clothes that he spent all his money in dress. He did not trouble himself
in the least about his soldiers; nor did he care to go either to the
theatre or the chase, except for the opportunities then afforded him for
displaying his new clothes. He had a different suit for each hour of the
day; and as of any other king or emperor one is accustomed to say, ‘He
is sitting in council,’ it was always said of him, ‘The Emperor is
sitting in his wardrobe.’
Time passed away merrily in the large town which was his capital;
strangers arrived every day at the court. One day, two rogues, calling
themselves weavers, made their appearance. They gave out that they knew
how to weave stuffs of the most beautiful colours and elaborate
patterns, the clothes manufactured from which should have the wonderful
property of remaining invisible to every one who was unfit for the
office he held, or who was extraordinarily simple in character.
‘These must indeed be splendid clothes!’ thought the Emperor. ‘Had I
such a suit, I might, at once, find out what men in my realms are unfit
for their office, and also be able to distinguish the wise from the
foolish! This stuff must be woven for me immediately.’ And he caused
large sums of money to be given to both the weavers, in order that they
might begin their work directly.
So the two pretended weavers set up two looms, and affected to work very
busily, though in reality they did nothing at all. They asked for the
most delicate silk and the purest gold thread, put both into their own
knapsacks, and then continued their pretended work at the empty looms
until late at night.
‘I should like to know how the weavers are getting on with my cloth,’
said the Emperor to himself, after some little time had elapsed; he was,
however, rather embarrassed, when he remembered that a simpleton, or one
unfit for his office, would be unable to see the manufacture. ‘To be
sure,’ he thought, ‘he had nothing to risk in his own person; but yet,
he would prefer sending somebody else, to bring him intelligence about
the weavers, and their work, before he troubled himself in the affair.’
All the people throughout the city had heard of the wonderful property
the cloth was to possess; and all were anxious to learn how wise, or how
ignorant, their neighbours might prove to be.
‘I will send my faithful old minister to the weavers,’ said the Emperor
at last, after some deliberation, ‘he will be best able to see how the
cloth looks; for he is a man of sense, and no one can be more suitable
for his office than he is.’
So the faithful old minister went into the hall, where the knaves were
working with all their might at their empty looms. ‘What can be the
meaning of this?’ thought the old man, opening his eyes very wide. ‘I
cannot discover the least bit of thread on the looms!’ However, he did
not express his thoughts aloud.
The impostors requested him very courteously to be so good as to come
nearer their looms; and then asked him whether the design pleased him,
and whether the colours were not very beautiful, at the same time
pointing to the empty frames. The poor old minister looked and looked,
he could not discover anything on the looms, for a very good reason,
viz. there was nothing there. ‘What!’ thought he again, ‘is it possible
that I am a simpleton? I have never thought so myself; and no one must
know it now if I am so. Can it be that I am unfit for my office? No,
that must not be said either. I will never confess that I could not see
the stuff.’
‘Well, Sir Minister,’ said one of the knaves, still pretending to work,
‘you do not say whether the stuff pleases you.’
‘Oh, it is excellent!’ replied the old minister, looking at the loom
through his spectacles. ‘This pattern, and the colours--yes, I will tell
the Emperor without delay how very beautiful I think them.’
[Illustration: ‘OH, IT IS EXCELLENT!’ REPLIED THE MINISTER]
‘We shall be much obliged to you,’ said the impostors, and then they
named the different colours and described the pattern of the pretended
stuff. The old minister listened attentively to their words, in order
that he might repeat them to the Emperor; and then the knaves asked for
more silk and gold, saying that it was necessary to complete what they
had begun. However, they put all that was given them into their
knapsacks, and continued to work with as much apparent diligence as
before at their empty looms.
The Emperor now sent another officer of his court to see how the men
were getting on, and to ascertain whether the cloth would soon be ready.
It was just the same with this gentleman as with the minister; he
surveyed the looms on all sides, but could see nothing at all but the
empty frames.
‘Does not the stuff appear as beautiful to you as it did to my lord the
minister?’ asked the impostors of the Emperor’s second ambassador; at
the same time making the same gestures as before, and talking of the
design and colours which were not there.
‘I certainly am not stupid!’ thought the messenger. ‘It must be that I
am not fit for my good, profitable office! That is very odd; however, no
one shall know anything about it.’ And accordingly he praised the stuff
he could not see, and declared that he was delighted with both colours
and patterns. ‘Indeed, please your Imperial Majesty,’ said he to his
sovereign, when he returned, ‘the cloth which the weavers are preparing
is extraordinarily magnificent.’
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 whilst
it was still on 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 colours!’ and, at the same
time, they pointed to the empty frames; for they imagined that every one
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 every one 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
every one 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!’
[Illustration: AS IF IN THE ACT OF HOLDING SOMETHING UP]
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.
[Illustration: SO NOW THE EMPEROR WALKED UNDER HIS HIGH CANOPY]
‘How splendid his Majesty looks in his new clothes! and how well they
fit!’ every one cried out. ‘What a design! what colours! 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 bed-chamber, 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 pretending to be carrying something; for they would by no
means betray anything like simplicity or unfitness for their office.
[Illustration]
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 bed-chamber
took greater pains than ever to appear holding up a train, although, in
reality, there was no train to hold.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
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.
And furthermore, the Prince had a nightingale, who could sing in such a
manner that it seemed as though all sweet melodies dwelt in her little
throat. So the Princess was to have the rose, and the nightingale; and
they were accordingly put into large silver caskets, and sent to her.
The Emperor had them brought into a large hall, where the Princess was
playing at ‘Visiting,’ with the ladies of the court; and when she saw
the caskets with the presents, she clapped her hands for joy.
‘Ah, if it were but a little pussy-cat!’ said she--but the rose-tree
with its beautiful rose came to view.
‘Oh, how prettily it is made!’ said all the court ladies.
‘It is more than pretty,’ said the Emperor, ‘it is charming!’
[Illustration: ALL CARES AND SORROWS WERE FORGOTTEN BY HIM WHO INHALED
ITS FRAGRANCE]
But the Princess touched it, and was almost ready to cry.
‘Fie, papa!’ said she, ‘it is not made at all, it is natural!’
‘Let us see what is in the other casket, before we get into a bad
humour,’ said the Emperor. So the nightingale came forth, and sang so
delightfully that at first no one could say anything ill-humoured of
her.
‘_Superbe! charmant!_’ exclaimed the ladies; for they all used to
chatter French, each one worse than her neighbour.
‘How much the bird reminds me of the musical box that belonged to our
blessed Empress,’ said an old knight. ‘Oh yes! these are the same tones,
the same execution.’
‘Yes! yes!’ said the Emperor, and he wept like a child at the
remembrance.
‘I will still hope that it is not a real bird,’ said the Princess.
‘Yes, it is a real bird,’ said those who had brought it. ‘Well, then,
let the bird fly,’ said the Princess; and she positively refused to see
the Prince.
However, he was not to be discouraged; he daubed his face over brown and
black, pulled his cap over his ears, and knocked at the door.
‘Good day to my lord the Emperor!’ said he. ‘Can I have employment at
the palace?’
‘Why, yes,’ said the Emperor, ‘I want some one to take care of the pigs,
for we have a great many of them.’
So the Prince was appointed ‘Imperial Swineherd.’ He had a dirty little
room close by the pig-sty; and there he sat the whole day, and worked.
By the evening he had made a pretty little kitchen-pot. Little bells
were hung all round it; and when the pot was boiling, these bells
tinkled in the most charming manner, and played the old melody,
‘Ach! du lieber Augustin,
lles ist weg, weg, weg!’[2]
[2]
‘Ah! dear Augustine,
ll is gone, gone, gone!’
But what was still more curious, whoever held his finger in the smoke of
the kitchen-pot, immediately smelt all the dishes that were cooking on
every hearth in the city.--This, you see, was something quite different
from the rose.
[Illustration: AND HE WEPT LIKE A CHILD]
Now the Princess happened to walk that way; and when she heard the tune,
she stood quite still, and seemed pleased; for she could play ‘Lieber
Augustin’; it was the only piece she knew; and she played it with one
finger.
‘Why, there is my piece,’ said the Princess; ‘that swineherd must
certainly have been well educated! Go in and ask him the price of the
instrument.’
So one of the court ladies must run in; however, she drew on wooden
slippers first.
‘What will you take for the kitchen-pot?’ said the lady.
‘I will have ten kisses from the Princess,’ said the swineherd.
‘Yes, indeed!’ said the lady.
‘I cannot sell it for less,’ rejoined the swineherd.
‘He is an impudent fellow!’ said the Princess, and she walked on; but
when she had gone a little way, the bells tinkled so prettily,
‘Ach! du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg!’
‘Stay,’ said the Princess. ‘Ask him if he will have ten kisses from the
ladies of my court.’
‘No, thank you!’ said the swineherd, ‘ten kisses from the Princess, or I
keep the kitchen-pot myself.’
‘That must not be either!’ said the Princess; ‘but do you all stand
before me that no one may see us.’
And the court-ladies placed themselves in front of her, and spread out
their dresses: the swineherd got ten kisses, and the Princess--the
kitchen-pot.
That was delightful! the pot was boiling the whole evening, and the
whole of the following day. They knew perfectly well what was cooking at
every fire throughout the city, from the chamberlain’s to the cobbler’s:
the court ladies danced, and clapped their hands.
‘We know who has soup, and who has pancakes for dinner to-day; who has
cutlets, and who has eggs. How interesting!’
‘Yes, but keep my secret, for I am an Emperor’s daughter.’
[Illustration: ‘ACH! DU LIEBER AUGUSTIN’]
The swineherd--that is to say, the Prince, for no one knew that he was
other than an ill-favoured swineherd--let not a day pass without working
at something; he at last constructed a rattle, which, when it was swung
round, played all the waltzes and jig-tunes which have ever been heard
since the creation of the world.
‘Ah, that is _superbe_!’ said the Princess when she passed by. ‘I have
never heard prettier compositions! Go in and ask him the price of the
instrument; but mind, he shall have no more kisses!’
‘He will have a hundred kisses from the Princess!’ said the lady who had
been to ask.
‘I think he is not in his right senses!’ said the Princess, and walked
on; but when she had gone a little way, she stopped again. ‘One must
encourage art,’ said she. ‘I am the Emperor’s daughter. Tell him he
shall, as on yesterday, have ten kisses from me, and may take the rest
from the ladies of the court.’
‘Oh!--but we should not like that at all!’ said they. ‘What are you
muttering?’ asked the Princess; ‘if I can kiss him, surely you can!
Remember that you owe everything to me.’ So the ladies were obliged to
go to him again.
‘A hundred kisses from the Princess!’ said he, ‘or else let every one
keep his own.’
‘Stand round!’ said she; and all the ladies stood round her whilst the
kissing was going on.
‘What can be the reason for such a crowd close by the pig-sty?’ said the
Emperor, who happened just then to step out on the balcony; he rubbed
his eyes and put on his spectacles. ‘They are the ladies of the court; I
must go down and see what they are about!’ So he pulled up his slippers
at the heel, for he had trodden them down.
As soon as he had got into the court-yard, he moved very softly, and the
ladies were so much engrossed with counting the kisses that all might go
on fairly, that they did not perceive the Emperor. He rose on his
tiptoes.
‘What is all this?’ said he, when he saw what was going on, and he boxed
the Princess’s ears with his slipper, just as the swineherd was taking
the eighty-sixth kiss.
‘March out!’ said the Emperor, for he was very angry; and both Princess
and swineherd were thrust out of the city.
[Illustration]
The Princess now stood and wept, the swineherd scolded, and the rain
poured down.
‘Alas! unhappy creature that I am!’ said the Princess. ‘If I had but
married the handsome young Prince! Ah, how unfortunate I am!’
And the swineherd went behind a tree, washed the black and brown colour
from his face, threw off his dirty clothes, and stepped forth in his
princely robes; he looked so noble that the Princess could not help
bowing before him.
‘I am come to despise thee,’ said he. ‘Thou wouldst not have an
honourable prince! thou couldst not prize the rose and the nightingale,
but thou wast ready to kiss the swineherd for the sake of a trumpery
plaything. Thou art rightly served.’
He then went back to his own little kingdom, and shut the door of his
palace in her face. Now she might well sing
‘Ach! du lieber Augustin,
Alles ist weg, weg, weg!’
[Illustration: UP FLEW THE TRUNK]
THE FLYING TRUNK
There was once a merchant, so rich that he might have paved the whole
street where he lived and an alley besides with pieces of silver, but
this he did not do; he knew another way of using his money, and whenever
he laid out a shilling he gained a crown in return: a merchant he lived,
and a merchant he died.
All his money then went to his son. But the son lived merrily and spent
all his time in pleasures, went to masquerades every evening, made
bank-notes into paper kites, and played at ducks and drakes in the pond
with gold pieces instead of stones. In this manner his money soon
vanished, until at last he had only a few pennies left, and his wardrobe
was reduced to a pair of slippers and an old dressing-gown. His friends
cared no more about him, now that they could no longer walk abroad with
him; one of them, however, more good-natured than the rest, sent him an
old trunk, with this advice, ‘Pack up, and be off!’ This was all very
fine, but he had nothing that he could pack up, so he put himself into
the trunk.
It was a droll trunk! When the lock was pressed close it could fly. The
merchant’s son did press the lock, and lo! up flew the trunk with him
through the chimney, high into the clouds, on and on, higher and higher;
the lower part cracked, which rather frightened him, for if it had
broken in two, a pretty fall he would have had!
However, it descended safely, and he found himself in Turkey. He hid
the trunk under a heap of dry leaves in a wood, and walked into the next
town: he could do so very well, for among the Turks everybody goes about
clad as he was, in dressing-gown and slippers. He met a nurse, carrying
a little child in her arms. ‘Hark ye, Turkish nurse,’ quoth he; ‘what
palace is that with the high windows close by the town?’
[Illustration: THE SON LIVED MERRILY]
‘The King’s daughter dwells there,’ replied the nurse; ‘it has been
prophesied of her that she shall be made very unhappy by a lover, and
therefore no one may visit her, except when the King and Queen are with
her.’
‘Thank you,’ said the merchant’s son, and he immediately went back into
the wood, sat down in his trunk, flew up to the roof of the palace, and
crept through the window into the Princess’s apartment.
She was lying asleep on the sofa. She was so beautiful that the
merchant’s son could not help kneeling down to kiss her hand, whereupon
she awoke, and was not a little frightened at the sight of this
unexpected visitor; but he told her, however, that he was the Turkish
prophet, and had come down from the sky on purpose to woo her, and on
hearing this she was well pleased. So they sat down side by side, and he
talked to her about her eyes, how that they were beautiful dark-blue
seas, and that thoughts and feelings floated like mermaidens therein;
and he spoke of her brow, how that it was a fair snowy mountain, with
splendid halls and pictures, and many other such like things he told
her.
[Illustration: HE MET A NURSE]
Oh, these were charming stories! and thus he wooed the Princess, and she
immediately said ‘Yes!’
‘But you must come here on Saturday,’ said she; ‘the King and Queen have
promised to drink tea with me that evening; they will be so proud and
so pleased when they hear that I am to marry the Turkish prophet! And
mind you tell them a very pretty story, for they are exceedingly fond of
stories; my mother likes them to be very moral and aristocratic, and my
father likes them to be merry, so as to make him laugh.’
‘Yes, I shall bring no other bridal present than a tale,’ replied the
merchant’s son; and here they parted, but not before the Princess had
given her lover a sabre all covered with gold. He knew excellently well
what use to make of this present.
So he flew away, bought a new dressing-gown, and then sat down in the
wood to compose the tale which was to be ready by Saturday, and
certainly he found composition not the easiest thing in the world.
At last he was ready, and at last Saturday came.
The King, the Queen, and the whole court were waiting tea for him at the
Princess’s palace. The suitor was received with much ceremony.
‘Will you not tell us a story?’ asked the Queen; ‘a story that is
instructive and full of deep meaning.’
‘But let it make us laugh,’ said the King.
‘With pleasure,’ replied the merchant’s son; and now you must hear his
story:--
* * * * *