symmetrical stripes, there was something tigerlike about him that
pleased me. Childebrand had the honor of figuring in some verses that I
wrote to 'flout' Boileau:--

"Puis je te decrirai ce tableau de Rembrandt
Que me fait tant plaisir: et mon chat Childebrand,
Sur mes genoux pose selon son habitude,
Levant sur moi la tete avec inquietude,
Suivra les mouvements de mon doigt qui dans l'air
Esquisse mon recit pour le rendre plus clair.


"Childebrand was brought in there to make a good rhyme for Rembrandt,
the piece being a kind of confession of the romantic faith made to a
friend, who was then as enthusiastic as myself about Victor Hugo, Sainte
Beuve, and Alfred de Musset.... I come next to Madame Theophile, a 'red'
cat, with a white breast, a pink nose, and blue eyes, whom I called by
that name because we were on terms of the closest intimacy. She slept at
the foot of my bed: she sat on the arm of my chair while I wrote: she
came down into the garden and gravely walked about with me: she was
present at all my meals, and frequently intercepted a choice morsel on
its way from my plate to my mouth. One day a friend who was going away
for a short time, brought me his parrot, to be taken care of during his
absence. The bird, finding itself in a strange place, climbed up to the
top of its perch by the aid of its beak, and rolled its eyes (as yellow
as the nails in my arm-chair) in a rather frightened manner, also moving
the white membranes that formed its eyelids. Madame Theophile had never
seen a parrot, and she regarded the creature with manifest surprise.
While remaining as motionless as a cat mummy from Egypt in its swathing
bands, she fixed her eyes upon the bird with a look of profound