At the Folies Bergère a lioness was at one time exhibited by Colonel Bone, who was taking her round the world. This animal was so savage that it was necessary to chain her into [p147] the cage with an iron collar. When the colonel merely passed near the den she would fling herself against the bars with such fury that the whole car trembled. But one day one of the managers of the theatre was inspecting the side scenes and witnessed the following incident: the colonel’s servant was installed in the cage, quietly painting a background of savannah on a canvas stretched over the floor. The lioness was unchained and watched him as a dog watches a fisherman, stealthily licking the green paint from time to time; the result being an attack of colic which nearly sent her to roar in another world. [Illustration] I, who now address you, have entered a black-maned lion’s cage quite recently. Oh! do not exclaim at my heroism. A great many people have visited this captive king of the desert; first, Tartarin, then all the Marseillais, then Mademoiselle Roselia Rousseil, who on a similar occasion dedicated a poem to Bidel, entitled, _La Mort du Lion, ou le Dompteur_ [p148] _par Amour_ (_The Lion’s Death; or, The Tamer by Love_), which commenced with these lines: C’est un vaillant dompteur, jamais il ne recule. Son corps semble pétri par les dieux; l’on croit voir La grâce d’Apollon dans la force d’Hercule. Pour moi, j’aime surtout son grand œil doux si noir.[7] I did not visit the lion in order to write verses to him. I merely wished to be introduced to him because I knew that I should have to mention him to you. It was a scruple of professional honesty on my part. Here is a true account of the interview without any embellishment. The lion-tamer, with whom I had a short previous conference, answered for the safety of the attempt. “You must wait,” he said, “in the entrance to the door until I call you.” He then entered the cage in a familiar way, and as the lion was asleep, he pulled it by the ears. When the beast, who at first grumbled a little, was sitting up and seemed composed again, my companion called to me: “Come in, now!” I went in cautiously at the back, taking two steps forward, so that I might still be nearer to the door than to the lion. I must own that the desert king did not honour me by even turning his head. He was talking to his tamer. The two gentlemen left me standing, and I looked rather like a bootmaker waiting for orders from a nobleman. [p149] Man is a coward. The lion’s contempt gave me courage. I advanced a step so that I could touch the leg of the beast. [Illustration] “Oh!” I said, “how silky it is!” It was not silky at all, it was abominably harsh.