Cats

I was touched by James Marcus’ recent post about the death of Molly. James and I have commiserated and agree we are cat men. I admire the way he worked in a mention of the second-most famous cat of the 18th century, Christopher Smart’s Jeoffry. The most famous, of course, is Samuel Johnson’s Hodge. Here is Boswell’s account in his Life of Johnson:

“I never shall forget the indulgence with which he treated Hodge, his cat: for whom he himself used to go out and buy oysters, lest the servants having that trouble should take a dislike to the poor creature. I am, unluckily, one of those who have an antipathy to a cat, so that I am uneasy when in the room with one; and I own, I frequently suffered a good deal from the presence of this same Hodge. I recollect him one day scrambling up Dr. Johnson's breast, apparently with much satisfaction, while my friend smiling and half-whistling, rubbed down his back, and pulled him by the tail; and when I observed he was a fine cat, saying, `Why yes, Sir, but I have had cats whom I liked better than this;’ and then as if perceiving Hodge to be out of countenance, adding, `but he is a very fine cat, a very fine cat indeed.’

“This reminds me of the ludicrous account which he gave Mr. Langton, of the despicable state of a young Gentleman of good family. `Sir, when I heard of him last, he was running about town shooting cats.’ And then in a sort of kindly reverie, he bethought himself of his own favorite cat, and said, `But Hodge shan't be shot; no, no, Hodge shall not be shot.’”

Hodge’s renown grew after Nabokov used the second of Boswell’s paragraphs as the epigraph to Pale Fire. The passage neatly differentiates the characters of Boswell and Johnson, and may explain my preference for the latter. Boswell admits to an “antipathy” to cats, while Johnson, like any good-hearted person, feels only “indulgence” for Hodge, and experiences “a sort of kindly reverie” when thinking of his cat. To their credit, the English have commemorated a bronze statue of Hodge in front of the house he and Johnson shared.

Jeoffry was immortalized by Smart in “Of Jeoffry, His Cat,” a 73-line section of Jubilate Agno often published as a separate poem. The manuscript of the entire poem was not discovered and published until 1939. Jubilate Agno is written in free verse, making it a discordant and refreshing anomaly in the 18th century. The rhythms are biblical and remind us of Whitman or Ginsberg. With three exceptions, every line in the poem begins with “For” or “Let.” Read aloud, the effect is hypnotic, like a chant, and Smart’s mental illness often manifested itself in the form of religious mania. These are the lines James quoted:

“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.”

Portions of Jubilate Agno and his other great work, “A Song to David,” were written during Smart’s confinement in an insane asylum. “Of Jeoffrey, His Cat” might be judged cute and anthropomorphic, especially if you share Boswell’s antipathy, but I view it as a masterpiece of tonal control, summed up in one of my favorite lines: “For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.” So is the poem, and so are Johnson and Smart. Though he had little use for Smart’s poetry, Johnson championed the man. Here’s Johnson discussing Smart, as reported by Boswell:

“Madness frequently discovers itself merely by unnecessary deviation from the usual modes of the world. My poor friend Smart showed the disturbance of his mind, by falling upon his knees, and saying his prayers in the street, or in any other unusual place. Now although, rationally speaking, it is greater madness not to pray at all, than to pray as Smart did, I am afraid there are so many who do not pray, that their understanding is not called in question."

More Boswell on the subject:

“Concerning this unfortunate poet, Christopher Smart, who was confined in a mad-house, he had, at another time, the following conversation with Dr. Burney. -- BURNEY. `How does poor Smart do, Sir; is he likely to recover?’ JOHNSON. `It seems as if his mind had ceased to struggle with the disease; for he grows fat upon it.’ BURNEY. `Perhaps, Sir, that may be from want of exercise.’ JOHNSON. `No, Sir; he has partly as much exercise as he used to have, for he digs in the garden. Indeed, before his confinement, he used for exercise to walk to the alehouse; but he was carried back again. 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 any one else. Another charge was, that he did not love clean linen; and I have no passion for it.’”

Johnson could be ferocious but his empathy was deep. Living in fear of losing his own sanity, he refused to condemn Smart for sharing the same propensity. Johnson’s first sentence quoted above -- “Madness frequently discovers itself merely by unnecessary deviation from the usual modes of the world.” – reminds me of a well-known line from Theodore Roethke’s poem “In a Dark Time”:

“What's madness but nobility of soul
At odds with circumstance?”

Whereas Johnson is common-sensical and passes no judgment, Roethke romanticizes mental illness. There’s nothing noble about being crazy. It was from Roethke, in the late 1960s, that I first learned of Smart. A veteran of nut houses, Roethke wrote “Heard in a Violent Ward”:

“In heaven, too,
You’d be institutionalized.
But that’s all right, --
If they let you eat and swear
With the like of Blake,
And Christopher Smart,
And that sweet man, John Clare.”