On the square before the elegant palace of the King and Queen stood the statue of the gallant soldier Thomas. He bore a long beard, black as pitch, and a mane of curling hair of the same dark hue. Upon his head was set a great cavalier’s hat, adorned with three bronze feathers dyed in crimson, and upon his body a suit of pastel-coloured armour, bright yet solemn. In his uplifted hand, raised defiantly towards the heavens, he grasped a gilded sword, gleaming with the memory of battle. To those who passed by, it seemed as if he were ever marching towards some bloody war, and indeed, such an impression was fitting; for Thomas had once fought, and fallen, in a terrible conflict that had come to its end but a few years before.
Yet Thomas was not merely a statue; he was an exceedingly impertinent and arrogant one. Each day he found his greatest pleasure in insulting all who passed beneath his stony gaze. None in the kingdom were spared his scorn. Whether they walked to the church, to the school, to the butcher’s shop, or to some errand of lesser dignity, all trembled at the thought of his biting words.
Once, when a woman with a remarkably long nose walked past, Thomas burst into cruel laughter and mocked her as “Miss Ugly-Stork.” Another time, when the great smith of the kingdom was returning from business abroad, the statue jeered:116Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡP60dTcjSKp
“I have never in all my bronze-bound days seen such a gluttonous mound of flesh as you! Were I in your shoes, I should carve that grotesque burden from my frame. You are so monstrously fat, good sir, that you could eclipse the very sun with your hideous bulk!”
Thomas, indeed, cherished a special malice for those who were plump or overweight, for he considered them less worthy of life than the slim. And so it went on, day after day, year after year; all in the kingdom were subjected to his venom, every time they crossed the square.
The people of the realm were not silent. Daily they gathered in great crowds before the palace of the King and Queen, bearing banners and placards, demanding the removal of the ill-mannered statue. Yet their rulers, deaf to the clamour of their subjects, refused to listen. And so the wretched bronze figure remained, in spite of the people’s cries.
But one evening the Wind, who had long endured the insults hurled at children and grown folk alike, resolved to punish the statue. She wished the braggart soldier to taste a draught of his own medicine.
“It is high time someone taught that insolent rogue a lesson!” she whispered, and swept down upon the square, where the statue slumbered under the midnight stars. Round and round him she flew, faster and faster, and with each circling breath she tore away a piece of his bronze apparel. At last he lay utterly bare, naked in bronze to the buttocks.
“How diverting it shall be,” the Wind laughed, “to see how he enjoys being a naked fool for the rest of his days!” She perched herself upon the roof of the cathedral, eager to observe his shame come morning.
When the sun rose above the horizon, he too began to laugh, so violently that his golden rays shook loose with mirth. The gargoyles of the cathedral, usually sullen and dour, joined in the merriment when they spied the unclad soldier.
“What are you laughing at?” demanded the statue, awakening from his stony sleep.
“At you, of course!” cried the sun, between bursts of laughter.
“My dear fellow,” said one of the gargoyles, clutching the spire lest he tumble off in delight, “I must say, your nakedness becomes you splendidly.”
“Nonsense! I am not naked at all!” snapped Thomas. “You stone creatures are far too foolish to perceive otherwise!”
“Look down at your legs,” the sun chuckled, “and you will see with your own eyes that you are a naked simpleton!”
Thomas glanced down, and indeed, from head to toe he was utterly bare. With a cry of outrage he bellowed:116Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7M5ZDvHrAW
“AAAAAAAAAAH! WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?!”
“They are in my keeping,” teased the Wind, still perched upon the cathedral roof. “Fear not, my dear soldier, I promise to care for them well.”
“VILE WENCH! I demand that you return my garments at once!” roared Thomas.
“You must fetch them first—oh, forgive me, I had forgotten, you cannot stir from your pedestal!” sneered the Wind, sticking out her tongue with delicious rudeness.
“Young girl, give me back my clothes this instant!” thundered the statue.
“My good sir, I regret to inform you, that shall never be,” mocked the Wind.
His face flushed crimson, partly with rage, but mostly with shame. Matters grew worse. The townsfolk, passing through the square, stopped to point and laugh.
“What a magnificent bum you have, dear soldier!” cried a group of women, who pelted him with bottles of mead. “With such a rump, you could easily win the prize for the most elegant posterior in the world!”
“Naked fool, naked fool, the statue Thomas is a naked fool!” sang the children, dancing in a circle around him, their laughter piercing his pride.
“This very night we ought to build a bonfire here in the square, and roast Thomas’s rump alive!” muttered the archdeacon, who bore no love for him either.
All that day Thomas endured mockery, insults, and indignities of every kind. The mischievous Wind refused to return his bronze attire.
“You look ever so much handsomer now that you are a naked fool!” she taunted, spitting in his face, literally.
The statue wept bitterly, great tears coursing down his cheeks. Never had he suffered such humiliation, not even in life. His fate seemed harsher than that of the thieves he had once seen flogged for stealing jewels from the royal treasury.
Weeks passed, each day filled with new humiliations. One afternoon, an old woman approached. She was very short-sighted, and wore a pair of enormous spectacles that magnified her eyes to an owl’s solemn gaze. She stood beside the weeping statue.
“Poor soul, why do you cry?” she asked tenderly. “Tell me what fills you with such dreadful sorrow.”
“Because I am entirely naked,” sobbed Thomas, “and the Wind who stole my garments will not give them back.”
“That was very ill-mannered of her indeed,” said the woman sternly.
“I fear I know why she did it,” admitted Thomas between sobs. “It was no doubt to punish me for my arrogance and rudeness. You see, good madam, I have been most wicked to the people of this kingdom, especially to those who are round and stout. In consequence, I am hated by all, yet I refused to change, though they begged me. I believe the Wind wished to chastise me for my cruelty.”
The old woman’s eyes narrowed behind the thick glass. “I see. Then you are not wholly innocent. You have fallen prey to one of the Seven Deadly Sins, the one called Pride. You have been full of hubris.”
“I do not know what hubris means, but yes, I suppose it is so,” sighed the statue.
“I understand,” she replied gravely. “I could help you, but only if you swear never again to be arrogant or discourteous.”
“I swear it! Only let me have clothing once more,” pleaded Thomas.
“I am a wandering seamstress,” said the woman, “and I have sewn for noble ladies and lords across the world. I shall make you new garments if you wish.”
“Madam, my gratitude is boundless! You cannot imagine how joyous I should be if you did this for me!” Thomas exclaimed, ceasing his tears.
“Very well. But do not forget your vow regarding your hubris,” said the seamstress, and she set to work at once.
After three days, she returned, bearing a splendid new suit. It was fashioned of the finest velvet-like cloth in the kingdom, shimmering blue and gold, and embroidered with silver threads that glistened in the sunlight. She dressed the bronze soldier herself, and smiled to see his joy.
“Now, my friend, you are once more clad like a true soldier,” she said. “But remember your promise, lest fate treat you still more cruelly.”
Thomas bowed low. “I thank you, noble seamstress, from the depths of my heart. I shall never again insult or mock another.”
Yet no sooner had the seamstress vanished down the square, than Thomas straightened, spread his arms wide, and cried aloud:
“Behold me, you wretched stone gargoyle! Have you ever seen such a splendid soldier as I? These garments are woven from the most noble threads; I shine brighter than the sun itself! No gargoyle, no statue of bronze, can rival my elegance!”
The gargoyle shook his stony head and laughed. “You have your clothes back, sir,” he said. “But your insolence remains beneath the fabric. Perhaps one day you shall learn that it is better to be noble of spirit than merely noble in dress.”
The Wind, who heard every word from her hiding-place among the clouds, laughed softly. She knew the impertinent statue still had much to learn.
She sighed. “So little you have understood, Thomas. The seamstress’s work was in vain. But I shall not strip you again, for your punishment is already within you—you will never be content, not even when you have obtained what you most desired.”
Thomas stiffened. For the first time he felt something strange burning in his bronze chest—not anger, not shame, but emptiness. He looked down at his magnificent clothes, and suddenly they felt heavy, as though every thread carried a burden of guilt.
The people no longer laughed at him. They passed him by, glanced indifferently, and shrugged. For the statue Thomas had become something sadder even than a naked fool: he had become uninteresting.
“You look very fine, Thomas,” called the gargoyle in a mocking singsong from the cathedral. “But no one cares anymore. Your voice has been silenced, not by the Wind, but by your own pride.”
Thomas tried to reply, but no words would come. He stood there, resplendent yet forgotten, knowing he would remain so for centuries: well-dressed, but utterly alone.
And the Wind smiled quietly, for she knew that sometimes the cruellest punishment is not to be stripped bare, but to be unheard.
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