Many years ago, there was an Emperor, who was so excessively fond of new
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 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 colors and elaborate patterns, the clothes manufactured from which
should have the wonderful property of remaining invisible to everyone 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,