HARRY CLARKE
The bold patterns and beautiful designs reveal just how deeply both the Emperor and his courtiers value garments. Display and self-inspection obviously have real significance for this particular monarch.
In the big city where the Emperor lived, there were many distractions. Strangers came and went all the time, and one day two swindlers appeared.3 They claimed to be weavers and said that they knew how to weave the loveliest cloth you could imagine. Not only were the colors and designs they created unusually beautiful, but the clothes made from their fabrics4 also had the amazing ability of becoming invisible to those who were unfit for their posts or just hopelessly stupid.
“Those must be lovely clothes!” thought the Emperor. “If I wore something like that, I could tell which men in my kingdom were unfit for their posts, and I would also be able to tell the smart ones from the stupid ones. Yes, I must have some of that fabric woven for me at once.” And he paid the swindlers a large sum of money so that they could get started at once.
The swindlers assembled a couple of looms and pretended to be working, but there was nothing at all on their looms. Straightaway they demanded the finest silk and the purest gold thread, which they promptly stowed away in their own bags. Then they worked far into the night on their empty looms.
“Well, now, I wonder how the weavers are getting on with their work,” the Emperor thought. But he was beginning to feel some anxiety about the fact that anyone who was stupid or unfit for his post would not be able to see what was being woven. Not that he had any fears about himself—he felt quite confident on that score—but all the same it might be better to send someone else out first, to see how things were progressing. Everyone in town had heard about the cloth’s mysterious power, and they were all eager to discover the incompetence or stupidity of their neighbors.
“I will send my honest old minister to the weavers,” the Emperor thought. “He’s the best person to inspect the cloth, for he has plenty of good sense, and no one is better qualified for his post than he is.”
EDMUND DULAC
The minister tries hard to see the “exquisite” cloth being woven on the loom, although there is, of course, nothing to see. But there is plenty of loot in the trunk by the door.
So off went the good-natured old minister to the workshop where the two swindlers were laboring with all their might at the empty looms. “God save us!” thought the minister, and his eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Why, I can’t see a thing!” But he was careful not to say that out loud.
The two swindlers invited him to take a closer look—didn’t he find the pattern beautiful and the colors lovely? They gestured at the empty frames, but no matter how widely he opened his eyes, he couldn’t see a thing, for there was nothing there. “Good Lord!” he thought. “Is it possible that I’m an idiot? I never once suspected it, and I mustn’t let on that it is a possibility. Can it be that I’m unfit for my post? No, it will never do for me to admit that I can’t see the cloth.”
“Well, why aren’t you saying anything about it?” asked one of the swindlers, who was pretending to be weaving.
“Oh, it’s enchanting! Quite exquisite!” the old minister said, peering over his spectacles. “That pattern and those colors! I shall tell the Emperor right away how much I like it.”
“Ah, we are so glad that you like it,” the weavers replied, and they described the colors and extraordinary patterns in detail. The old minister listened attentively so that he would be able to repeat their description to the Emperor when he returned home—which he duly did.
The swindlers demanded more money, more silk, and more gold thread, which they insisted they needed to keep weaving. They stuffed it all in their own pockets—not a thread was put on the loom—while they went on weaving at the empty frames as before.
After a while, the Emperor sent a second respected official5 to see how the weaving was progressing and to find out when the cloth would be ready. What had happened to the first minister also happened to him. He looked as hard as he could, but since there was nothing there but an empty loom, he couldn’t see a thing.
“There, isn’t this a beautiful piece of cloth!” the swindlers declared, as they described the lovely design that didn’t exist at all.
“I’m not stupid,” thought the man. “This can only mean that I’m not fit for my position. That would be ridiculous, so I’d better not let on.” And so he praised the cloth he could not see and declared that he was delighted with its beautiful hues and lovely patterns. “Yes, it’s quite exquisite,” he said to the Emperor.
The splendid fabric soon became the talk of the town.
And now the Emperor wanted to see the cloth for himself while it was still on the loom. Accompanied by a select group of people, including the two stately old officials who had already been there, he went to visit the crafty swindlers, who were weaving for all they were worth without using a bit of yarn or thread.
“Look, isn’t it magnifique?” the two venerable officials exclaimed. “If Your Majesty will but take a look. What a design! What colors!” And they pointed at the empty loom, feeling sure that all the others could see the cloth.
“What on earth!” thought the Emperor. “I can’t see a thing! This is appalling! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to be Emperor? This is the most horrible thing I can imagine happening to me!”
“Oh, it’s very beautiful!” the Emperor said. “It has our most gracious approval.” And he gave a satisfied nod as he inspected the empty loom. He wasn’t about to say that he couldn’t see a thing. The courtiers who had come with him strained their eyes, but they couldn’t see any more than the others. Still, they all said exactly what the Emperor had said: “Oh, it’s very beautiful!” They advised him to wear his splendid new clothes for the first time in the grand parade that was about to take place. “It’s magnifique!” “Exquisite!” “Superb!”—that’s what you heard over and over again. Everyone was really pleased with the weaving. The Emperor knighted each of the two swindlers and gave them medals to wear in their buttonholes, along with the title Imperial Weaver.
On the eve of the parade, the rogues sat up all night with more than sixteen candles burning. Everyone could see how busy they were finishing the Emperor’s new clothes. They pretended to remove the cloth from the loom; they cut the air with big scissors; and they sewed with needles that had no thread. Then at last they announced: “There! The Emperor’s clothes are ready at last!”
The Emperor, with his most distinguished courtiers, went in person to the weavers, who each stretched out an arm as if holding something up and said: “Just look at these trousers! Here is the jacket! This is the cloak.” And so on. “They are all as light as spiderwebs.6 You can hardly tell you are wearing anything—that’s the virtue of this delicate cloth.”
“Yes, indeed,” the courtiers declared. But they were unable to see a thing, for there was absolutely nothing there.
“Now, would it please His Imperial Majesty to remove his clothes?” asked the swindlers. “Then we can fit you with the new ones, over there in front of the long mirror.”
And so the Emperor took off the clothes he was wearing, and the swindlers pretended to hand him each of the new garments they claimed to have made, and they held him at the waist as if they were attaching something . . . it was his train. And the Emperor twisted and turned in front of the mirror.7
“Goodness! How splendid His Majesty looks in the new clothes. What a perfect fit!” they all exclaimed. “What patterns! What colors! What priceless attire!”
The master of ceremonies came in with an announcement. “The canopy for the parade is ready and waiting for Your Majesty.”
“I am quite ready,” said the Emperor. “The clothes suit me well, don’t they!” And he turned around one last time in front of the mirror, trying to look as if he were examining his fine new clothing.
The chamberlains who were supposed to carry the train groped around on the floor as if they were picking it up. A
s they walked, they held out their hands, not daring to let on that they couldn’t see anything.
HARRY CLARKE
An effete Emperor, wearing red stockings, admires himself before a mirror that is also the aperture through which we see him. The floral shape of the image, the intricate black and white patterns in the frame, and the decorative effect of the courtiers’ clothing create an image of vibrant beauty even if vanity is mocked.
EDMUND DULAC
The proud Emperor struts through the streets in his underwear, putting himself on display to enact the role of vain fool. A child to the far left of the crowd is about to declare that the Emperor has no clothes.
The Emperor marched in the parade under the lovely canopy,8 and everyone in the streets and at the windows said: “Goodness! The Emperor’s new clothes are the finest he has ever worn. What a lovely train on his coat! What a perfect fit!” People were not willing to let on that there was nothing at all to see, because that would have meant they were either unfit for their posts or very stupid. Never had the Emperor’s clothes made such a great impression.9
“But he isn’t wearing anything at all!” a little child declared.10
“Goodness gracious! Did you hear the voice of that innocent child!” cried the father. And the child’s remark was whispered from one person to the next.
“Yes, he isn’t wearing anything at all!” the crowd shouted at last. And the Emperor cringed, for he was beginning to suspect that everyone was right. But then he realized: “I must go through with it now, parade and all.”11 And he drew himself up even more proudly than before, while his chamberlains walked behind him carrying the train that was not there at all.
W. HEATH ROBINSON
The fleet-footed swindlers flee, one carrying a substantial bag of loot on his back. Unlike the unfortunate Emperor, they end up with more at the end of the story than they had at the beginning.
ARTHUR RACKHAM
The faces of observers register the shock of “discovering” that the Emperor is wearing no clothes. Jaws drop, fingers point, hands cover snickers, and ears strain to listen while the child at the center of the variegated crowd speaks truth to power.
ARTHUR RACKHAM
A naked Emperor, protected from full revelation through the medium of the silhouette, walks through the cobblestoned street while two chamberlains carefully lift the train that is “not there at all.”
1. The Emperor’s New Clothes. The phrase “Emperor’s new clothes” has become a “byword for human vanity” (Allen, 12) but also a way of describing anything that is pretentious, pompous, and ostentatious with no substance to it. Making its way into newspaper articles, literary works, congressional records, legal proceedings, and academic articles, it has established a certain authoritative descriptive power and currently appears in the titles of nearly two dozen books in print.
2. show off his new clothes. For Andersen, vanity was the cardinal sin of human nature, and it often manifests itself as pride in shoes and clothing. Excessive attachment to dress appears particularly absurd and signals deep self-absorption when a monarch allows it to interfere with his royal duties. The portrait of the Emperor has been seen by some critics as an effort by Andersen to get revenge on those above him in social rank by mocking their vanity and affectations. Tall and gawky, Andersen was always self-conscious about his physical appearance and felt wounded by the frequent reminders, even after he had achieved literary fame, that he occupied a social position inferior to those with whom he mingled.
3. two swindlers appeared. The two charlatans belong to a rich folkloric tradition of tricksters who get the better of naïve villagers or townspeople. In this case, the swindlers know exactly how to play on the insecurities and weaknesses of the upper crust. In the acknowledged Spanish literary source for the tale, a fourteenth-century cautionary tale by Infante Don Juan Manuel, a magical cloth is visible only to those who are of legitimate birth. The notion of legitimacy is transplanted from the biological sphere to the bureaucratic realm, for in Andersen’s reworking of the tale, those who cannot see the clothes are “unfit for their posts.”
Although this tale has not been associated with oral storytelling traditions, Andersen mines a rich folkloric vein that tells of rogues turning the tables on royalty and tricksters outwitting merchants, clergymen, and innkeepers. The swindlers succeed in taking advantage of the Emperor’s vanity, but the tale also takes a moral turn and puts the spotlight on a social virtue. The final tableau does not show the clever swindlers hightailing it out of town with their ill-gotten gains but focuses instead on the child, who has the courage to speak truth to power.
The folklorist Archer Taylor has argued that tales in which swindlers fashion clothes, hats, or pictures that can be seen only by those of legitimate birth or rank failed to take root in popular oral traditions. “Possibly the tale points a moral too obviously,” he added, “and the moral, that it is possible to fool all of the people some of the time, is too bitter a pill” (Taylor, 27).
4. the clothes made from their fabrics. The fabric “woven” by the swindlers allegedly possesses both beauty (it has impressive colors and patterns) and magical qualities (it is not visible to those “unfit for their posts” or to those who are stupid). It may be produced by charlatans, but those charlatans also set up looms and work “very busily.” Andersen’s weavers, Hollis Robbins points out in her superb study of the story, are merely insisting that “the value of their labor be recognized apart from its material embodiment” (Robbins, 663). The invisible cloth may never manifest itself in material terms, but the description of its beauty (“exquisite” and “as light as spiderwebs”) turns it into one of the most wondrous objects found in Andersen’s fairy tales. As the story unfolds, the cloth is coaxed into being with each new description of its wondrous beauty and with each new pantomime in which it is woven, cut, sewn, worn, and carried. The swindlers can be read as artists who, in an ironic twist, create beauty visible only to those who are beyond materialism.
5. a second respected official. The two officials experience employment anxiety that has historical roots in the administrative changes taking place in the 1820s and 1830s in Denmark. Under increasing pressure to liberalize their policies and put an end to aristocratic privilege, older bureaucrats, in an effort to retain their positions, joined forces with their younger colleagues in the reform movements sweeping Europe. In “The Nightingale,” “The Bell,” and “The Snow Queen,” Andersen mocks the creation of grandiose titles and positions to elevate ordinary people to higher social rank. That did not stop him from feeling flattered and honored whenever he received a medal from royal hands.
6. “They are all as light as spiderwebs.” The invisible cloth is described with verbal art, the one medium that can succeed in giving it substance. Elaine Scarry, in Dreaming by the Book,describes the principle at stake in creating the ghost-like presence of objects in the mind’s eye. “Why, when the lights go out and the storytelling begins, is the most compelling tale (most convincing, most believable) a ghost story? . . . The answer is that the story instructs its hearers to create an image whose own properties are second nature to the imagination; it instructs its hearers to depict in the mind something thin, dry, filmy, twodimensional, and without solidity. . . . What is hard is successfully to imagine an object, any object, that does not look like a ghost” (Scarry 1999, 24).
7. the Emperor twisted and turned in front of the mirror. The Emperor’s vanity is further underscored by his preening before the mirror, scrutinizing his appearance and showing that he has eyes only for himself. Ironically, all his twisting and turning does not succeed in making him see what is right before his eyes. Note too that most sins are based on overinvestment in looking—the mirror becomes an emblem of vanity and arrogance because it perversely promotes the cult of gazing at the self.
W. HEATH ROBINSON
A rotund Emperor examines himself in the mirror and proudly declares,“The clothes suit me well, don’t they!”
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sp; 8. The Emperor marched in the parade under the lovely canopy. Freud saw in the Emperor a figure living the classic nightmare of appearing in public without clothes. He viewed the two weavers as a “secondary revision” constructed to conceal the dreamer’s exhibitionistic desire. In The Interpretation of Dreams, Freud explored the sense of exhibitionist glee and abject shame connected with nakedness in remarks that bear on the anxieties aroused by Andersen’s tale: “Only in our childhood was there a time when we were seen by our relatives, as well as by strange nurses, servants and visitors, in a state of insufficient clothing, and at that time we were not ashamed of our nakedness. In the case of many rather older children it may be observed that being undressed has an exciting effect upon them, instead of making them feel ashamed. They laugh, leap about, slap or thump their own bodies; the mother, or whoever is present, scolds them, saying: ‘Fie, that is shameful—you mustn’t do that!’ Children often show a desire to display themselves. . . . In the history of the childhood of neurotics, exposure before children of the opposite sex plays a prominent part; in paranoia the delusion of being observed while dressing and undressing may be directly traced to these experiences; and among those who have remained perverse there is a class in whom the childish impulse is accentuated into a symptom: the class of exhibitionists” (Freud, 143). In this context, it is perhaps worth noting that the title of one biography of Andersen is “Fan Dancer,” suggesting that the author fluctuated between cautious concealment and flagrant self-display.
9. Never had the Emperor’s clothes made such a great impression. The original ending to the tale concluded with the continued self-deception of the Emperor and the collective self-deception of the townspeople: “Certainly none of the Emperor’s various suits had ever made so great an impression as these invisible ones. ‘I must put on the suit whenever I walk in a procession or appear before a gathering of people,’ said the Emperor, and the whole town talked about his wonderful new clothes” (Bredsdorff, 312). The clothing retains a quality that preserves the effect of wonder, even if only for those who have the imaginative power to see the marvelous fabric out of which it is made, producing what one critic has called “a successful enchantment” (Robbins, 668).