THE CAT 



tude of neutrality towards a beast whose most 

 striking characteristic is indifference. This is 

 especially the case with French authors. From 

 the shuddering cry of Ronsard, 



" No living man, of things beneath the sky, 

 Can hate a cat more bitterly than I ; 

 I hate its eyes, its face, its very stare;" 



to the fervent lines of Baudelaire, whose love for 

 his cats was a fantastic passion, we find much that 

 is beautiful, but little that is temperate. " Only 

 a Frenchman," observes M. Gautier, " can under- 

 stand the subtle organization of a cat." Only a 

 Frenchman can write about his cats in minute de- 

 tail, with delicate sympathy, and with a high 

 quality of imagination. The Germans have been 

 prompt to recognize Pussy's mysterious personal- 

 ity, and keenly alive to her domestic usefulness; 

 but they have seldom sought to make of her a 

 friend. 



In England and in America the cat's progress 

 to favour has been slow and sure. A hundred 

 years lie between Miss Joanna Baillie's 



— " careful, comely, mousing cat," 



and Mr. Swinburne's 



" Stately, kindly, lordly friend," 

 xvi 



