PARIS'S GREAT CAT MASSACRE (1730s)

The Great Cat Massacre on the Rue Saint-Severin, Paris, was, according to its perpetrators, "the funniest thing that ever happened at Jacques Vincent's printing works." To modern readers it is an example of cat persecution in an age when such things were considered entertainment. The epithet "great is a misnomer as it took place in a small area. It took place in the Latin Quarter of Paris in the 1730s when two apprentices organised the biggest cat-killing spree in French history to exact revenge on their employers. The apprentices convinced members of the bourgeoisie (the capitalist middle class) that the animals were possessed. They then staged a mock trial, bludgeoned the cats and sentenced them to hanged.

In 1762, the apprentice Jerome recounted the story in "Anecdotes typographiques ou l'on voit la description des coutumes, moeurs et usages singuliers des compagnons imprimeurs." ("Typographic anecdotes where one sees the description of the customs, manners and remarkable behaviour of journeyman printers.") According to him, the prank was hilarious. Modern readers find it appalling. Robert Darnton, American historian and professor at Harvard described it in his book, "The Great Cat Massacre and Other Episodes in French Cultural History." He considered it a form of workers' revolt against their ill-use by middle class masters, but he links additional unnecessary symbolism to the event.

"Anecdotes typographiques ou l'on voit la description des coutumes, moeurs et usages singuliers des compagnons imprimeurs."
("Typographic anecdotes where one sees the description of the customs, manners and remarkable behaviour of journeyman printers.")

Supper time arrives, and the cook is summoned and told "Take the boys their supper."

It is an excellent piece of roast meat from the Master's table, quite sufficient for two men. Master Printers treat themselves magnificently and want those who serve them to want for nothing. But this Devil incarnate dressed as a woman, more skilful than the most skilful player of cups [i.e. three cups and one ball beneath], hijacks the apprentices' supper, hides it in the cupboard and in its place she substitutes leftover meat that is half dry and half rotten and intended for feeding the house cats. This cook is not content with lining her own pocket, sometimes even reckoning double what the foodstuffs cost as is common practice among the servant women. They reckon more than they buy, for example six litres of peas instead of four, butter in proportion and other foodstuffs in the same way, but her greatest crime is to steal with impunity from the apprentices and to sell everything she can misappropriate to a scumbag who is, they say, from her own country, Picardy.

[* "reckoning" is what the cook enters in her ledger, charging the Master for more than she actually buys.]

Miss Christine [the cook] drops her grimace, she is in a good mood, she has just slipped away. "Here," she said to the apprentices, "have some good food, you can't complain, I have spoken on your behalf." Indeed she was declaiming and warning so well in her own favour that she made the apprentices, especially poor Jerome, appear to be rascals and gluttons who complain about the food in the house, and that meant they would complain in vain. She has shut their mouths. The young boys, as hungry as hunting dogs, sit in a corner of the kitchen at a small table where they set out their cutlery. One brings the bread, the other puts the meat on a plate. As for the wine, it's in the fountain [water].

Leveille cuts the meat and begins to eat, but they are forced to give half of it to the cats, who also don't want it. What can they do? They fall upon the bread stripped of its crust and almost choke without the help of the fountain which they also do not spare. They have barely finished when they are called to prayer. In this house we pride ourselves on devotion, at least outwardly, and prayers are held every day in public in the room; master, mistress, children, servants, friends, parents, everyone is obliged to attend, no one is exempt.

Leveille acts as chaplain and recites the prayer. The two young ladies stand behind him; one pushes him, the other shouts in his ears: "Hurry up." They fear distractions. Our fellow obeys, and recites so loudly that it is impossible to understand or hear anything; we don't know whether he is reciting Latin or Hebrew, he has finished as soon as he has begun. Everyone then retires, and Jerome returns to his beloved home and enjoys a short sleep.

He is so tired and so in need of rest that he views his home like a palace. The persecution and the sorrows he endures during the day are over, he is at peace. But he gets little of it: frenzied cats hold their sabbath all night long which deprives him of any rest he might take during the short interval which remains for the apprentices before they hear the infernal bell that the workers set in motion and sound with redoubled blows. Then he has to get up and, naked apart from his shirt, cross the courtyard and quickly open the door for the workers. These gentlemen are not well off. Such vigilance that we employ has always made them waste their time, apprentices are treated as lazy cowards; they call Jerome; they call Leveille, they must light the stove, they must get water for the soak. It is true that these functions are no longer their responsibility, but the outside workers arrive between six and seven, so they have to do those functions for them. Workers, apprentices, all must labour. Only Masters and Mistresses taste the sweetness of sleep. This makes Jerome and Leveille jealous. They resolve not to be alone in misfortune, they want their master and mistress to share this misfortune. How can they achieve this?

Leveille is a boy whose unique talent is to counterfeit the tones of voice and even the slightest gestures of everyone in the house. He's a perfect actor, that's the job he's learning, and what's more, he knows how to fake the cries of dogs and cats so as to be mistaken for them. The resolution is therefore made that he will go from roof to roof to a gutter near the Master and Mistress's apartment, and to hide there to imitate the mewing of cats. The business is not difficult for him; he is the son of a roofer and runs on roofs like a cat. From his hiding place he fulfils his commission so well that the whole neighbourhood is alarmed. It is decided that the cats have been sent here, that some spell has been cast. The priest, who is a friend of the house and Madame's confessor, must be informed, as no-one was able to sleep. The next day Leveille creates his cats' Sabbath and we'd think him a sorcerer if we didn't know him. Two days later he does the same thing.

Finally, the Master and Mistress, unable to stand it, declare: "We should tell the boys to see if it is possible to keep these evil animals away." Madame brings the order and above all recommends that we take care not to frighten La Grise, that is the name of her cat. The Mistress is passionate about cats, as are several Master Printers; one of them has twenty-five of them, of whom he had portraits made and whom he feeds with roast meat and poultry.

So there is a hunt, the apprentices promise to put their hands to it joined by some of the workers. The Masters love cats therefore the workers must hate cats. One arms himself with the bar of a press, another with the drying rack, others from broom handles. At all the attic windows and at the store doors, they hang bags to accommodate unwary cats who have the temerity to jump in. The beaters are appointed, everything is done by order. Leveille and his comrade Jerome, presidents of the party, are each armed with an iron bar, the first object that presents itself to them is La Grise, Madame's cat. Leveille suddenly stops her with a blow to the loins, and Jerome finishes her off, then in fear of being seen, the act having consequences, it is a murder that must be hidden, Leveille must immediately hide her in the first gutter. It strikes fear into all the neighbouring rooftops. Crowds of cats throw themselves into the traps and are caught, some are knocked down, others are condemned to be hanged and must serve as entertainment for the entire printing press.

Gentlemen, printers know how to make each other laugh, it's their only pastime. The execution is about to begin, they appoint an executioner, assign guards, do not forget to have a Confessor, and pronounce the sentence. The Mistress arrives in the meantime, and is shocked when she sees the bloody execution; she cries, but her voice is broken, she thinks she sees La Grise, she is sure that similar treatment had undoubtedly happened to her favourite cat. All the workers assure her that no one is capable of such an attack and that they have too much respect for the house.

The Bourgeois [sarcastic term for their master] arrives. "Ah! the rascals," he said, "instead of working, they are killing cats." Mistress says to Master: "Those bad guys can't kill their Master, so they've killed my cat, she's nowhere to be found. I called for La Grise everywhere, they will have hanged her." It seemed to her that the blood of all the printing workers would not be able to repair the insult. Poor La Grise, that cat without equal. Master and Mistress withdraw and leave the workers free to carry on. Gentlemen, the print workers who delight in disorder are in high spirits.

There is plenty for them to laugh about, it's a beautiful burlesque! It will keep them happy for a long time. Leveille plays no small part; that actor will repeat this scene twenty times, he will parody the Master, the Mistress and the whole household, he will not fail to ridicule them; everyone will be the subject of his satire. In the printing industry, those who excel in this area are called jobeurs: providing material for the joke. Leveille receives great applause.

It is good to note that all the workers are bandied against the Masters, it is sufficient to speak badly of the Masters to be esteemed by the entire typographical assembly. Leveille is among them. In gratitude we must forgive him any satires launched against the workers. In terms of art, we forgive him the jokes and humiliations played on the workers.

Everyone returns to their work. Jerome and Leveille congratulate each other and promise to execute some other inventive trick worthy of their spirit at the first opportunity. Jerome is ready with advice, but Leveille is priceless for the execution; the cook will immediately provide them with ample material to exercise their imagination. That woman has been abusing the patience of the unfortunate people for a long time, they are going to take revenge, and reveal some of her misdeeds. That evening, she gave them a smaller piece of cold meat than usual; the two young boys waste no time, they go immediately to the nearby grocer to have the meat weighed, not without going into great detail about the way they are fed by the gentleman to whom they are apprenticed. They omit no circumstances. When the meat was weighed, there were two ounces and a bit for two men; those who were present at this event, and there was quite a large number in the shop, each made their own joke about it and told them: "You are lucky, your Master cherishes you, he is afraid that you will get indigestion."

The two comrades leave very happy to have made this scene about their Master, and say to themselves: "It's not him, it's true, but even though he doesn't order it, he lets it happen. That was a good trick, the whole neighbourhood will laugh at his expense. We must drink to his health."

[The apprentices buy wine and steal a loaf from the kitchen without being noticed by the cook.]

The next day people from all around come to the store to report the scene and the scandal caused in the grocer's store, and the subjects are named. The Bourgeois is soon informed of this, and to this story is linked to that of the cats. Perhaps someone spoke to Miss Christine, and, to better support her cause, she accused the apprentices of killing La Grise and affirmed that the matter was true. "It couldn't be anybody but them," she says and they believe her. Madame is driven by revenge just as much as the Bourgeois. From on we stole a peerless cat that she loved to distraction, and from the other we stole his reputation when we tried to blacken it. The Master and Mistress are in a very vindictive mood, and are going to order the punishment.

They bring the guilty parties before them, starting with the apprentices. They are accused of having killed La Grise, they defend themselves poorly and are found guilty [*]. No more is needed regarding their other crimes. The Master pronounces the sentence: "You are a pair of cat-killing rascals, you deserve to be sent to Bicetre [*], but you will leave my house at once." [. . .]

[* "atteint et convaincu" - "accuse and convince" - the production of irrefutable evidence leads the accused to recognize that he has committed an offence. Bicetre was an asylum for insane men]

The cook then appears, and the examination and depositions made against her reveal more than we need to know; she is equally found guilty of an infinite number of thefts, even of putting in her ledger the neighbours' stews and roasts which she buys unofficially and pockets the money. By this means the ledger is loaded with double what was consumed in the house. That's enough to deserve to be sacked, but give her credit - she's been starving the apprentices for a long time.

[Leveille is dismissed to find work elsewhere, Jerome is made to finish his apprenticeship, a new, honest cook is employed, and Jerome is tasked with keeping an eye on her.]

To put the events in context, cat persecution and torture was rife throughout Europe in the 1700s. Cats were associated with witchcraft: witches took the form of cats or kept them as familiars, and Satan appeared to them in the form of a tomcat. The supposed witches were harmless old women, often herbalists, who often kept cats as companions and to control vermin, but they became scapegoats for ills that befell neighbours and were seen as a threat to male authority (which is a whole different essay). Many superstitions involved cats, hence cat-killing was condoned, or even encouraged, by the church. When not associated with witchcraft, cats were linked to female promiscuity and prostitution, thanks to their mating habits. In addition, animals were put on trial - and even executed - for their supposed misdeeds, just as thought they were human.

In Burgundy, when mocking a cuckold or some other victim, youths passed around a cat, tearing its fur to make it howl ("faire le chat"). Cats were hanged, burned, set alight and chased, or thrown from towers to celebrate various festivals. In Cheapside, London, during the Reformation, a cat was shaved and dressed as a Catholic priest and hanged by Protestants. Against this background of sanctioned cruelty, the apprentices were doing nothing unusual in taking out their anger on cats. William Hogarth's "The First Stage of Cruelty" from "The Four Stages of Cruelty" (1751) includes the hanging of two cats by their tails while another is thrown from an attic window. At that time, popular entertainments included bull-baiting, bear-baiting, cock-fighting and dog-fighting. Even today some people consider blood-sports to be entertainment.

In 1767, 30 years after the massacre, French naturalist Buffon summed up the general feeling about cats ["Histoire Naturelle Vol 4: The Natural history of The Cat," Georges Louis Leclerc, Comte de Buffon] when he described the cat as an unfaithful domestic, kept only from necessity to hunt household pests (mice, rats). He dismissed those animal lovers who kept cats for their amusement as being foolish. Kittens were amusing and pretty, but were (according to Buffon) innately malicious and learned to conceal this. In other words, the faithless and independent cat couldn't be trained like the faithful dog.

Contat described the orgy of cat killing as a fete and it we can't ignore the fact that many fetes, carnivals and saints' days once involved a cats being killed, and the church actually encouraged that sort of thing. For example, on St John's Eve (24th June, a Christian appropriation of a midsummer festival) a great bonfire was built in the middle of the Place de Greve and cats were thrown into the flames or suspended above them. Although this is mentioned in many French books about the history of cats, most were quoting earlier books and the practice may have ended in the 1600s, though it stuck in collective memory.

In the 1700s, cats had become favourite and often indulged pets of the middle classes. They were ornamental "luxury animals" as opposed to "working animals." Among the lower classes, although people did keep pets, they usually had to earn their keep - controlling vermin in the case of cats - not be pampered with food better suited to humans. Moncrif published his "History of Cats" in 1727 and the cat lovers therein were primarily French courtiers and aristocrats. His book was written as a series of letters to a Marquess and included poetry and a tragic play where cats were the main characters. Such a play could be read out or acted out in salons and in royal court as frivolous entertainment. These leisured upper classes (and their hangers on) wrote letters from their own pets to their friends pets.

Contat depicted a once golden age of printing where apprentices used to eat with their masters. Apprentices and journeymen had been replaced by cheap, unskilled labour and the masters lived lavish - even idle - lifestyles, growing rich while their staff were ill-used and overworked. To cap it all, the bourgeois kept luxury animals that were treated better than the staff. Nicolas Contat wrote his account two decades after events and would have emphasised certain events to justify his actions. By the time he wrote his account, the large printing houses were supplanting the smaller print shops, depriving journeymen and apprentices of a career ladder where they might become masters of their own printworks.

Madame Vincent loved cats, especially "La Grise" ("the grey" - a term also used for a housemaid as well as a female cat). As reflected in Moncrif's book, cats had become a passion among the upper and middle classes, the latter copying the styles and fancies of the aristocracy. It's very common for aggrieved parties to spite someone by destroying the person's favourite possessions. In modern times, a person might destroy an unfaithful spouse's cherished car. This is normal displacement behaviour and no additional symbolism is needed. You can't kill the person without severe repercussions, but you can destroy something they love.

Elsewhere in his account of Jerome's life, Contat insinuated that Madame Vincent and her confessor were having an affair behind her husband's back.

The two perpetrators of the cat massacre were Jerome (the fictionalised version of Nicolas Contat) and Leveille who endured gruelling working conditions. Their living conditions were not unusual: a cold, dirty bedroom, rising before dawn, running errands all day while dodging insults from the journeymen and abuse from the master of his foreman, and eating their employer's leftovers. The real problem was the cook who was secretly selling the better quality leftovers and giving the boys spoilt meat that even the cats refused to eat. The cats would have eaten better than the apprentices, but they couldn't take any action against the cook, or against the Vincents. The Vincents didn't seem to know that their cook was cheating them and was starving the apprentices as the cook was telling them how well she was feeding the boys and making it appear that the apprentices were simply ungrateful.

At night, the two apprentices endured the rooftop concerts of the dozens of alley cats that thrived in the printing district and howled all night on their bedroom roof like a witches' sabbath. According to Jerome, Vincent (who was bad-tempered towards his workers) was rarely present in the print shop, but let his foreman run it though we only have Jerome's word for this. The resentful and sleep-deprived apprentices wanted to make the Vincents suffer the same lack of sleep. After several nights of Leveille's skilled mimicry, the superstitious Vincents and their neighbours believed they were being tormented by the feline agents of a spell-caster. Vincent, a devout Catholic, wanted to call the priest. Ultimately the apprentices are told to deal with the cats, but not to harm La Grise.

With permission to kill the cats, Jerome and Leveille slaughtered them with the intention of discomforting their masters. Darnton considers this an indirect workers' protest, falling short of insubordination, that would not get them sacked. It's a case of "and the office boy kicked the cat" - ill-treating someone lower than them because they couldn't take it out on their own tormentors. According to Darnton, the "joke" worked well because the apprentices played skilfully with ceremony, symbology and superstition, though I think he is reading far too much into it. He claims that by breaking La Grise's back they were calling Madame Vincent a witch and a slut (maiming the witch in her cat-shape), while making Mr Vincent appear a cuckold and a fool (for not seeing his wife's attachment to her confessor). This is stretching things a great deal. They were spiting Madame Vincent by killing her cat, something that still happens today. As for deliberately "maiming" a witch, it is clear the workers were bashing cats with whatever heaving implements they had to hand.

The cat-killers were in high spirits at being able to vent their anger on something lower down the pecking order. The men would have dumped the dead and dying cats, singly or in sacks, in the courtyard for the mock trials and executions. Leveille, the great mimic, re-enacted the entire scene over the following days when the workers needed some hilarity. Burlesque re-enactments of incidents in the life of the shop were a major form of entertainment for working men. These satirised a person's peculiarities to humiliate him and were known as copies. The victim would seethe with rage while his coworkers made "rough music" by beating their tools on worksurfaces, and bleated like goats to add further humiliation. Contat emphasised that Leveille produced the funniest copies and could be forgiven for his parodies of colleagues. The incident was also turned into pamphlets circulated among the working men. The whole episode was apparently the most hilarious experience in Jerome's entire career.

The apprentices had taken revenge on the Vincents by killing a favourite pet, but they had not yet completed the revenge on the cook (Darnton omits this part of the story, something that makes his analysis unbalanced). The cook gives the apprentices an even smaller ration of meat after the massacre and the boys take it to the grocer's shop to be weighed. This is witnessed by neighbours and the apprentices omit no details about being underfed. The witnesses joke, sarcastically, that Vincent is making sure his apprentices don't get indigestion. Word gets back to Vincent and he finds himself a laughing stock. Word also reaches the cook, who is evidently fearful that she has been rumbled and tells the Vincents that the apprentices killed La Grise. It is then the Master and Mistress who are vindictive and the apprentices who find themselves on trial before the household. They put up a poor defence, all the evidence of their crimes in the cat-killing episode is presented (metaphorically if not physically) to them and they are sentenced. Vincent tells them that their actions are grounds to send them to the insane asylum. Leveille has the skills to find work elsewhere and is dismissed. Jerome is sentenced to finish his apprenticeship.

It doesn't end there. The cook, Miss Christine, is also tried by the Vincents and there is plenty of evidence against her. This would have included false accounting and selling the food intended for the apprentices. She is also dismissed and a new cook taken on. Jerome is tasked with keeping an eye on the new cook to keep her honest, and it seems (from a latter section of the book) that the standard of his meals improves.

There is a modern saying "all cats are grey at night"/"in the dark all cats are grey" which is often used to mean everyone is alike until they achieve some distinguishing honour. It's an old French or Gallic saying (la nuit, tous les chats sont gris) first appearing in print Erasmus's "Adagia" collected 1500-1536 and then in John Heywood's "Book Of Proverbs" 1547: "when all candles be out, all cats be grey." Other forms of this proverb are linked to male promiscuity i.e. the maidservant being as good as the wife when the candle is out.

Despite the proverb's much older origins, the 1730s Paris cat massacre has also been attached to it by later writers: "several young men" were permitted to kill the many stray cats infesting the area, but were instructed not to kill their master's wife's grey cat. They undertook this task during the night whilst the cats were prowling and, because they disliked their superior, they took great pains to kill that grey cat out of spite. When questioned, they explained their actions by saying they didn't know they had killed her favourite since all cats looked grey at night.

"Each year at Metz there is a ceremony that is very shameful to the intellect: The Magistrates come gravely into the public Square and reveal some Cats in a cage placed on a Pyre, which is set on fire with great formality. At the frightful cries which are uttered by the poor Beasts, the people believe that they are also hearing the suffering of an aged Sorceress who is supposed to have metamorphosed into a Cat on the occasion when they were going to burn her." (Moncrif, Story of Cats, Footnotes to the Ninth Letter (1727) ]

It is these absurd beliefs that earned the cat atrocious torture at certain times of the year during the Middle Ages. In Paris, they played a cruel game with him in the fire of Saint John. [. . .] A contemporary author gives these details of the feast of 1573: In the middle of the Place de Greve stood a wooden structure sixty feet high, from which spread wooden cross-pieces, to which all kinds of rockets were attached. At the foot were piled ten sections of thick wood and a lot of straw; at the top of this was a basket or a cage, containing two dozen cats, and, extraordinarily, "a fox to give pleasure to His Majesty." In the midst of noisy music, Charles IX, followed by the provost of the merchants and the aldermen, set fire to this pyre with a torch of white wax, adorned with a handful of crimson velvet. The crowd, eager for the spectacle, could hardly be kept at bay by the archers; but when the prince had retired, the crowd rushed to the ashes, replacing the now silent bands and the artillery with a thousand voices. The purpose of this solemnity was to celebrate the joyous election of the King's brother to the kingdom of Poland.

Until the end of the eighteenth century, an equally barbarous ceremony was celebrated each year at Metz. The magistrates and clergy, in festive costume and accompanied by a marching band, brought a huge iron cage filled with cats to the public square. This cage was placed on a pyre raised by the populace, and then the faggots were set on fire. The unfortunate beasts cried, twisted, and convulsed amidst the joyful shouts of the pitiless crowd, and who only departed when the cats and the faggots had become a single heap of ashes.

According to legend, these horrible rejoicings were celebrated in memory of a sorceress who had been condemned by ecclesiastical justice to perish at the stake. The sorceress changed herself into a cat and saved herself as she was being taken from prison and transported to the ordeal. Less credulous people believe that the young and attractive witch had seduced the prelate presiding over the court, and that she preferred the episcopal bed to the faggots of the public square so to satisfy public opinion, a living cat was roasted in her place. Since then, no anniversary of this execution passed without immolating some cats on a pyre provided by the population. [Percheron, Gaston Percheron, The Cat, Natural History, Health and Illnesses (1885)]

The custom of ceremonially burning baskets of cats on the bonfire still persisted in Metz in 1750 and it was not until around this time that the Marechal d'Armentieres persuaded her husband to suppress this pointess slaughter of cats.

'M. Edelestand du Meril, in a pamphlet on popular customs, writes that "it was thought to encourage good morals by throwing a few cats into the fires of St. John." Indeed, the abbot Leboeuf quotes a receipt of one hundred one hundred sols parisis [Parisian Sols (coinage of the period)] subscribed by a certain Lucas Pommereux in 1573 "for having provided during three years all the cats that were necessary for the fires of the Saint-Jean, as customary".'

Not long ago - in the middle of the nineteenth century - these cruel entertainments were still practiced in the canton of Hirson in Picardy. On the first Sunday of Lent, the 'Bihourdi' was celebrated; as soon as the signal was given, all the inhabitants brought their share (of faggots) to a pyre erected in the middle of the village; the circle danse then began, the boys fired shots, the fiddlers played violins. A cat was attached to the pole of the bihourdi and ended up falling into the fire. It was necessary for these barbarians to roast a cat on a bonfire! Saving the animal from fire is a mark of the steps that civilization has taken in the countryside.

Among the Flemish people, until 1618 - the year a decree banned the party - it was customary to throw a cat from the top of the Ypres tower on the Wednesday of the second week of Lent. The cat, most of the time, fell on its feet, and this was a good omen for the harvest to come. [Paul Megnin, Our Friend the Cat (1899)]

The people of Saint Chamond became known as Courimauds (or "cour a miaud" i.e. cat chasers), later Chasse Minets for their practice chasing a burning cat through the streets: "In France there is a place called Saint Chamond, twenty kilometers from my native town. The inhabitants of Saint Chamond are not called Saint Chamondais. They have a name that is nothing to do with Saint Chamond. They are called chasse-minets, meaning to say the pursuers of pussies. Minet is a pussy. Those who pursue, run after pussies. Up till 1875, they had a custom that apart from Saint John's day they tied a poor cat by its tail above the fire. And the string burnt, naturally. The string was the first thing to go. It was the lightest thing. The poor cat would fall into the flames and then run away. And they would run after the burning cat, through the streets, chasse-minets." [And Time Rolls On. The Savitri Devi Interviews. 1978]