Vestis virum facit

King Charles waves to the crowds and the cameras from the balcony 

of Buckingham Palace following his coronation (6 May 2023) 

knowing full-well that beneath the clothes he remains allzumenschliche

 

"Look at the waxwork head - the face, with the expression of a melon - the projecting ears ..."

 

 

I. 

 

The recent Coronation of King Charles III was a spectacular demonstration of how clothes remain a crucial means of signifying wealth, power, and social distinction. 

 

For all his desire to modernise the royal family, there was never any possibility that Charles would adopt a more casual (less regal) look (even if he did swap breeches for a pair of trousers).  

 

And so: 

 

(i) His Majesty rocked up at Westminster Abbey wearing a robe of red velvet and an ermine cape ...

 

(ii) Following his annointing, Charles put on a tunic similar to a priest's vestment in order to symbolise the divine nature of monarchy ...

 

(iii) When the jewel-encrusted St. Edward's Crown was placed upon his weary head, he wore a gold-sleeved robe, embroidered with flowers, beneath the Imperial Mantle ...

 

(iv) Finally, at the close of the ceremony, the King changed into a newly-made purple satin Coronation Tunic, trimmed with gold artillery lace, and George VI's grand purple silk velvet Robe of Estate.      

 

The point is: there was nothing subtle about this ostentatious display and if clothes maketh the man, they also maketh the monarch - something noted by Mark Twain in his short story 'The Czar's Soliloquy' [1] ...

 

 

II.

 

After taking his morning bath, it was the Russian emperor's habit to look at himself in a large mirror and reflect upon his own physical limitations: "Naked, what am I? A libel on the image of God!" 

 

He realises that what invokes awe and reverence in his people are his magnificent robes: "Without my clothes I should be as destitute of authority as any other naked person." 

 

In other words, without his fine robes, his magnificent crown, his titles, etc., he is - like King Charles - an old man without substance; "a cipher, a vacancy, a nobody, a nothing". 

 

It is the trappings of kingship that conceal his essential emptiness and which "move a nation to fall on its knees".

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Mark Twain, 'The Czar's Soliloquy', North American Review, Issue 580 (March 1905), pp. 321-26: click here to read on JSTOR. Lines quoted from the story are on pp. 321-322.

      Note that although the saying clothes make the man is often associated with Mark Twain, it didn't originate with him. In fact, it was already popular during the Middle Ages and can be found, for example, in the work of the great Dutch philosopher and theologian, Erasmus, who recorded it in his collection of Greek and Latin proverbs as vestis virum facit [Adagia: 3.1. 60]. 

 

Post 1750: The Rambler

Portrait of Samuel Johnson 

by Joshua Reynolds (1775)

 

 

I.

 

1750 is something of a lucky number for me as the sum of its digits adds up to 13; a star number of great significance within many cultures, as well as the day of the month on which I was born. 

 

As a date, 1750 is often used to indicate the end of the pre-industrial era, so I suppose one might say that the modern world as we understand it - fully enframed by technology and powered by great machines - begins here. 

 

But 1750 also saw the first edition of Samuel Johnson's The Rambler ... [1] 

 

 

II.

 

For those of you unfamiliar with the name, Samuel Johnson (1709-1784) is one of the most distinguished men of letters in English history. A poet, playwright, essayist, critic, biographer, and editor, he began his writing career on The Gentleman's Magazine, in 1737 [2]. 

 

His famous dictionary - which took him almost nine years to complete - was published in 1755 to great acclaim, but it's the series of tuppenny essays which he published twice weekly under the title of The Rambler, that most excite my interest here (I'll explain why below).

 

Between 1750 and 1752, Johnson (anonymously) wrote over 200 Rambler articles. Often on moral and religious topics, the essays tended to be more serious than the title of the series might suggest and Johnson adopted an elevated style of neoclassical prose that was in stark contrast with the colloquial language that most popular publications of the day favoured.

 

However, whilst sometimes sounding a bit like sermons, Johnson maintained a speculative approach to his subject matter and the essays mostly avoided being too didactic in character. It was always his hope, he said - echoing Ben Jonson - to mix profit with pleasure [3]. 

 

Other subjects discussed in The Rambler included literature, society and politics and Johnson liked to supplement his own thoughts with quotes from Renaissance humanists such as Erasmus and Descartes. Taken as a whole, these essays constitute Johnson's most consistent and sustained body of work.     

 

Alas, the publication was not a great success; as its author lamented in the final essay, 'I have never been much a favourite to the publick'. Having said that, there was a small band of devoted readers and The Rambler was critically respected for the quality and power of the writing [4]. 

 

 

III. 

 

So, why does all this interest me ...

 

Well, without wishing to blow my own trumpet - or compare myself to Samuel Johnson - it seems to me that Torpedo the Ark is in the tradition of The Rambler. 

 

The 1,750 published posts - which might be seen as micro-essays - are composed on an equally wide variety of topics and constitute a sustained body of work. Further, the blog also has a small but loyal readership and manages, I hope, to entertain as well as inform. 

 

The only real difference is that I don't charge readers anything - not even tuppence - to access the work on Torpedo the Ark; something which makes me foolish in Johnson's opinion: No man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money ...    

  

 

Notes

 

[1] It's an amusing title in its ambiguity: does Johnson want his readers to imagine him as one who roams in the countryside of ideas, wandering from one topic to the next; or is he self-mockingly referring to himsef as one who writes at length in a slightly confused manner, blathering on about subjects almost unparalleled in range and variety, but never telling us anything of substance ...? 

 

[2] Founded in London, in 1731, by Edward Cave, The Gentleman's Magazine was a monthly publication which ran uninterrupted for almost 200 years, until 1922. It was the first to use the term magazine for a periodical and included commentary on any topic the educated public might be interested in, from commodity prices to Latin poetry (rather, one might say, like Torpedo the Ark, which also aims to produce numerous pieces of such variety that it becomes impossible to provide an overview).   

 

[3] See the Prologue to Ben Jonson's play Volpone (1606). 

      This ideal has continued to unfold in our own times; the BBC, for example, declare a desire "to act in the public interest, serving all audiences through the provision of impartial, high-quality and distinctive output and services which inform, educate and entertain".

[4] Further, when issues of The Rambler were collected in book form (1753), the essays became more widely read and appreciated, particularly amongst members of the newly emerging middle-class who hoped to improve their knowledge in a manner that would enable them to converse more easily with the highly educated members of the aristocracy. 

      Contemporary readers can purchase a facsimile reprint of The Rambler (Kessinger Publishing, 2010) on Amazon: click here. Alternatively, Johnson's essays from The Rambler can be read on the Samuel Johnson blog published by Matt Kirkland: click here.