(1837)
Many any, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much of
new clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain them; his only
ambition was to be always well dressed. He did not care for his soldiers,
and the theatre did not amuse him; the only thing, in fact, he thought
anything of was to drive out and show a new suit of clothes. He had a coat
for every hour of the day; and as one would say of a king “He is in his
cabinet,” so one could say of him, “The emperor is in his dressing-room.”
The great city where he resided was very gay; every day many strangers
from all parts of the globe arrived. One day two swindlers came to this city;
they made people believe that they were weavers, and declared they could
manufacture the finest cloth to be imagined. Their colours and patterns,
they said, were not only exceptionally beautiful, but the clothes made of
their material possessed the wonderful quality of being invisible to any man
who was unfit for his office or unpardonably stupid.
“That must be wonderful cloth,” thought the emperor. “If I were to be
dressed in a suit made of this cloth I should be able to find out which men
in my empire were unfit for their places, and I could distinguish the clever
