Few creatures are as repulsive to urban sophisticates as the lowly mouse. Vectors of disease that rummage through our pantries and leave droppings in the crawlspace, mice are reviled for their parasitic lifestyle. Despite being nearly universally reviled, mice have an interesting place in stories. Many fictional mice, unlike so many vicious rats, rise above their station in the world and bestow a sense of dignity on those who have the honor of interacting with them in the fictional world.
Take, for example, the beloved and foolhardy Reepicheep of C.S. Lewis’s Chronicles of Narnia. Diminutive in stature and continually ridiculed, Reepicheep behaves beyond reproach, except perhaps for what appears to be an excess of vanity. Never one to shy away from combat, despite everyone around him excusing him on account of his size, Reepicheep contributes courageously and surely boosts morale. While dwarves and humans lose heart and shirk their duties, Reepicheep leads his fellow mice with unflagging zeal.
His possible vanity shows itself in his need to defend his honor against every perceived attack and his desire to present himself well. When in the story of Prince Caspian Reepicheep looses his tail in the fighting, he is not above pleading for Aslan, the creator of Narnia, to give him a new tail. Like the reader, Aslan is skeptical of Reepicheep’s motives and asks why he needs a tail. Reepicheep’s reply is instructive:
“Sir,” said the Mouse, “I can eat and sleep and die for my King without one. But a tail is the honor and glory of a Mouse.”
“I have sometimes wondered, friend,” said Aslan, “whether you do not think too much about your honor.”
“Highest of all High Kings,” said Reepicheep, “permit me to remind you that a very small size has been bestowed on us Mice, and if we did not guard our dignity, some (who weigh worth by inches) would allow themselves very unsuitable pleasantries at our expense. That is why I have been at some pains to make it known that no one who does not wish to feel this sword as near his heart as I can reach shall talk in my presence about Traps or Toasted Cheese or Candles: no, Sir—not the tallest fool in Narnia!”
“Guarding our dignity” is not something that occurs to most people to do. The new model of human dignity is erroneously presented as entirely outside of our control. We are told that people “take away” our dignity by oppressing us or calling us names. On the contrary, dignity cannot be taken away but only surrendered by one who behaves beneath himself. Reepicheep, unwilling to live the lowly life of a grubby little rodent, assumes greater responsibility and higher standards of conduct than are expected of him. The insults do not take away his dignity, rather Reepicheep’s virtue and sense of honor maintain his dignity in the face of continual ridicule.
Like vice, virtue is contagious, and there is no doubt that Reepicheep inspires great nobility in the mice he leads. Ultimately, Aslan decides to restore Reepicheep’s tail because the other mice are prepared to cut off their own if Reepicheep must continue without one.
Reepicheep is but a minor character in Narnia, but other mice play the starring role in tales of the lowly attaining great dignity that cannot be taken away from them. Don Freeman’s Norman the Doorman is one such story. The eponymous character holds himself to high standards as the museum doorman for mice visiting the museum. Longing to see the full museum at his leisure, Norman does not trespass or abandon his professional duties. Instead, Norman whimsically reimagines a trap designed to catch and kill undignified mice as a sculpture of a mouse on a trapeze. This artwork, bringing imagination and liberation to an implement of death, he enters into a contest at the museum and thus wins the opportunity to tour the museum as an honored guest.
Similarly, Eve Titus’s Anatole is a story of a mouse who refuses to accept a lowly station in life and attains great honor and dignity. Knowing only the life of common mice, Anatole begins the story by providing for his family in the way of all mice: stealing dibs and dabs from people’s homes. When Anatole chances to overhear the revulsion for mice of a home’s human inhabitants, Anatole is beside himself. He tells his friend Gaston, “It is horrible to feel scorned and unwanted! Where is my self-respect? My pride? MY HONOR?”
Knowing how he is despised for his way of life, he decides to pursue another means of providing for his family. Rather than waiting for people to approve of and affirm him, Anatole recognizes the inferiority of his way of life stealing from people who despise him.
When no other mice can envision the change that Anatole longs for, he remains undeterred and invents an ingenious plan for finding employment. Acting as the secret, late-night taste-tester at the Duval Cheese Factory, Anatole improves the business prospects of the cheese enterprise and wins himself a dignified occupation and invitation to take as many provisions as he requires.
After the great success of his plan, his mouse friend Gaston is delighted. He, who previously told Anatole that he must resign himself to the way things have always been, rejoices with his friend, saying, “VIVE ANATOLE! Was he content to sit back and do nothing about our way of life? NON! NON! He is a mouse of action—a mouse of honor—A MOUSE MAGNIFIQUE!”
Indeed, none of us should be content to live within the low expectations of those who would ridicule us. The path of liberty is not trying to convince our tormenters of our worth, especially if we find that we are not, in fact, particularly worthy of honor as we are. Instead, we should seek the ideals of our innate dignity. When others fail to see what is possible for us, we can confidently adhere to the dignity that they can never take away. Though people, like fictional mice, can surrender dignity by acting viciously, virtue offers the means of transcending even the lowliest station.
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