The Emperor’s New Clothes

Lent, Day 3

Are tears supposed to be a part of Lent?

I spent much of today, unexpectedly, in tears.

I was pondering some recent predicaments, both personal and political, and thought of comparison’s to The Emperor’s New Clothes. When I looked up the story, I found it was by Hans Christian Andersen. Knowing that I had a full set of his fairy tales in the library, I went upstairs to find the four small, fat volumes that made up the collection.

When I found the volumes I opened the cover to see this inscription on the inside cover of each volume:

At this I burst into tears

Gladys Randolph was a school teacher who had married a farmer, Clair Robords. Though wanting many children, they only had one child, a daughter, before the Mumps made Clair Infertile. Their hearts being large, they reached out to many children through foster care. Since foster care only sent them boys (thinking the farm good for boys), and they wanted at least one girl to play with their daughter, they finally put their foot down for a girl, and foster care sent them no more children.

My mother, the only child, married in February 1961 at the age of 23, to my father, 15 years her senior. That summer, while on a trip to Europe during her summer break from school, Gladys bought these books, and wrote the inscriptions. None of her three grandchildren had yet been conceived, much less born. Yet before she knew us, even knew any of us would even be, she loved us and bought us these books.

I was only 12 when my grandmother died from Colon Cancer. She went rather quickly, and did not let us see her in her last days, wanting us to remember her as she was. Which I do, but I also remember always wanting to see her one more time. I still do. I don’t know how I would have handled it, but she always had a hug to make me feel better, and I still long to have been able to give her a hug back to help her feel better.

So here is The Emperor’s New Clothes:

I ask you to make sure you have read the story from the image pages above before continuing with this post. Don’t assume that you know the story. You may remember a retold or edited version, and I want you to know the original, at least the original as translated into English by the Danish people whose story it is. Because now I am going to give you an edited ending, one that better fits the real world of today, both my personal and the political.

___________________________

“All right, I’m ready” said the Emperor. “Aren’t they a nice fit!” And he turned round once more in front of the glass, now beginning to think that he really was gazing at his fine clothes.

The Chamberlains who were to carry the train groped about on the floor as if they were picking the train up; and, as they walked, they held out their hands, not daring to let the Emperor know that they were holding nothing.

There marched the Emperor in the procession under the beautiful canopy, and everybody in the streets and at the windows said: “Goodness! The Emperor’s new clothes are the finest he has ever had. What a wonderful train! What a perfect fit!” No one would let it be thought that he couldn’t see anything, because that would have meant he wasn’t fit for his job, or that he was very stupid. Never had the Emperor’s clothes been such a success.

“But he hasn’t got anything on!” said a little child.

The child’s parents covered his mouth quickly, but not quickly enough.

“Did you hear what that bratty child just said” murmured angry voices around them, as they closed in on the parents and child. The parents began to strangle their own child, in hopes of saving themselves, only to have their own throats cut by the knives within the crowd that trampled the three of them to the ground.

And the Emperor went on, naked, seeing his clothes that did not exist. He never heard the voice of the little child, for the terrified subjects had silenced forever the voice of truth. And his subjects continued to be terrified as they praised the clothes that never were, nor could be.