The Emperor's New Clothes

Many years ago there lived an emperor who loved new clothes more than anything else in the world.

He did not care about his soldiers, or the theatre, or riding in the park, except as a chance to show off a new coat. He had a different outfit for every hour of the day. Where other kings were said to be "in council", people said of him, "The Emperor is in his dressing room."

One day, two strangers arrived in the city. They called themselves weavers, but in truth they were swindlers.

"We can weave the most beautiful cloth ever made," they announced. "Its colours and patterns are marvellous. And it has a magical quality: it is invisible to anyone who is foolish, or who is not fit for his job."

Cloth that nobody can see

The Emperor was thrilled. If I wore that cloth, he thought, I could find out at once which of my ministers are unfit for their jobs, and which are clever and which are foolish.

He paid the two men a great deal of gold, and they set up two looms and pretended to work. They asked for the finest silk and the purest gold thread, which they put straight into their own bags. Then they sat at their empty looms late into the night.

After a while, the Emperor wanted to know how the cloth was coming along. But he felt a little uneasy. What if I can't see it? So he sent his oldest, most honest minister first.

The old minister stood in front of the looms and stared. Heaven help me, he thought. I can't see anything at all. But he didn't say so.

"Isn't it beautiful?" said the swindlers. "Look at this pattern. Look at these colours."

"Oh, it's magnificent," said the minister. "I shall tell the Emperor how much I like it."

Another official was sent, and the same thing happened. He saw nothing, but he was afraid of seeming unfit for his post, so he praised the cloth the swindlers had described.

The procession

Soon the whole city was talking about the wonderful cloth. At last the Emperor went to see it himself, with all his finest courtiers.

He saw nothing.

Am I a fool? he thought, horrified. Am I unfit to be Emperor? Out loud he said, "Oh, it's very pretty. It has my highest approval."

And all his courtiers, who could see nothing either, agreed. "Beautiful! Extraordinary!" They advised him to wear clothes made from it in the great procession that was about to take place.

The swindlers worked all night, with candles burning. They cut the air with big scissors. They sewed with needles that had no thread. In the morning they said, "The Emperor's new clothes are ready."

They pretended to dress him, piece by piece. "Here are the trousers. Here is the coat. Here is the cloak. They are as light as a spider's web. You would almost think you had nothing on."

The Emperor turned this way and that in front of the mirror, and then he walked out into the street under a splendid canopy, while two chamberlains held up a train that wasn't there.

Everybody in the streets and at the windows cried, "How wonderful the Emperor's new clothes are!" Nobody wanted it to seem that they could see nothing, for that would mean they were foolish, or unfit for their jobs.

A small voice

Then a little child said, "But he hasn't got anything on."

"Listen to the innocent child," said its father. But the whisper passed from person to person. "He hasn't got anything on. A child says he hasn't got anything on."

"He hasn't got anything on!" the whole crowd cried at last.

The Emperor shivered, because he suspected they were right. But he thought, The procession must go on. So he walked more proudly than ever, and the chamberlains held up the train that wasn't there at all.

About this story

Hans Christian Andersen, the Danish writer, published this tale in 1837. It was based on an older Spanish story, but Andersen added the child who tells the truth. Today "the emperor's new clothes" is a saying in many languages for something everyone pretends to believe. This version is a retelling.