THE CAT IN ART 117 



they have little 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 nierely 

 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 



