Part 12 (1/2)

I might have spared myself this worry, for, from the time he sat down at the table, he talked of little else than cats and dogs. He loves all animals. I liked him for that, and one could see that he preferred them to any other topic.

I can't remember all the nonsense he talked. In appearance I think he must resemble Charles d.i.c.kens. I have only seen the latter's photographs; but had he not rather a skimpy hair brushed any which way and a stringy beard?

I fancied him so to myself. At any rate, Gautier looks like the d.i.c.kens of the photographs.

He said he had eight or ten cats who ate with him at the table; each had its own place and plate, and never by any chance made a mistake and sat in another cat's place or ate off another cat's plate. He was sure that they had a heaven and a h.e.l.l of their own, where they went after their death, according to their deserts, and that they had souls and consciences. All his cats had cla.s.sical names, and he talked to them as if they were human beings. He said they understood every word he said. He also quoted some of his conversation with them, which must have sounded very funny:

”Cleopatra, have you been in the kitchen drinking milk on the sly?

”Cleopatra puts her tail between her legs and her ears back and looks most guilty, and I know then what the cook told me was true.”

Then again: ”Julius Caesar, you were out extremely late last night. What were you doing?” He said that when he made these reproaches Julius Caesar would get down from his chair and, with his tail high in the air, would rub himself against his legs, as much as to say he would never do it again.

”Depend upon it,” he added, ”they know everything we do, and more.”

I asked, ”When Julius Caesar comes from his nocturnal walks is he _gris_ (tipsy)?”

”Gris! Que voulez-vous dire?”

”You once wrote a poem (how proud I was that I had recollected it), 'A minuit tous les chats sont gris.'”

”C'est vrai, mais je parlais des Schahs de Perse.”

”Est-ce que tous les Schahs de Perse sont gris a minuit?”

”Madame, tous les Schahs de Perse que j'ai eu l'honneur de voir a minuit ont ete gris comme des Polonais.”

”But the 'chats' you wrote about go mewing on roofs at midnight. Do the Schahs de Perse do that?”

”Did I write that?” said he. ”Then I must have meant cats. You are very inquisitive, Madame.”

”I confess I am,” I answered. ”You see, that poem of yours has been set to music, and I sing it; and you may imagine that I want to know what I am singing about. One must sing with an entirely different expression if one sings of gray cats or of tipsy Persian sovereigns.”

He laughed and asked, with an innocent look, ”Do you think I could have meant that at midnight nothing has any particular color--that everything is gray?”

”I don't know what you meant; but please tell me what you want me to believe, because I believe everything I am told. I am so nave.”

”You nave! You are the most _blasee_ person I ever met.”

”I _blasee_! I! What an idea!”

Such an idea could only emanate from a poet's brain with an extra-poetical poet's license. I was very indignant, and told him so, and said, ”Est-ce que tous les poetes sont fous a cette heure de la soiree?”

”Vous voyez,” he retorted, ”you are not only _blasee_; you are sarcastic.”

I enjoyed my dinner immensely in spite of being _blasee_, and Gautier's fun and amusing talk lasted until we were back in the salon. The Emperor approached us while we were still laughing, and began to talk to us. I told him that Monsieur Gautier had said that I was _blasee_. The Emperor exclaimed: ”Vous blasee! Il faut y mettre beaucoup de bonne volonte pour etre blasee a votre age!”

I said I did not know whether to be angry or not with him.

”Be angry with him,” answered the Emperor. ”He deserves it.”