“Since then, monsieur,” continued M. Bonnetty, after a moment’s sorrowful silence, “I have made one great resolution: I have now only sultanas in my troupe, and the keepers of the harem.” [Illustration] Like Bidel, who introduced a sheep into the cage with his lions, M. Bonnetty has forced his cats to live in harmony with mice and birds. A flock of Dutch canaries is perched upon a cord stretched across the circus; near them some white mice and dappled grey rats are quietly resting. The tamer then opens the door of the cats’ palace, and in Indian file all the band of artists, _Thiber_, _Jano_, _Moor_, _Edward_, _Paris_, _Brussel_, _Boulanger_, _Djeh_, _Brutus_, and _César_, march slowly out [p131] striding over the rodents and birds, some of which fly off and fearlessly return, alighting on the heads of the cats. [Illustration] The first interviews between a new rat and a new cat are really amusing. M. Bonnetty delicately holds each of his pupils by the skin of the neck, and forces them to look at each other, at first holding them at a respectful distance, but afterwards gradually drawing them nearer together, until at last they can touch each other’s nose. “This proves,” M. Bonnetty said to me, “that the worst enemies are always interested in knowing each other.” I remember that we parted after this philosophic reflection. I went home and found my own cat lying before the smouldering fire. He was asleep, crouched in his usual sphinx-like attitude. I approached him gently and said: “My friend, hitherto I have misunderstood you. I beg your pardon. “The friendship of so many great men who, from Théophile Gautier to Sylvestre Bonnard, have venerated you as a god, might have warned me that I was wrong to distrust you. “Forgive me. Bonnetty has proved to me that you are neither indocile nor cruel; henceforth I will live with you in greater intimacy, on terms of confidential affection.” And whilst pussy purred loudly in the warmth of the dying embers, I bent over him and softly murmured, like a religious invocation, the beautiful sonnet written by Jules Lemaître, the gentle friend of cats and of myself: [p132] [Illustration] Mon chat, hôte sacré de ma vieille maison, De ton dos électrique arrondis la souplesse, Viens te pelotonner sur mes genoux, et laisse Que je plonge mes doigts dans ta chaude toison. Ferme à demi, les reins émus d’un long frisson, Ton œil vert qui me raille et pourtant me caresse, Ton œil vert semé d’or qui, chargé de paresse, M’observe d’ironique et bénigne façon. Tu n’as jamais connu, philosophe, ô vieux frère, La fidélité sotte et bruyante du chien; Tu m’aimes cependant, et mon cœur le sent bien. Ton amour clairvoyant et peut-être éphémère Me plaît; et je salue en toi, calme penseur, Deux exquises vertus: scepticisme et douceur.