The Emperor's New Suit
by Hans Christian
Andersen
(1837)
Many, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought
so much of new clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain them; his
only ambition was to be always well dressed. He did not care for
his soldiers, and the theatre did not amuse him; the only
thing, in fact, he thought anything of was to drive out and show a new suit of
clothes. He had a coat for every hour of the day; and as one would say of a king
“He is in his cabinet,” so one could say of him, “The emperor is in his
dressing-room.”
The great city where he resided was very gay;
every day many strangers from all parts of the globe arrived. One day two
swindlers came to this city; they made people believe that they were weavers,
and declared they could manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined. Their
colours and patterns, they said, were not only exceptionally beautiful, but the
clothes made of their material possessed the wonderful quality of being
invisible to any man who was unfit for his office or unpardonably stupid.
“That must be wonderful cloth,” thought the
emperor. “If I were to be dressed in a suit made of this cloth I should be able
to find out which men in my empire were unfit for their places, and I could
distinguish the clever from the stupid. I must have this cloth woven for me
without delay.” And he gave a large sum of money to the swindlers, in advance,
that they should set to work without any loss of time. They set up two looms,
and pretended to be very hard at work, but they did nothing whatever on the
looms. They asked for the finest silk and the most precious gold-cloth; all they
got they did away with, and worked at the empty looms till late at night.
“I should very much like to know how they are
getting on with the cloth,” thought the emperor. But he felt rather uneasy when
he remembered that he who was not fit for his office could not see it.
Personally, he was of opinion that he had nothing to fear, yet he thought it
advisable to send somebody else first to see how matters stood. Everybody in the
town knew what a remarkable quality the stuff possessed, and all were anxious to
see how bad or stupid their neighbours were.
“I shall send my honest old minister to the
weavers,” thought the emperor. “He can judge best how the stuff looks, for he is
intelligent, and nobody understands his office better than he.”
The good old minister went into the room where
the swindlers sat before the empty looms. “Heaven preserve us!” he thought, and
opened his eyes wide, “I cannot see anything at all,” but he did not say so.
Both swindlers requested him to come near, and asked him if he did not admire
the exquisite pattern and the beautiful colours, pointing to the empty looms.
The poor old minister tried his very best, but he could see nothing, for there
was nothing to be seen. “Oh dear,” he thought, “can I be so stupid? I should
never have thought so, and nobody must know it! Is it possible that I am not fit
for my office? No, no, I cannot say that I was unable to see the cloth.”
"Now, have you got nothing to say?” said one of
the swindlers, while he pretended to be busily weaving.
“Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful,”
replied the old minister looking through his glasses. “What a beautiful pattern,
what brilliant colours! I shall tell the emperor that I like the cloth very
much.”
“We are pleased to hear that,” said the two
weavers, and described to him the colours and explained the curious pattern. The
old minister listened attentively, that he might relate to the emperor what they
said; and so he did.
Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and
gold-cloth, which they required for weaving. They kept everything for
themselves, and not a thread came near the loom, but they continued, as
hitherto, to work at the empty looms.
Soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest
courtier to the weavers to see how they were getting on, and if the cloth was
nearly finished. Like the old minister, he looked and looked but could see
nothing, as there was nothing to be seen.
“Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?” asked
the two swindlers, showing and explaining the magnificent pattern, which,
however, did not exist.
“I am not stupid,” said the man. “It is
therefore my good appointment for which I am not fit. It is very strange, but I
must not let any one know it;” and he praised the cloth, which he did not see,
and expressed his joy at the beautiful colours and the fine pattern. “It is very
excellent,” he said to the emperor.
Everybody in the whole town talked about the
precious cloth. At last the emperor wished to see it himself, while it was still
on the loom. With a number of courtiers, including the two who had already been
there, he went to the two clever swindlers, who now worked as hard as they
could, but without using any thread.
“Is it not magnificent?” said the two old
statesmen who had been there before. “Your Majesty must admire the colours and
the pattern.” And then they pointed to the empty looms, for they imagined the
others could see the cloth.
“What is this?” thought the emperor, “I do not
see anything at all. That is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be emperor?
That would indeed be the most dreadful thing that could happen to me.”
“Really,” he said, turning to the weavers, “your
cloth has our most gracious approval;” and nodding contentedly he looked at the
empty loom, for he did not like to say that he saw nothing. All his attendants,
who were with him, looked and looked, and although they could not see anything
more than the others, they said, like the emperor, “It is very beautiful.” And
all advised him to wear the new magnificent clothes at a great procession which
was soon to take place. “It is magnificent, beautiful, excellent,” one heard
them say; everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed the two
swindlers “Imperial Court weavers.”
The whole night previous to the day on which the
procession was to take place, the swindlers pretended to work, and burned more
than sixteen candles. People should see that they were busy to finish the
emperor's new suit. They pretended to take the cloth from the loom, and worked
about in the air with big scissors, and sewed with needles without thread, and
said at last: “The emperor's new suit is ready now.”
The emperor and all his barons then came to the
hall; the swindlers held their arms up as if they held something in their hands
and said: “These are the trousers!” “This is the coat!” and “Here is the cloak!”
and so on. “They are all as light as a cobweb, and one must feel as if one had
nothing at all upon the body; but that is just the beauty of them.”
“Indeed!” said all the courtiers; but they could
not see anything, for there was nothing to be seen.
“Does it please your Majesty now to graciously
undress,” said the swindlers, “that we may assist your Majesty in putting on the
new suit before the large looking-glass?”
The emperor undressed, and the swindlers
pretended to put the new suit upon him, one piece after another; and the emperor
looked at himself in the glass from every side.
“How well they look! How well they fit!” said
all. “What a beautiful pattern! What fine colours! That is a magnificent suit of
clothes!”
The master of the ceremonies announced that the
bearers of the canopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were ready.
“I am ready,” said the emperor. “Does not my
suit fit me marvellously?” Then he turned once more to the looking-glass, that
people should think he admired his garments.
The chamberlains, who were to carry the train,
stretched their hands to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and pretended
to hold something in their hands; they did not like people to know that they
could not see anything.
The emperor marched in the procession under the
beautiful canopy, and all who saw him in the street and out of the windows
exclaimed: “Indeed, the emperor's new suit is incomparable! What a long train he
has! How well it fits him!” Nobody wished to let others know he saw nothing, for
then he would have been unfit for his office or too stupid. Never emperor's
clothes were more admired.
“But he has nothing on at all,” said a little
child at last. “Good heavens! listen to the voice of an innocent child,” said
the father, and one whispered to the other what the child had said. “But he has
nothing on at all,” cried at last the whole people. That made a deep impression
upon the emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right; but he thought to
himself, “Now I must bear up to the end.” And the chamberlains walked with still
greater dignity, as if they carried the train which did not exist.
The End