There lives an emperor - Nelson by name - who is so fond of new clothes that he spends all his gold upon the most amazing fashionable apparel and finery. Fashionable - as in other, larger empires.
He cares not a straw for the good, simple folk of his smallish realm. All he really cares about is showing-off his clothes - believing that clothes make the man.
His empire - called Smallish - is a pleasant place, and a fair number of strangers pass through. One day a committee of fashionistas - claiming they could come up with the most amazing cloth imaginable - ingratiate themselves to Emperor Nelson by telling him: clothes made from this amazing cloth will be world-class-artistic and wearing them will bring ever more strangers to Smallish - thus all the lands will be amazed by him, too. Saying that not only are the hues and patterns altogether out of the ordinary - but clothes made from such magic cloth will have the amazing property of being invisible to every man who is either unfit to be a good citizen or just plain stupid.
"They would indeed be valuable clothes," thinks Emperor Nelson. "By wearing them, I could find out which of my subjects are unfit for the posts they occupy, and I could tell the wise from the stupid. Yes, some of that cloth must be woven for me at once!"
And he gives the committee a great deal of gold - gold he only has in theory. So he simply raises taxes. Because he is Emperor, and - let's face it - the Emperor knows best!
And folk nod and smile in agreement, because in Smallish politics and trade are very personal matters, so nobody wants to make the Emperor, his counselors and the fashionistas unhappy. Because you just never know!
And the town-crier shushes - he is rightly worried about losing advertising revenue.
"I should really like to know how the manufacture of this amazing cloth is getting on," thinks the Emperor; but really and truly his heart is a little uncertain when he remembers that the stupid or the incompetent will not be able to see this amazing cloth. He believes that he himself, indeed, has no need to be anxious on his own account. But - being seriously into appearances - he thinks it will be safer to send someone else first to see how things are. "I will send my wise court-jester to the weavers. He can see what the cloth looks like, for he is a man of artistic sensitivity, and none is fitter for this office than he. Also - he owes me."
Every person throughout Smallish has by now heard of the amazing properties of the new cloth, and all - predictably - are eager to see how foolish, even stupid their friends and relatives are.
So the old fool walks into the room where the fashionistas sit working at the empty looms. "Mercy on us!" thinks he and opens his eyes very wide. "I can't see anything!" But he takes very great care not to say something foolish. A tad confused, because although he doesn't know what art means - he knows it when he sees it. The fashionistas beg him to stand nearer, and they ask him if the pattern is not an artistic one and the dyes simply amazing. Then they point at the empty looms, and the poor old fool opens his eyes wider and wider, but he can see nothing.
"Good gracious!" thinks he. "I may be foolish, but I am not stupid, surely? I never thought so before, and I'll take good care that nobody shall think so now. Oh no, it will never do for me to go and say that I can't see the amazing cloth!"
"Well, have you nothing to say about it?" asks one of the cognoscenti. "Oh, it is amazing - absolutely the most amazing thing in the world!" says the old fool. "Yes, I'll tell the Emperor that it simply blows me away!" "Well, we are pleased with it, too," say the committee primly, and they knowledgeably name the shades in detail and describe the pattern. The old fool carefully listens to all they say, so he will be able to repeat the same things to the Emperor.
And the fashionistas - in a swoon over their own hyperbole - demand still more gold. And get it. Mind, with the Imperial Purse not being bottomless and taxes only raisable so far - cuts have to be made elsewhere.
Now Emperor Nelson has a mind - and what a mind it is! - to see the cloth himself while it is still on the looms. And he goes with a host of the great of his realm. "Why, what is this?" thinks he. "I don't see anything! How horrible! Am I stupid then? Am I unfit to be the Emperor? That would be the most frightful thing that could happen to me!" But aloud he says, "Oh, it is very fine. It has my most gracious approbation!" And he nods his head approvingly and gazes at the empty looms. His whole suite stare and stare; but they repeat after the Emperor, "Oh, it is seriously amazing!" And they counsel him to wear artistically made clothes of this amazing cloth for the first time on the occasion of the Grand Artistic Walk which is about to take place."It is magnificent, elegant, excellent!" goes from mouth to mouth. All seem so mightily pleased with the prospect of new horizons opening up that the Emperor gives each of the fashionistas a cross to wear on a ribbon, anointing their leader as his successor to the throne. Because he has been getting weary of it all for some time.
On the eve before the Grand Artistic Walk, the committee sit up all night and have more than 16 candles lit. People can see that they are busy getting the Emperor's new artistic clothes ready. The committee pretend to take the cloth from the looms; they clip-snip the air loudly with scissors and sew without thread to at last declare, "There, the clothes are now quite ready!"
Emperor Nelson then comes himself with his sycophants-in-waiting, and the fashionistas raise their arms as if holding up something and say, "Look, here are the artistic hose, and here is the artistic shirt, and here is the artistic mantle. They are light as gossamer, and you would fancy you had nothing on at all. But that is just the amazing beauty of art." "Of course," say all the sycophants - but they can see nothing.
"And now, if Your Imperial Worship would most graciously deign to take your clothes off," say the committee, "we will put on the new artistic ones for Your Worship. In front of the large mirror please! Thank you!"
"What a capital outfit it is! How amazingly well it fits!" the people cry with one voice. "What major work of international art!"
"The canopy which is to be borne over Your Worship on the Grand Artistic Walk is waiting outside," the Mastress of Cultural Ceremonies announces. "All right," says Emperor Nelson," I am quite ready. Do my artistic clothes really fit amazingly well?" He turns himself once more before the mirror - this way and that - taking a survey of his elegance. The sycophants-in-waiting fumble with their hands along the floor as if picking-up his train, and as they venture forward they hold their hands in the air - playing the game for all it's worth. Which is considerable!
And thus Emperor Nelson marches on the Grand Artistic Walk beneath the beautiful canopy, and everyone in the streets and in the windows marvels," Gracious! How artistic the Emperor's new clothes are!" No-one would dare suppose that the Emperor sees nothing, for then he certainly would seem too stupid for his job and the committee seen as pretentious parochials.
"Why, he's got nothing on!!!" suddenly cries a little child.
"Listen to the voice of innocence!" says the father, for everyone is whispering to the person nearest them what the child has shouted. "He has nothing on!" at length cries the whole crowd.
Emperor Nelson shrinks within himself as he hears, for it seems to him that they are right. But he thinks, "At any rate, I must go through with this Walk to the end - the show must go on!" So he puts on an even haughtier, above-them-and-it-all air, and the sycophants march behind, carefully holding up the train that isn't there.
End of that amazing story - but not of this.
Images: Emi Kusano, Kjeld Duits
No comments:
Post a Comment