A long time ago, there lived a Great Composer whose skill with the violin was unmatched. His works were known throughout the land. Dukes and kings would pay him large sums of money to compose pieces in their honor. People would journey for hours to hear him perform the pieces he created.
Musicians would travel for hundreds of miles just to be part of his orchestras. Because of his reputation, if you were known to have played with the Great Composer, you were set for life. You were guaranteed work wherever you went and could almost name your price.
As time passed, the Composer became tired of writing what he thought of as the same old stuff. He blamed much of his dissatisfaction on the musicians in the orchestras as well as the instruments they played. No craftsman could create an instrument worthy of his musical gift.
Word got out of his distress. One day, two men, calling themselves luthiers, came to town. They let those who inquired know of their great lineage and reputation in faraway lands for making instruments of unmatched quality. They told those who would listen that their violins and cellos were so perfect, and their music so beautiful, that only those with perfect pitch could hear them. And only masters of their instruments could even play them. The instruments were crafted in such a way that anyone who couldn’t hear the music being played would immediately be recognizable as uneducated, out of touch, and unworthy of being in his presence.
“These must, indeed, be splendid instruments!” thought the Conductor. “Had I such a violin, I might at once find out what musicians are unfit for their chair, and also be able to distinguish the educated from the ignorant! This thing must be made for me immediately.” And he gave large sums of money to both the luthiers so they could begin crafting right away.
So the two pretend luthiers set up a workshop and pretended to work very busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. They asked for the most exotic woods and the purest gold to be used as inlay, put both into their baggage, and then continued their pretended work at the empty workbenches until late at night.
“I should like to know how the luthiers are getting on with my instrument,” said the Composer to himself, after some little time had gone by. He was, however, rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or one unfit to be a member of the orchestra, would be unable to see the manufacture. To be sure, he thought he had nothing to risk in his own person; but yet, he would prefer sending somebody else to bring him intelligence about the craftsmen and their work, before he troubled himself in the affair. All the people throughout the city had heard of the wonderful properties the violin was to possess, and all were anxious to learn how wise, or how ignorant, their neighbors might prove to be.
“I will send my faithful conductor to the luthiers,” said the Composer at last, after some deliberation, “he will be best able to hear how the instrument sounds; for he is a man of great ear, and no one can be more suitable for his office than he is.”
So the faithful conductor went into the hall, where the knaves were working with all their might, at their empty benches. “What can be the meaning of this?” thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. “I cannot discover the least bit of wood nor string on the benches.” However, he did not express his thoughts aloud.
The impostors requested him very courteously to be so good as to come nearer their benches, and then asked him whether the design pleased him. One pretended to pick up a violin and bow from the rack and to play it with great fervor while the other danced to the tune. The poor conductor listened and listened, but he could not discern any sound, for a very good reason, viz: there was nothing there. “What!” thought he again. “Is it possible that I am uneducated? I have never thought so myself, and no one must know it now if I am so. Can it be that I am unfit for my office? No, that must not be said either. I will never confess that I could not hear the sounds.”
“Well, Sir conductor!” said one of the knaves, still pretending to work. “You do not say whether the stuff pleases you.”
“Oh, it is excellent!” replied the conductor, looking at the workbench through his spectacles. “The tone, and the build quality, yes, I will tell the Composer without delay, how very beautiful I think it.”
“We shall be much obliged to you,” said the impostors, and then they named the different woods and described the patterns that were to be added to the finish. The conductor listened attentively to their words, so that he might repeat them to the Composer; and then the knaves asked for more gold, saying that it was necessary to complete what they had begun. However, they put all that was given them into their knapsacks and continued to work with as much apparent diligence as before at their empty forms and benches.
The Composer now sent a member of the orchestra to see how the men were getting on and to ascertain whether the violin would soon be ready. It was just the same with this gentleman as with the conductor; he surveyed the workshop in all corners, but could see nothing at all but the empty case where the violin should lie.
“Does not the violin sound as beautiful to you as it did to my lord the conductor?” asked the impostors of the Composer’s second ambassador; at the same time making the same gestures as before, and talking of the design and sounds which were not there.
“I certainly am not stupid!” thought the messenger. “It must be that I am not fit for my good, profitable seat in the orchestra! That is very odd; however, no one shall know anything about it.” And accordingly, he praised the stuff he could not see, and declared that he was delighted with both sound and design. “Indeed,” said he to his superior when he returned, “the tonal properties emanating from the violin which the luthiers are preparing are extraordinarily magnificent.”
The whole city was talking of the splendid instrument which the Composer had ordered to be crafted at his own expense.
And now the Composer himself wished to see the costly manufacture, while it was still in production. Accompanied by a select number of musicians, among whom were the two honest men who had already admired the instrument, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as they were aware of the Composer’s approach, went on working more diligently than ever; although they still did not pass a single piece of wood through their tools.
“Is not the work absolutely magnificent?” said the conductor and musician, already mentioned. “If your honor will only be pleased to look at it! What a splendid design! What glorious colors!” and at the same time they pointed to the empty forms, for they imagined that everyone else could see this exquisite piece of workmanship.
“How is this?” said the Composer to himself. “I can see nothing! This is indeed a terrible affair! Am I a simpleton, or am I unfit to compose music? That would be the worst thing that could happen–Oh! the craftsmanship is unmatched,” said he, aloud. “It has my complete approbation.” And he smiled most graciously, and looked closely at the empty workbench; for on no account would he say that he could not see what two of the members of his orchestra had praised so much.
Just as before, one of the luthiers picked up the violin and sawed the bow across the strings. The other began to weep as if affected by a beautiful tone. All the Composer’s retinue now strained their ears, hoping to discover something in the hands of the knave, but they could see nor hear no more than the others; nevertheless, they all exclaimed, “Oh, how beautiful!” and advised the Composer to have more instruments made from this splendid material, for the approaching concert. “Magnificent! Charming! Excellent!” resounded on all sides, and everyone was uncommonly happy.
The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the day on which the performance was to take place, and had sixteen lights burning, so that everyone might see how anxious they were to finish the Composer’s new instruments. They pretended to steam the wood for bending; sand the wood for finishing, and burnish the gold-infused finish. “See!” cried they, at last. “The Composer’s new violin is ready!”
And now the Composer, with all the grandees of his station, came to the luthiers; and the rogues raised their arms, as if in the act of holding something up, saying, “Here is my lord’s violin! Here is the bow! The whole set is as light as a cobweb; one might fancy one is holding nothing, when holding it; the uneducated will not hear the angelic tones emanating from it as you draw bow across string; that, however, is the great virtue of this delicate wood.”
“Yes indeed!” said all the musicians, although not one of them could see nor hear anything of this exquisite manufacture.
“If my lord will be graciously pleased to take the violin and honor us with a demonstration…”
The Conductor was accordingly handed the instrument, and the rogues pretended to twiddle the tuning knobs and rosin the bow.
“How splendid Sir looks with his new instrument, and how well it sings!” everyone cried out. “What a design! What tone! This is indeed a heavenly harp!”
“The stage awaits you, my lord, and the crowd is abuzz with anticipation of our performance,” announced the chief master of the ceremonies.
“I am quite ready,” answered the Composer. He drew the bow across the strings. “Does my new violin sing well?” asked he, beholding himself before the looking glass, in order that he might appear to be examining his shimmering instrument.
The lords of the conservatory, who were to carry the Composer’s violin, bow, case and musical score, went to the workbench, as if they were gathering up the accoutrement; and pretended to be carrying something; for they would by no means betray anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.
So, after the orchestra was seated on stage, the Composer walked on to the cheering of the audience. He took his soloist position, and the orchestra began to play. When it was time for his solo, the other musicians stopped playing, and the Composer began to play. He sawed the bow and danced around the stage with such fervor as has never been witnessed before.
When his piece concluded all the people seated in the audience, and the orchestra behind him, cried out, “Oh! How beautiful are the tones of our Composer’s new violin! What a magnificent glow there is to the finish; and how like a heavenly host it sings!” In short, no one would allow that he could not see the glorious instrument nor hear these much-admired tones; because, in doing so, he would have declared himself either a simpleton or unfit for his office. Certainly, none of the Composer’s various concertos had ever made so great an impression as this inaudible one.
“But the Composer hasn’t any instrument at all! There is no music to hear!” said a little child.
“Listen to the voice of innocence!” exclaimed his father, and what the child had said was whispered from one to another.
“But he played nothing at all!” at last cried out all the people. The Composer was vexed, for he knew that the people were right, but he thought the show must go on now! And the members of the orchestra took greater pains than ever to appear to accompany a magnificent violin solo, although, in reality, there was no music to be heard.
Note: This is a retelling of the classic Hans Christian Anderson tale “The Emperor’s New Clothes”. But we talk about music around here. And, as you’ll see in the follow-up article, the lessons still apply…
David is an author and speaker with Legati Christi where he has written about and spoken on multiple apologetic and theological topics for the past 6 years. He recently launched Theology In Music as a way to combine his love of theology with his other passion in life – music.
Leave a Reply