The King of the Cats | Stephen Vincent Benet | Podcast - Nightshade Diary

Episode Transcript
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Do you feel a sharer up your spine from fear? Yes,
it's another story from the Night's Shade Diary. You know
what that means. Check under the bed and make sure
no one or nothing is there. Is the closet door
securely shut. Then leave your disbelief behind, amp up your
imagination and hang on tight for another ride into terror

(00:22):
and mystery. And like all good horror stories, just imagine
it's a dark and stormy night, and remember screaming like
a little girl is permitted the King of the Cats
by Stephen Vincent Bennet. But my DearS, said missus culvern

(00:47):
with a tiny gasp, you can't actually mean a tale.
Missus Dingle nodded impressively, exactly. I've seen him twice Paris,
of course, and then a command appearance at Rome. We
were in the Royal Box. He conducted, My dear, you've
never heard such effects from an orchestra, And my dear,

(01:08):
she hesitated slightly. He conducted with it, how perfectly, fascinatingly.
Too horrid for words, said missus Culveran in a dazed
but greedy voice. We must have him to dinner as
soon as he comes over. He is coming over isn't
he the twelfth, said missus Dingle, with a gleam in

(01:28):
her eyes. The New Symphony people have asked him to
be guest conductor for three special concerts. I do hope
you can dine with us some night while he's here.
He'll be very busy, of course, but he's promised to
give us what time he can spare. Oh thank you, dear,
said missus Culveran, abstractedly, her last rate upon Missus Dingle's

(01:50):
pet British novelist still fresh in her mind. You're always
so delightfully hospitable, but you mustn't wear yourself out. The
rest of us must do our I know Henry and
myself would be only too glad to. That's very sweet
of you, darling. Missus Dingle also remembered the large city
of the British novelists. But we're just going to give
Monsieur Tebau sweet name, isn't it. They say he's descended

(02:14):
from the Tibaut and Romeo and Juliet, and that's why
he doesn't like Shakespeare. We're just going to give Monsieur
Tebau the simplest sort of time. A little reception after
his first concert perhaps he hates She looked around the
table large mixed parties. And then, of course his little idiosyncrasy,

(02:35):
she coughed delicately. It makes him feel a trifle shy
with strangers. But I don't understand yet, Aunt Emily, said
Tommy Brooks, Missus Dingle's nephew. Do you really mean this
tebau Boso has a tale like a monkey and everything, Tommy, dear,
said Missus Culverin crushingly. In the first place, Monsieur Tebau

(02:58):
is not a bozo. He is a very distinguished musician,
the finest conductor in Europe. And in the second place,
he has Missus Dingle was firm. He has a tail.
He conducts with it. Oh, but honestly, said Tommy, his
ears pinking. I mean, of course, if you say so,
Aunt Emily, I'm sure he has. But still it sounds

(03:22):
pretty steep, if you know what I mean. How about it,
Professor Tato. Professor Tato cleared his throat dick, he said,
putting his finger tips together curiously. I shall be very
anxious to see this, Monsieur Tibau. For myself, I've never
observed a genuine specimen of Homo cordatus, so I should
be inclined to doubt. And yet in the Middle Ages,

(03:44):
for instance, the belief in men of tailed or with
cau uple appendages of some sort was both widespread and,
as far as we can gather, well founded. As late
as the eighteenth century. A Dutch sea captain with some
character feracity, he recounts the discovery a pair of such
creatures in the island of Formosa. They were in a

(04:04):
low state of civilization, I believe, but the appendages in
question were quite distinct. And in eighteen sixty doctor Grimbrook,
the English surgeon, claims to have treated no less than
three African natives with short but evident tales, though his
testimony rests upon his unsupported word. After all, the thing
is not impossible, though doubtless unusual, web feet, rudimentary gills,

(04:30):
these occur with some frequency. The appendix we have always
with us. The chain of our descent from the ape
like form is by no means complete. For that matter,
he beamed around the table what can we call the
last few vertebrae of the normal spine but the beginnings
of a concealed and rudimentary tale. Oh yes, yes, it's
quite quite possible that in an extraordinary case, a reversion

(04:55):
to type a survival. Though of course I told you so, oh,
said missus Dingle triumphantly. Isn't it fascinating, isn't it? Princess
The Princess Viverconda's eyes blue as a field of larkspur,
phantomless as the center of Heaven rested slightly for a
moment on Missus Dingle's excited countenance. Very fascinating, she said,

(05:19):
in a voice like stroke golden velvet. I should like,
I should like very much to meet this Monsieur Tibau. Well,
I hope he breaks ust. And that said Tommy Brooks
under his breath, But nobody ever paid much attention to Tommy. Nevertheless,
at that time, for mister Tebow's arrival in these states
drew nearer and nearer, people in general began to wonder

(05:41):
whether the Princess had spoken quite truthfully, For there was
no doubt the fact that up till then she had
been the unique sensation of the season. And you know
what social lions and lionesses are. It was if you
remember a Siamese season, and genuine Siamese where at quite
as much of a premium as Russian accents had been

(06:04):
in the quaint old days when the show Sura was
a novelty. The Siamese art theater imported a terrific expense,
was playing a packed house Gushgutsu, an epic novel of
Siamese farm life. In nineteen closely printed volumes had just
been awarded the Nobel Prize. Prominent patent new dealers reported

(06:25):
no cessation the apongy Man for Siamese cats, And upon
the crest of this wave of interest in things Siamese,
the princes Birecanarda poised with the elegant nonchalance of a
Hawaiian water baby upon its surfboard. She wasn't dispensable, she
was incomparable. She was everywhere, youthful, enormously wealthy, allied on

(06:47):
one hand to the royal family of Siam and on
the other to the Cabots, And yet the first eighteen
of her twenty one years shrouded from speculation in a
golden zone of mystery. The mingling of races in her
had produced an exotic beauty as distinguished as it was strange.
She moved with feline, effortless grace, and her skin was

(07:09):
as if it had been gently powdered with tiny grains
of the purest gold. Yet the blueness of her eyes,
set just a trifle slantingly, was as pure and startling
as to sea on the rocks of Maine. Her brown
hair fell to her knees. She had been offered extraordinary
sums by the Master Barber's Protective Association to have it
shingled straight as a waterfall tumbling over brown rocks, and

(07:33):
had a vague perfume of sandalwood and suave spices, and
how tints of rust and the sun. She did not
talk very much, but then she did not have to.
Her voice had an odd, small, melodious huskiness that haunted
the mind. She lived alone and was reputed to be
very lazy. At least. It was known that she slept

(07:53):
during most of the day, but at night she loomed
like a moonflower, and a depth came into her eyes.
It was no wonder that Tommy Brooks fell in love
with her. The wonder was that she led him. There
was nothing exotic or distinguished about Tommy. He is just
one of those pleasant, normal young men who seemed created
to carry on the bond business by reading the newspapers

(08:15):
in the University club during most of the day, and
could be relied upon at night to fill an unexpected
hole in a dinner party. It is true that the
Princess could hardly be said to do more than tolerate
any of her suitors. No one had ever seen those
aloofly arrogant eyes enlivened at the entrance of any male.
But she seemed to be able to tolerate Tommy a

(08:36):
little more than the resk, and that young man's infatuated
day dreams were beginning to be beset by smart solitiars
and imaginary apartments on Park Avenue. When the famous Empty
Bow conducted his first concert at Carnegie Hall, Tommy Brooks
sat beside the Princess. The eyes he turned upon her

(08:56):
were eyes of longing and love, but her face was
as a mask. The only remark she made during the
preliminary bustlings was that there seemed to be a number
of people in the audience, But Tommy was relieved of
anything to find her even a little more alooft than usual.
For ever since Missus Colveran's dinner party, a vague disquiet

(09:17):
as to the possible impression which this tee bow creature
might make upon her had been growing in his mind.
It shows his devotion that he was present at all
to a man who's simple prince Tonian nature found in
just a little love, a little kiss, the quintessence of
musical art. The average symphony was a positive torture. And

(09:39):
he looked forward to the evening's program itself with a grim,
brave smile, sh said missus Dingle breathlessly, He's coming. It
seemed to the startled Tommy as if he were suddenly
back in the trenches under a heavy barrage. As M. T.
Bau made his entrance to a perfect bombardment of applause,
then the enthusiastic noise was sliced off in the middle,

(10:02):
and a ghast took its place, a vast windy sigh,
as if every person in that multitude had suddenly said ah.
For the papers had not lied about him. The tale
was there. They called them theatric but how well he
understood the uses of theatricalism. Dressed and unrelieved, black from
head to foot, the black dress shirt had been a

(10:23):
special token of Mussolini's esteem. He did not walk on.
He strolled leisurely, easily aloofly, the famous tail curled nonchalantly
about one wrist, a suave black panther lounging through a
summer garden with that little mysterious weave of the head
that panthers have when they pad behind bars, the glittering

(10:45):
darkness of his eyes. Unmoved by any surprise or relation,
he nodded twice in regal acknowledgment as the clapping reached
an apogee of frenzy. To Tommy, there was something dreadfully
reminiscent of the princess and the way he nodded. Then
he turned to his orchestra. A second lauder gasp went
from the audience at this point, for as he turned

(11:08):
the tip of that incredible tail twine with daintly carelessness,
into some hidden pocket and produced a black baton, But
Tommy did not even notice. He was looking at the
princess instead. Genny didn't even bother to clap at first,
But now he had never seen her move like this,
never She was not applauding. Her hands were clasped in

(11:29):
a lap, but her whole body was rigid, rigid as
a steal bar, and the blue flowers of her eyes
were bent upon the figure of Monsieur Tibaut in a
terrible concentration. The pose of her entire figure was so
still and intense that for an instant Tommy had the
lunatic idea that any moment she might leap from her
seat beside him, as lightly as a moth and land

(11:53):
with no sound. That Monsieur Tibau sighed too yes to
rub her proud head against his coat in worship. Even
missus Dingle would notice in a moment, Princess, he said
in a horrified whispered Princess. Slowly, the tenseness of her
body relaxed, her eyes veiled again. She grew calm. Yes, Tommy,

(12:14):
she said in her usual voice, But there was still
something about her nothing only. Oh, hang, he's starting, said Tommy.
As Monsieur Tibaut, his hands loosely clasped before him, turned
and faced the audience. His eyes dropped, his tail twitched
once impressively, then gave three little pilaminary taps with his

(12:34):
baton on the floor. Seldom has Glucks overtured to Ephigienie
and Olives received such an ovation. But it was not
until the Eighth Symphony that the hysteria of the audience
created its climax. Never before had the new symphony played
so superbly, and certainly never before had been led with
such genius. Three prominent conductors in the audience were sobbing

(12:58):
with a despairing admiral of envious children toward the clothes,
and one at least was heard to offer wildly ten
thousand dollars to a well known facial surgeon their present
for a shred of evidence that tales of some variety could,
by any stretch of science be grafted upon a normally
de goad dee form. There was no doubt about it.

(13:19):
No mortal hand in arm be they, ever so dextrous
could combine the delicate, elan and powerful grace displayed in
every gesture of Monsieur Debau's tale. A sable staff, it
dominated the brasses like a flicker of black lightning an
abon elusive whip. It drew the lost exquisite breadth of

(13:40):
melody from the woodwinds, and ruled the stormy strings like
a magician's rod. Monsieur Tibau bowed and bowed again. Roar
after raw of frenzied admiration shook the hall to its foundation,
and when he finally staggered, exhausted from the platform, that
president of the Wednesday Sonata Club was only restrained by
force from flinging her ninety thousand dollars string of pearls

(14:03):
after him. An excess of aesthetic appreciation. New York had
come and seen, and New York was conquered. Missus Dingle
was immediately besieged by reporters, and Tommy Brooks looked forward
to the little party at which he was to meet
the new hero of the hour, with feelings only a
little less labugrious than those that would have come to

(14:23):
him just before taking his seat in the electric chair.
The meeting between his princess and Monsieur de Bault was
worse and better than he expected. Better because, after all,
they did not say much to each other, and worse
because it seemed to him somehow that some curious kinship
of mind between them made words unnecessary. They were certainly

(14:45):
the most distinguished looking couple in the room, as he
bent over her hand. So daringly foreign both of them,
and yet so different, babbled Missus Dingle. But Tommy couldn't agree.
They were different. Yes, the dark lit stranger with the
bizarre pendage tuck carelessly in his pocket, and the blue eyed,
brown haired girl. But that difference only accentuated what they

(15:07):
had in common, something in the way they moved, in
the suavity of their gestures, and the set of their eyes,
something deeper even than race. He tried to puzzle it out. Then,
looking around at the others, he had a flash of revelation.
It was as if that couple were foreign, indeed not
only to New York, but to all common humanity, as

(15:28):
if they were polite guests from a different star. Tommy
did not have a very happy evening on the whole,
but his mind worked slowly, and it was not until
much later that the mad suspicion came upon him in
full force. Perhaps he is not to be blamed for
his lack of immediate comprehension. The next few weeks were

(15:48):
weeks of bewildered misery for him. It was not that
the princess's attitude toward him at change. She was just
as tolerant of him as before. But Monsieur Tibault was
always there. He had a faculty of appearing as out
of thin air. He walked, for all his height, as
lightly as a butterfly, and Tommy grew to hate the
faintest shuffle on the carpet that announced his presence, And

(16:11):
then hang it all. The man was so smooth, so unfernally,
unrufferably smooth. He was never out of temper, never embarrassed.
He treated Tommy with the extreme of heverbanity, And yet
his eyes mocked deep down, and Tommy could do nothing.
And gradually the princess became more and more drawn to
the stranger and a soundless communion that found little need

(16:34):
for speech, And that too Tommy saw and hated, and
that too he could not mend. He began to be
haunted not only by Monsieur Tybau in a flush, but
by Monsieur ti Beau in the spirit. He slept badly.
When he slept, he dreamt of Monsieur Tibau, a man
no longer but a shadow, a specter, the limber ghost

(16:57):
of an animal whose words came purringly between sharp, little
pointed teeth. There was certainly something odd about the whole
shape of the fellow, his fluid ease, the mold of
his head, even the cut of his finger nails. But
just what it was escaped Tommy's intentest cogitation, and when

(17:17):
he put his finger on it at length, at first
he refuse to believe a pair of petty incidents decided
him finally against all reason. He had gone to missus
Dingle's one winter afternoon, hoping to find the princess. She
was out with his aunt, but was expected back for tea,
and he wandered idly into the library to wait. He

(17:37):
was just about to switch on the lights, the library
was always dark, even in summer, when he heard a
sound of light breathing that seemed to come from the
leather couch in the corner. He approached it cautiously and
dimly made out the form of Monsieur Tibaud, curled up
on the couch, peacefully asleep. The sight annoyed Tommy that
he swore under his breath, and was back near the

(17:58):
door on his way out, when the feeling we all
know and hate, the feeling that eyes we cannot see
our watching us, arrested him. He turned back. Monsieur Tibau
had not moved the muscle of his body to all appearance,
but its eyes were open now, and those eyes were
black and human no longer they were green. Tommy could

(18:19):
have sworn it, and he could have sworn that they
had no bottom and gleamed like little emeralds in the dark.
It only lasted a moment, for Tommy pressed the light
button automatically, and there was Monsieur Tibaux, his normal self,
yawning a little but urbanely apologetic. But it gave Tommy
time to think. Nor did what happen a trifle later

(18:40):
increase his peace of mind. They had lit a fire
and were talking in front of it. By now Tommy
hated Monsieur Tybau so thoroughly that he felt that odd
yearning for his company that often occurs in such cases.
Monsieur Tibau was telling some antacdote, and Tommy was hating
him worse than ever, for basking was such as enjoyment

(19:01):
in the heat of the flames and the ripple of
his own voice. Then they heard the street door open,
and Monsieur Tibau jumped up, and jumping caught one sock
on a sharp corner of the brass fire rail, tore
it open in a jagged flap. Tommy looked down mechanically
at the tear a second glance, but enough forced Monsieur

(19:23):
Tibaux for the first time, and Tommy's experience lost his
temper completely. He swore violently in some spitting foreign tongue,
his face distorted. Suddenly he clapped his hand over his sock, then,
glaring furiously at Tommy, fairly sprang from the room, and
Tommy could hear him scaling the stairs in long, agile bounds.

(19:44):
Tommy sank into a chair, careless for once of the
fact that he heard the Princess's light laugh in the hall.
He didn't want to see the princess. He didn't want
to see anybody. There had been something revealed when Monsieur
Tibault had torn that hole in his so and it
was not the skin of a man. Tommy had caught
a glimpse of black, plush, black velvet, and then had

(20:08):
come on Sieur Tibow's sudden explosion of fury. Good Lord,
did the men wore black velvet stockings under his ordinary socks?
Or could he? Could he? But here Tommy held his
fevered head in his hands. He went to Professor Tattoo
that evening with a series of hypothetical questions, but as
he did not dare confide his real suspicions to the professor.

(20:32):
The hypothetical answers to received served only to confuse him.
The more then he thought of Billy strange. Billy was
a good sort, and his mind had a turn for
the bizarre. Billy might be able to help. He couldn't
get hold of Billy for three days, and lived through
the interval in a fever of impatience. But finally they
had dinner together Billy's apartment, where his queer books were,

(20:53):
and Tommy was able to blurt out the whole disordered
jumble of his suspicions. Billy listened without interrupting until Tommy
was quite through. Then he pulled at his pipe. But
my dear man, he said protestingly. Oh I know, I know,
said Tommy, and waved his hands. I know I'm crazy.
You needn't tell me that, but I tell you the

(21:13):
man's a cat all the same. No, I don't see
how he could be, but he is. Why hang it
in the first place, everybody knows he's got a tail.
Even so, said Billy, puffing, Oh my dear Tommy, I
don't doubt you saw or think you saw something everything
you say. But even so, he shook his head. But

(21:34):
what about those other birds wear wolves and things, said Tommy.
Billy looked dubious. Well, he admitted, you've got me there.
Of course, at least a tailed man is possible, and
he yearns about were wolves go far enough so that, well,
I wouldn't say there aren't or haven't been were wolves.
But then I'm willing to believe more things than most people.

(21:56):
But a wear cat or a man that's a cat,
and a cat that's a man. Honestly, Tommy, if I
don't get some real advice, I'll go clean off my
hinge for heaven's sake. Tell me something to do. Let
me think, said Billy. First, your pisn't sure this man
is a cat? Yeah, said Tommy, nodded violently, chuck. And second,

(22:22):
if it doesn't hurt your feelings, Tommy, you're afraid this
girl you're in love with has a at least a
streak of felinity in her, and so she's drawn to him. Oh, lord, Billy,
if I only knew, well, I suppose she really is too,
you know, would you still be keen on her? I'd
marry her if she turned into a dragon every Wednesday,

(22:43):
said Tommy, fervidly. Billy smiled. He said, then the obvious
thing to do is to get rid of this Monsieur
ti beau. Let me think he thought about two pipes full. Oh,
Tommy sat on pins and needles, and finally he burst
out laughing. What's so darned funny, said Tommy, aggrievedly. Nothing, Tommy,
only I've just thought of a stunt, something so blooming crazy.

(23:06):
But if he is what you think he is, it
might work. And going to the book case, he took
down a book. If you think you're going to quite
my nerves by reading me a bedtime story, shut up,
Tommy and listen to this. If you really want to
get rid of your feline friend, what is it book
of Agnes Reppliers about cats? Listen. There is also Scandinavian

(23:30):
version of the very famous story which Sir Walter Scott
told to Washington Irving, which Mounklow was told to Shelley,
and which in one form or another, we find embodied
in the folklore of every land. Now, Tommy, pay attention
the story of the traveler who saw within a ruined
abbey a procession of cats lowering into a grave. A

(23:52):
little coffin with a crown upon it. Filled with horror,
he hastened from the spot. But when he had reached
his destination, he could not be relating to a friend
the wonder he had seen. Scarcely had the tale been told.
When his friend's cat lay curled up tranquility by the fire,
sprang to its feet, cried out, then I am the
King of the cats, and disappeared in a flash of

(24:13):
the chimney. Well, said Billy, shutting the book by Gune,
said Tommy, staring by gum. Do you think there's a chance.
I think we're both in the booby hatch. But if
you want to try it, try it. I'll spring it
on him the next time I see him. But listen,

(24:35):
I can't make it a ruined abby. Oh, use your imagination,
make a central pork anywhere. Tell it as if it
happened to you, seeing the funeral procession and all that,
you can lead into it somehow. Let's see some general line. Oh, yes, strange,
isn't it? How facts often copies fiction? Why only yesterday?

(24:56):
See strange isn't it? I'll fact so often copy's fiction,
repeated Tommy dutifully. Why only yesterday? I happened to be
strolling through Central Park when I saw something very odd.
I happened to be strolling through here. Give me that book,
said Tommy, I want to learn the rest of it
by heart. Missus Dingle's farewell dinner to the famous Monsieur

(25:18):
ti Beau, on the occasion of his departure for his
western tour, was looked forward to greatest expectations. Not only
would everybody be there, including the Princess Viva Canarda, but
Missus Dingle, a hinter if there ever was one, had
let it be known that at this dinner an announcement
of very unusual interest to society might be made. So everyone,

(25:41):
for once was almost on time, except for Tommy. He
was at least fifteen minutes early, for he wanted to
have speech with his aunt alone. Unfortunately, however, he had
hardly taken off his overcoat when she was whispering some
news in his ear so rapidly that he found it
difficult to understand a word of it. And you mustn't
read it to a soul, she ended, beaming, that is

(26:02):
not before the announcement. I think we'll have that with
a salad. People never pay very much attention to salad.
Breathe what, Aunt, Emily said, Tommy confused. The princess darling,
The dear Princess and Monsieur ti Beau. They just got
engaged this afternoon, dear things. Isn't it fascinating? Yeah, said
Tommy and started to walk blindly through the nearest door.

(26:26):
His aunt restrained him, not there, dear, not in the library.
You can't congratulate them later. They're just having a sweet
little moment alone there now. And as she turned away
to harry the butler, leaving, Tommy stunned, but his chin
came up after a moment. He wasn't beaten yet. Strange,
isn't it? How often fat copy's fiction, he repeated to

(26:48):
himself in dull mnemonics, and as he did so, he
shook his fist at the library door. Missus Dingle was wrong,
as usual. The princes and Monsieur ty Bau were not
in the library. They were in the conservative, as Tommy
discovered when he wandered aimlessly place the glass doors. He
didn't mean to look, and after a second he turned away,

(27:08):
But that second was enough. Tebou was seated in a chair,
and she was crouched on a stool at his side,
while his hands softly, smoothly stroked her brown hair, black
cat and Sime's kitten. Her face was hidden from Tommy,
but he could see Tebo's face, and he could hear.
They were not talking, but there was a sound between them,

(27:30):
a warm and contented sound like the murmur of giant
bees in a hollow tree. A golden musical rumble, deep throated,
that came from Tebow's lips, was answered by hers a
golden purr. Tommy found himself back in the drawing room,
shaking his hands with Missus Culvern, who said frankly that
she had seldom seen him look so pale. The first

(27:52):
two courses of the dinner passed. Tommy liked dreams, but
Missus Dingle's cellar was notable, and by the middle of
the meat course, he began to come to himself. He
had only one resolve now For the next few moments.
He tried desperately to break into the conversation, but Missus
Dingle was talking, and even Gabriel will have a time
interrupting Missus Dingle. At last, though she paused for breath,

(28:16):
and Tommy saw his chance. Speaking of that, said Tommy piercingly,
without knowing in the least what he was referring to.
Speaking of that as I was saying, said Professor Tatto.
But Tommy would not yield. The plates were taken away.
It was time for salad. Speaking of that, he said
again so loudly and strangely, that Missus Culvern jumped and
an awkward hush fell over the table. Strange, isn't it

(28:39):
how often fat Copy's fiction there he was started, His
voice rose even higher. Why only to day I was
strolling through, and word for word he repeated his lesson.
He could see Tebow's eyes glowing at him is described
at funeral. He could see the Prince's tense. He could
not have said what he had expected might happen when

(29:00):
he came to the end, But it was not Bored's
silence everywhere, to be followed by Missus Dingle's acrid Well, Tommy,
is that quite all? He slumped back in his chair,
sick at heart. He was a fool and his last
resource had failed. Dimly heard his aunt's voice saying, well then,
and realized that she was about to make the fatal announcement.

(29:21):
But just then, Monsieur Tibo spoke one moment, missus Dingle,
he said with extreme politeness, and she was silent. He
turned to Tommy. You are positive I suppose what you
saw this afternoon, brooks, he said, in tones of light mockery, absolutely,
said Tommy, sullenly. Do you think i'd Oh, no, no, no.

(29:42):
Monsieur Tibau waved the implication aside. But such an interesting story,
one likes to be sure of the details. And of
course you are sure, quite sure that the kind of
crown you describe us on the coffin, of course, said Tommy, wondering.
But then I'm the king of the cats, cried on
Sier Tibaut in a voice of thunder. And even as

(30:03):
he cried it, the house lights blinked. There was the
soft dot of an explosion, it seemed, muffled in cotton
wool from the minstrel gallery, and the scene was lit
for a second by an obliterating and painful burst of
light that vanished in an instant and was succeeded by heavy,
blinding clouds of white, punge and smoke. Oh, those horrid photographers,

(30:25):
came missus Dingle's voice, in a melodious will. I told
them not to take the flashlight picture till dinner was over.
And now I've taken it. Just as I was nibbling lettuce,
someone tittered a little nervously, someone coughed. Then gradually the
veils of smoke dislimmed, and the green and black spots
in front of Tommy's eyes died away. They were blinking

(30:46):
at each other like people who have just come out
of a cave into brilliant sun. Even yet their eyes
stung with the fierceness of that abrupt illumination, and Tommy
found it hard to make out their faces across the
table from him. Missus Dingle took command of the half
blinded company with her accustomed poise. She rose, glass and

(31:07):
hat and now, dear friend, she said, in a clear voice,
I'm sure all of us are very happy too. Then
she stopped, open mouthed an expression of incredulous horror her features.
The lifted glass began to spill its contents on the
table claw and a little stream of amber. As she spoke,
she had turned directly to Monsieur Tebou's place at the table,

(31:28):
and Monsieur Tebau was no longer there. Some say there
was a bursting flash of fire that disappeared up the chimney.
Some say it was a giant cat that leaped through
the window at a bound without breaking the glass. Professor
Tatto puts it down to mysterious chemical disturbance operating only
over Monsieur Tebou's chair. The butler, who is pious, believes

(31:49):
the devil in person flew away with him, and Missus
Dingle hesitates between witchcraft and a malicious ectoplasm dematerializing on
the wrong cosmic plane. But be that as it may,
one thing is certain. In the instant of fictive darkness
which followed the glare of the flashlight, Monsieur Tebou, the
Great Conductor, disappeared forever from mortal sight, tale and all.

(32:13):
Missus Culveran swears he was an international burglar, and that
she was just about to unmask him when he slipped
away under cover of flashlight smoke. But no one else
who said it that historic dinner table believes her. No,
there are no sound explanations, But Tommy thinks he knows,
and he will never be able to pass a cat
again without wondering. Missus Tommy is quite of her husband's

(32:38):
mind regarding cats. She was Gretchen wool Wine of Chicago,
for Tommy told her his whole story, and while she
doesn't believe a great deal of it, there is no
doubt in her heart that one person concerned in the
affair was a perfect cat. Doubtless it would have been
more romantic to relate how Tommy's darling finally won him

(32:58):
his princess. Unfortunately it would not be voracious, for the princess,
Vivra Carnarda, also is with us no longer. Her nerves
shattered by the spectacular denoument of missus Dingle's dinner, required
a sea voyage, and from that voyage has never returned
to America. Of course, there are the usual stories. One

(33:20):
hears of her a nun in as Siamese convent where
mass d'An ser lejardin de Masseire. One hears that she
has been murdered in Patagonia, or married and tres bes own.
But as far as can be a certain, not one
of these godly fables has the slightest basis of fact.
I believe that Tommy, in his heart of hearts, is
quite convinced that the sea voyage is only a pretext,

(33:42):
and that by some unheard of means, she had managed
to rejoin the formidable Monsieur Tibaut wherever in the world
of the visible or the invisible he may be. In fact,
that in some ruined city or subterranean palace they reigned together,
now king and Queen of all the mysterious Kingdom of Cats,
but that, of course, is quite impossible.

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The King of the Cats | Stephen Vincent Benet | Podcast

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.css-14f5ked{margin:0;word-break:break-word;display:-webkit-box;-webkit-box-orient:vertical;box-orient:vertical;-webkit-line-clamp:2;overflow:hidden;}The King of the Cats | Stephen Vincent Benet | Podcast