Once there was an emperor who cared for nothing in the world so much as fine new clothes. He spent all his money on them, and had a different coat for every hour of the day; and while another king might be found with his council or his army, this emperor was almost always to be found in his dressing room, admiring himself.
One day two swindlers came to the city, and gave out that they were weavers, and could weave the most marvellous cloth imaginable. Not only were the colours and patterns uncommonly beautiful, they said, but the cloth had a wonderful property: it was invisible to anyone who was unfit for his office, or who was hopelessly stupid. The emperor heard of this and thought, “What splendid clothes those would be. If I wore them, I could tell which of my ministers were unfit for their posts, and the clever from the foolish besides.” And he gave the two swindlers a great deal of money to begin at once.
They set up two looms and pretended to work, though the looms were quite empty. They asked for the finest silk and the purest gold thread, which they put in their own bags, and worked away at nothing far into the night.
Presently the emperor grew curious how the work was coming on, but he felt a little uneasy when he remembered that a fool would see nothing. So he sent his old and honest minister first. The good old man went and stared at the empty looms, and of course saw nothing at all, for there was nothing to see. “Heaven help me,” he thought, “am I stupid? Am I unfit for my office? No one must know it.” So aloud he said, “Oh, it is beautiful, quite beautiful. What colours! What a pattern! I shall tell the emperor how well I like it.” And the swindlers named more silks and more gold, and put it all in their bags, and worked on at their empty looms.
The emperor sent other officials, and each saw nothing, and each, for fear of being thought a fool or unfit, praised what was not there. And at last the emperor went himself, with all his grandest courtiers, to see the cloth while it was still on the loom. He looked, and looked, and saw nothing whatever. “How is this?” he thought, aghast. “I see nothing. This is dreadful. Am I a fool? Am I unfit to be emperor?” But aloud he said, “Oh, it is very beautiful. It has my highest approval.” And all his court looked and saw nothing, and all said, “Oh, it is beautiful!” and advised him to have clothes made of this splendid cloth for the great procession that was soon to take place.
The swindlers sat up all the night before the procession, with sixteen candles burning, and made a great show of cutting the air with scissors, and sewing with needles that had no thread, and at last they said, “There! The clothes are finished.” The emperor came with his courtiers, and the swindlers held up their arms as if holding something, and said, “Here are the trousers. Here is the coat. Here is the cloak. They are as light as a cobweb; one would think one had nothing on at all, but that is the beauty of them.” And they pretended to dress the emperor, who turned this way and that before the mirror. “How well they fit! What a splendid figure!” cried all the courtiers, though not one of them could see a stitch.
So the emperor set out under a fine canopy at the head of the procession, and all the people in the streets and at the windows cried, “How beautiful the emperor’s new clothes are! What a train! What a perfect fit!” For no one would let it be known that he saw nothing, since that would prove him a fool or unfit for his place; and never had the emperor’s clothes been so admired.
But then a little child, who knew nothing of offices and did not care who was fit for what, said out loud, “But he has nothing on at all!” “Listen to the voice of innocence!” said the child’s father; and one whispered to another what the child had said. “He has nothing on! A little child says he has nothing on!” And at last all the people were crying, “But he has nothing on!”
The emperor shivered, for he knew it was true. But he thought to himself, “The procession must go on now.” And he held himself up prouder than ever, and his courtiers walked behind him carrying the train that was not there at all.
The crowd will praise what it dares not question; but truth, once a child has spoken it plainly, cannot be unheard.