the
mother, when any especial delicacy like a bit of fish
was accorded her in Christian charity, scaled the
dividing wall, and gave it to the greedy little lad,
who,

" With every wish of cathood well fulfilled,"

was not ashamed to eat his parent's scanty rations.
Nothing can exceed the bravery and devotion of
the cat when any danger threatens her young. It
is then that her apparent timidity — that feline
instinct of flight which veils the resolute spirit
beneath — hardens into intrepidity. It is then that
she stands at bay, and shows the splendid courage
of desperation, defying fate, whether it takes the
form of dog, or children, or the destroying elements.
St. George Mivart tells us of a cat who plunged
into a swiftly running stream, and rescued her
three drowning kittens, bringing them one by one

258 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

to shore. When Lusby's Music Hall in London
was burned in 1884, it chanced that a cat belonging
to the proprietor had recently kittened, and her lit
tie family lay in a basket at the rear of the stage.
Three times that cat made her way through the
smoke and fire, and reappeared, carrying a kit-
ten in her mouth. The third time she was so
terribly scorched as to be unrecognizable ; she was
blind, and of her beautiful fur hardly a patch was
left. A fireman in sheer pity tried to catch the
creature ; but she leaped from his hands, and went
straight back into the flames after the fourth kitten.
That she reached it was proven by the two little
bodies, burned to a crisp, that were found lying
side by side when the fire was extinguished. It
would be impossible to surpass the heroism of that
London cat. Human mothers have done as much.
It does not lie in the power of man or woman to do
more.

In their ordinary family relations, cats show af-
fection, consideration, and politeness. Paternity,
which we stupidly imagine to be ignored, carries
with it responsibilities that the father, when he is
an honoured member of the home circle, never
dreams of neglecting. M. Gautier found that the
father's interest in his offspring was unremitting ;
and I once knew an English Tom who took the
athletic training of his children entirely upon his

THE CAT TO-DAY 259

own capable shoulders, teaching them assiduously
to climb trees, to scale walls, and to spring upon
birds. M. Dupont de Nemours gives a charming
instance of grandmotherly care and devotion on the
part of a cat whose young daughter was very ill
after the birth of her first kittens. She had a
little family of her own at the same time ; but
she gathered her grandchildren into her overflow-
ing basket, nursed them, and watched over them
attentively, until their parent was able to assume
her maternal duties.

"A kitten," says M. Champfleury, "is the de-
light of a household. All day long a comedy is
played by this incomparable actor." As for a litter
of kittens, a nid de chatons, as the French prettily
phrase it, no misanthrope could resist their seduc-
tions. The spirit of mischief, the spirit of frolic,
the spirit of drollery animate these small mummers,
and prompt them to their parts. Their curiosity
is insatiable. ''Everything that moves," observes
Moncriff, ''serves to amuse them. They believe
that all nature is occupied with their diversion."
The most intrepid of explorers, they make strange
voyages of discovery in dark closets, underneath
beds and bureaus, up curtains and table legs, trem>
bling with excitement, and with a terror which is
half pretence. Their agility is wonderful, yet no
less ridiculous than their hardihood. The school-

26o THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

boy who wrote in his composition, '^A kitten is
chiefly remarkable for rushing Uke mad at nothing
whatever, and generally stopping before it gets
there," should have made a great naturalist. Like
Gilbert White, he knew how to observe.

A female cat is kept young in spirit and supple
in body by the restless vivacity of her kittens! She
plays with her little ones, fondles them, pursues
them if they roam too far, and corrects them
sharply for all the faults to which feline infancy is
heir. A kitten dislikes being washed quite as much
as a child does, especially in the neighbourhood
of its ears. It tries to escape the infliction, rolls
away, paddles with its little paws, and behaves as
naughtily as it knows how, until a smart slap brings
it suddenly back to subjection. Pussy has no con-
fidence in moral suasion, but implicitly follows Solo-
mon's somewhat neglected advice. I was once told
a pleasant story of an English cat who had reared
several large families, and who, dozing one day
before the nursery fire, was disturbed and an-
noyed by the whining of a fretful child. She bore
it as long as she could, waiting for the nurse to in-
terpose her authority ; then, finding passive endur-
ance had outstripped the limits of her patience,
she arose, crossed the room, jumped on the sofa,
and twice with her strong soft paw, which had
chastised many an erring kitten, deliberately boxed

THE CAT TO-DAY 261

the little girl's ears, — after which she returned to
her slumbers.

Instances of friendship among cats — as that
charming bond of intimacy which united Mou-
moutte Blanche and Moumoutte Chinoise — are
very rare. The dog, it is said, lives contentedly
without companions of his own species, because
his all-absorbing affection for his master satisfies
the desires of his heart. He has been well termed
the friend of man. But nobody would dream of
calling Pussy the friend of man. She is nothing
of the kind ; yet neither is she the friend of other
pussies. Two cats will live for years under the
same roof, without vulgar jealousy or coarse con-
tention, but also without any approach to confi-
dential intercourse. If one of them has a fancy
for companionship, she will "take up" with a
horse, — her favourite animal, especially if he be
thoroughbred. Many racers have had warm friend-
ships with cats, and the famous stallion, Godolphin,
lived for years on terms of the closest intimacy with
a black cat, who, it is stated, pined away with grief
after his death. Failing horses, Pussy has been
known to entertain herself with the society of a
dog, a chicken, a rabbit, any alien thing rather than
one of her own reserved race. Cats living in
zoological gardens have formed erratic attach-
ments for elephants, — big, gentle beasts, depressed

262 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

by close captivity, and grateful possibly for a little
notice.

Such exceptional cases, however, count for little
in the history of the cat. If disposed to be social,
she will accord her good-will to any animal she fan-
cies ; if disposed to be motherly, she will adopt and
rear a puppy, a rat, or a young pigeon ; but as a rule
she is sufficient to herself, is never bored by her
own company, and preserves an immaculate freedom
from enthusiasm, sympathy, or benevolence. She
can be taught to live in amity with both birds and
beasts, and even to tolerate indecent liberties of
the "Happy Family" order, — sparrows hopping
on her head, and white mice frisking foolishly at
her feet. She can also be taught to ride a wheel,
and jump through hoops of fire. These things de-
note the nadir of her degradation ; and happily she
lends herself with such ill grace to exhibitions of
this order, that, notwithstanding our base relish for
all that is out of nature, they are not of very com-
mon occurrence.

Some amiable naturalists would have us believe
that there is no especial hostility between cat and
dog, — only a trifling jealousy, fostered by man.
They quote instances of marked affection, and tell
pretty stories about big Newfoundlands that pro-
tect small kittens, and wise old tabbies that rear
and educate foolish and motherless puppies. As

THE CAT TO-DAY 263

well deny the animosity of Celt and Saxon, on the
score of individual friendship, or chance deed of
mercy. Like the deep-rooted hatred of nations,
alien in race, yet thrust by fate upon one another's
border lands, is the hatred that never sleeps in the
hearts of these sworn enemies. The dog, a gen-
erous and chivalric beast, degenerates into a cruel
bully the instant that he sees a cat. The cat,
brave and courteous, falls into a sheer frenzy of
rage and fear when she encounters her ancestral
foe. St. George Mivart tells us that this antipathy
— the inheritance of ages — is so strong in kittens
only a few days old, that they have manifested
both anger and terror, spitting with comical fury
when touched by a hand that had recently fondled
a dog.

Mr. Louis Robinson, in his interesting volume on
" Wild Traits in Tame Animals," asserts that the
spitting of young kittens, and their beautiful striped
fur, are both due to '^protective mimicry," natyre's
clever scheme for the deception of her stronger
children, and the preservation of her weaker ones.
She taught the kitten in its savage state to spit
when disturbed or frightened, so that prowling ene-
mies, like dog or wolf, might mistake the sound for
the hissing of snakes ; and she banded its fur so
that birds of prey, glancing down from afar, might
think the helpless creature a coiled serpent, and

264 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

forbear to swoop. Some of us have long laboured
under the delusion — fostered by prints in early
school books — that eagles are particularly addicted
to pouncing upon snakes, but Mr. Robinson says
they infinitely prefer to take their chances with a
cat.

Another point upon which this clever writer
dwells emphatically is the proof afforded by Pussy's
household habits of her solitary life before domesti-
cation. Even now, after centuries of civilization, a
dog bolts his food in evident fear of interruption,
hides his bones underground, growls and snarls if
another dog approaches his plate, and shows plainly
that in old savage days he was a member of an
active and not too honest community. The cat,
never accustomed to tribal life, evinces a different
disposition. " When given anything to eat," ob-
serves Mr. Robinson, " she first carefully smells
the morsel, then takes it in a deliberate and gin-
gerly way, and sits down to finish it at leisure.
There is none of that inclination to snatch hastily
at food held before her, which we see in even well-
trained dogs ; nor does a cat seem in any hurry to
stow her goods in the one place where thieving ras-
cals cannot interfere with them."

It is but fair to state that Mr. Robinson's theo-
ries have been stoutly opposed by Mr. Andrew
Lang, who, though not a naturalist, has enjoyed

THE CAT TO-DAY 265

ample opportunities for observation. He is ill
pleased with hasty inferences where the cat is con-
cerned, and even thinks them a little impertinent,
as indicating a tendency on the writer's part to
claim familiar acquaintance with an animal who po-
litely, but resolutely, declines familiarity. No two
cats, says Mr. Lang, have the same traits. One
eats his dinner like a gentleman. His ancestors
evidently lived in hermit-like seclusion. Another
prefers raiding his companion's dish. His fore-
fathers, by the same token, must have been accus-
tomed to society. Even Mr. Robinson's conclusion
that the tailless Manx cat is probably a repre-
sentative of some ancient wild species, finds no
favour in Mr. Lang's eyes. He has accounted
long ago in a fashion satisfactory to himself, and
on strict "principles of evolution," for this unfor-
tunate animal's peculiarity.

" Man," he says, " is a Celtic island. The Celts
(in Brittany at least) believe that if you tread on a
cat's tail, a serpent will come out and sting you.
This made people shy of cats with tails. But a
tailless cat being born by a pure fluke (see Darwin
on Sports), and transmitting its peculiarity to its
offspring, these cats with no tails were especially
adapted to their Celtic environment. People could
make pets of them, without fear of serpents. The
other cats were killed off, or died for lack of friendly

266 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

treatment. This could only occur in insular condi-
tions. Hence the Isle of Man possesses Manx cats."
Why not accept the still more ingenious theory
of the poet who suggests that these "isle-nurtured "
pussies may possibly wear away their tails

" By sedentary habits,
As do the rabbits."

Manx cats are sometimes held to be of a cold and
almost churlish disposition, occasioned perhaps by
much sorrowful brooding over their lost tails. Yet
I once made the acquaintance of a handsome young
scion of the race, who lived in Penrith, and who,
though lacking vivacity, possessed singular sweet-
ness of character. Mr. Harrison Weir, the author
of a very useful book upon cats, says that only the
finest Manx varieties are absolutely tailless, the
commoner sort possessing little stumpy apologies
for the missing member. He gives warm praise
to the beautiful Abyssinian cats, silver grey with
orange eyes, whose ancestors are believed to have
been Pasht's favoured pussies, and the little gods of
Egypt. Also to the Siamese cats, once so jealously
guarded in the palace of kings, but now exported
occasionally to Europe and America. These feline
royalties are small, muscular, and daringly athletic,
of a chocolate or dun colour, "the shade of wood
ashes," say the Siamese poetically, and have thin,
pointed, and rather forlorn tails. Their eyes are

THE CAT TO-DAY 267

sapphire blue or pale amber, and they possess the
human and undesirable accomplishment of shedding
tears in moments of anger or agitation. Of a gen-
tle and affectionate disposition, they are said to
make devoted husbands and fathers, — an uncom-
mon but by no means unknown trait among cats
whose family ties are fostered by kindness and
sympathy.

Notwithstanding the blueness of their blood, and
the princely seclusion in which they have lived for
centuries, Siamese cats are ardent mousers, and
love the pleasures of the chase as well as any sta-
ble-born animal, bred to the sport from tenderest
kittenhood. This is the ruling passion of the race,
as we are told by ^sop and La Fontaine. The
fair cat-bride of fable slipped from her husband's
arms to chase a flying mouse ; and among the hap-
piest pussies to-day are probably those hard-worked
servants of the public who do not know their own
utility. The National Printing Office of France
employs a large staff of cats to guard the paper
from devastating rats and mice. No salary is paid
them ; but the cost of their daily meals and the
wages of their custodian are regular items of expend-
iture. Cats are kept also in some of the French
military magazines ; and a recent report states with
becoming gravity that the authorized allowance is
not sufficient for their comfortable maintenance.

268 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

"The cats of the army," confesses this report, " are
very slow to accustom themselves to the diet pre-
scribed by the government circular ; " and, with
lamentable lack of patriotism, they desert their
posts in favour of more liberal accommodation.
Vienna has its official cats, supported in affluence by
the municipality. When too old for service, they
are placed on the retired list, and honourably pen-
sioned, as becomes a city which leads the world in
the wisdom and humanity of its laws, drawing a
sharp line of distinction between the idle vagabond
and the aged poor whose day for work is over.

The Midland Railway in England has eight cats
among its employees. Their headquarters are at
Trent, and they have under their care the corn-
sacks — some four hundred thousand in number —
which hold the grain carried by the road to its
markets. Other railways are as well provided ; and
the pussies that work in the London dock-yards seem
to be among the most useful members of a busy
community. It is even said that they assume airs
of ridiculous importance, swaggering around the
docks in off hours, and giving idlers to understand
that the shipping industries of London depend
largely upon their intelligence and activity. They
are a closely organized body, and no one who knows
them would feel surprised at hearing any day of a
strike among the dock-yard cats. The same as-

THE CAT TO-DAY 269

sumption of responsibility may be observed in the
shop-keeping pussies of France, These animals
are as uniformly courteous as are their human as-
sistants who stand behind the counters and sell
goods ; but it is plain that they feel the dignity of
proprietorship, and are deeply versed in all the mys-
teries of trade.

Cats play an important role in our great cold-
storage warehouses. It was originally hoped that
a temperature of six degrees above zero would
prove too severe for vermin ; but rats have that
singular adaptability of character with which nature
loves to endow the least popular of her creatures.
In a few months they were as much at home in
the freezing atmosphere as if they had been accus-
tomed to it for generations ; and were rearing large
families of children, all comfortably clad in coats of
double ply. Surrounded by wholesome food, they
showed the discretion of their ancient race, scoffed
at traps, and avoided poisoned bait.

It was then suggested that cats might learn to
bear the rigours of this bitter cold ;' and a few hardy
pioneers were chosen to be forever banished from
light and warmth, from sunshine and the joyousness
of earth. Four fifths of them pined and died, mar-
tyrs to unpitying commercialism ; but the great
principle which bids the fittest survive, triumphed
once more over cruel conditions. Kittens raised in

270 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

the icy temperature began to look like little Polar
bears, their fur was so thick and warm. By degrees
their ears were hidden under furry caps, their tails
grew short and bushy, their delicate whiskers,
coarse and strong. They preserved their health,
and developed incredible activity. At present, cold-
storage cats are among the sturdiest of the species ;
and we are even assured by those who hold them
prisoners that they enjoy their dark captivity, and
would be wretched if restored to normal conditions.
A garden, sweet with June flowers, and flooded with
June sunshine, would, it is said, kill them outright.
This may or may not be true. It is much the fash-
ion of men to assert that animals like what is done
to them. There are plenty of people ready to de-
clare that horses take pleasure in their check-reins ;
and we have all of us heard a great deal about the
indifference of dogs and rabbits to the discomforts
of vivisection.

A happier lot has been assigned to the official
cats who protect the mail bags of the United States
postal service, and to those industrious mousers
who toil in all the great marts of the world. For
while Pussy dearly loves the country and the free-
dom of green fields, she can content herself won-
derfully well in towns ; and leads a hard-worked,
dissipated life, with great apparent satisfaction.
Much regret was recently expressed by a big Lon-

THE CAT TO-DAY 271

don firm at the death of its ''best foundry cat," —
which phrase seemed puzzUng until explanation was
made. The sand used for casts is mixed with flour,
and this flour attracts mice and rats that too often
spoil the moulds. Cats are kept to eat the mice,
and they in turn must be taught not to walk about
on the moulds, nor scratch, nor injure them in any
way. In these respects the "best foundry cat"
had been made perfect by practice, and his loss was
an event to be deplored. Every department of this
house has its feline police corps, even the galvan-
izing shop, where a brindled veteran knows by long
experience that hot metal spurts when plates are
dipped in it, and has learned to get under cover at
this critical juncture.

The recognition of the cat's utility, and her em-
ployment in public service, are not merely features
of modern economics. Among the requisitions laid
by Frederick the Great — the most hard-headed
and hard-hearted of kings and soldiers — upon
more than one little Saxon and Silesian town, was
a levy of cats for the guarding of army stores.
Sometimes it even happened that the town could
not provide the number of pussies demanded (per-
haps the poor war-ravaged inhabitants loved their
pets, having little else left them in the world), and
permission was humbly asked that weasels should
be sent instead.

272 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

As for the cats who live in newspaper offices,
in police stations, and in the unrestful society of
fire companies, they acquire distinctive habits of
their own, and appear strangely remote from placid
dwellers by domestic hearths. The nocturnal habits
of the journalist suit the "night-waking" pussy to
perfection ; but the din, the confusion, the vast lit-
tered spaces of the printing rooms would seem to
make them the least desirable of earthly homes.
Yet newspaper cats love these tumultuous sur-
roundings, forget the serenity of gentler days, lose
all aspirations towards sweetness and light, and
abandon themselves unreservedly to the joys of
scurry and excitement. Their kittens, roughly
reared, tumble about under giant presses and
hurrying feet, escaping destruction only by that
marvellous faculty for self-preservation which bids
defiance to danger.

" Had we not nine lives,
I wis I ne'er had seen again thy sausage shop, St. Ives."

The vulgar and deleterious habit of eating black
beetles is begun so early, and continued so persist-
ently, that the journalistic kitling, like Rappaccini's
daughter, is inured to poisonous food. It grows up
happy and healthy in an atmosphere apparently as
uncongenial as that of the police station, where its
little cousins are making a wide acquaintance with
felony ; or as that of the fire company's stables,

THE CAT TO-DAY 273

where another Utter of innocents is learning the
mystery of the alarm, and watching with fearful joy
the mad rush of horses to their goal.

Household cats have so often given warning of
fires that their services in this regard merit both
recognition and gratitude. They are restless at
night, and easily affrighted. The first puff of
smoke, the first crackling of flames sends them
mewing to master or mistress for explanation of
this phenomenon. I knew a Cornish cat, crippled
and singed, whose scars bore honourable witness to
his bravery. His owner, the rector of a country
parish, was aroused before daybreak by the piteous
scratching and crying at his door. When it was
opened, there stood poor Pussy, trembling, scorched,
but determined, while the halls were black with
smoke. This cat never fully recovered from the
shock, but remained a nervous invalid all his life,
which is too often the case when the fright has
been very severe. M. Pierquin de Gembloux re-
lates several instances in which cats were rendered
more or less imbecile by sudden and overmastering
terror. One little Angora fell down a well, and was
saved from being drowned, only by a jutting stone
to which she clung with desperation. After a while
her cries attracted attention, and she was rescued ;
but the ordeal through which she had passed had
so completely unnerved her that the poor thing

274 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

never recovered her mental balance, — always ap-
pearing to be in a state of pitiable apprehension.

Animals so delicately organized are necessarily
sensitive to atmospheric conditions. An approach-
ing storm starts them restlessly wandering from
room to room. They have been known to exhibit
signs of acute disquietude before cyclones and
earthquakes. In 1783 two wise cats of Messina
behaved so strangely, and showed such evidences
of terror, that their master, infected by their fear,
fled from his house in time to escape the first great
shock, and the tumbling of his walls in ruins.

It is pleasant to relate these services to man on
the part of little beasts who do not often pose as
our benefactors, and who have been, in their day,
accused of much ill-doing. Even now, when sus-
picions of witchcraft are allayed, and mothers no
longer believe that cats suck the blood of their
sleeping infants, the ancient and unconquerable
prejudice is kept alive by sad stories of contagion,
— of pussies who carry diphtheria and scarlet fever
from house to house, with a malignity worthy of
the Jew of Malta.

" As for myself, I walk abroad a-nights,
And kill sick people groaning under walls ;
Sometimes I go about and poison wells."

Every year or so an enterprising newspaper re-
porter stirs up a sleepy bacteriologist, and per-

THE CAT TO-DAY 275

suades him to say that cats sow broadcast the
germs of deadly disease, and that they are beyond
measure dangerous pets in the nursery, being sub-
ject to all the maladies that can be passed over
to the little children who caress them. If well
aroused, the scientific gentleman will even warm
so far to his subject as to suggest that the entire
feline population of New York or of San Francisco
shall be exterminated as a drastic precautionary
measure, stoutly maintaining that " the world could
get along very well without cats." This is true,
but if we once establish a " Society for Doing
Without," — Mr. Barrie proposed it to our consid-
eration long ago — we are not likely to leave much
room for reporters or bacteriologists.

Utilitarianism is but a base foundation for esteem.
The cat's true place is by our glowing hearths, not
in cold-storage warehouses, nor in printing offices ;
her true mission is to delight the eye, and afford
reserved and restful companionship, not to guard
our belongings, nor look after our personal safety.
As the old lazy cat of Florian's fable remarks to
the lean, laborious one,

" Va, le secret de reussir,
Cast d'etre adroit, non d'etre utile."

Pussy's adroitness is equalled only by her delicacy
and tact. Her cleanliness and her careful attention
to her toilet show respect for herself and for us.

276 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

She is seldom intrusive, and never exuberant, but
manifests at times a sweet and flattering desire to
be with us, whether we are reading silently, oblivi-
ous of her presence, or have leisure to seduce her
into play. Dickens's Williamina — first christened,
in error, William — used to put out the candles with
her paw if she thought her master too absorbed in
his book, or too long unconscious of her patient
waiting. Now and then this little fireside friend
will even consent to accompany us out of doors ;
not with the overflowing delight of a restless dog,
but with a graciousness of demeanour which re-
minds one of Mme. de Sevigne and her compan-
ions strolling through the leafy paths of Les
Rochers. "A cat," says M. Champfleury, ''does
not invite us to a tramp ; she does not appear to
find the pleasure in active exercise which distin-
guishes the dog. She only rambles a little with
some one for whom she has a fancy, on condition
always that the distance be short, and the spot a
quiet one. A student who, book in hand, treads
meditatively the shady garden walks, is perhaps
most to her taste. She will run before him for a
few steps, roll herself lightly over the gravel, return
to his side for an absent-minded caress, and again
precede him down the path, leading him as far as
she deems it well for him to go."

Curiosity is a trait as common in young cats as

THE CAT TO-DAY 277

in young children. It moderates in middle age,
when habits of meditation have superseded the
gayety and vigilance of kittenhood ; but that its ex-
istence should be denied and ridiculed by so acute
an observer as the Abbe Galiani, proves the formi-
dable strength of preconceived opinions. " Man
alone," says the Abbe, "knows what it is to be cu=
rious. Animals have no share in this sensation.
We can inspire them with fear, but never with
curiosity."

It is not fear, however, which makes a kitten
watch with breathless interest the unfastening of a
parcel, and clutch at the paper and string until the
contents are shown to her. It is not fear which
sends her peeping into half-open drawers, or which
rivets her attention when a box-lid chances to be
lifted in her presence. If she be not curious, why
does she jump on the sill, the minute a window is
raised ; or creep to the door, to see who is going
upstairs ; or inspect the multitudinous contents of
a desk as gravely as if she were making an inven-
tory.-* Voltaire recognized curiosity as a dominant
trait in all intelligent animals ; and Rousseau drew
a close analogy between a curious kitten surveying
a strange room, and a no less curious child making
its first bewildering acquaintance with the world.

Gratitude is another sentiment which sceptics
have denied to the cat, and which is certainly not a

278 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

paramount passion in her bosom, any more than in
the bosoms of men. Yet just as there are traces
of it in the human heart, and occasional instances
so iine that our admiration proves their rarity ; so
there are ti^aces of it in all cathood, and now and
then some charming and indubitable proof of its
potency. Pussy does not, indeed, assume herself
our servitor, because, to gratify our own refined
tastes, we give her food and lodging. That is not
her way of reading her motto, Libertas sine Lahore ;
but in her own fashion she acknowledges the claims
of friendship, and feels that kindness merits recog-
nition. Why else should she so constantly offer to
share her spoils with unappreciative mortals, who
have not even tact enough to pretend the satis-
faction they do not feel .^ M. Brasseur Wirtgen, a
close and accurate observer, tells us that the two
things which marred the calm contentment of his
cat were his own studious habits, and his unfortu-
nate distaste for slain vermin. If he read long, she
would jump on his knee, and thrust her little head
between the pages of his book, as though seeking
the cause of his absorption ; and her solicitude for
his welfare prompted her to drag huge rats, still in
their death-throes, to his feet. '' She behaved as
though I had been her son, and painfully endeav-
oured to provide me with a prey commensurate to
my size. Large game was unfit for her kittens ;

THE CAT TO-DAY 279

but she appeared both hurt and mortified by my
incomprehensible indifference to such delicious
morsels."

Several similar instances have come within my
knowledge. One is that of an English cat who was
fed daily at the family dinner hour, receiving from
his master's hand choice bits of fish and fowl. On
a certain winter evening he was unaccountably ab-
sent from his post ; but when the dinner was half
served, he came rushing up the stairs, carrying two
mice in his mouth. One he dropped upon his own
platter, and then, before he could be stopped, he
leaped upon the table, and deposited the second on
his master's plate, — a graceful and pretty, however
unwelcome attention, and one which plainly showed
a well-bred desire to requite the hospitality he had
received.

The same generous instinct animated a Boston
cat of my acquaintance, to whom the fishmonger
was wont, in his daily visit, to give some scraps of
fish. One morning Amber brought a little dead
mouse, and laid it at his friend's feet with a courte-
ous gesture which said, " Permit me to make some
return for your constant kindness." It is not pos-
sible to deny to an animal, capable of such charm-
ing liberality, that finer sentiment which bids us all
acknowledge and repay a benefaction.

A more touching story is told of a poor old cat,

28o THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

an outcast and Pariah, living by depredations, but
no longer daring enough for successful robbery,
who was rescued from hife miserable estate by M.
Desfontaines, the director of th.^ Jardi?i des Plantes,
and one of the kindest men who ever blessed the
earth. This creature, so wild and hopeless, re-
sponded to M. Desfontaines's gentle advances.
Within half an hour he was transformed from a
wretched marauder into a happy and affectionate
pussy, manifesting keen intelligence and quick sym-
pathy, but lacking always that serene composure
which is the most exquisite birthright of his race.
He resembled, no doubt, the '' vieux chat noir " of
M. Prosper Merimee, " parfaitement laid, mais plein
d'esprit et de discretion. Seulement il n'a eu que
des gens vulgaires, et manque d'usage."

This is seldom the case. A cat born in the gut-
ter or in the stables will, under favouring circum-
stances, be as politely contemptuous as though the
blood of feline Howards ran in her veins. Perhaps
the arrogant young kitten given by Prince Potemkin
to Catherine the Great came of obscure parentage,
and had brothers and sisters mousing modestly in
the little shops of Saint Petersburg. Catherine was
attached to this cat. She speaks of it in one of her
letters as "gay, witty, and not obstinate;" — a
curious description of an animal whose gayety is so
swiftly subdued by decorum, whose wit is reserved

THE CAT TO-DAY 281

for cat circles into which the Empress had no en-
tree, and who, in its own gentle fashion, is the
most unswervingly obstinate creature in the world.

" For wiles may win thee, but no arts enslave,"

writes Graham Tom son in praise oi Le Chat Noir,
most honoured, if not most prized, of all the furry
fraternity that basked about her hearth.

" Half loving-kindliness, and half disdain,
Thou comest to my call, serenely suave,
With humming speech and gracious gesture grave,
In salutation courtly and urbane.
Yet must I humble me thy grace to gain.
For wiles may win thee, but no arts enslave.
And nowhere gladly thou abidest, save
Where naught disturbs the concord of thy reign,

*' Sphinx of my quiet hearth ! who deignst to dwell
Friend of my toil, companion of mine ease,
Thine is the lore of Ra and Rameses ;
That men forget dost thou remember well.
Beholden still in blinking reveries,
With sombre, sea-green gaze inscrutable."

There has been a great deal of modern verse, as of
modern prose, written about cats ; yet little, worthy
of its subject, and little in English that can compare
with the affectionate tributes of France. Shelley's
schoolboy doggerel is unworthy of consideration,
and Keats's sonnet had best be buried in oblivion.
Jocularity sits ill upon the immortals. Matthew
Arnold has indeed celebrated Atossa in some

282 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

matchless lines, already quoted ; and Mr. Swin-
burne has chanted the praises of his cat with all
the extravagance of the French poets, but without
their admirable art which conveys to our minds the
penetrating charm of feline loveliness. If we com-
pare his verse with that of Baudelaire, or Verlaine,
we see that the vehemence of his sentiment is
untempered by that Gallic subtlety which suggests,
rather than sets forth, the cat's seductiveness.

" Stately, kindly, lordly friend,
Condescend
Here to sit by me, and turn
Glorious eyes that smile and burn,
Golden eyes, love's lustrous meed,
On the golden page I read."

It is probable that the cat did nothing of the
kind, — not that her race is indifferent to books, —
Gautier's Pierrot, we know, adored them, — but be-
cause entire possession of the volume, and freedom
to ruffle its leaves at will, are essential to Pussy's
literary enjoyment. Her theory of companionship
does not include community of tastes or interests.
She is rather the spectator than the participator of
our amusements. Mr. Swinburne, however, plainly
thinks otherwise.

*' Wild on woodland ways, your sires
Flashed like fires ;
Fair as flame, and fierce and fleet
As with wings, on wingless feet

THE CAT TO-DAY 283

Shone and sprang your mother, free
Bright and brave as wmd or sea.

'• Free and proud and glad as they,
Here to-day
Rests or roams their radiant child,
Vanquished not, but reconciled ;
Free from curb of aught above,
Save the lovely curb of love.

" Dogs may fawn on all and some,
As they come :
You, a friend of loftier mind,
Answer friends alone in kind.
Just your foot upon my hand
Softly bids it understand."

For arrogance of spirit this is unsurpassed, even
in Saxon verse. Poets are never wea.Ty of comparing
the dog and the cat, and censuring one or the other
for not possessing its rival's traits ; but contrast
Mr. Swinburne's sublime assurance with the diffi-
dence of M. Lemaitre, who recognizes in kzs cat —
the host of his quiet house — an exquisite mingling
of irony and benignity, of attachment and contempt.

" Tu n'as jamais connu, philosophe, et vieux frere,

La fidelite sotte et bruyante du chien ;

Tu m'aimes cependant, et mon cceur le sent bien ;

Ton amour clairvoyant et peut-etre ephemere
• Me plait ; et je salue en toi, calme penseur.

Deux exquises vertues ; scepticisme et douceur."

This is the Latin point of view, and sufficiently
explains the love of a Frenchman for his cat. He

284 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

values most those precise qualities which outrage
the sensibilities of the Saxon. He respects the
spirit which meets him on equal ground, and he
prizes the temperate and mutable affection which he
must constantly labour to retain. When an Eng-
lishman fully recognizes the cattish nature, he is
apt, unless he be as tolerant and as little of a despot
as Mr. Arnold, to resent its cold serenity, its mor-
tifying indifference, — to resent it with the frank-
ness of Mr. Arthur Benson in his admirable verses
upon

THE CAT.

" On some grave business, soft and slow,
Along the garden-paths you go,

With bold and burning eyes :
Or stand, with twitching tail, to mark
What starts and rustles in the dark,

Among the peonies.

" The dusty cockchafer that springs
Upon the dusk with whirring wings,

The beetle, glossy-horned,
The rabbit pattering through the fern,
May frisk unheeded, by your stern
Preoccupation scorned.

" You all day long, beside the fire.
Retrace in dreams your dark desire,

And mournfully complain
In grave displeasure, if I raise
Your languid form to pet or praise ;

And so to sleep again.

THE CAT TO-DAY 285

" The gentler hound that near me lies,
Looks up with true and tender eyes,
And waits my generous mirth ;
You do not woo me, but demand
A gift from my unwilling hand,
A tribute to your worth.

" You loved me when the fire was warm,
But, now I stretch a fondling arm.

You eye me and depart.
Cold eyes, sleek skin, and velvet paws.
You win my indolent applause.

You do not win my heart ! "

Here is a clear and candid exposition of the case.
The cat, indeed, as Montaigne discovered, but with-
out resentment, long ago, awaits no one's mirth.
" We entertain each other with mutual follies, and
if I have my time to begin or to refuse, she also
has hers." The essence of free social intercourse
demands this mutual independence, this mutual
background of reserve. A Nautch girl dances
when she is bidden ; an Englishwoman is privi-
leged to dance or not, according to her fancy. I
have often thought that the behaviour of a well-bred
cat, when courted against her will, was singularly
like the behaviour of a well-bred man or woman,
forced by the exigencies of life to receive unwel-
come attentions. She offers no rude resistance to
the " fondling arm," and even purrs a few languid
remarks, equivalent to "Delightful evening." " So

286 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

glad to see you here to-night." " Hope you were
not very tired yesterday." After which she slips
softly away to resume her interrupted meditations.
To take offence at such polite withdrawal is the
sheer arrogance of ownership, and it is in but a
limited sense that we can be said to own a cat.
" I have it of nature that I must seek my own pro-
fit," she says with Epictetus ; and if the most gen-
erous of the Stoics claimed as much, why not the
least enthusiastic of animals ?

Nothing, however, could be more lifelike than
the picture Mr. Benson draws of Pussy stealing
through the dusk, preoccupied yet observant, and
betraying to none the dubious purpose of her stroll.
It is finer, because less wordy, than Mr. William
Watson's " Study in Contrasts," which presents
once more to our patient consideration the deep
dissimilarity of cat and dog ; — of the collie, blue-
blooded, aristocratic, yet sadly lacking in distinction,
and the Angora, who regards him with languid and
indolent contempt. Beneath the dog's company
manners, beautiful manners befitting any court,
Mr. Watson detects a substratum of vulgar impet-
uosity. For all his airs and graces, for all his noble
head and silky coat, he is at heart

" The bustling despot of the mountain flock,
And pastoral dog-of-all-work."

THE CAT TO-DAY 287

" And then his nature, how impressionable,
How quickly moved to Collie mirth or woe,
Elated or dejected at a word,
And how unlike your genuine Vere de Vere."

But all this time, from an open window,

"A great Angora watched his CoUieship,
And, throned in monumental calm, surveyed
His effervescence, volatility,
Clamour on slight occasions, fussiness,
Herself immobile, imperturbable."

It is the unchanging and passionless East survey-
ing through centuries the restless vagaries of the
distracted West.

A great deal has been written about Oxford and
Cambridge cats, who, of all their race in England,
appear to command the deepest affection and re-
spect. Ancient universities, like ancient cathedrals,
afford an atmosphere pleasantly suited to Pussy's
meditative habits. He drowses all day in dim
Italian churches, like some devout but sleepy old
woman who loves the shelter of the holy walls, and
who is lulled sweetly to rest by the monotonous
and familiar chant. He is equally at home in col-
lege quadrangles and college halls. Anything that
is studious, decorous, permanent, appeals to his
splendid conservatism and unerring good taste. In
proof of the high esteem in which he is held by
those familiar with his scholastic life, I quote this

288 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

fine tribute to the memory of Tom of Corpus, a cat
who died full of years and honours, widely known
and deeply lamented.

" The Junior Fellow's vows were said ;
Among his co-mates and their Head

His place was fairly set.
Of welcome from friends old and new
Full dues he had, and more than due ;

What could be lacking yet ?

*' One said, ' The Senior Fellow's vote ! '
The Senior Fellow, black of coat,

Save where his front was white,
Arose and sniffed the stranger's shoes
With critic nose, as ancients use

To judge mankind aright.

"I — for 't was I who tell the tale —
Conscious of fortune's trembling scale,

Awaited the decree ;
But Tom had judged : ' He loves our race,'
And, as to his ancestral place,

He leapt upon my knee.

" Thenceforth in common-room and hall,
A verus socius known to all,

I came and went and sat,
Far from cross fate or envy's reach ;
For none a title could impeach

Accepted by a cat.

" While statutes changed, and freshmen came,
His gait, his wisdom were the same.
His age no more than mellow ;

THE CAT TO-DAY 289

Yet nothing mortal may defy
The march of Anno Domini,
Not e'en the Senior Fellow.

" Beneath our linden shade he lies ;
Mere eld hath softly closed his eyes

With late and honoured end.
He seems, while catless we confer,
To join with faint Elysian purr,

A tutelary friend."

We know what it is when Pussy's place is vacant,
and her famiUar Httle figure no longer prowls with
padded footsteps around our desolate rooms. Why
should we miss so sorely a creature who entered
but sparingly into our lives, and gave us only a nig-
gard portion of regard ? Perhaps because the deep
disquiet of our souls finds something akin to rest in
the mere contemplation of an egotism so finely
adjusted to its ends.

" You are life's true philosopher,
To whom all moralists are one,"

sighs a poet in the "Spectator," addressing his cat
with the wistful envy of a man who has been bored
and battered by the strenuous ethics of the day.

" You hold your race traditions fast,
While others toil, you simply live,
And, based upon a stable past,
Remain a sound conservative.

290 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

" You see the beauty of the world

Through eyes of unalloyed content,
And, in my study chair upcurled,
Move me to pensive wonderment.

*' I wish I knew your trick of thought,
The perfect balance of your ways ;
They seem an inspiration, caught
From other laws in older days."

" From the dawn of creation," says Mr. Lang ap-
preciatively, "the cat has known his place, and he has
kept it, practically untamed and unspoiled by man.
He has retenue. Of all animals, he alone attains to
the Contemplative Life. He regards the wheel of
existence from without, like the Buddha. There is
no pretence of sympathy about the cat. He lives
alone, aloft, sublime, in a wise passiveness. He is
excessively proud, and, when he is made the sub-
ject of conversation, will cast one glance of scorn,
and leave the room in which personalities are
bandied. All expressions of emotion he scouts as
frivolous and insincere, except, indeed, in the am-
brosial night, when, free from the society of man-
kind, he pours forth his soul in strains of unpre-
meditated art. The paltry pay and paltry praise of
humanity he despises, like Edgar Poe. He does
not exhibit the pageant of his bleeding heart ; he
does not howl when people die, nor explode in cries
of delight when his master returns from a journey.

THE CAT TO-DAY 291

With quiet courtesy, he remains in his proper and
comfortable place, only venturing into view when
something he approves of, such as fish or game,
makes its appearance. On the rights of property
he is firm. If a strange cat enters his domain, he
is up in claws to resist invasion. It was for these
qualities, probably, that the cat was worshipped by
the ancient Egyptians."

The last characteristic — an invincible determina-
tion to resist territorial encroachment — has made
the cat the light-weight champion of the world. It
was for this that Mr. Richard Garnett prized the
heroic Marigold, who in many a bitter fray had held
her wall, as Horatius held his bridge, defiant, daunt-
less, indomitable.

" She moved through the garden in glory, because
She had very long claws at the end of her paws.
Her back was arched, her tail was high,
A green fire glared in her vivid eye ;
And all the Toms, though never so bold,
Quailed at the martial Marigold."

Perpetual vigilance keeps the cat in such excel-
lent fighting order. Like a good athlete, she never
relaxes the exercise which preserves her marvel-
lous elasticity. Mr. Harrison Weir insists that her
reprehensible habit of clawing wood — a young tree
or a table leg being used indiscriminately — is not,
as Mr. Darwin and other naturalists have supposed,

292 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

a method of sharpening her claws ; but a necessary
process by which the muscles and tendons of her
feet are stretched, so that they may work readily
and strongly. ''The retraction of the claws for
lengthened periods," he says, " must tend to con-
tract the tendons ; therefore cats fix the points of
their claws in something soft, and bear downwards
with the whole weight of the body, simply to
stretch, and, by use, to strengthen the ligatures
that pull the claws forward."

So, too, the cruel playing with the injured mouse
is not mere sportiveness on Pussy's part. She dis-
ables her victim, and then lets it run, that she may
leap upon it again and again, thereby keeping her-
self in perfect practice. Stiffness of limb, slowness
of action, would soon mean for her no mouse and
no dinner. She dare not lose the supple spring
which secures her prey ; and the merciless game
she plays is really a military manoeuvre, taught her
by unpitying nature, and absolutely necessary —
like other military manoeuvres — if the business of
killing is to continue. Mrs. Wallace, in a pretty
paper on some cats of Oxford, tells us of a gallant
old Tom who did not believe in the arts of war, and
whose method of attack upon the alert young rob-
ins was purely British in its ingenuousness. " De-
spising cover, he galloped slowly down the garden
to the spot where the bird was feeding, and never

THE CAT TO-DAY 293

ceased to be surprised when its place was found
empty."

"C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la guerre."
Mr. Rule, who succeeded in crossing a domestic
cat of the tortoise-shell variety with a young wild
cat, found that the male kitten of this strangely as-
sorted pair was beyond measure quarrelsome and
fierce. Had he lived, he might have scaled heights
of wickedness unknown generally to his race, and
have rivalled that animal whom De Quincey re-
spected as a veritable assassin, not a mere slayer of
robins and rats. He died, however, in his lusty
youth, and his sister was as gentle and playful as
he had been sullen and violent. Both inherited
the beauty of their mother, and the superb activity
of their free-born sire.

"The human race," says an acute thinker, **may
be divided into people who love cats and people
who hate them ; the neutrals being few in numbers,
and, for intellectual and moral reasons, not worth
considering." This is true, even in our day of fee-
ble passions and lukewarm antagonisms. The old
inheritance of fear, the old association with evil,
still darken Pussy's pathway. That sick abhor-
rence which shook poor Ronsard's soul if a cat
but crossed his path, is not unknown in the twen-
tieth century ; and there are many who — strange
though it may appear — prefer their chimney cor-

294 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

ner empty of delight. We bear these persons con-
stantly complain, as did Ronsard to Remy Belleau,
that if a cat be in the room with them, she singles
them out to be the recipients of her attentions,
rubbing herself against their feet, and showing an
obstinate preference for their society.

" Et toutefois ceste hideuse beste
Se vint coucher tout aupres de ma teste,
Cherchant le mol d'un plumeux aureiller
Oil je soulois a gauche sommeiller :
Car volontiers a gauche je sommeille
Jusqu'au matm que le coq me reveille."

This is one of the traits of the impenetrable cat
nature to which we hold no key. The dog is
guided by a kindly instinct to the man or woman
whose heart is open to his advances. The cat often
leaves the friend who courts her, to honour, or to
harass, the unfortunate mortal who shudders at her
unwelcome caresses. There is an impish perversity
about the deed which recalls the snares of witch-
craft. So, too, does her uncanny habit of looking
with fixed gaze over one's shoulder at a dark corner
of the room, and turning her head slightly from
time to time, as her eyes follow the movements of
the unseen object in the shadows. When I am
alone of a winter's night, and oppressed by the
vague fear of life and death which haunt the soul
in moments of subjection, I find this steadfast stare

THE CAT TO-DAY 295

at a ghostly presence trying to the nerves. The
brilHancy of the cat's eyes, the narrowing of the
lids, the stern contraction of the brow, the deadly
repose of the whole figure, enhance the shadowy
spell by which she dominates that hour. Sir Walter
Scott, sanest and least cowardly of men, knew
whereof he spoke when he admitted that Hinse
was a mystery.

Whence, too, comes that impelling voice which
summons the cat to vagrancy ; which calls her
away from the warm fireside she loves, and from
the hearts that love her, to meet an unread fate ?
Why is it that this animal, seemingly more attached
than any other to her own hearthstone, should so
often bid it an abrupt and inexplicable farewell ^ I
knew of a cat who for eight long years was the
enthroned idol of a luxurious home. One morning
in early spring his mistress heard his voice raised
in plaintive notes from a stunted peach tree that
grew in the city garden. '* I was but too sure what
it meant," she said ; " Sir Charles was bidding me
good-by." She flung open the window, and looked
out. There he sat, and his great yellow eyes were
lifted mournfully to her face. Then he leaped
down, and was never seen again.

Another cat spent five successive winters under
a hospitable roof near New York ; but always de-
parted — none knew whither — about the middle

296 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

of April. No cajolery could persuade him to lin-
ger after his appointed time. He went, and the
household mourned his absence, until the first
bleak November days brought him back to resume
his old place by the fire. Like Persephone, he
seemed compelled to divide his year between two
homes and two claimants. He might have served, as
well as Demeter's daughter, to mark the relentless
succession of the seasons.

"Every one is aware," says Mr. Lang, *'that a
perfectly comfortable, well-fed cat will occasionally
come to his house and settle there, deserting a
family by whom it is lamented, and to whom it
could, if it chose, find its way back with ease. This
conduct is a mystery which may lead us to infer
that cats form a great secret society, and that they
come and go in pursuance of some policy connected
with education, or perhaps with witchcraft. We
have known a cat to abandon his home for years.
Once in six months he would return, and look
about him with an air of some contempt. 'Such,'
he seemed to say, 'were my humble beginnings.' "

The most curious instance of this strange trait
that ever came under my immediate notice occurred
a few years ago in Baltimore. A mother puss with
three young kittens made her appearance one morn-
ing at the door of a very enlightened and cat-loving
family. They were welcomed generously, not as

THE CAT TO-DAY 297

mendicants, but as honoured guests ; slipped easily
into the soft and pleasant grooves assigned to them,
and seemed very soon as much at home as if they
had been born and bred upon the spot. For nearly
four months they remained, and the three kittens
grew into three fine young cats. Then one day
they all disappeared as unaccountably as they had
come, and no one of them ever returned again.

These are not easy things to explain. We can
more readily understand an instinct which the cat
shares with the wild creatures of the woods, and
which bids her die alone. She seldom affords mate-
rial for the pitiful scenes which Gautier and Loti de-
scribe with so much art ; and even Moumoutte Chi-
noise tried to escape her master's eye, when she felt
the awful moment drawing near. There is some-
thing which commands our deepest respect in the
dignity and delicacy of spirit which impel this ani-
mal, however loved and pampered during life, to face
alone, and seeking help from none, the insult and
the agony of dissolution.

Even the exaggerated affection felt for the cat
by those who are sensitive to her charm, is not alto-
gether legitimate. In old days such exclusive and
ill-placed devotion lighted the witch's pyre. Now
we only laugh at each new proof of Pussy's in-
fluence, or wonder at the mental attitude of a wo-
man who can advertise in the London "Standard"

298 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

for live sparrows with which to feed her favourite.
More absurd, but far less repulsive, is this really
delightful notice which appeared some years ago
in a Berlin newspaper : —

" Wanted, by a lady of rank, for adequate re-
muneration, a few well-behaved and respectably
dressed children, to amuse a cat in delicate health
two or three hours a day."

One fears this to have been mistaken kind-
ness. Cats, even when robust, have scant liking
for the boisterous society of children, and are apt
to exert their utmost ingenuity to escape it. Nor
are they without adult sympathy in their prejudice.
" Augustus detested above all things going to bed
with little boys," writes Mr. Kenneth Grahame,
and who shall blame Augustus .-* The poor Ber-
lin invalid, so strenuously entertained, might have
sympathized — had he but known — with the court
of Versailles, when it heard the formal announce-
ment which preluded " Athalie : " '' Mesdames and
Messieurs, the King graciously requests you to be
amused."

A gentleman, living alone in one of our Southern
cities, recently brought suit against his next-door
neighbour for alienating the affections of his cat.
It was set forth in the testimony that the plaintiff
had — and desired — no other companionship save
that of a beautiful Maltese pussy, who, being of a

THE CAT TO-DAY 299

loving and domestic nature, spent all her evenings
contentedly by her master's side. This tranquil
life had lasted several years when, in an unhappy
hour, a widow rented the adjoining house. The
cat made incursions over the wall, was received
with flattering attentions, and began to spend her
days under the gayer roof. These journeys mat-
tered little at first, as the unsuspicious gentleman,
who was away at his office from morning until
night, was well pleased to have his darling looked
after during his absence, and only demanded her
prompt appearance at dinner time. Soon, however,
Pussy refused to return in the evenings, and, when
brought forcibly back, sulked and glowered in cor-
ners until she could again escape. The widow aided
and abetted her in this unnatural conduct, firmly
maintaining that a cat of intelligence had a right to
choose her friends and her surroundings. There-
fore the deserted plaintiff, wounded in his tenderest
feelings, and unable — as in the good old days —
to charge his neighbour with bewitching his pet,
entered suit against her, and was liberally laughed
at for his pains. It is not only in the " Arabian
Nights," and in the merciless comedies of France,
that the inconstancy of the female heart has moved
the world to mirth.

Yet, jest as we may, we know very well that those
men and women — few in numbers — who are en-

300 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

dowed with what Mr. Peacock called ''the faculty
of stayathomeitiveness," find their best ally in the
cat. How many quiet and thoughtful hours have
been shared by this little friend who never disturbs
our musings, nor resents our preoccupation ? It is
not in superb catteries that she develops her most
winning traits, but by the quiet fireside, however
humble, where she rules alone. Her gentler aspects,
the sweetness of her domesticity, are then abun-
dantly revealed. Nor is it beauty which best en-
ables her to win and hold hearts, but rather some
fine charm of personality, too intangible to be
analyzed. I knew a London cat of middle-class
parentage, who wore an unassuming coat of brin-
dled grey, and whom a fancier would have regarded
with scorn. He was christened William Penn, in
deference to his Quaker costume, and to the City
of Brotherly Love, which it was never his fortune
to see. He possessed a few accomplishments, but
was far too reserved to flaunt them before stran-
gers; and his manners were marked by simple good
taste rather than by any flattering warmth of de-
monstration. His surroundings were artistic, and
he had been accustomed from kittenhood to hear
much brilliant conversation ; yet there was no taint
of Bohemianism in the unfailing vivacity which ap-
peared to be his sovereign attraction. That cat was
so dearly loved, so deeply mourned, that the shadow

THE CAT TO-DAY 301

cast by his tragic death lingered heavily for months
over the household he had graced, and over the lit-
tle circle of friends he had honoured with his confi-
dence and affection. No one knew the secret of his
charm ; he carried it to his grave, — his little pitiful
grave in the heart of London ; but, while he lived,
he added his share to the unconscious gayety of life.
There are many pretty stories about cats, and
many graceful allusions to them scattered lightly
through literature, and familiar to those whose wan-
dering attention can always be fixed by so irresisti-
ble a spell. Gautier wrote the fantastic " Paradis
des Chats ; " and Zola borrowed the title for a de-
lightful story of a pampered pussy, who grew so
tired of dulness and luxury that he ran away with
a vagabond acquaintance for one long delicious day
of liberty, at the close of which, jaded, spent,
starved, and broken, he crept meekly back to bond-
age and his evening cutlet. Those of us who read
in our youth that most dismal of novels, " Eugene
Aram," will not easily forget the Corporal's cat,
Jacobina, inasmuch as this truculent animal affords
the only gleam of amusement vouchsafed us in the
whole mournful tale. A somewhat similar sensa-
tion of relief is associated with the very charming
cat who makes her transient appearance in the first
chapters of " Robert Elsmere," and disappears for-
ever when the atmosphere becomes surcharged with

302 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

theology. Mr. Froude, following the example of
Hoifmann, has selected Pussy to be the interpreter
of much philosophy, admirable of its kind, but
alien to the feline heart. The cat's scheme of life
is curiously complete. Centuries have gone into
the moulding of it. She knew many years before
the wise Marcus Aurelius that it was possible to
have no opinion upon a subject, and to remain un-
troubled in her mind.

Letters and memoirs are especially rich in
pleasant glimpses into Pussy's varying fortunes.
We see her under so many aspects, and amid so
many contrasted surroundings ; — now dozing at
Tennyson's feet, now " walking tiptoe " over Alfred
de Musset's papers, now flitting through Heine's
dreams. It is Heine who tells us that, when he
was a child, his little friend and playfellow, Wilhelm,
ran into a swift deep stream to rescue a cat, and
was drowned, — "the cat, however, living a long
time after."

In the life of Robert Stephen Hawker, the very
clever and eccentric Vicar of Morwenstow, we find
that he was usually followed to church by nine or
ten cats, who entered the chancel with him and
careered about during the service, affording what
must have been a welcome distraction to the youth-
ful members of the congregation. Mr. Hawker
would pause every now and then, while preaching

THE CAT TO-DAY 303

or reading the prayers, to pat these small parishion-
ers, and scratch them under their chins, or perhaps
cuff them gently, if their vivacity prompted them to
unseemly gambols. One enyies the children of
Morwenstow, who, alone perhaps of all the chil-
dren in England, must have felt downright enjoy-
ment in going to church.

More pleasant still, because more in keeping
with the cat's natural instincts, which are domestic
rather than devout, is this little picture drawn by
Mr. William Rossetti from the recollections of his
childhood, and told in the life of his brother, Dante
Gabriel Rossetti.

" In all my earlier years I used frequently to see
my father come home in the dusk, rather fagged
with his round of teaching ; and, after dining, he
would lie down flat on the hearth-rug, close by the
fire, snoring vigorously. Beside him would stand
up our old familiar tabby cat, poised on her
haunches, and holding on by her fore-claws inserted
into the fender-wires, warming her furry front.
Her attitude (I have never seen any feline imitation
of it) was peculiar, — somewhat in the shape of
a capital Y. ' The cat making the Y ' was my
father's phrase for this performance. She was the
mother of a numerous progeny. One of her
daughters — also long an inmate of our house —
was a black and white cat named Zoe by my elder

304 THE FIRESIDE SPHINX

sister Maria, who had a fancy for anything Greek-
ish ; but Zoe never made a Y."

Always by the fireside, always basking in light
and warmth, always in graceful harmony with her
surroundings (it has been well said that no house is
really furnished without books and cats and fair-
haired little girls), always a pleasure to every well-
regulated mind. Pussy fills her place in life with
that rare perfection which is possible only to a
creature delicately modelled, and begirt by inflexi-
ble limitations. We are soothed by her repose ;
she is unfretted by our restlessness. A fine invisi-
ble barrier lies between us. She is the Sphinx of
our hearthstone, and there is no message we can
read in the tranquil scrutiny of her cold eyes.

Once, long ago, a little grey cat sat on my desk
while I wrote, swept her tail across my copy, or
patted with friendly paw my pen as it travelled
over the paper. Even now I put out my hand
softly to caress the impalpable air, for her spirit
still lingers in the old accustomed spot. I see her
sitting erect and motionless in the superb attitude
of her Egyptian forefathers, her serious eyes heavy
with thought, her lids drooping a little over the
golden depths below. After a time they close, and
her pretty head nods drowsily ; but, like a perverse
child, she resists the impelling power, straightens

THE CAT TO-DAY

305

herself, and flings a glance at me which says, " You
see how wide awake I am." Then very, very slowly,
sleep touches her with soft, persuasive finger. She
sinks down, down ; the small proud head is lowered ;
the gleaming eyes are shut ; a half-articulate purr
grows fainter and fainter until it melts impercepti-
bly into the soft and regular breathing which be-
trays her slumber. I stop my work and look at
her, or rather I look at her ghost, the inspiration of
this poor book, written to do her honour. It is
finished now, and Agrippina sleeps. I lay it gen-
tly down before the shadowy presence. It is her
password to Elysium. It is my offering to her,
and hers to the Immortals, that they may give her
place. She has waited for it seven years. Little
grey phantom, haunt me no longer with reproachful
eyes. I have kept my word. I have done my best.
And the book belongs to you.

ElectrotyPed and printed by H. O. Houghton dr» Co.
Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.

Date Due

filOVM

?!?.. 1- --^V

nN-f'^i

t*<ii

b)ijLMjt^

%-\*^S-tf'K^

h(^-.2-.J i>

■ ^

"/it^:-

?

DEC 13 '60

1/

JAN -

t' (9.70,

APR %

|1^

■

J,

^N 1 6 20(

17

■»

1

•

■

f)

i

/

BOSTON COLLEGE

.... JIIIL 3
3 9031 0164993U ci

QLy9r.c^n/ 57740

rfOVl4b fr^^^ BORROWER'S NAME

^-— ^ -LLrJI_

BOSTON ^^EGE LIBRARY

UNIVERSITY HEIGHTS

CHESTNUT-Hltdb. MASS.

Books may be kept for two weeks and may
be renewed for thei same period, unless re-
served.

Two cents a day is chr .ged for each book
kept overtime.

If you cannot fine' what you want, ask the
Ivibrarian who will .e glad to help you.

The borrower is responsible for books drawn
on his card and for all fines accruing on the
same.

i '