The Emperor’s New Clothes

Once upon a time there lived an emperor who loved new clothes more than anything in the world. Not books, not walks, not even cherry pies, but coats, cloaks and robes. He had a different outfit for every hour of the day. So whenever anyone asked where the emperor was, the answer was never "in council", but "in the wardrobe".

One day two strangers in dusty cloaks came to the capital. They said they were weavers and went straight to the palace.

"Your Majesty," said the first one, tall and thin, with a bow, "we can weave cloth such as the world has never seen!"

"Colours like a rainbow after the rain," the second one chimed in, short and round. "And patterns like frost on a windowpane."

"And one more marvel," said the thin one, raising a finger. "Anyone who is foolish, or not fit for his post, cannot see this cloth at all. Not a single thread!"

The emperor nearly jumped off his throne. "What wonderful cloth!" he thought. "If I wear clothes like that, I’ll know at once which of my ministers are foolish and which aren’t fit for their jobs."

"Take silk, take golden thread," he ordered. "And start weaving without delay!"

The swindlers set up two looms in the palace and got to work. All day long, clack-clack, swish-swish, the shuttles flew back and forth. Only there was nothing on the looms. Nothing at all! The weavers stuffed the costly silk and golden thread into their own bags, and they kept tugging at the empty looms by candlelight until late at night.

News of the magic cloth spread all over town. At the market, by the well, in the bakery, everyone was talking about the same thing: who would turn out to be a fool? Only the children didn’t worry. They didn’t care about the cloth, because they had their own business to see to: balls, puddles and kittens.

A week went by, and the emperor longed to see how the work was going. But going himself felt a little frightening. "What if I can’t see it?" he whispered. "No, no, of course I’ll see it. But let someone else go first."

So he sent his oldest minister, grey-haired and dignified, with a beard right down to his belt.

The minister went in, looked at the looms, and went cold. Empty!

"Oh dear, oh dear," he thought, and his beard began to tremble. "Can I really be a fool? Nobody must ever find out!"

"Well, Minister?" asked the weavers. "Do you like the colours?"

"Wonderful! Beautiful!" the minister said in a hurry, and he even put on his spectacles so everyone could see how carefully he was looking. "That red there… and that green… I’ll tell the emperor every last bit!"

The swindlers just exchanged glances and asked for more silk and golden thread. "For the patterns," they explained.

Then a second official went to see the weavers, a younger one. And the very same thing happened to him. He looked, he blinked, he rubbed his eyes, but all he could see were empty looms.

"I can’t be a fool," he thought. "So I must be unfit for my post? Oh no, nobody’s going to find that out!"

"How splendid!" he cried out loud. "It quite dazzles the eyes!"

At last the emperor went to see for himself, with a whole crowd of courtiers, including the two gentlemen who had already been there. The weavers stood at their looms working as hard as they could, swish-swish, clack-clack, on nothing but thin air.

"Isn’t it wonderful, Your Majesty?" said the old minister, pointing. "Just look at those patterns!"

He was sure that everyone else could see the cloth.

The emperor looked, and his heart skipped a beat. Nothing! Nothing whatsoever!

"What’s going on?" he thought in alarm. "Am I a fool? Am I not fit to be emperor? Nothing could be worse!"

"Oh, very nice," he said loudly, nodding his head. "I like it very much!"

And the courtiers, who couldn’t see anything either, cried out one after another:

"Charming! Incredible! Magnificent!"

They advised the emperor to have clothes made from the new cloth for the grand parade, which was coming very soon.

The swindlers stayed up all night before the parade. They lit sixteen candles so everyone could see how hard they were working. They took the "cloth" off the looms, cut the air with big scissors, snip-snip, and sewed with needles that had no thread. And in the morning they solemnly announced:

"The clothes are ready!"

The emperor came with his grandest noblemen. The weavers held up their arms as if they were holding something very light.

"Here are the trousers. Here is the coat. And here is the robe with its extra-long train," they said. "Light as a cobweb! It feels as if you’re wearing nothing at all, and that’s the beauty of it."

"Yes, yes," nodded the noblemen, though they saw nothing, because there was nothing there.

"And now, Your Majesty, kindly take off your old clothes," said the swindlers with a bow. "Just keep your undershirt on: the new cloth will sit better that way."

The emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to dress him, piece by piece. He turned this way and that in front of the big mirror.

"How it suits you! What a perfect fit!" buzzed the courtiers.

The two servants who were to carry the train bent down and fumbled about on the floor as if picking it up, then set off behind him, holding the air in their hands. They didn’t want to be taken for fools either.

The weavers were paid handsomely, and with a low bow they vanished somewhere, along with their heavy bags.

And then the parade set off. In front came the trumpets: ta-ra-ra! The emperor walked under a canopy carried by four pages. People lined the streets and leaned out of windows.

"What splendid clothes!" they cried. "What a train! How well it all suits the emperor!"

Nobody wanted to say they couldn’t see anything. After all, who wants the neighbours to think they’re a fool?

But in the middle of the crowd, a little girl sat on her dad’s shoulders. She hadn’t even heard all the talk about the magic cloth: she had her own business to see to, puddles, kittens, and now a parade. She looked at the emperor, and then she looked again, carefully, the way children look.

"But the emperor has no clothes!" she said, loudly and in surprise.

Well, to tell the truth, he wasn’t completely bare: he still had his long white undershirt on. But there wasn’t a single thread of new clothes on him.

"Do you hear what the child is saying?" Dad whispered to his neighbour.

And the neighbour whispered it on:

"The child says the emperor has nothing on…"

The whisper ran from person to person like wind through the grass, and suddenly the whole street was shouting:

"But he has nothing on at all!"

The emperor flinched. Deep down he felt that the people were telling the truth. His cheeks flushed, and for a moment his feet stopped.

"But a parade is a parade," he thought. "I must go on to the end."

And the emperor puffed out his chest, stuck up his chin and marched on even more grandly than before. And the servants stepped along behind him, holding even tighter to the train that had never been there at all.