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 he
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.
