The Emperor's New Clothes

Many years ago there was an emperor who was so very fond of new clothes that he spent all his money on them. He did not care at all about his soldiers, and he never went to the theater or hunting unless it was to show off his newest outfit. He had a different suit for every hour of the day. People usually said about other kings, "He is sitting in council," but about him they always said, "The emperor is sitting in his wardrobe."

Life was merry in the big city where his palace was. Strangers came every day. One day two rogues arrived who called themselves weavers. They said they could weave cloth with the most beautiful colors and patterns. But the clothes made from this cloth would be invisible to anyone who was unfit for their job or who was very stupid.

"Those must be splendid clothes!" thought the emperor. "If I had such a suit, I could find out which men in my kingdom are unfit for their offices. I could tell the wise from the foolish! I must have this cloth woven for me at once!" So he gave the two weavers a lot of money so they could start working immediately.

The two pretend weavers set up two looms and pretended to work very busily, though they did nothing at all. They asked for the finest silk and the purest gold thread, put everything into their own bags, and kept working at the empty looms until late at night.

"I should like to know how the weavers are doing with my cloth," said the emperor to himself after a while. But he felt a bit embarrassed because he remembered that a stupid person or someone unfit for their job would not be able to see the cloth. He thought he had nothing to fear for himself, but still he decided to send someone else first to check on the weavers. Everyone in the city had heard about the wonderful cloth, and they were all eager to find out how wise or foolish their neighbors were.

"I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers," said the emperor. "He is the best person to see how the cloth looks, for he is a sensible man, and no one is more suited for his office."

So the faithful old minister went into the hall where the rogues were working hard at their empty looms. "What does this mean?" thought the old man, opening his eyes wide. "I cannot see a single thread on the looms!" But he did not say this out loud.

The impostors asked him politely to come closer and pointed to the empty frames. "Does the design please you?" they asked. "Aren't the colors beautiful?" The poor old minister looked and looked, but he could not see anything on the looms because there was nothing there. "What!" he thought again. "Could I be stupid? I never thought so myself. No one must find out now. Could I be unfit for my office? No, I must not say that either. I will never admit that I could not see the cloth."

"Well, Sir Minister!" said one of the rogues, still pretending to work. "You haven't said whether you like the cloth."

"Oh, it is excellent!" replied the old minister, looking at the loom through his spectacles. "Such a pattern, and such colors! I will tell the emperor at once how beautiful I think they are."

"We are much obliged to you," said the impostors, and they named the different colors and described the pattern of the pretend cloth. The old minister listened carefully so he could repeat everything to the emperor. Then the rogues asked for more silk and gold, saying they needed it to finish the work. But they put everything into their bags and continued working as busily as before at the empty looms.

The emperor now sent another officer to see how the work was going and whether the cloth would soon be ready. The same thing happened to this gentleman as to the minister. He looked at the looms from all sides, but he could see nothing except the empty frames.

"Doesn't the cloth look as beautiful to you as it did to the minister?" asked the impostors, making the same gestures and talking about the design and colors that were not there.

"I am certainly not stupid!" thought the messenger. "It must be that I am not fit for my good, profitable office. That is very strange, but no one shall know about it." So he praised the cloth he could not see and said he was delighted with the colors and patterns. "Indeed, Your Imperial Majesty," he said to the emperor when he returned, "the cloth the weavers are making is extraordinarily magnificent."

The whole city was talking about the splendid cloth the emperor had ordered.

Now the emperor himself wanted to see the costly cloth while it was still on the loom. He went with a group of court officers, including the two honest men who had already admired the cloth, to the crafty impostors. As soon as the rogues knew the emperor was coming, they worked even harder, though they still did not put a single thread through the looms.

"Isn't the work absolutely magnificent?" said the two officers. "If Your Majesty will look at it! What a splendid design! What glorious colors!" They pointed to the empty frames, for they imagined everyone else could see the exquisite cloth.

"How is this?" thought the emperor. "I see nothing! This is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happen." But aloud he said, "Oh, the cloth is charming!

I approve of it completely." He smiled kindly and looked closely at the empty looms, for he would never admit that he could not see what two of his officers had praised so much. All his followers strained their eyes, hoping to see something on the looms, but they saw no more than the others.

Still, they all exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful!" and advised the emperor to have new clothes made from this splendid material for the upcoming procession. "Magnificent! Charming! Excellent!" sounded on all sides, and everyone was very cheerful.

The emperor shared the joy and gave the impostors a knighthood ribbon to wear in their buttonholes and the title "Gentlemen Weavers."

The rogues stayed up all night before the procession and lit sixteen candles so everyone could see how hard they worked to finish the emperor's new suit. They pretended to roll the cloth off the looms, cut the air with scissors, and sewed with needles without thread. "See!" they cried at last. "The emperor's new clothes are ready!"

Now the emperor came with all his courtiers. The rogues raised their arms as if holding something up. "Here are Your Majesty's trousers! Here is the scarf! Here is the mantle! The whole suit is as light as a cobweb. You might think you have nothing on when you wear it, but that is the great virtue of this delicate cloth."

"Yes indeed!" said all the courtiers, though none of them could see anything.

"If Your Imperial Majesty will graciously take off your clothes, we will put on the new suit in front of the mirror."

So the emperor undressed, and the rogues pretended to dress him in the new suit. The emperor turned from side to side before the mirror.

"How splendid His Majesty looks in his new clothes! How well they fit!" everyone cried. "What a design! What colors! These are truly royal robes!"

"The canopy for the procession is waiting," announced the chief master of ceremonies.

"I am ready," answered the emperor. "Do my new clothes fit well?" he asked, turning again before the mirror to pretend to examine his handsome suit.

The lords of the bedchamber, who were supposed to carry the emperor's train, felt about on the ground as if lifting the ends of the mantle and pretended to carry something. They would never admit to being stupid or unfit for their jobs.

So the emperor walked under his high canopy through the streets. All the people standing by and those at the windows cried out, "Oh! How beautiful the emperor's new clothes are! What a magnificent train! How gracefully the scarf hangs!" No one would admit they could not see the clothes, because that would mean they were stupid or unfit. Never had any of the emperor's suits made such an impression as these invisible ones.

"But the emperor has nothing on!" said a little child.

"Listen to the voice of innocence!" said the father. And what the child said was whispered from one to another.

"But he has nothing on!" at last cried all the people. The emperor was upset because he knew the people were right, but he thought the procession must go on. So he held himself even more proudly, and the lords of the bedchamber took greater pains than ever to appear to be holding up a train that was not there.