to the hoop of a cask, against which she so dextrously
squatted that she might have been mistaken for a work
of art carved in antique bas-relief. Lifting his
eyes to heaven to implore a remedy for the misfortunes
of the state, an old rat perceived this pretty mouse,
so gentle and shapely, and declared that the State
might be saved by her. All the muzzles turned
to this Lady of Good Help, became silent, and agreed
to let her loose upon the shrew-mouse, and in spite
of the anger of certain envious mice, she was triumphantly
marched around the cellar, where, seeing her walk
mincingly, mechanically move her tail, shake her cunning
little head, twitch her diaphanous ears, and lick with
her little red tongue the hairs just sprouting on
her cheeks, the old rats fell in love with her and
wagged their wrinkled, white-whiskered jaws with delight
at the sight of her, as did formerly the old men of
Troy, admiring the lovely Helen, returning from her
bath. Then the maiden was conducted to the granary,
with instructions to make a conquest of the shrew-mouse’s
heart, and save the fine red grain, as did formerly
the fair Hebrew, Esther, for the chosen people, with
the Emperor Ahasuerus, as is written in the master-book,
for Bible comes from the Greek word biblos, as if
to say the only book. The mouse promised to deliver
the granaries, for by a lucky chance she was the queen
of mice, a fair, plump, pretty little mouse, the most
delicate little lady that ever scampered merrily across
the floors, scratched between the walls, and gave
utterance to little cries of joy at finding nuts,
meal, and crumbs of bread in her path; a true fay,
pretty and playful, with an eye clear as crystal,
a little head, sleek skin, amorous body, rosy feet,
and velvet tail—a high born mouse and a
polished speaker with a natural love of bed and idleness—a
merry mouse, more cunning than an old Doctor of Sorbonne
fed on parchment, lively, white bellied, streaked
on the back, with sweet moulded breasts, pearl-white
teeth, and of a frank open nature—in fact,
a true king’s morsel.”
This portraiture was so bold—the mouse
appearing to have been the living image of Madame
Diana, then present—that the courtiers stood
aghast. Queen Catherine smiled, but the king was
in no laughing humour. But Rabelais went on without
paying any attention to the winks of the Cardinal
Bellay and de Chatillon, who were terrified for the
good man.
“The pretty mouse,” said he, continuing,
“did not beat long about the bush, and from
the first moment that she trotted before the shrew-mouse,
she had enslaved him for ever by her coquetries, affectations,
friskings, provocations, little refusals, piercing
glances, and wiles of a maiden who desires yet dares
not, amorous oglings, little caresses, preparatory
tricks, pride of a mouse who knows her value, laughings
and squeakings, triflings and other endearments, feminine,
treacherous and captivating ways, all traps which
are abundantly used by the females of all nations.