Fairy Tale Reveals
How Political
Consensus is
Fabricated, Sometimes
Hans Christian
Andersen
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A 2016 Editorial Note:
Hans Christian
Andersen (1805-1885) makes
a study in the hypocrisy
of modern politics and
rules of courtesy as
practiced in society and circles
of friends, in parliaments,
political parties, media,
governments and
pseudo-theosophical associations.
Political correctness
puts good manners above
truth or
sincerity; and good manners usually mean
blind obedience to
power. By the end of the story,
Andersen shows that
one must have the heart of a
child to speak the
truth and transcend organized deceit.
(Carlos Cardoso
Aveline)
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Many, many years
ago lived an emperor, who thought so much of new clothes that he spent all his
money in order to obtain them; his only ambition was to be always well dressed.
He did not care for his soldiers, and the theatre did not amuse him; the only
thing, in fact, he thought anything of was to drive out and show a new suit of
clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day; and as one would say of a
king “He is in his cabinet”, so one could say of him, “The emperor is in his
dressing-room.”
The great city where he resided was very gay; every
day many strangers from all parts of the globe arrived. One day two swindlers
came to this city; they made people believe that they were weavers, and
declared they could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined. Their colours
and patterns, they said, were not only exceptionally beautiful, but the clothes
made of their material possessed the wonderful quality of being invisible to
any man who was unfit for his office or unpardonably stupid.
“That must be wonderful cloth”, thought the emperor.
“If I were to be dressed in a suit made of this cloth I should be able to find
out which men in my empire were unfit for their places, and I could distinguish
the clever from the stupid. I must have this cloth woven for me without delay.”
And he gave a large sum of money to the swindlers, in advance, that they should
set to work without any loss of time. They set up two looms, and pretended to
be very hard at work, but they did nothing whatever on the looms. They asked
for the finest silk and the most precious gold-cloth; all they got they did
away with, and worked at the empty looms till late at night.
“I should very much like to know how they are getting
on with the cloth”, thought the emperor. But he felt rather uneasy when he
remembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it. Personally,
he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet he thought it advisable to
send somebody else first to see how matters stood. Everybody in the town knew
what a remarkable quality the stuff possessed, and all were anxious to see how
bad or stupid their neighbours were.
“I shall send my honest old minister to the weavers”, thought
the emperor. “He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he is intelligent, and
nobody understands his office better than he.”
The good old minister went into the room where the
swindlers sat before the empty looms. “Heaven preserve us!” he thought, and
opened his eyes wide, “I cannot see anything at all”, but he did not say so.
Both swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he did not admire
the exquisite pattern and the beautiful colours, pointing to the empty looms.
The poor old minister tried his very best, but he could see nothing, for there
was nothing to be seen. “Oh dear”, he thought, “can I be so stupid? I should
never have thought so, and nobody must know it! Is it possible that I am not
fit for my office? No, no, I cannot say that I was unable to see the cloth.”
“Now, have you got nothing to say?” said one of the
swindlers, while he pretended to be busily weaving.
“Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful”,
replied the old minister looking through his glasses. “What a beautiful
pattern, what brilliant colours! I shall tell the emperor that I like the cloth
very much.”
“We are pleased to hear that”, said the two weavers,
and described to him the colours and explained the curious pattern. The old
minister listened attentively, that he might relate to the emperor what they
said; and so he did.
Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and
gold-cloth, which they required for weaving. They kept everything for
themselves, and not a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as
hitherto, to work at the empty looms.
Soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest
courtier to the weavers to see how they were getting on, and if the cloth was
nearly finished. Like the old mister, he looked and looked but could see
nothing, as there was nothing to be seen.
“Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?” asked the two
swindles, showing and explaining the magnificent pattern, which, however, did
not exist.
“I am not stupid”, said the man. “It is therefore my
good appointment for which I am not fit. It is very strange, but I must not let
anyone know it;” and he praised the cloth, which he did not see, and expressed
his joy at the beautiful colours and the fine pattern. “It is very excellent”, he said to the emperor.
Everybody in the whole town talked about the precious
cloth. At last the emperor wished to see it himself, while it was still on the
loom. With a number of courtiers, including the two who had already been there,
he went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked as hard as they could, but
without using any thread.
“Is it not magnificent?” said the two old statesmen
who had been there before. “Your Majesty must admire the colours and the
pattern.” And then they pointed to the empty looms, for they imagined the
others could see the cloth.
“What is this?” thought the emperor, “I do not see
anything at all. That is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be emperor? That
would indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me.”
“Really”, he said, turning to the weavers, “your cloth
has our most gracious approval”; and nodding contentedly he looked at the empty
loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. All his attendants, who
were with him, looked and looked, and although they could not see anything more
than the others, they said, like the emperor, “It is very beautiful.” And all
advised him to wear the new magnificent clothes at a great procession which was
soon to take place. “It is magnificent, beautiful, excellent”, one heard them
say; everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed the two
swindlers “Imperial Court weavers”.
The whole night previous to the day on which the
procession was to take place, the swindlers pretended to work, and burned more
than sixteen candles. People should see that they were busy to finish the
emperor’s new suit. They pretended to take the cloth from the loom, and worked
about in the air with big scissors, and sewed with needles without thread, and
said at last: “The emperor’s new suit is ready now.”
The emperor and all his barons then came to the hall;
the swindlers held their arms up as if they held something in their hands and
said: “These are the trousers!” “This is the coat!” and “Here is the cloak!”
and so on. “They are all as light as a cobweb, and one must feel as if one had
nothing at all upon the body; but that is just the beauty of them.”
“Indeed!” said all the courtiers; but they could not
see anything, for there was nothing to be seen.
“Does it please your Majesty now to graciously undress”,
said the swindlers, “that we may assist your Majesty in putting on the new suit
before the large looking-glass?”
The emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to
put the new suit upon him, one piece after another; and the emperor looked at
himself in the glass from every side.
“How well they look! How well they fit!” said all. “What
a beautiful pattern! What fine colours! That is a magnificent suit of clothes!”
The master of the ceremonies announced that the
bearers of the canopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were ready.
“I am ready”, said the emperor. “Does not my suit fit
me marvellously?” Then he turned once more to the looking-glass, that people
should think he admired his garments.
The chamberlains, who were to carry the train,
stretched their hands to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and pretended
to hold something in their hands; they did not like people to know that they
could not see anything.
The emperor marched in the procession under the
beautiful canopy, and all who saw him in the street and out of the windows
exclaimed: “Indeed, the emperor’s new suite is incomparable! What a long train
he has! How well it fits him!” Nobody wished to let others know he saw nothing,
for then he would have been unfit for his office or too stupid. Never emperor’s
clothes were more admired.
“But he has nothing on at all”, said a little child at
last. “Good heavens! listen to the voice of an innocent child”, said the
father, and one whispered to the other what the child had said. “But he has
nothing on at all”, cried at last the whole people. That made a deep impression
upon the emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right; but he thought to
himself, “Now I must bear up to the end.” And the chamberlains walked with
still greater dignity, as if they carried the train which did not exist.
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The above story is
reproduced from the book “The Complete Hans Christian Andersen Fairy Tales”,
edited by Lily Owens, Avenel Books, New York, 1981, 803 pages, pp. 438-441.
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