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 ha'isse 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- 



