above suspicion, being none other than old Jenny, the donkey. She was a
most learned antiquarian, and had lived to a very advanced age before
she had finally settled her opinion upon the merits of the question.
But, being an ass of well-balanced mind, and entirely impartial between
the two races, I believe that she fairly stated the arguments on both
sides, and that her accuracy may be thoroughly relied on.
She went on to relate to me chronicles of the past, which I found most
interesting; and it is with a view to the better understanding, by
those who care to read them, of those chronicles, that I have ventured
to give the above preliminary facts upon the authority of this
venerable quadruped.
There was a time, she said, when dogs and cats were certainly upon
better terms than at the present day. It was a happier time for both,
she had no doubt; but still, being but a donkey, and very humble, she
did not wish to put forward her opinion as by any means conclusive upon
that or any other point. She could not recollect the time when the two
races were positively upon friendly terms, but she believed such a time
to have existed, and that within the memory of ravens, if not of asses.
There was a curious legend which had been told her by a tinker's
donkey, who had been a great traveller, and knew more than most of his
kind, though there was, as a rule, much more knowledge among donkeys
than men supposed. This particular donkey, however, had seen and
learned in his travels a great deal more than many men; who, when they
travel abroad, only seem to try how far they can go, and when they
arrive at a city, live with their own fellow-countrymen as much as they
can, import their own method of life into foreign countries, instead of
living as the people of the country do; and come home again with a very
small addition to the knowledge with which they started.
The tinker's donkey, being of a very different cast of character, and
much given to careful and attentive observation of all he saw in the
various places he visited, always brought home a vast deal of useful
information, with which he never refused to enliven his brother asses
as they enjoyed a friendly bray over their thistles. And it was during
one of these long journeys of his that he picked up the legend which he
told old Jenny, and which she generously imparted to me.
At a remote period of history--no matter exactly when and no matter
exactly where--perfect love and harmony existed between the two great
races of dog and cat. There was neither jealousy nor rivalry between
them; and, indeed, why should there have been such at any period of
time?
Dogs have ever preferred bones, or portions of the carcasses of
slaughtered animals, to any other food; whilst, to cats, the flesh of
the mouse, disdained as a rule by the canine species, and the tender
breast of the newly-fledged bird, form more attractive feasts.
True it is, that both races are fond of milk, but there is nothing in
that single similarity of taste to excite ill-feeling and bitterness;
and no dog ever clashed with the love of the cat for fish, nor have
cats the same partiality for biscuits which some of the other race have
frequently displayed.
Then, again, their pursuits in life are of a somewhat different
character, those of the dog being more varied than those of the feline
species. The sheep-dog guards with vigilance the flock entrusted to his
care; the foxhound follows his prey with keen scent and unfailing
ardour; the greyhound stretches his lanky form in eager pursuit of the
unfortunate hare; the mastiff, seated in front of his kennel in the
backyard, warns the inmates of the house of the approach of beggars or
persons of doubtful character: the pug-dog, the terrier, the
pomeranian, all have their separate employments and varied uses, in
none of which does a cat seek to share, and with none of which does she
ever wish to interfere.
The cat, on the other hand, has amusements and occupations to a great
extent peculiar to herself. She loves to bask in the sun, upon the
window-sill if such be available, on fine days, and in wet or cold
weather to nestle snugly upon the hearthrug. When she goes out, it is
not to run here and there and everywhere, after the fearless and
sometimes intrusive manner of the dog. She prefers to steal quietly and
leisurely along, placing her velvety feet softly upon the ground, and
peering round on each side of her, to see that the country is secure.
Crawling along the top of a wall, or creeping up the stem of a tree,
she strives to capture the unwary bird, who may afford her sport and
amusement first, and a meal afterwards. Or, seated demurely in some
corner of a room or near some tree, where mice frequent, she does not
object to watch patiently, whilst minutes and hours pass away, in the
hope of at last finding an opportunity to pounce upon her favourite
victim. With all this no dog has any reason to interfere, and none has
ever attempted to rival the cat in the pursuit of bird or mouse.
Again: dogs are more apt to attach themselves to the persons of men or
women, cats more readily become attached to the places in which they
have lived; so that, once for all, if we consider the nature, the
character, and the habits of these two great races, we shall, I am
confident, come to the conclusion that there can be no real cause for
their natural enmity, but that, in the great scheme of creation, they
were intended to be upon as friendly and harmonious terms as was
certainly the case at the time of which we now speak.
Such were the reflections of Jenny, and I am inclined to endorse them
all, and to think that I see the confirmation of their truth in the
legend which I am about to tell as she told to me.
It chanced that at this time a worthy couple possessed an animal of
each sort, of which they were extremely fond. The dog was a handsome,
black, curly fellow; of what particular breed I don't know, but this
description of him sounds as if he was a Romney-Marsh retriever, or
something of the sort. The cat was a tortoise-shell, and one of the
most perfect specimens of her kind; with glossy fur, elegantly-shaped
body, and tail like a fox's brush, which swept the ground as she
walked.
Jenny did not know the names of the worthy couple who owned these
animals; and in fact I have noticed that, in most of the stories which
animals have told me from time to time, men and women are made to play
a very subordinate part, and are indeed for the most part considered as
altogether inferior beings by the excellent animals of and by whom the
stories are told. Thus, in the present instance, although the good ass
knew perfectly well that the dog's name was Rover, and the cat's Effie,
she knew no more than an ignorant calf might have done of the names of
the people with whom they lived. Nay, if I remember rightly, her
expression was that, "Some people lived in and kept the house in which
Rover and Effie dwelt;" so that very likely the donkey, and perhaps the
animals themselves, considered that the premises belonged to
themselves, and that the man and woman were merely lodgers on
sufferance.
And very likely, as a matter of fact, this is the actual view
entertained by many of our animals--horses, dogs, cats, possibly even
pigs and chickens--at the present day, if we did but know it. Perhaps
it is as well we do not, as we might consider our supremacy challenged
and our rights invaded, and this might make us less kind to the poor
animals, which would be very sad.
I should not wonder, however, if it was the truth; for I am sure our
servants--or some of them--have firmly-rooted convictions that our
houses and everything in them, are at least as much, if not more,
theirs than ours, and some of us give in to them very much as if we
thought so too. So I do not see why the four-legged creatures, as well
as the two-legged, should not think the same thing,--and perhaps they
do.
Rover and Effie, as I have said, lived in this house, which, to put the
matter in a way not likely to be offensive to anybody, was also
inhabited by an old couple--I mean a man and his wife; because, of
course, "a couple" might, standing alone, mean a couple of ducks, or a
couple of fowls, or rabbits, or anything else of the kind. But it was a
man and his wife, and they had no children, and they were very fond of
the dog and cat, and petted them both exceedingly. They passed very
happy lives, having very little to trouble themselves about, and being
possessed of a comfortable home, and plenty of agreeable neighbours.
Rover and Effie used to walk out together, and were for some time, as
most of their respective races were, the very best of friends. Neither
of them would have suffered a strange dog or cat to breathe a syllable
against the other; and in their tastes, thoughts, and actions, they
were as much allied as was possible under the circumstances.
Things continued in this happy condition until an old weasel, who lived
in the immediate neighbourhood, cast his envious and malicious eye upon
the two friends and determined it possible to interrupt their amicable
relations. He had his own reasons for so doing.
The family of weasels, though of ancient lineage and old blood, had
never been considered as particularly respectable. In fact they had
always been a set of arrant scamps. The rats and rabbits complained
bitterly of their intrusive habits, and extremely disliked their
abominable practice of entering the holes used by other animals, and
carrying blood and murder into homes that were otherwise peaceful and
contented. The hens also raised their homely cackle in the same strain,
and counting egg-sucking as among the worst of crimes, brought heavy
charges against the weasels on that account. In fact, no one had a good
word for the little animals, except indeed their cousins the stoats,
and some of the unclean sorts of birds, to wit, the jay, the magpie and
the carrion crow, who themselves lived chiefly by thieving.
The weasel had a great jealousy of the cat, because she interfered with
him in the matter of rats, mice, and small birds, to all of which he
was partial; and he also saw in the dog a rival as regarded rabbits.
Whilst the two remained in such close alliance, he thought that they
were able to wield a power which, although not actively exerted against
himself, was little likely to be ever used in his favour; and he
therefore resolved to lessen that power if he possibly could, by sowing
the seeds of discord between the hitherto friendly animals. But clever
as he was, the weasel racked his brains in vain for a long time. He
could think of nothing which would effect his object, and could satisfy
himself with no plan by which he might approach the two animals with
that intent.
It would not, indeed, have been hard for him to have entered the house
by the means open to him, namely, a drain or a rat's hole, of which
there were several. But, should he do so, he ran the greatest risk of
having his intentions mistaken, and of suddenly falling a victim to one
of the very two animals with whom (though not from any kindly feeling)
he wished to communicate. The same fear prevented his accosting them
during their walks, for he could not tell but that they might turn upon
him and seize him before he could escape. Direct communication, then,
appeared to be out of the question; and he accordingly resolved to seek
a confederate, through whom he might perchance accomplish his wicked
ends.
So he went to a neighbouring magpie, knowing the love of meddling which
characterises that class of birds, and sought her aid in his scheme.
The magpie was a very wary and cunning bird, and would not trust
herself within paws' length of the weasel, for although she knew that,
happily for herself, she was not a morsel which even a weasel could eat
with relish, yet she was also well aware of the bloodthirsty nature of
the animal, and thought it better not to expose him to the temptation
of getting her neck into his mouth. So she sat up in the old hawthorn
tree, and chattered away to herself, whilst the little animal came
underneath and tried to attract her attention.
When at last she condescended to see him, she would not enter upon
business for some time, but, like many persons who, not being blameless
themselves, are very ready to blame other people, chattered away to him
for a good five minutes upon the subject of his general bad behaviour,
and read him a lesson upon morality, coupled with a homily upon the sin
of thieving, which would have come admirably from the beak of a
respectable rook, but was very ill-placed in that of a notorious bad
liver and evil-doer like the magpie.
The weasel, however, keeping his object steadily in view, heard her
remarks with great apparent politeness, although as a matter of fact
her advice (like that which many better people give, both in and out of
season) went in at one of his ears and out at the other, and produced
not the smallest effect upon his future conduct. When her chatter came
at last to an end, he unfolded the nature of his business and asked her
counsel and assistance in the matter.
Now the magpie was by no means friendly to the dog and cat, having an
idea that they were better off in their worldly affairs than she was,
which is always a sufficient cause for evil-minded people to dislike
others. So she had no objection at all to enter upon a scheme which
might annoy and injure them, and indeed her natural love of mischief
would have prompted her to do so, had she had no other feeling in the
matter. Having always, however, an eye to the main chance, she asked
the weasel what she should gain by the transaction, and having been
faithfully promised the eye-picking out of the first twelve young
rabbits he should catch, she at once consented to go into the business.
The idea of the two confederates was to create in the first place a
coldness between the dog and cat, by means of inducing the couple
already mentioned, to show greater favour to one than the other.
Here, however, arose another difficulty. How could either weasel or
magpie obtain access to a man and woman, or in any shape exercise an
influence over their conduct and actions? The idea was so preposterous
that they had to give it up.
Then came the question whether they could not persuade either the cat
or dog to do something which would offend and annoy the other, either
by being opposed to his or her feelings and prejudices, or being
actually unpleasant and disagreeable. If they could only settle on
something of this kind, it did not appear so impossible to carry out
the plan. The weasel need not be seen in the matter, and would incur no
such personal danger as that to which he might have been exposed by any
scheme which entailed his actual communication with the enemy. The
thing must be done by the magpie, who, seated upon the roof of the
house, or in an adjacent tree, could converse with either cat or dog
without the smallest risk, and was sly and crafty enough to poison the
minds of both.
So it was agreed that this should be the course taken, and what was to
be the precise form of the magpie's address will be speedily gathered
from the story.
The two innocent animals who were the object of this nefarious plot
upon the part of creatures so vastly inferior to themselves, were all
the while quite unconscious of the conspiracy which was being hatched
against them. They went on just the same, and were as friendly as ever.
Nor was their harmony disturbed by the introduction into the household
of a small poodle, whom somebody gave to the mistress of the house, and
who rather amused them than otherwise by his curious antics and
grotesque behaviour. He was a curious dog, and had some funny tricks,
but old Jenny said that she never heard that there was much against
him, or that he had any concern in the wicked plot of the weasel and
the magpie.
Having fully determined upon the plan to be pursued, the crafty pair of
rascals waited until they could hit upon a time when the cat and dog
were not together. The opportunity soon occurred. One fine morning the
human occupier of the house (who laboured under the strange but, among
human beings, not uncommon delusion that the place and all that it
contained belonged to him) went out for a walk in the country,
accompanied, as was frequently the case, by honest Rover.
The sun was shining so brightly that Mrs. Effie thought that she had
better make the most of it, and get some fresh air at the same time,
with no more exertion than was necessary. So she climbed quietly up on
the window-sill, stretched herself at full length thereupon, and basked
luxuriously in the warm rays of the sun.
Seeing her thus enjoying herself, the magpie flew leisurely into an
apple tree which grew near the house, and began to chatter in a way
which was certain to attract the cat's attention before long. After a
little while Effie began to wink and blink her eyes, move her ears
against the woodwork on which she lay, and appear as if disturbed by
the noise. Presently she lifted up her head, shook it, and sneezed
violently.
"Bless you, Pussy," immediately said the magpie from the apple tree.
Effie looked at her in some surprise.
"Many thanks," she said; "the more so, indeed, since I do not happen to
have the pleasure of your acquaintance."
"More's the pity," replied the bird; "but that is no reason why I
should refrain from giving a civil blessing to a person who happens to
sneeze, for you know well enough that if you sneeze three times without
someone blessing you, evil is sure to follow within the week."
"Indeed," answered the cat, somewhat coldly, for she hardly approved of
being addressed by a mere bird, and that, too, a perfect stranger, in
such a familiar manner. "Indeed, I am sure you are very kind."
And she laid her head calmly down again upon the windowsill. But the
magpie was not to be daunted, and determined not to lose the
opportunity which she had so carefully sought.
"Although you don't know me," continued she, "which is not surprising,
considering that you move in high circles, whilst I am only, as one may
say, a humble drudge among the inferior parts of creation, it does not
follow, madam, that I am not well acquainted with _you_, and have long
wished to obtain your friendship. The beauty of your fur, the elegant
shape of your body, the graceful action with which you move, and, above
all, the sweetness of your voice (which I have sometimes been fortunate
enough to hear at nights), have all made an impression upon me which
will not easily be removed. I only wish I might know you better."
As the bird spoke, she hopped from twig to twig of the apple-tree,
until she came within easy speaking distance of Effie, and lowered her
voice so as to make it less harsh, and more impressive in conversation.
Now cats, as is well known to the attentive student of natural history,
are by no means averse to flattery. It has sometimes been said that the
same is true of women, but this is by no means fair as a general
description of the latter, many of them cordially disliking it, and
taking it as anything but a compliment when men bespangle them with
empty flattery, instead of carrying on sensible conversation, and
treating them like reasonable beings. But it is undoubtedly true of
cats. Three things they can never resist: cream, scratching their
heads, and flattery; and as the magpie had no cream, and forbore to
attempt scratching the cat's head for reasons of her own, she fell
back, as we have seen, upon flattery.
Effie listened, it must be confessed, with pleasure, and drank in the
words of the magpie as greedily as if they had been inspired by the
undoubted spirit of truth. As a matter of fact, her elegance of body,
beauty of fur, and gracefulness of action might all have been fairly
conceded to be matters of opinion, in which many would have agreed with
the magpie. But as to the beauty of her voice, anybody who has ever
lain awake at night and listened to a concert of cats upon the adjacent
roofs will be inclined to stop his ears at the bare recollection of it,
and to confess that the magpie must have well known that she was
telling a--well, a tarradiddle.
Strange to say, however, the allusion to her voice touched and pleased
Effie more than anything else in the magpie's speech, and this the
cunning bird had fully expected. She knew cat nature well, which
differs but little from human nature in this respect, that people very
often fancy themselves to possess some talent or virtue, in which they
are, as a matter of fact, deficient, and not unfrequently, whilst
priding themselves upon the fancied possession, neglect to cultivate
and develop some other quality which they really have, and which might
be made much more useful to themselves and others.
So Effie was proud of her voice--where there was nothing to be proud
of--and extremely pleased to hear it praised by the magpie, whom she
instantly set down in her mind as an evidently respectable and
well-informed bird, and one whose acquaintance it might be well to
make. Without lifting her head, however, or disturbing the position of
her body, which was so placed as to get as much sun as possible, she
replied in a languid tone of voice:
"You are really very kind, Madam Magpie, and I am far from wishing to
decline the acquaintance you offer."
The magpie broke in at once in a quick chatter, her words tumbling one
over another as if they could not get fast enough out of her beak.
"Oh, how good, and kind, and nice, and polite, and generous, and
affable, and altogether charming you are! I have often watched you
sunning on the window-sill or strolling about the gardens, or looking
out for mice, or amusing yourself in one way or another, and I have
always looked, and longed, and hoped, and wished, and wondered if I
might make so bold as to speak to such a grand, lady-like, beautiful,
queenly creature; and when I've heard your voice, I've often said to
myself, 'Here's music, and melody, and taste, and feeling, and harmony,
and everything that is delightful in sound, and if the lady would only
learn singing (though little learning it is she wants), and take it up
as a profession, how happy the world and everybody in it would be made:
and what so pleasant as to make people happy with the good gifts we
have, and who has more than she?'"
As the magpie rattled on, Effie felt more and more pleased, and became
still more strongly convinced than before that the bird was a superior
creature, who had well used her opportunities, and possessed opinions
which were entitled to great weight.
Meantime the weasel, who was listening to the conversation from an old
rat's hole in which he had hidden hard by, was fit to kill himself with
laughter when he heard the flattery of his ally, and how the cat took
it all in.
The latter now raised not only her head but her body, and sat up upon
the window-ledge, looking with friendly glance at the old bird in the
tree.
"Really," she said, in rather an affected tone, "really, you think too
well of me--you do indeed--but now you speak of it, I _have_ (so my
friends say at least) something of a voice, and have often thought of
cultivating it more than I have hitherto done. But all are not of the
same opinion, and I know that my friend Rover the dog thinks
differently."
Here the magpie quickly interposed.
"Oh the jealousy of this wicked world and of them dogs in particular!
To hear that black, ugly, shaggy animal howl at the moon, or what not,
of a night. I declare if it isn't enough to drive one crazy; and for
such an animal as _that_ to think anything but good of your lovely,
sweet, tuneful, angelic notes! 'Tis really shocking to think he should
do so--but envy and meanness, my dear creature, and malice and jealousy
was ever in the hearts of dogs--forgive me that I should say so,
knowing as how you live in the same house and bear with him as you do."
These words rather gave Effie a new idea of her situation, but as they
were evidently intended to be complimentary to herself, though at her
friend's expense, she listened to them with complacency.
"You must not blame my friend," she demurely answered, "because he has
not such a voice as mine. Few have such, as I think I may say without
being suspected of vanity, and I have no reason to think that he is
either mean or envious. True, he does not evince the same pleasure in
my notes as that which you so kindly express, but this is merely a
matter of taste."
"Ah, you dear, kind, good, charitable creature," rejoined the magpie,
"it is so like you to take the best and most pleasant view of whatever
anybody else says or does. But never mind, if the dog don't like it,
others do, and for _my_ part, I should like to hear you play and sing
all day and all night long."