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.

THE SWINEHERD

There was once a poor Prince, who had a kingdom. His kingdom was very
small, but still quite large enough to marry upon; and he wished to
marry.

It was certainly rather cool of him to say to the Emperor’s daughter,
“Will you have me?” But so he did; for his name was renowned far and
wide; and there were a hundred princesses who would have answered,
“Yes!” and “Thank you kindly.” We shall see what this princess said.

Listen!

It happened that where the Prince’s father lay buried, there grew a rose
tree–a most beautiful rose tree, which blossomed only once in every
five years, and even then bore only one flower, but that was a rose!
It smelt so sweet that all cares and sorrows were forgotten by him who
inhaled its fragrance.