Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat

I mentioned in my Horace Walpole post that I'd picked up a copy of Horace Walpole's Cat by Christopher Frayling, which has turned out to be a very elegantly written, very entertaining, read (see left). For those who don't know the story, some time in 1747, poor Selima the cat, who lived with Horace Walpole at his home in Arlington Street (this was before he moved to his gothic mansion, Strawberry Hill), got up on the rim of a large Chinese porcelain tub containing goldfish, fell in, and drowned.

Walpole was, understandably, upset and wrote to his close friend, the poet Thomas Gray, asking if he would compose some sort of epitaph for the unfortunate creature. Gray replied saying that he couldn't begin to grieve properly until he knew which cat Walpole was referring to (his other cat was called either Zara, after the heroine of Voltaire's The Tragedy of Zara or Zama, nobody seems sure which). Once the identity of the cat had been cleared up, Gray enclosed the first draft of the poem that would become Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat (see full text below). 'There's a poem for you,' said Gray, 'it is rather too long for an epitaph'.

Apart from Frayling's expert biographical slant on the poem and his analysis of it in terms of 18th-century culture, another joy of Horace Walpole's Catare the huge reproductions of Richard Bentley's quite wonderful engravings. There's a full reprint of Bentley's (pictured left) explanation of his Frontispiece which just as much of a mock-heroic masterpiece as the poem itself. Witness 'the cat standing on the brim of the tub... Two cariatides of a river god stopping his ears to her cries, and Destiny cutting the nine threads of life... At the bottom are mice enjoying themselves on the prospect of the cat's death; a lyre and a pallet.' Fantastic stuff.

Ode on the Death of a Favourite Cat,

Drowned in a Tub of Gold Fishes.

I.

'TWAS on a lofty vase's side,

Where China's gayest art had dy'd

The azure flowers, that blow;

Demurest of the tabby kind,

The pensive Selima reclin'd,

Gaz'd on the lake below.

II.

Her conscious tail her joy declar'd;

The fair round face, the snowy beard,

The velvet of her paws,

Her coat, that with the tortoise vies,

Her ears of jet, and emerald eyes,

She saw, and purr'd applause.

III.

Still had she gaz'd: but 'midst the tide

Two angel forms were seen to glide,

The Genii of the stream:

Their scaly armour's Tyrian hue

Thro' richest purple, to the view

Betray'd a golden gleam.

IV.

The hapless Nymph with wonder saw:

A whisker first, and then a claw,

With many an ardent wish,

She stretch'd in vain to reach the prize.

What female heart can gold despise?

What cat's averse to fish?

V.

Presumptuous Maid! with looks intent

Again she stretch'd, again she bent,

Nor knew the gulph between.

(Malignant Fate sat by, and smil'd)

The slipp'ry verge her feet beguil'd,

She tumbled headlong in.

VI.

Eight times emerging from the flood

She mew'd to ev'ry watery God,

Some speedy aid to send.

No Dolphin came, no Nereid stirr'd:

Nor cruel Tom, or Susan heard.

A fav'rite has no friend!

VII.

From hence, ye Beauties, undeceiv'd,

Know, one false step is ne'er retriev'd,

And be with caution bold.

Not all that tempts your wand'ring eyes

And heedless hearts, is lawful prize;

Nor all, that glisters, gold.

PS: Horace Walpole's Catalso explores Christopher Smart's For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry as well as Dr Johnson and his cats; follow the links above to see previous blog posts from me on these topics. And the cat in the frame, above, is my own cat, Boris.

Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington except the engraving of the Richard Bentley portrait, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.
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English Eccentrics

With Horace Walpole's gothic mansion Strawberry Hill almost ready to reopen after the completion of its £9 million restoration project, the V&A in London is currently staging an exhibition of some of Walpole's most treasured objects.

Apart from his tireless activities as a politician, man of letters and waspish social commentator, Walpole was a keen antiquarian and collector; Horace Walpole and Strawberry Hill (running until Jul 4) offers a tantalising sneak preview into his considerable collection of paintings, ceramics, miniatures and curiosities, as well as some personal possessions related to Strawberry Hill itself.

It's the first major exhibition on Walpole and a welcome look at his contribution to many different spheres of 18th-century society. His 'little gothic castle' (pictured below), which stands beside the Thames at Twickenham, and his outstanding collection of antiquities, became a tourist destination even during his own lifetime. Here we can see exquisite entrance tickets (printed at Walpole's private press) on which he has scrawled directions to the servants; nearby are several sketches by Rowlandson satirising the public obsession with antiquity, as symbolised by Strawberry Hill.

Other notable exhibits include the famous bust of Colley Cibber and the actual goldfish bowl into which Walpole's tabby cat, Selima, fell and drowned in 1747 (thus inspiring Gray's famous Ode On The Death Of A Favourite Cat Drowned In A Tub Of Goldfishes). Many objects are testament to Walpole's playful humour and imagination; we learn that when greeting some French guests Walpole delved into his collection and donned a pair of James I's gloves and a fake wooden cravat by Grinling Gibbons - the guests were too polite to say anything, imagining that this was simply an example of English eccentricity (both gloves and cravat are on display).

Being on the search for a decent collection of Walpole's letters I was a bit disappointed with the offering in the V&A shop, though Horace Walpole's Cat by Christopher Frayling has turned out to be a joy, skilfully using the stories of Walpole's pets (including two hapless dogs who met grisly deaths on the Grand Tour) to illuminate aspects of 18th-century culture. And if all this isn't encouragement enough, pick up the free exhibition guide and you get a voucher on the back page offering 2 for 1 entrance into Strawberry Hill when it opens on September 25 2010. What are you waiting for?

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Insanity and the Katzenklavier

I am, as you know, a cat-lover (or ailurophile to be accurate), but history has not always been kind to moggies. Take Athanasius Kircher's cat piano (or katzenklavier, pictured above).

Designed in the mid 17th-century, it comprised a line of cats sat in six to eight cages, which were in turn sunk into the body of a piano. Each cat had its tail stretched underneath the instrument's keyboard. Nails were placed under the keys, causing the cats to cry out in pain when the keys were pressed. The animals were organised by the respective tones of their voices to create a harmonic sound.

Needless to say, this was a hypothetical instrument which Kircher seems not to have made; it was designed by the German Jesuit scholar purely as an elaborate joke (and it's testament to the robustness of the age that animals in pain were considered amusing - see Hogarth's The Four Stages of Cruelty for more on that subject).

Interestingly, the idea was then taken up in the 18th century by German physician Johann Christian Reil who felt the katzenklavier would be useful in his treatment of insanity, in particular patients who had lost the ability to focus their attention. He believed that the katzenklavier was so ridiculous that if his patients were forced to see it, it couldn't fail to capture the attention and thus cure them.

It's not clear whether Reil knew of Kircher's design or independently came up with the same idea, but either way, it must be one of the weirdest theories in the history of psychiatry. Incidentally, Reil is often credited with coining the term psychiatry (meaning 'healing the soul') in 1808.

Picture: Wiki Commons

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For I Will Consider My Cat Jeoffry

An excerpt from a very strange poem (written c.late 1750s/early 1760s but not published until 1939) called Jubilate Agno by Christopher Smart. Smart was a satirist and friend to Johnson and Fielding; the poem below was at least partly written during his confinement in a mental asylum, where his father-in-law had sent him because of his supposed religious mania. Johnson defended him, saying: 'I did not think he ought to be shut up. His infirmities were not noxious to society. He insisted on people praying with him; and I'd as lief pray with Kit Smart as anyone else...' During his confinement, Smart was left alone with his cat, whose activities he minutely captured in verse.

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry.
For he is the servant of the Living God duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glance of the glory of God in the East he worships in his way.
For this is done by wreathing his body seven times round with elegant quickness.
For then he leaps up to catch the musk, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For he rolls upon prank to work it in.
For having done duty and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his forepaws to see if they are clean.
For secondly he kicks up behind to clear away there.
For thirdly he works it upon stretch with the forepaws extended.
For fourthly he sharpens his paws by wood.
For fifthly he washes himself.
For sixthly he rolls upon wash.
For seventhly he fleas himself, that he may not be interrupted upon the beat.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions.
For tenthly he goes in quest of food.
For having consider'd God and himself he will consider his neighbour.
For if he meets another cat he will kiss her in kindness.
For when he takes his prey he plays with it to give it a chance.
For one mouse in seven escapes by his dallying.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against the adversary.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical skin and glaring eyes.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by brisking about the life.
For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he is of the tribe of Tiger.
For the Cherub Cat is a term of the Angel Tiger.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he suppresses.
For he will not do destruction, if he is well-fed, neither will he spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness, when God tells him he's a good Cat.
For he is an instrument for the children to learn benevolence upon.
For every house is incomplete without him and a blessing is lacking in the spirit.
For the Lord commanded Moses concerning the cats at the departure of the Children of Israel from Egypt.
For every family had one cat at least in the bag.
For the English Cats are the best in Europe.
For he is the cleanest in the use of his forepaws of any quadruped.
For the dexterity of his defence is an instance of the love of God to him exceedingly.
For he is the quickest to his mark of any creature.
For he is tenacious of his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his peace when at rest.
For there is nothing brisker than his life when in motion.
For he is of the Lord's poor and so indeed is he called by benevolence perpetually--Poor Jeoffry! poor Jeoffry! the rat has bit thy throat.
For I bless the name of the Lord Jesus that Jeoffry is better.
For the divine spirit comes about his body to sustain it in complete cat.
For his tongue is exceeding pure so that it has in purity what it wants in music.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can set up with gravity which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can spraggle upon waggle at the word of command.
For he can jump from an eminence into his master's bosom.
For he can catch the cork and toss it again.
For he is hated by the hypocrite and miser.
For the former is afraid of detection.
For the latter refuses the charge.
For he camels his back to bear the first notion of business.
For he is good to think on, if a man would express himself neatly.
For he made a great figure in Egypt for his signal services.
For he killed the Ichneumon-rat very pernicious by land.
For his ears are so acute that they sting again.
For from this proceeds the passing quickness of his attention.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For I perceived God's light about him both wax and fire.
For the Electrical fire is the spiritual substance, which God sends from heaven to sustain the bodies both of man and beast.
For God has blessed him in the variety of his movements.
For, tho he cannot fly, he is an excellent clamberer.
For his motions upon the face of the earth are more than any other quadruped.
For he can tread to all the measures upon the music.
For he can swim for life.
For he can creep.

Above: Boris on his favourite chair. Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.

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Boris vs. Hodge

I promise not to turn this into a cat blog, but I felt I had to mention that things feel slightly weird at home because we just got out first ever cat, Boris (below). He's very nervous and very big, and enjoys nipping the hand if he feels liberties have been taken. I think, when he stops being so scared and hiding underneath the sofa, he could end up developing a tremendous, Johnsonian personality.

But what of Johnson's cats? His most famous cat is Hodge (pictured above in statue-form at Johnson's House in Gough Square), whom I mentioned in an earlier post. And you'll no doubt recall Johnson's tactless remark to Boswell that he'd had 'cats whom I liked better than this', which was quickly qualified with: 'but he is a very fine cat, a very fine cat indeed'. So who were Johnson's other cats? We don't know their names, but as Dr Graham Nicholls says in his excellent pamphlet, Dr Johnson's Cats: 'one of them makes its mark on Johnsonian biography when Johnson objected to his wife [Tetty] beating it because she was setting a bad example to the maids'!

He seems to have owned Hodge in the late 1760s. The name is a version of Roger and is a traditional name for a countryman, so Nicholls speculates that Johnson perhaps brought him back as a kitten from one of his many trips to the country. When the cat was close to death, such was Johnson's tenderness, he went out and found it valerian (a plant similar to catnip) to make his last hours as comfortable as possible

In case you wondered, our cat is named after another big personality: the Mayor of London, Boris Johnson.



Photographs © Memoirs of the Celebrated Mrs Woffington.

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