Our Friend the Dog | Page 3

all that moved on the horizon of the plains or woods,
was the unmistakable enemy.... But to-day you can no longer tell....
You have to acquaint yourself with a civilization of which you
disapprove, to appear to understand a thousand incomprehensible
things.... Thus, it seems evident that henceforth the whole world no
longer belongs to the master, that his property conforms to
unintelligible limits.... It becomes necessary, therefore, first of all to
know exactly where the sacred domain begins and ends. Whom are you
to suffer, whom to stop?... There is the road by which every one, even
the poor, has the right to pass. Why? You do not know; it is a fact
which you deplore, but which you are bound to accept. Fortunately, on
the other hand, here is the fair path which none may tread. This path is
faithful to the sound traditions; it is not to be lost sight of; for by it
enter into your daily existence the difficult problems of life.
Would you have an example? You are sleeping peacefully in a ray of
the sun that covers the threshold of the kitchen with pearls. The
earthenware pots are amusing themselves by elbowing and nudging one
another on the edge of the shelves trimmed with paper lace-work. The
copper stewpans play at scattering spots of light over the smooth white
walls. The motherly stove hums a soft tune and dandles three saucepans
blissfully dancing; and, from the little hole that lights up its inside,
defies the good dog who cannot approach, by constantly putting out at
him its fiery tongue. The clock, bored in its oak case, before striking
the august hour of meal time, swings its great gilt navel to and fro; and
the cunning flies tease your ears. On the glittering table lie a chicken, a
hare, three partridges, besides other things which are called
fruits--peaches, melons, grapes--and which are all good for nothing.
The cook guts a big silver fish and throws the entrails (instead of giving
them to you!) into the dust-bin. Ah, the dust-bin! Inexhaustible treasury,
receptacle of windfalls, the jewel of the house! You shall have your
share of it, an exquisite and surreptitious share; but it does not do to
seem to know where it is. You are strictly forbidden to rummage in it.

Man in this way prohibits many pleasant things, and life would be dull
indeed and your days empty if you had to obey all the orders of the
pantry, the cellar and the dining-room. Luckily, he is absent-minded
and does not long remember the instructions which he lavishes. He is
easily deceived. You achieve your ends and do as you please, provided
you have the patience to await the hour. You are subject to man, and he
is the one god; but you none the less have your own personal, exact and
imperturbable morality, which proclaims aloud that illicit acts become
most lawful through the very fact that they are performed without the
master's knowledge. Therefore, let us close the watchful eye that has
seen. Let us pretend to sleep and to dream of the moon....
Hark! A gentle tapping at the blue window that looks out on the garden!
What is it? Nothing; a bough of hawthorn that has come to see what we
are doing in the cool kitchen. Trees are inquisitive and often excited;
but they do not count, one has nothing to say to them, they are
irresponsible, they obey the wind, which has no principles.... But what
is that? I hear steps!... Up, ears open; nose on the alert!... It is the baker
coming up to the rails, while the postman is opening a little gate in the
hedge of lime-trees. They are friends; it is well; they bring something:
you can greet them and wag your tail discreetly twice or thrice, with a
patronizing smile....
Another alarm! What is it now? A carriage pulls up in front of the steps.
The problem is a complex one. Before all, it is of consequence to heap
copious insults on the horses, great, proud beasts, who make no reply.
Meantime, you examine out of the corner of your eye the persons
alighting. They are well-clad and seem full of confidence. They are
probably going to sit at the table of the gods. The proper thing is to
bark without acrimony, with a shade of respect, so as to show that you
are doing your duty, but that you are doing it with intelligence.
Nevertheless, you cherish a lurking suspicion and, behind the guests'
backs, stealthily, you sniff the air persistently and in a knowing way, in
order to discern any hidden intentions.
But halting footsteps resound outside the kitchen. This time it is the
poor man dragging his crutch, the unmistakable