DINNER IS LATE
A parlor, in the country, at the close of a long summer's day. KIKI-THE-DEMURE and TOBY-DOG doze; ears twitching and eyelids obstinately shut. Now KIKI'S lids part in a narrow slit, and disclose eyes the color of purple grapes. He yawns, with the ferocious expression of a small dragon.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (haughtily)
You're snoring!
TOBY-DOG (who was not really asleep)
I'm not; it's you.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Impossible! I don't snore, I purr.
TOBY-DOG
Same thing.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (not condescending to a discussion)
Thank heaven, it isn't! (A silence.)
I'm hungry. One doesn't hear the noise of plates in the next room. Isn't it dinner time?
TOBY-DOG (gets up, slowly stretches his forepaws and yawns, darting forth a heraldic tongue with curly end)
I don't know ... I'm hungry.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Where is She? How is it you're not at her heels?
TOBY-DOG (embarrassed, nibbling his nails)
She's in the garden I believe, picking up plums.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Those yellow balls that rain about one's ears? I know them. You've seen her then? I bet She scolded you ... What have you been doing now?
TOBY-DOG (self-conscious, turning away his wrinkled, toad-like face)
She told me to return to the house because—because I too, was eating plums.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
She did well! You have depraved tastes—the tastes of men.
TOBY-DOG (offended)
Say—no one ever sees me eating bad fish! And never, never will I understand how you can go into such fits over a dead frog, or that herb.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Valerian.
TOBY-DOG
That's it, I guess ... An herb—is medicine, isn't it?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Medicine, indeed! Valerian ... but no you, can't understand ... I've seen Her laugh and go on, as I do over the valerian, after having emptied a glass of fetid wine that jumped dangerously too. As for the dead frog—so dead that it seems a bit of dry russia leather in the form of a frog—it's a sachet, impregnated with rare musk, with which I wish to scent my fur.
TOBY-DOG
Oh, you talk very well—but She always scolds and says that you smell bad after it, and He says the same thing.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
They're nothing but Two-Paws, both of them. You, poor thing, belittle yourself by seeking to imitate them. You stand on your hind legs, wear a coat when it rains, eat plums—for shame!--and those big green balls, the malicious trees let fall sometimes, when I'm passing underneath.
TOBY-DOG
Apples?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Very likely. She picks one up and throws it down the path, crying: "Apple, Toby, apple," and you rush after, in unseemly fashion, gasping for breath, looking like a fool, your tongue and your eyes sticking out ...
TOBY-DOG (scowling, head resting on his paws)
One takes one's pleasures where one finds them.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (yawning, shows his pointed teeth and his palate of pink velvet)
I'm hungry. Dinner is surely late tonight. Suppose you look for Her?
TOBY-DOG
I daren't. She forbade it. She is down there in the hollow, with a big basket. The dew is falling and wetting her feet and the sun's going away. But you know how She is. She sits on the damp ground, looking ahead of her, as if She were asleep—or lies flat on her stomach, whistling and watching an ant in the grass ... She tears up a handful of wild thyme and smells it, or calls the tomtits and the jays—who never come to her by any chance. She takes a heavy watering pot and—ugh! it gives me the shivers—pours thousands of icy, silvery threads over the roses or into the hollows of those little stone troughs, 'way back in the woods. I always look in to see the head of a brindle-bull who comes to meet me and to drink up the pictures of the leaves, but She pulls me back by the collar with: "Toby, Toby, that water is for the birds." ... Then She takes out her knife and opens nuts, fifty, a hundred nuts, and forgets the time ... There's no end to the things She does.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (slyly)
And what do you do all that time?
TOBY-DOG
I—well—I just wait for her.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I admire you!
TOBY-DOG
Once in a while, squatting down, She eagerly scratches the earth, toils and sweats over it; then I jump 'round her, delighted to see her at something so useful and so familiar. But her feeble scent deceives her. I never smell mole, or shrew-mouse-of-the-rosy-paws, in the holes She digs. And how explain her utter lack of purpose? Presently, falling back on her haunches, She brandishes a hairy-rooted herb and cries: "I have it, the jade!" I lie in the damp grass and tremble, or dig my nose (She calls it my snout) into the earth to get the complicated odors of it. ... When there are three or four scents all blended, all mixed together, can you distinguish that of the mole from that of the hare which passed quickly, or the bird which rested there?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Certainly I can. My nose is highly educated. It's small, regular, wide between my eyes, delicate at the chamois-skin end of my nostrils; the lightest touch of a blade of grass, the shadow of smoke tickles and makes it sneeze. It doesn't bother about distinguishing the scent of moles from that of—hares, did you say? But it delights in the trace left by a cat in a hedge ... I've a charming nose. She calls it, "his pretty little nose of cotton velvet." Since my eyes opened on this world I've not known the day that someone has not uttered a truthful flattery on the subject of my nose. Now yours—is a rough-grained truffle. What makes you move it so ridiculously? At this very moment.
TOBY-DOG
I'm hungry and I don't hear the plates.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
TOBY-DOG
She always says, "his square muzzle, his wrinkled truffle," so tenderly and so lovingly!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
TOBY-DOG
It's your empty stomach that scolds and complains and wants to quarrel with me.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I've a charming stomach.
TOBY-DOG
But no, it's your nose that's charming. You just said so.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
My stomach too. There's none more fastidious, more whimsical, stronger and at the same time more delicate. It digests the bones of sole, but meat that's the least bit tainted literally turns it.
TOBY-DOG
Literally's the word. You have active indigestion.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Yes, the whole house is affected by it. From the very first qualms I'm in terrible distress; the earth gives way under me, my eyes dilate, I hurriedly swallow quantities of salty saliva; involuntary, ventriloquial cries escape me, my sides bulge out—
TOBY-DOG (disgusted)
I say, if it's all the same to you, tell me the rest after dinner.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I'm hungry. Where can He be?
TOBY-DOG
He's there, in his study, scratching paper.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
He's always doing that. It's a game. Two-Paws play at the same thing for hours and hours. I've often tried to scratch paper gently, as He does, but the pleasure doesn't last long. I prefer newspapers torn into shreds that rustle and fly ... There is a little pot of dark-violet, muddy water on his table. I never sniff it without horror, since the day a rather foolish curiosity made me dip my paw into it. This very paw, so strong and aristocratic, (the tufts of useless hair you see between my toes proclaim the purity of my race) this very paw bore a bluish stain for eight days and the degrading odor of rusty steel clung to it a long time after ...
TOBY-DOG
What's the little pot for?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
He drinks from it doubtless.
(Silence.)
TOBY-DOG
She's not back yet! Heaven grant She isn't lost, as I was one day in the streets of Paris!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I'm hungry!
TOBY-DOG
I'm hungry! What are we going to eat this evening?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I saw a chicken. It made a silly noise and dropped red blood on the kitchen floor, soiling it far more than I ever did, or you either—yet no one whipped it. But Emily put it in the fire, to teach it a lesson. I licked up some of the blood ...
TOBY-DOG (yawns)
Chicken ... it makes my mouth water. She'll say: "Here Toby, bones!" and throw me the carcass.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
How badly you speak! He says: "Little chicken bones, Kiki, little chicken bones!"
TOBY-DOG (surprised)
But no really it's, "Here, Toby, bones!" that She says.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
He speaks better than She does.
TOBY-DOG (incompetent)
Ah? ... Tell me, do birds taste anything like chicken?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (whose eyes light up suddenly)
No ... they're far better, they're alive. Ha, the quivering bird, the warm feathers, the delicious little brain ... you feel it all crackling between your teeth!
TOBY-DOG
Oh, you make me sick! It always worries me to see tiny animals like that flutter about ... and birds are dear, good little things.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (dryly)
Don't you believe it, they're only good to eat. They're noisy, stupid creatures, infatuated with themselves, made to be eaten. ... You know the two jays?
TOBY-DOG
Not very well.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
They live in the little wood. When I walk by they laugh a sardonic "tiac, tiac," because I wear a bell at my neck. In vain do I hold my head very stiffly and put my paws down very gently, my bell tinkles and the two creatures scream from the top of the fir-tree. Just let me get hold of them, one of these days! ...
(He lays back his ears and raises the hair along his back.)
TOBY-DOG (pensive)
Positively, Cat, there are times when I don't know you. We are talking quietly and suddenly you bristle like a bottle-brush; or we happen to be playing amicably together and I bark behind your back—bow, wow-wow!--just for fun; then,—one doesn't know why, perhaps because my nose has grazed the long hairs on your legs you're so proud of—you become all at once a savage beast, spitting fire, and charging at me like a strange dog. Don't you think that shows a bad character?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (mysterious, eyes half-closed)
Not at all. It's character, simply. A Cat's character. In such moments of irritability, I'm keenly alive to the humiliation of my present state, and that of my race.
I can remember a time when priests in long, linen tunics, bending low, spoke to us and humbly tried to comprehend our chanted utterance. Know, dog, that it is not we who have changed! It may be, there are days when I'm more myself, when everything offends me, and justly; a brusque gesture, a vulgar laugh, the banging of a door, your odor, your inconceivable impudence when you touch me, or encircle me, jumping and yelping ...
TOBY-DOG (patiently, to himself)
He's having one of his attacks.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (with a start)
Did you hear?
TOBY-DOG
Yes, the kitchen door, and the door into the dining-room ... and now the drawer where the spoons are kept. At last! At last! aaah! (He yawns.) I can't stand this any longer. Where is She? I don't hear the gravel creaking ... night's coming on!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (ironically)
Go find her.
TOBY-DOG
And how about Him? He usually worries, and comes in asking, "Where is She?" But He's scratching still. He must have drunk up all the violet-colored water in the muddy little pot by this time. (TOBY carefully stretches his legs.) Ah! I feel lively ... and empty. We're going to eat soon! Just smell the good kitchen-smells that come under the door! ... Let's play!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
No.
TOBY-DOG
Run, I'll chase, without touching you.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
No.
TOBY-DOG
Why not?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I don't want to.
TOBY-DOG
Oh! but you're tiresome! Watch me jump and arch my neck like a little horse and try to catch my stubby tail. Now I turn 'round and 'round—and—heavens! the whole room spins!--It's—st—opping—now.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Insufferable creature!
TOBY-DOG
Insufferable yourself! Look out, I'm going to run at you as She does, when She's merry, crying "Ha, cat!"
(KIKI-THE-DEMURE, without rising, puts up a paw bristling with claws and spotted underneath with rose color and black; it looks like a thorny flower.)
If you dare! ...
TOBY-DOG (in a frenzy)
I do dare! Bow-wow-wow! Ha, cat! ha, cat!
(KIKI-THE-DEMURE, exasperated, gives a spring and hangs on the table-cloth, slowly dragging it down. A lamp and various things fall to the ground. Terrified silence. The two animals, crouching under an arm-chair, await punishment.)
HE appears at the study door, holding a pen, like a bit, between his teeth.
Thunder and blitzen! What is it now? This cursed menagerie has overturned everything! Where's your Mistress? What a place this is to be sure! Dinner never on time! ... (etc., etc., etc....)
(The two guilty ones, who well know the harmlessness of such outbursts, laugh quietly to themselves and lying flat as bed-room slippers, look at one another through the fringes of the chair. The garden gate opens.
SHE comes in carrying a basket, full of fragrant plums; her hands are sticky from their sugariness, her hair tumbled. SHE stands horrified, before the disaster.)
SHE
Oh! They've been fighting again, have they? (Without conviction.) Dear me, what nasty creatures! I'll give them away! I'll sell them!!--I'll kill them!!!
(But the cat and dog, groveling in exaggerated humility, crawl up to her, and speak together.)
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Purr-rr-rr!...There you are!...It's very late...Toby attacked me; it's he who's broken everything. I believe he went mad from hunger.... You smell good, of grass and the twilight. You sat down on some wild thyme. Come!...Tell your Master to carry me on his shoulder—the meat will be overdone, I'm afraid. You'll carve the chicken very quickly, won't you, and you'll keep the browned skin for me? If you wish I'll stretch out my paw like a spoon, which knows how to take up the littlest morsels, and carry them to my mouth with that human gesture that makes you laugh so—you and He.... Come!
TOBY-DOG
Hiii ... hiii ... there you are at last! I'm so unhappy when you're away. You banished me ... you didn't love me ... The lamp fell down all by itself ... Come! I'm awfully hungry, but I'll gladly go without dinner, if you'll promise to take me with you always wherever you go ... yes, even out in the twilight, though it makes me sad, I'll willingly follow you there ... my nose close, close to the hem of your dress....
SHE, (disarmed and quite indifferent to the cataclysm)
Do look how pretty they are!
SHE IS ILL
A bed-room in the country-house; autumnal sunshine filters in through closed blinds. SHE lies on a couch, apparently asleep, dressed in a white woolen gown. KIKI-THE-DEMURE makes his toilet on a narrow console-table. TOBY-DOG, on the carpet, in a sphinx-like attitude, watches HER and at the same time, is attentive to the words of his master, who is leaving the room on tip-toe.
HE, (in a very low voice to the two animals)
Sh! Don't wake her. Be good. I'm going downstairs, to write.
(He closes the door noiselessly after him.)
TOBY-DOG (to KIKI-THE-DEMURE)
What did He say?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I don't know. Something vague. Directions, like: stay there, good-by.
TOBY-DOG
He said, "'Sh!" I'm not making any noise.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (ironically)
They're astonishing! They say "no noise," and thereupon walk off with a step a deaf rat could hear two miles away.
TOBY-DOG
Some truth in that. (He looks at the sleeping figure on the couch.) Her face still looks very small. She's asleep. If you jump down from that table don't land with a big thump.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (stiffly)
Ah, you're teaching me to jump now, are you? Oh, worthy counselor! (quoting) Put a beggar in your barn and he'll make himself your heir.
TOBY-DOG
What's that?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Nothing. An Oriental proverb. If I wished, dog, to disturb the silence of this room I'd be clever enough to choose a rickety chair; its feet would pound out a regular tic-toc, tic-toc, tic-toc, in time with my tongue as I washed myself. It's a means I've invented to gain my liberty. Tic-toc, tic-toc, says the chair. She happens to be reading or writing, is easily irritated, and cries, "Be quiet, Kiki!" But I go on unconscious of any wrong-doing; tic-toc, tic-toc. She jumps up distracted and opens the door wide for me: slowly, like one exiled, I cross its threshold and once outside, laugh to find myself so superior to them all.
TOBY-DOG (who hasn't been listening, yawns)
What a sad week, eh? I don't know what it is to take a walk any more. I haven't taken any pleasure in eating either, since She fell from her horse.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Heavens, one can love people and care for one's stomach too.
TOBY-DOG (with ardor)
Not I! When She screamed and fell from her horse, I felt the heart crack inside me.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
That affair couldn't have ended otherwise. One doesn't go climbing up on a horse! People don't do such things! I see nothing but extravagance around me. To begin with, a horse is a fearful monstrosity.
TOBY-DOG (indignantly)
Did one ever hear the like!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (peremptorily)
I happen to have had the opportunity of making a very close study of one....
TOBY-DOG (aside)
He makes me laugh!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
TOBY-DOG (diverted)
And then?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (continuing)
I carried out my plan. But the horse I had waited for in fear and trembling, just blew through his nostrils a long jet of foul-smelling vapor, and I fell back in atrocious convulsions.
TOBY-DOG (Inwardly writhing with laughter)
You don't exaggerate?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (serious)
Never! And She must needs go climbing on a horse's back, holding fast to four cords, one leg this side and the other that. ... Strange aberration!
TOBY-DOG
We don't think alike, Cat. For me, the horse is, after man, the most beautiful thing in the world.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (vexed)
And where do I come in?
TOBY-DOG (evasive and courteous)
Oh, you're a Cat. But a horse, and with Her on his back! What a beautiful picture they make, high up in the blue air! To gaze on it, I have to throw my head 'way back on my thick neck. The horse lends her his speed. Now at last, She can race with me when I go off on a mad run. Sometimes I'm ahead, ears floating back and tongue hanging out like a little flag—the angular shadow of the horse on the road in front. If I follow her, a fragrant dust blows back at me. It smells of warm leather, moist beast, and a little of her own perfume too. The road runs under me, like a ribbon that someone is pulling. Oh, what joy it is to be so little and so swift, running along in the shadow of a great galloping horse! When we halt, I pant like a motor, between the legs of my friend, who snorts and in the kindliest way puts down his fettered mouth and sprinkles me ...
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I know, I know! The horse "with long mane ashake; hoofs, heavy with tumult; eyes, glimmering white." ...You are the last of the Romanticists.
TOBY-DOG
I'm not the last of the Romanticists. I'm a little bull-dog that came into the world one evening, almost under the feet of a chestnut mare. She didn't lie down all night long, she was so afraid of crushing my mother and her puppies. A little bull-dog like me is almost the child of a horse. I lay in the warm straw against her warm flanks, I drank out of the stable pails. I used to get up when I heard the sound of hoofs coming in and I took an interest in the washing of the carriages, until the day She came and picked me out—me, the best-looking, the most snub-nosed, the stockiest of the litter. (Sighing.) And there She lies, so dreadfully quiet! It makes me sad to see her with that little cloth still 'round her ankle. You remember when He picked her up in his arms? He held her—and She's a lot bigger than I am—just as if She were a little dog that he was going to drown....
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (bitterly)
I remember. I was at the top of the stairs irritated by the noise, but curious. He came up and pushed me aside with his foot, as he would have done if a piece of furniture had happened to be in his way.
TOBY-DOG
Is that why you stayed away from this room—her room—for three whole days?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (hesitating)
Yes ... and for another reason too.
TOBY-DOG
What reason?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Because of the fever.
TOBY-DOG (carried away by his love)
Her fever smells better than other peoples' good health!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (shrugging his shoulders)
And they talk of a dog's scent! Truly the convictions of Two-Paws are based upon childish fables. You know of course that fever—
TOBY-DOG (in a low tone)
Makes one afraid, yes.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (in a low tone)
Makes one afraid, gives one cold shivers down one's back, distaste for everything and uneasiness all over. One hesitates on the threshold of a room where there is fever, searching fearfully some hidden thing.... She was in bed and burning hot. I looked at her a long time, ready to run, saying to myself: "Who can be with her there—behind the curtains—who is it stifles and torments her and makes her moan in her sleep?"
TOBY-DOG (frightened retrospectively)
There wasn't anyone, was there?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
No one but He—and the fever. He, the most intelligent of Two-Paws, was leaning over her listening to her breathing, dimly aware of an invisible presence. I overcame my aversion and looked at her. I was melancholy and jealous. He must love her, thought I, to go so near and defend her, to kiss her, imbued as She is with the evil charm. Would He hold me to his heart, if I—
TOBY-DOG (imperatively)
'Sh!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
What?
TOBY-DOG
She stirred.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
No.
TOBY-DOG (alert, looking at her)
No ... She didn't stir, but her thoughts did. I felt them. Continue.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (who has recovered his equanimity)
I don't know now what we were talking about.
TOBY-DOG
The fev—
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (quickly)
Enough. Don't recall it. Fever is the beginning of the thing one never speaks of.
TOBY-DOG (shivering)
Yes, I know.... I don't like an animal that can't move. You know what I mean ...
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (laughing cruelly)
Nor do I. I can only eat live birds, and as for the tiny mice, I prefer to swallow them, squeak and all ...
TOBY-DOG
Why does it amuse you to horrify me? You've a certain vanity that I can't understand. It consists in exaggerating cruelties that are already real enough. You call me the last of the Romanticists, aren't you the first of the Sadics?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Oh dog, poisoned with literature! An eternal misunderstanding separates us. "I'm a little bull-dog," you replied just now, with that stupid sincerity which disarms me. Let me say to you in my turn, "I am a Cat." The name is sufficient dispensation. There is in me a hatred of pain and ugliness, an overmastering detestation of all that offends my sight, or my reason. When the concierge's cat dragged around his wounded paw, I threw myself upon him, fired by a righteous anger, and until he stopped his whining I—
TOBY-DOG (supplicatingly)
Don't tell me!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (getting angry)
Understand then, once and for all—if the pale recital of what I did upsets you—that I wished to abolish, to annihilate in that bleeding animal the suggestion of my own inevitable death ...
(They are quiet for a little while.)
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (shuddering)
This confinement does us no good. I would gladly go out into the soft sunshine and do "the bayadeer's dance," as He calls it, on the dry gravel among the leaves, which look like fried potatoes. Everything is yellow out-of-doors. My green eyes would reflect the golden sun and the flaming woods and so turn yellow too. ... Now I'll think only of what is joyous and yellow, the beautiful, cold Autumn, the rosy dawn that leaves its colors in the foliage of the cherry-tree ... Come, let's prove the strength of our legs and enjoy to the full the consciousness that youth has only just begun for us ... Who knows, death may never come ...
(He jumps down from the console-table, without making the least noise.)
TOBY-DOG (stopping him)
What are you going to do?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Scratch at the door, and strike up the "Hymn of the Sequestered Cat."
TOBY-DOG (indicating the figure on the couch)
And doubtless waken Her?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (stubbornly)
I'll sing in a very small voice.
TOBY-DOG
And you'll scratch with your tiniest claws, I suppose? Stay here quietly, He commanded it when He went away.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (loftily)
Does He command me? He beseeches me, and that's my only reason for obeying him.
(He sits down again, apparently resigned, and yawns slowly.)
TOBY-DOG (yawning)
You make me yawn.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
On the contrary, it's you who bore me. (Temptingly.) You're thinking what a good thing freedom is, aren't you? ... A hen has probably escaped from the chicken yard—what sport you're missing!
TOBY-DOG
You really think so?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I said: probably.... Have you finished exploring that rabbit's hole?
TOBY-DOG (disturbed)
No ... it's so very deep! I almost buried myself, hollowing it out yesterday. The earth that stuck to my muzzle had some of the animal's fur in it ...
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (more and more satanic)
I suppose you'll finish that to-morrow ... or some other day.
TOBY-DOG (sadly)
Why not say next year, while you're about it?
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
What's the matter with you? Your shiny black lip hangs down an ell, and your froggy eyes glitter with tears. Are you crying?
TOBY-DOG (sniffling)
No ...
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Poor, sensitive heart, console yourself. You'll have your pleasures and your friends again. At this very moment the farmer's dog is crunching bones in the kitchen ... to beguile the long wait for you.
TOBY-DOG (overcome)
Oh! oh! the farmer's dog!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
She's not alone either; that great dane, the watch-dog, keeps her company.
TOBY-DOG (rebellious)
That's not true!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
Go see.
TOBY-DOG (after one bound toward the door)
No, that would make noise.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
You're right, it would.
(A mournful silence follows. TOBY curls himself up like a turban and closes his eyes, because he feels like crying. His breath comes in little sobs.)
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (absently, in a low, monotonous chant.)
The dog ... the little dog ... the bones, the little dog ... the rabbit ... the great dane, the rabbit's hole...the little dog, the mutton bones...the rabbit's skin...
TOBY-DOG at first endures the torture heroically; then his nerves betray him and lifting his head he howls—the long plaint of the abandoned dog.
Wooo—oo—oooooo!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (from the top of the console-table)
Will you be quiet!
TOBY-DOG
Wooooooooo!!--oo—oooo—oo!
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (aside)
That's it! That's it!
(SHE wakes bewildered, still captive of her dreams, while the Cat listens patiently to the approaching step on the stairs, which means liberty for him and punishment for TOBY-DOG.)
THE FIRST FIRE
Because it is raining and an October wind chases wet leaves through the air, She has lit the first fire of the season in the great chimney-place. KIKI-THE-DEMURE and TOBY-DOG, in ecstasy, side by side on a corner of the warm hearth-stone, contemplate the flame with dazzled eyes and address their meditations to it.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE, (looking very like a cushion; no paws visible)
Oh Fire, how splendid you are! You have come back more beautiful than my memory of you! You are hotter and nearer than the sun! The pupils of my eyes contract in your light, their lids half close, modestly hiding the joy I feel at seeing you again, and my inscrutable countenance shows but the semblance of a thought painted there in fawn color and black.... Your crackling drowns the soft sound of my purr. Don't snap too much. Be merciful, O inconstant Fire! Don't sputter sparks on my fur. Allow me to adore you without fear ...
TOBY-DOG (half baked; eyes blood-shot; tongue pendant)
Fire! Divine Fire! Here you are again! I am still very young, but I remember how awe-struck I was the first time Her hand woke you in this same chimney-place. The sight of a god as mysterious as you are was most impressive to a baby-dog just out of the maternal stable. Oh Fire, I've not quite gotten over my fear! Hiii!... You spit at me, something red that smarts ... I'm afraid ... Well, it's gone now.
How beautiful you are, Fire! Out from your ruddy center shoot tatters and shreds of gold, sudden spurts of blue, and smoke that twists upwards and draws queer shapes of beasts ... Oh, but I'm hot! Gently, gently, sovereign Fire, see how my truffle of a nose is drying up and cracking, and my ears—are they not ablaze? I adjure thee with suppliant paw. I groan ... ah ... I can endure it no longer! ... (He turns away.) Nothing is ever perfect. The east wind coming under the door nips my hind-legs. Well, it can't be helped! I'll freeze behind if I must, provided I can adore you face to face.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
I am a Cat and therefore aware of all that you bring in your train, O Fire! I foresee winter; its coming both troubles and pleases me. I've already begun to thicken and embellish my fur-coat in its honor, the darker stripes are becoming black, my white tippet swells into a dazzling boa, and the fur on my belly surpasses in beauty anything that has ever been seen. What shall I say of my tail, broad as a club, with alternate rings of fawn-color and black, or of the sensitive, priceless aigrettes which spring from my ears? My ear-rings She calls them.... What cat could resist me! Ah! the January nights, the serenades under a frosty moon, the dignified wait on the pinnacle of a roof, the encounter with a rival cat on the narrow top of a wall!... But I feel quite sure of my superior strength. I'll swish my tail, put back my ears, sniff tragically as one does before vomiting, and then lift up my voice—its modulations are infinite. I'll make it strong enough to waken all the sleeping Two-Paws. I'll vociferate, I'll whimper, pacing up and down the garden, my body distended, my legs bent outward, feigning madness to terrify the tom-cats!
TOBY-DOG
I know something of the changes and pleasures you foretell, Fire—for I'm a Dog. Already, it is raining in the garden. I suppose it's raining on the road too, and in the woods. The falling drops are not warm, as they were in the summer storms when my truffle, gray with dust, delighted in the damp smell that came from the west. The sky is troubled and the wind has grown strong enough to blow my ears out straight, like little flags. A sharp cry, such as I make when I beg, comes under the door. You'll be shining here every day, Fire; but I'll have to suffer for the right to worship you. For She'll continue to wander about, her head covered with the pointed hood which changes her so, that it frightens me. She'll put on wooden shoes too, and carelessly crush the puddles, the little heaps of mud, and the weeping mosses. I'll follow her, since I've promised to do so my life long (and also because I can't help it), I'll follow her, a forlorn and piteous object, shining wet, my belly covered with mud, until, through very excess of misery I'll forget, and ramble in the coppice, interested in every undulation of the grass, eager to revive the drowned scents in it.... She'll become communicative when she sees me hurrying along and we'll talk: "Ha, Toby-Dog," she'll say, "ha! ha! a bird! There on the branch! Look! you booby! Now he's gone." She'll condole with me then, until I'm on the verge of tears. "Oh, my little black boy, my sympathetic cylinder, my batrachian love, how cold you are, how wet, how sad, how you suffer, oooo!" And before I'm able to judge of the sincerity of her pity, the tears will overflow, my throat contract, and we'll wail in unison....
Ah, but what delirious joy when the capricious wooden shoes turn again toward the house, hurrying to rejoin Him whom we've left scratching paper! They don't go half fast enough for me then! I jump 'round her, barking with delight to see the hill diminishing, our climb at an end, to smell the good stable smell and that of burning wood as we near the house. At last you shine forth, O Fire, O Sun, through the misty window pane!... I shall hardly have crossed the threshold when an overpowering sleepiness will dash me to the floor in front of you—you, who will reduce the mud on my belly to fine powder and change the water of the roads to smoky vapor.
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
A delightful glow penetrates my coat to the silky down, the impalpable colorless threads which protect my delicate skin. I feel myself swelling like a cloud. I must quite fill the room. My whiskers seem charged with electricity—a sign that I will sleep—but for the time being, the contemplation of your splendor and thoughts of the coming season keep me awake. It's raining. I shall not go out. I'll wait for the sun, or the dry wind, or better still, the frost. Ah, how the biting cold stimulates me! It lashes my lungs with handfuls of needles, and makes a bonbon glacé of my charming nose. The rollicking frost-sprite will blow his madness into me. She'll laugh and He too, leaving his scratching-paper, to see me vie with the leaves in bounds, leaps and wild whirlings, resembling a floating flurry of gray smoke rather than a Cat. To the top of a tree! Down again! Then seven turns after my tail! A perilous backward leap! A vertical jump, with aerial danse du ventre! Girations, sneezes, careering from the real to the dream, until in terror of myself, I come to a sudden stop.... Everything turns before my eyes. I'm the center of a strange, spinning world ... In my bewilderment (half-feigned) I'll make a little moo, like a cow, which will bring them both running to me,—She laughing, and He fearing something wrong. That will suffice to sober me, and with a bold front and noble mien, I'll regain this cushion near your altar, O Fire!
TOBY-DOG
This hearth-stone burns the horny pads of my feet. What shall I do? Move away? never! I'll toast to death rather than give up this redoubtable bliss. Heaven prevent Her coming, now! I've reason to fear the lash of the whip, and the magic words which mean exile: "Toby! that's stupid! I forbid you to roast yourself. You'll have sore eyes, and catch cold when you go out." That's what She says, while I regard her with a stupid look of utter devotion. But She's never duped by it. I hear noises upstairs, her step coming and going ... I wonder is her vagabond fancy wearied at last? This morning She whistled to me and in my haste to obey her, I rolled to the bottom of the stairs—being low and thick-set, with short legs, no nose, and almost no tail to balance me. Well, we set off. The last apples were rocking to-and-fro on swaying branches. My happy voice, a joyful shout from her now and then, the vain crowing of the cocks, the creaking of wagons on the road—all these sounds floated on a bluish, cottony, suffocating fog. She took me far, and many marvelous things happened on our way. We met terrible giant dogs. My proud bearing seemed to exasperate them, but I kept them back with a single look (besides, a closed iron gate rendered them powerless). I chased a rabbit into the thicket, though She cried loudly: "I forbid you to touch the little animal!" ... My mother certainly gave me swift legs but they're short, and the white end of the little beast kept far ahead. A bush covered with red berries detained us a very long time. She sees no objection to eating strange things and I can truthfully say that I always taste everything She offers me, for I've great faith in her. But this morning—"Eat, Toby, nice berries. Eat! here are some rose-hips. Oh stupid! how can you not dote upon their delicious flavor? I assure you these are comfits of Mother Nature's making." In deference to her, I chewed a reddish ball; there were some rough hairs on it—put there doubtless by her teasing hand—and what was bound to happen, did happen ... Khaha! My throat rejected the nasty "rosehip."...
But listen, Fire, what I saw after that, passes my understanding. It was in a wood where stiff leaves rustled. Had She carried you under her cloak, or do gods like you come at her bidding? I saw her hands pile up the wood, arrange flat stones in some mysterious fashion, and then, Fire, I saw the sparks flash and your joyous soul palpitate, grow big, soar naked and rose-colored, veil itself in smoke, snap noisily (for yours is a belligerent soul), agonize—and disappear.... The world is full of incomprehensible things....
Last of all, on our way back, I discovered near the park gate—saw it before She did—one of those invincible beasts called hedge-hogs, the mere sight of which brings us dogs to bay. What madness to realize that an animal is hiding under that pin-cushion and laughing at me, and that I can do nothing, nothing! I implored her—She can do nearly everything—to pluck him for me. She began by turning him over with a little stick, as if he were a horse chestnut. "Astonishing," said She, "I can't find the top of him!" Then She took one of his spines between two fingers and carried him home that way—I dancing behind her—and put him in her work basket. After a while the horrid beast unrolled himself, stuck out a pig-like nose, opened two shiny rat's eyes and raised himself, holding fast by his little paws, which were exactly like a mole's. "How pretty he is," She cried, "a real little black pig." I stood near the table groaning with covetousness, but She didn't pluck him for me, not then, or ever, and perhaps the cook ate him.... This cat's a dissembler. Maybe he... But away with care! I'm too excitable! I mustn't let myself think of these things. Life is beautiful, O Fire, since you illumine it ... I'm going to sleep ... Watch over my unconscious body ... I'm going ... to sleep....
KIKI-THE-DEMURE
One would think me asleep because the narrow slit made by my parted eyelids, seems but the continuation of that velvety line, that bold crayon-stroke, a sort of Oriental make-up, uniting my eyelids and my ears. But I'm awake, keeping watch like a yogi, in a state of blissful ankylosis, conscious of all that's going on around me.... My privileged eyes, Fire, do but behold you better when they're closed and I can count the various essences you mingle in a sparkling bouquet. Here in a flame of mauve-color and blue, glows the soul of a branch of arbor-vitae. Yesterday it waved a plume-like shadow on the garden walk ... To-day, with its delicate twigs, it is but a writhing skeleton. She cut it with one stroke of the pruning scissors. Why? That it might breathe out its fervent blue and mauve-colored soul? For like me, She delights in your dance, Fire, and chastises you when you're quiet, with a stern pair of tongs. Sitting there with her head bent and her arms hanging along her sides, what does She read, I wonder, in that fiery rose which is the labyrinthian heart of you?... She knows a great deal certainly, but not as much as a Cat.
That thick tear on the log represents the anguish of a very old fir-tree, killed by the assiduous ivy. Just a short time ago I saw it struck down, lying on the grass, its foliage looking like a beautiful head of reddish hair. I saw the axe that felled it, too. Its trunk weeps tears of resin, which trail along in drivel, then change to heavy, creeping flame. But the dry red locks break into lines of living fire, whistle and shoot innumerable jets of many colors underneath a broad gold wave that rolls voluptuously....
Ah, love ... hunting ... fighting.... It's your light, Fire, that discovers these passions in the depths of my being. It's time the little winged creatures searching withered berries came near. I'll have them soon! I'll watch, motionless in the brushwood, wildly wishing that the earth itself might hide me, the muscles of my legs twitching with desire to make the spring, my chin trembling.... Then, if I don't betray my hiding-place by an irrepressible quavering, frightening them away in one great commotion of wings and rustling branches!... But no, I'm master of myself. One bound at exactly the right moment and my feeble prey is panting under me. Oh, the ridiculous effort of a weak animal—its tiny ineffectual claws and pointed wings beating against my face! My jaws will open to the splitting point and my perfect nose wrinkle ferociously, for the joy of holding a living, terrified body. I'll know the intoxication of battle! I'll prance victoriously, shaking my head to torment the bird a little, for it faints away too soon between my teeth! Terrible to see I'll gallop towards the house, singing in a strangled voice, without loosening my grip, for He must stop his scratching to admire me, and She must give chase with distracted cries: "Wicked, savage cat! Drop that bird! drop that bird!! Oh, I beg of you! It hurts me so...." Ha! She never can have hunted....
I intend to astonish the world, Fire, during Winter's reign. The Cat that lives at the farm (She says the farmer's cat, while we say the Cat's farmer), the fellow that's so badly dressed, disfigured by the nose of a weasel, and seems to walk on stilts, his legs are so long—well, he sharpens his claws and regards me the while. Patience! He's strong, brutal, irresolute, and utterly lacks distinction. The slamming of a door terrifies him; he puts back his ears and flies, panic-stricken. Still, I've seen him kill a good-sized hen, without making any fuss about it. For a glance of the young cat's deceitful eyes, or right of precedence on the garden wall, for a word of double meaning, for nothing, but the fun of the thing—I'll take my chances with him! He'll learn that a mysterious silence can demoralize the enemy quite as effectively as murderous cries. The low garden wall seems to me a convenient place. Let him try his hoarse miauling in all possible keys! May his unsightly face, and more hideous body dislocate itself in a deceitful ataxia (for they're still at these old tricks)! I'll be proof against it all, and merely flash the green magnetism of my magnificent eyes upon him. His brows will fall under their persistent insult, a shudder will run along his spine, he'll do a few steps of our ancient war dance—forward, back, forward again. But I'll stand—motionless as the statue of a Cat. The green witchcraft of my gaze will strike terror and madness into my rival and soon I'll see him writhe, utter false cries, and, as a last resource, try to balance himself on the nape of his neck, like a forked pear tree, only to roll over shamefully into the potato field....
All that will come to pass, Fire, exactly as I've told it. To-day the future dawns in your new flame.... I'm growing drowsy.... My purr and your crackling are ceasing together.... I see you still and already I catch glimpses of my dreams.... The silky sound of the rain against the window is soft as a caress, and the water-pipe on the roof sobs low like a pigeon....
Don't go out during my nap, Fire. Remember, you're the guardian of my august repose—that delicate death, known as a Cat's sleep....