kermit welcomes you to imperial theatre

Crimson and Clover

"It happened that a fire broke out backstage in a theater.

The clown came out to inform the public.

They thought it was a jest and applauded.

He repeated his warning.

They shouted even louder.

The world will come to an end amid the general applause

of the wits who believe it is a joke." - Søren Kierkegaard


Many years ago there lived a tyrant so excessively fond of grand new clothes that he spent the people's inheritance upon them.

He did not care about his soldiers, nor about the theatre, and only liked to cakewalk his new clothes.

He had a coat for every hour of the day.

So they always said of him, "The tyrant is in the wardrobe."

In the great city in which he lived it was always very merry.

Every day came many strangers.

One day two rogues claimed to weave the finest cloth anyone could imagine.

Not only were their colors and patterns beautiful, but the clothes made of the substance possessed the wonderful quality that they became invisible to anyone who was unfit for the office he held, or was an incorrigibly fool.

"Those would be marvelous clothes!" thought the tyrant.

"If I wore those clothes, I could discern the loyal from the disloyal ! Yes, the substance must be woven for me directly!"

He gave the two rogues a great deal of gold as a retainer.

The two rogues put up two looms and pretended to be working.

But they had nothing at all on their looms.

They at once demanded the finest silk and the costliest gold; this they put into their own pockets, and worked at the empty looms into the night.

"I should like to know how far they have got on with the clothes," thought the tyrant.

He felt quite uncomfortable when he thought that those who were not fit for their offices could not see the fine cloth on the loom.

He knew he had nothing to fear for himself, but yet he preferred first to send someone else to see how matters stood.

All the people in the city knew what peculiar power the cloth possessed, and all were anxious to see who was unfit.

"I will send my honest old Minister to the weavers," thought the tyrant.

"He can judge best how the cloth looks for he has sense."

The honest old Minister entered the hall where the rogues sat at empty looms.

"Mercy on us!" thought the honest old Minister as he opened his eyes wide.

"I cannot see anything at all!"

The two rogues begged him to be so good as to come nearer, and asked if he did not approve of the colors and the pattern.

They pointed at the empty loom, and the poor old Minister went on opening his eyes; but he could see nothing, for there was nothing to see.

"Mercy!" thought he, "can I indeed be such a fool? Am I not fit for my office? I never had such thoughts, and not a soul must know it. No, it will never do for me to tell that I could not see the cloth."

"What do you think?" asked a rogue, as he continued weaving air.

Then honest old Minister engaged in white propaganda.

"0, it is charming, quite enchanting!" answered the old Minister, as he peered through his spectacles. "What a fine pattern, and what colors! Yes, I shall tell the tyrant that I am very much pleased with it."

"Well, we are glad of that," said both the rogue weavers.

Then they named the invisible colors, and explained the non-existent pattern.

The old Minister listens attentively and parrots verbatim.

Now the two rogues demand more money, silk thread and gold to carry on.

They hide everything in the chests that contained the looms and not a thread is put upon the loom; they continued to work at the empty frames as before.

The tyrant soon dispatched another honest officer of the court, to see how the weaving wasprogressing, and an estimate of the time of completion.

He looked and looked but he could see nothing.

"Is not that a pretty piece of cloth?" asked the two rogues; and they displayed and explained the non-existent pattern which was not there at all.

"I am not a fool!" thought the man, "It must be my good office, for which I am not fit!"

So he praised the cloth which he did not see, and expressed his pleasure at the beautiful colors and charming pattern. "Yes, it is enchanting," he relayed to the tyrant.

All the people in the village were talking of the gorgeous cloth.

So the tyrant wished to see it himself while it was still upon the loom.

With a whole crowd of 'chosen', among whom were also the two honest statesmen who had already been there, he went to the two cunning rogues, who were continued weaving without fibre or thread.

"Is not that splendid ?" note the two statesmen who the tyrant has always been able to depend upon for homest advice. "Does not your Majesty appreciate the pattern and the colors?"

They point at the empty loom, thinking the others were able to see the cloth.

"What's this?" thought the tyrant. "I can see nothing at all!"

"0, it is very pretty!" the tyrant chortled. "It has our highest approbation."

He nodded contentedly while gazing at the empty loom.

"Beguiling; hypnotic; entrancing; mesmerizing" flutters mouth to mouth.

Amidst general celebration the tyrant bestowed the title Imperial Weavers.

Natalia Nikolaevna Zakharenko

LAY DOWN (Candles In The Rain)

All night the two rogues toiled while keeping sixteen candles burning.

They took the cloth off the loom; they made cuts in the air with great scissors; they sewed with needles without thread.

At last they said, "Finally the clothes are ready!"

"It is as light as a spider's web: one would think one had nothing on; that is just the beauty of it."

"Will your Imperial Majesty please undress?" said the two rogues; "then we will put on your the new clothes here in front of the great mirror."

The tyrant undressed and the two rogues pretended to dress him while the tyrant gyrated and did pirouettes round and round before the mirror.

"0, how well they look! how capitally they fit!" said all.

"What a pattern! what colors! That is a splendid suit of clothes!"

"They are standing outside with the canopy, which is to be borne above your Majesty in the procession!" announced the head master of the ceremonies.

"Well, I am ready," replied the tyrant. "Does it not suit me well?"

He turned again to the mirror, he wanted to appear as if he contemplated his adornment with great interest and so he studied what was not there.

The two chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stooped down with their hands toward the floor, just as if they were picking up the mantle; then they pretended to be holding something in the air.

So the tyrant went in procession under the rich canopy, and everyone in the streets said, "How incomparable are the His Majesty's new clothes!"

"But he has nothing on!" a small child cried out at last.

"Listen to the words of the innocent!" spoke the father.

A murmur arose.

"He has nothing on!" laughed the people.

The tyrant winced for he knew it to be true but he thought to himself,

"I must go through with the procession."

So he held himself a little higher, and the chamberlains held on tighter than ever, and carried the train which did not exist at all.

- Hans Christain Andersen, Dutch moral storyteller

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