In the large city where he lived, visitors arrived every day. One day there came two impostors pretending to be weavers who knew the secret of weaving the most beautiful fabrics that could be imagined. Not only were the colors and designs supposed to be uncommonly beautiful, but the fabric was supposed to possess the wonderful quality of being invisible to anyone who was stupid.
“Clothes made of that material would be most valuable,” the Emperor thought. “If I had them, I could tell the clever from the stupid. That cloth must be at once woven for me.” So he gave the order to the two impostors, and a large sum of money, in order that they mighty begin their work.
They set up two looms and set to working, but there was nothing at all on the looms. Straightaway they required the finest silk and the most beautiful gold thread to work into their cloth, which they put into their pockets, and worked away at the bare looms till late at night.
“I should like to know how they have got on with the cloth,” the Emperor thought. But at the same time he was greatly embarrassed when he thought of it, for anyone who was stupid could not see it. Now, he had no doubts about himself, but he thought it as well first to send someone else, to see how it was getting on. Everyone in the city knew the special quality of the fabric, and everyone was anxious to see how stupid his neighbor was.
“I will send my old, honest minister to the weavers,” the Emperor thought. “He will be best able to judge how the fabric succeeds, for he had sense.”
So the good old minister went to the room where the two impostors were working at their bare looms. “Heaven preserve me!” the old minister thought, as he opened his eyes wide. “Why, I cannot see anything.” But that he did not say.
Both impostors begged him to step nearer, and they asked whether he did not think the design pretty and the colors beautiful. They then pointed to the bare loom, and the poor old minister opened his eyes still wider. “Can it be possible,” he thought, “that I am stupid? That I would never have believed, and no one must know it. It will never do to tell that I cannot see the stuff!”
“Well, you say nothing of our work,” one of the weavers said.
“Oh, it is very pretty! Quite beutiful!” the old minister said, looking through his spectacles. “The design and the colors—yes, I shall not fail to tell the Emperor that it pleases me very much.”
“We are delighted to hear it,” both the weavers said, and then they mentioned all the different colors, and explained the unusual design. The old minister paid great attention, that he might use the same words when he returned to the Emperor. And he did so.
The impostors now applied for more money, more silk, and more gold, to be used in their weaving, which they put in their pockets, for not a single thread was put upon the looms, though they continued their pretended work.
The Emperor soon after sent another statesman to see how the weaving got on and whether the cloth would soon be ready. With him it was exactly as with the other. He looked and looked, but as there was nothing besides the bare loom, he could see nothing.
“Well, is that not beautiful cloth!” the two impostors asked, and then explained the magnificent design which did not exist.
“I am not stupid,” the man thought, “and I must never let it be suspected.” So he praised the fabric which he did not see, and assured them he was highly pleased with the beautiful design and colors. “Oh, it is lovely,” he said to the Emperor.
Everyone in the city spoke of the magnificent fabric.
The Emperor now wanted to see it himself, so with a host of followers, he went to the two artful impostors, who now worked away with all their might, though without a thread.
“Is it not magnificent?” the two impostors asked. “Will not Your Majesty look more closely and examine the design and beautiful colors?” And they pointed to the bare loom.
“How is this?” the Emperor thought. “Why, I see nothing at all. It is quite dreadful. Can it be that I am stupid? That would be the most dreadful thing that could happen.”
“Yes, it is very beautiful!” he said. “It has my highest approval.” And he nodded with apparent satisfaction at the bare loom, for he would not admit that he did not see anything.
All his followers looked and looked, seeing no more than the others, but they said the same as the Emperor, and they advised him to wear clothes of that magnificent fabric at the approaching grand procession. “It is delightful, charming, excellent!” passed from mouth to mouth, and all seemed really delighted. The Emperor awarded both the impostors medals to wear in their buttonholes, and dubbed them Court Weavers.
The whole night before the procession was to take place, the impostors were up, and had more than twenty lights burning. Everyone could see that they were very busy getting the Emperor’s new clothes ready. They pretended they were taking the cloth off the loom, cut away in the air with large shears and sewed with needles without thread, and said at length, “See, now the clothes are ready.”
The Emperor himself came, and both impostors raised an arm, exactly as if they were holding something up, and said, “These are the trousers, this is the coat, here is the cloak,” and so on, “all so light that one might think one had nothing on. But that is the beauty of the material. If Your Imperial Majesty will please take off your clothes,” the impostors said, “we will put the new ones on for you here, before the mirror.”
The Emperor took off all his clothes, and the impostors pretended to help him on with one article after another of the new garments. The Emperor bent and turned about before the mirror.
“Oh, how becoming they are! How beautifully they fit!” he said. “The pattern and colors are perfect. This is a magnificent outfit!”
The castle porter came in and said, “The canopy, which is to be carried over Your Majesty in the procession, is waiting outside.”
“Well, I am ready,” the Emperor said. “Do not the clothes fit well?” And then he turned again to the mirror, for he wished to appear as if he were examining his attire carefully.
The pages, who were to carry the train, stooped and pretended to lay hold of something on the ground, as if they were raising the train, which they then pretended to hold up, for they would not have it appear that they could not see anything.
So the Emperor walked in the procession, under the magnificent canopy. All the people in the street and in the windows said, “The Emperor’s clothes are not to be equaled. And what a magnificent train he has!” No one would let it appear that he did not see anything, for if so, he would have been thought very stupid. No clothes of the Emperor’s had ever had so much success as these.
“But he has nothing on,” said at length a little child.
“Good heavens! Listen to the innocent thing’s voice!” its father said. And one whispered to the other what the child had uttered.
“But he has nothing on!” all the people cried at last.
It appeared to the Emperor that they were right. But he said to himself, “Now that I have begun it, I must go on with the procession.” And the pages continued to carry the train which did not exist.
