I read in the cellars of Versailles to old rats

I read in the cellars of Versailles to old rats poems in French. A light-grey, pale pack squints one eye, drinks wine and lazily shreds the meat of slightly yellowed molluscs. For old rats — poems as a snack, the rest to them simply doesn't matter. Under-the-carpet lords tails trembling smash their glasses on the rhyme with swagger.