The watchman rouses, the rats are gone;
On a thousand windows gleams the dawn;
And now once more
Through every door,
With hustle and bustle, the great crowds pour;
And nobody hears a soft little sound,
As of sawing or gnawing, somewhere underground.
At length, the judges, going their round,
Awarding the prizes, enter the hall,
Where, amid cheeses big and small,
Reposes the sovereign of them all.
They put their tape round it, and tap it and bore it;
And bowing before it,
As if to adore it,
Like worshipers of the sun, they stand,—
Slice in hand,
Pleased and bland,
While their bosoms glow and their hearts expand.
They smell and they taste;
And, the rind replaced,
The foremost, smacking his lips, says: "Messieurs!
Of all fine cheeses at market or fair,—
Holland or Rochefort, Stilton or Cheshire,
Neufchâtel, Milanese,—
There never was cheese,
I am free to declare,
That at all could compare
With this great Gruyère!"
In short, so exceedingly well it pleases,
They award it a prize over all the cheeses.
"FIRST, ONE RAT."
That prize is the pride of the whole Swiss nation;
And the town of Nulle, in its exultation,
Without a dissenting voice, decrees
To the poor of Paris a gift of the cheese.
Paris, in grateful recognition
Of this munificence, sends a commission—
Four stately officials, of high position—
To take King Cheese from the Exhibition,
And, in behalf of the poor, to thank,
With speeches and toasts, the Swiss for their gift.
The speeches they made, the toasts they drank;
Eight Normandy horses, strong and swift,
At the entrance wait
For the golden freight;
And all the porters are there to lift,
Prepared for a long and a strong embrace,
In moving His Greatness a little space.
They strain at the signal, each man in his place:
"Heave, ho!"—when, lo! as light as a feather,
Down tumbles, down crumbles, the King of the Cheeses,
With seven men, all in a heap together!
Up scramble the porters, with laughter and sneezes;
While sudden, mighty amazement seizes
The high officials, until they find
A curious bore
In the platform floor,
And another to match in the nether rind,—
Just one big rat-hole, and no more;
By which, as it seemed, had ventured in
One rat, at first, and a hundred had followed,
And feasted, and left—to the vast chagrin
Of the worthy burghers of Nulle—as thin
And shabby a shell as ever was hollowed;
Now nothing but just
A crushed-in crust,
A cart-load of scraps and a pungent dust!
So the newspapers say; but though they call
King Cheese a hoax, he was hardly that.
And the poor he fed, as you see, after all;
For who is so poor as a Paris rat?
"DOWN TUMBLES, DOWN CRUMBLES, THE KING OF THE CHEESES."