by Hans Christian Andersen
Hans Christian Andersen died more than a hundred years ago, but his
many wonderful stories continue to live in the hearts of readers. Most
are fairy tales created in his own mind, but some, like this one, are
imaginative retellings of folk tales.
The Emperor’s New Clothes
Many years ago there was an Emperor who was so excessively fond of new
clothes that he spent all his money on them. He cared nothing about his
soldiers or for the theater, or for driving in the woods, except for the
sake of showing off his new clothes. He had a costume for every hour in
the day. Instead of saying, as one does about any other King or Emperor,
“He is in his council chamber,” the people here always said, “The
Emperor is in his dressing room.”
Life was very gay in the great town where he lived. Hosts of strangers
came to visit it, and among them one day were two swindlers. They gave
themselves out as weavers and said that they knew how to weave the most
beautiful fabrics imaginable. Not only were the colors and patterns
unusually fine, but the clothes that were made of this cloth had a
peculiar quality of becoming invisible to every person who was not fit
for the office he held, or who was impossibly dull.
“Those must be splendid clothes,” thought the Emperor. “By wearing them
I should be able to discover which men in my kingdom are unfitted for
their posts. I shall be able to tell the wise men from the fools. Yes, I
certainly must order some of that stuff to be woven for me.”
The Emperor paid the two swindlers a lot of money in advance, so that
they might begin their work at once.
They did put up two looms and pretended to weave, but they had nothing
whatever upon their shuttles. At the outset they asked for a quantity of
the finest silk and the purest gold thread, all of which they put into
their own bags while they worked away at the empty looms far into the
night.
“I should like to know how those weavers are getting on with their
cloth,” thought the Emperor, but he felt a little queer when he
reflected that anyone who was stupid or unfit for his post would not be
able to see it. He certainly thought that he need have no fears for
himself. Still he thought he would send somebody else first to see how
the work was getting on. Everybody in the town knew what wonderful power
the stuff possessed, and every one was anxious to see how stupid his
neighbor was.
“I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers,” thought the
Emperor. “He will be best able to see how the stuff looks, for he is a
clever man and no one fulfills his duties better than he does'”
So the good old minister went into the room where the two swindlers sat
working at the empty loom.
“Heaven help us,” thought the old minister, opening
his eyes very wide. “Why, I can’t see a thing!” But he took care not
to say so.
Both the swindlers begged him to be good enough to step a little nearer.
They asked if he did not think it a good pattern and beautiful coloring,
and they pointed to the empty loom. The poor old minister stared as hard
as he could, but he could not see anything, for of course there was
nothing to see.
“Good heavens!” thought he. “Is it possible that I am a fool? I have
never thought so, and nobody must know it. Am I not fit for my post? It
will never do to say that I cannot see the stuff.”
“Well, sir, you don’t say anything about the stuff,” said the one who
was pretending to weave.
“Oh, it is beautiful! Quite charming,” said the minister, looking
through his spectacles. “Such a pattern and such colors! I will
certainly tell the Emperor that the stuff pleases me very much.”
“We are delighted to hear you say so,” said the swindlers, and then they
named all the colors and described the peculiar pattern. The old
minister paid close attention to what they said, so as to be able to
repeat it when he got home to the Emperor.
Then the swindlers went on to demand more money, more silk, and more
gold, to be able to proceed with the weaving. They put it all into their
own pockets. Not a single strand was ever put into the loom. But they
went on as before, pretending to weave at the empty loom.
The Emperor soon sent another faithful official to see how the stuff was
getting on and if it would soon be ready. The same thing happened to him
as to the minister. He looked and looked, but as there was only the
empty loom, he could see nothing at all.
“Is not this a beautiful piece of stuff?” said both the swindlers,
showing and explaining the beautiful pattern and colors which were not
there to be seen.
“I know I am no fool,” thought the man, “so it must be that I am unfit
for my good post. It is very strange, but I must not let on.” So he
praised the stuff he did not see, and assured the swindlers of his
delight in the beautiful colors and the originality of the design. “It
is absolutely charming!” he said to the Emperor.
Everybody in the town was now talking about this splendid stuff, and the
Emperor thought he would like to see it while it was still on the loom.
So, accompanied by a number of selected courtiers, among whom were the
two faithful officials who had already seen the imaginary stuff, he went
to visit the crafty impostors. They were working away as hard as ever
they could at the empty loom.
“It is magnificent!” said both the honest officials. “Only see, Your
Majesty, what a design! What colors!” And they pointed to the empty
loom, for they each thought the others could see the stuff.
“What!” thought the Emperor. “I see nothing at all. This is terrible! Am
I a fool? Am I not fit to be Emperor? Why, nothing worse could happen to
me!
“Oh, it is beautiful,” said the Emperor. “It has my
highest approval.” He nodded his satisfaction as he gazed at the empty
loom. Nothing would induce him to say that he could not see anything.
The whole suite gazed and gazed, but saw nothing more than all the
others. However, they all exclaimed with His Majesty, “It is very
beautiful!” They advised him to wear a suit made of this wonderful cloth
on the occasion of a great procession which was just about to take
place. “Magnificent! Gorgeous! Excellent!” went from mouth to mouth.
They were all equally delighted with it. The Emperor gave each of the
weavers an order of knighthood to be worn in his buttonhole and the
title of “Gentleman Weaver.”
The swindlers sat up the whole night before the day on which the
procession was to take place. They burned sixteen candles, so that
people might see how anxious they were to get the Emperor’s new clothes
ready. They pretended to take the stuff off the loom. They cut it out in
the air with a huge pair of scissors, and they stitched away with
needles without any thread in them.
At last they said, “Now the Emperor’s new clothes are ready.”
The Emperor, with his grandest courtiers, went to them himself. Both the
swindlers raised one arm in the air, as if they were holding something.
They said, “See, these are the trousers. This is the coat. Here is the
mantle,” and so on. “They are as light as a spider’s web. One might
think one had nothing on, but that is the very beauty of it.”
“Yes,” said all the courtiers, but they could not see anything, for
there was nothing to see.
“Will Your Imperial Majesty be graciously pleased to take off your
clothes?” said the impostors. “Then we may put on the new ones, along
here before the great mirror.”
The Emperor took off all his clothes, and the
impostors pretended to give him one article of dress after the other of
the new clothes which they had pretended to make. They pretended to
fasten something around his waist and to tie on something. This was the
train. The Emperor turned round and round in front of the mirror.
“How well His Majesty looks in the new clothes!
How becoming they are!” cried all the people. “What a design, and what
colors! They are most gorgeous robes!”
“The canopy is waiting outside which is to be carried over Your Majesty
in the procession,” said the master of ceremonies.
“Well, I am quite ready,” said the Emperor. “Don’t the clothes fit
well?” Then he turned round again in front of the mirror, so that he
should seem to be looking at his grand things.
The chamberlains who were to carry the train stooped and pretended to
lift it from the ground with both hands, and they walked along with
their hands in the air. They dared not let it appear that they could not
see anything.
Then the Emperor walked along in the procession under the gorgeous
canopy, and everybody in the streets and at the windows exclaimed, “How
beautiful the Emperor’s new clothes are! What a splendid train!
And they fit to perfection!” Nobody would let it appear that he could
see nothing, for that would prove that he was not fit for his post, or
else he was a fool. None of the Emperor’s clothes had been so successful
before.
“But he has nothing on,” said a little child.
“Oh, listen to the innocent,” said its father. And one person whispered
to the other what the child had said.
“He has nothing on—a child says he has nothing on!”
“But he has nothing on!” at last cried all the people.
The Emperor writhed, for he knew it was true. But he thought, “The
procession must go on now.” So he held himself stiffer than ever, and
the chamberlains held up the invisible train.
Did you enjoy this tale? If so, you’ll want to read some of Hans
Christian Andersen’s other stories. You might try “The Princess and the
Pea,” “The Ugly Duckling,” “The Tinderbox,” “Thumbelina,” “The Fir
Tree,” or “The Steadfast Tin Soldier.”
