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The Emperor's New Clothes
Hans Christian Andersen
Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so
excessively fond of new clothes, that he spent all his money in dress. He did
not trouble himself in the least about his soldiers; nor did he care to go
either to the theatre or the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded
him for displaying his new clothes. He had a different suit for each hour of the
day; and as of any other king or emperor, one is accustomed to say, "he is
sitting in council," it was always said of him, "The Emperor is sitting in his
wardrobe."
Time passed merrily in the large town which was his
capital; strangers arrived every day at the court. One day, two rogues, calling
themselves weavers, made their appearance. They gave out that they knew how to
weave stuffs of the most beautiful colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes
manufactured from which should have the wonderful property of remaining
invisible to everyone who was unfit for the office he held, or who was
extraordinarily simple in character.
"These must, indeed, be splendid clothes!" thought the
Emperor. "Had I such a suit, I might at once find out what men in my realms are
unfit for their office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the
foolish! This stuff must be woven for me immediately." And he caused large sums
of money to be given to both the weavers in order that they might begin their
work directly.
So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and
affected to work very busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. They
asked for the most delicate silk and the purest gold thread; put both into their
own knapsacks; and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms until
late at night.
"I should like to know how the weavers are getting on
with my cloth," said the Emperor to himself, after some little time had elapsed;
he was, however, rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or one
unfit for his office, 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 weavers, and their
work, before he troubled himself in the affair. All the people throughout the
city had heard of the wonderful property the cloth 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 old minister to the weavers,"
said the Emperor at last, after some deliberation, "he will be best able to see
how the cloth looks; for he is a man of sense, and no one can be more suitable
for his office than be is."
So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where
the knaves were working with all their might, at their empty looms. "What can be
the meaning of this?" thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. "I cannot
discover the least bit of thread on the looms." However, he did not express his
thoughts aloud.
The impostors requested him very courteously to be so
good as to come nearer their looms; and then asked him whether the design
pleased him, and whether the colors were not very beautiful; at the same time
pointing to the empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked, he could
not discover anything on the looms, for a very good reason, viz: there was
nothing there. "What!" thought he again. "Is it possible that I am a simpleton?
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 see the stuff."
"Well, Sir Minister!" said one of the knaves, still
pretending to work. "You do not say whether the stuff pleases you."
"Oh, it is excellent!" replied the old minister, looking
at the loom through his spectacles. "This pattern, and the colors, yes, I will
tell the Emperor without delay, how very beautiful I think them."
"We shall be much obliged to you," said the impostors,
and then they named the different colors and described the pattern of the
pretended stuff. The old minister listened attentively to their words, in order
that he might repeat them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for more
silk and 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 looms.
The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to see
how the men were getting on, and to ascertain whether the cloth would soon be
ready. It was just the same with this gentleman as with the minister; he
surveyed the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the empty
frames.
"Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you, as it
did to my lord the minister?" asked the impostors of the Emperor's second
ambassador; at the same time making the same gestures as before, and talking of
the design and colors which were not there.
"I certainly am not stupid!" thought the messenger. "It
must be, that I am not fit for my good, profitable office! 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 colors and
patterns. "Indeed, please your Imperial Majesty," said he to his sovereign when
he returned, "the cloth which the weavers are preparing is extraordinarily
magnificent."
The whole city was talking of the splendid cloth which
the Emperor had ordered to be woven at his own expense.
And now the Emperor himself wished to see the costly
manufacture, while it was still in the loom. Accompanied by a select number of
officers of the court, among whom were the two honest men who had already
admired the cloth, he went to the crafty impostors, who, as soon as they were
aware of the Emperor's approach, went on working more diligently than ever;
although they still did not pass a single thread through the looms.
"Is not the work absolutely magnificent?" said the two
officers of the crown, already mentioned. "If your Majesty 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 frames; for they imagined that everyone else
could see this exquisite piece of workmanship.
"How is this?" said the Emperor to himself. "I can see
nothing! This is indeed a terrible affair! Am I a simpleton, or am I unfit to be
an Emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happen--Oh! the cloth is
charming," said he, aloud. "It has my complete approbation." And he smiled most
graciously, and looked closely at the empty looms; for on no account would he
say that he could not see what two of the officers of his court had praised so
much. All his retinue now strained their eyes, hoping to discover something on
the looms, but they could see no more than the others; nevertheless, they all
exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful!" and advised his majesty to have some new clothes
made from this splendid material, for the approaching procession. "Magnificent!
Charming! Excellent!" resounded on all sides; and everyone was uncommonly gay.
The Emperor shared in the general satisfaction; and presented the impostors with
the riband of an order of knighthood, to be worn in their button-holes, and the
title of "Gentlemen Weavers."
The rogues sat up the whole of the night before the day
on which the procession was to take place, and had sixteen lights burning, so
that everyone might see how anxious they were to finish the Emperor's new suit.
They pretended to roll the cloth off the looms; cut the air with their scissors;
and sewed with needles without any thread in them. "See!" cried they, at last.
"The Emperor's new clothes are ready!"
And now the Emperor, with all the grandees of his court,
came to the weavers; and the rogues raised their arms, as if in the act of
holding something up, saying, "Here are your Majesty's trousers! Here is the
scarf! Here is the mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb; one might
fancy one has nothing at all on, when dressed in it; that, however, is the great
virtue of this delicate cloth."
"Yes indeed!" said all the courtiers, although not one
of them could see anything of this exquisite manufacture.
"If your Imperial Majesty will be graciously pleased to
take off your clothes, we will fit on the new suit, in front of the looking
glass."
The Emperor was accordingly undressed, and the rogues
pretended to array him in his new suit; the Emperor turning round, from side to
side, before the looking glass.
"How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes, and
how well they fit!" everyone cried out. "What a design! What colors! These are
indeed royal robes!"
"The canopy which is to be borne over your Majesty, in
the procession, is waiting," announced the chief master of the ceremonies.
"I am quite ready," answered the Emperor. "Do my new
clothes fit well?" asked he, turning himself round again before the looking
glass, in order that he might appear to be examining his handsome suit.
The lords of the bedchamber, who were to carry his
Majesty's train felt about on the ground, as if they were lifting up the ends of
the mantle; and pretended to be carrying something; for they would by no means
betray anything like simplicity, or unfitness for their office.
So now the Emperor walked under his high canopy in the
midst of the procession, through the streets of his capital; and all the people
standing by, and those at the windows, cried out, "Oh! How beautiful are our
Emperor's new clothes! What a magnificent train there is to the mantle; and how
gracefully the scarf hangs!" in short, no one would allow that he could not see
these much-admired clothes; because, in doing so, he would have declared himself
either a simpleton or unfit for his office. Certainly, none of the Emperor's
various suits, had ever made so great an impression, as these invisible ones.
"But the Emperor has nothing at all on!" 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 has nothing at all on!" at last cried out all
the people. The Emperor was vexed, for he knew that the people were right; but
he thought the procession must go on now! And the lords of the bedchamber took
greater pains than ever, to appear holding up a train, although, in reality,
there was no train to hold.
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