ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES

By Hans Christian Andersen

CONTENTS

The Emperor's New Clothes
The Swineherd
The Real Princess
The Shoes of Fortune
The Fir Tree
The Snow Queen
The Leap-Frog
The Elderbush
The Bell
The Old House
The Happy Family
The Story of a Mother
The False Collar
The Shadow
The Little Match Girl
The Dream of Little Tuk
The Naughty Boy
The Red Shoes

THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES

Many years ago, there was an Emperor who loved new clothes so much that he spent all his money on them. He didn't care about his soldiers at all. He didn't even care about going to the theater or hunting, unless doing so gave him a chance to show off his new clothes. He had a different outfit for every hour of the day. Normally people say of a king, "He is in a meeting with his advisors." But of this Emperor, people always said, "The Emperor is in his closet, choosing clothes."

Life in his capital city was cheerful and busy, and visitors came to the court every day. One day, two swindlers — tricksters pretending to be honest — arrived, calling themselves weavers (people who make cloth). They claimed they could weave the most beautiful cloth imaginable, with gorgeous colors and patterns. But this cloth had a strange, magical quality: it was invisible to anyone who was unfit for their job, or who was simply too foolish to see it.

"That would be wonderful cloth indeed!" thought the Emperor. "If I wore a suit made from it, I could tell which of my men were unfit for their jobs. I could also tell the wise people from the fools! I must have this cloth woven for me right away." So he gave the two weavers a great deal of money to begin their work immediately.

The two fake weavers set up two looms — the frames used for weaving cloth — and pretended to work very hard, though they weren't actually doing anything at all. They asked for the finest silk and the purest gold thread, but instead of using it, they stuffed it into their own bags. Then they kept pretending to work at the empty looms late into the night.

"I wonder how the weavers are getting on with my cloth," the Emperor said to himself after a while. He felt a little uneasy, though, remembering that a fool or someone unfit for his job wouldn't be able to see the fabric at all. He was sure he had nothing to worry about himself — but just in case, he decided to send someone else first to check on the weavers and report back. Meanwhile, everyone in the city had heard about the cloth's strange power, and they were all eager to find out which of their neighbors were wise and which were foolish.

"I'll send my old and trusted minister to see the weavers," the Emperor finally decided. "He's a sensible man, and no one is better suited to judge the cloth than he is."

So the honest old minister went into the hall where the two con men were busily working at their empty looms. "What in the world?" thought the old man, opening his eyes wide. "I can't see any thread on these looms at all!" But he didn't say this out loud.

The tricksters politely invited him to come closer and look at the looms, asking whether he liked the design and whether the colors weren't beautiful — all while pointing at the empty frames. The poor old minister stared and stared, but he couldn't see anything, for the simple reason that there was nothing there. "Could it be," he thought, "that I'm a fool? I've never thought so before, and no one else must find out now. Or could it be that I'm unfit for my job? No, I can't let anyone think that either. I will never admit that I couldn't see the cloth."

"Well, Sir Minister," said one of the swindlers, still pretending to weave. "You haven't told us whether you like the fabric."

"Oh, it's wonderful!" replied the old minister, peering at the loom through his glasses. "This pattern, these colors — yes, I will tell the Emperor at once how beautiful I think it all is."

"We're very grateful," said the impostors, and they went on to describe the colors and the pattern of the imaginary cloth in detail. The old minister listened carefully so he could repeat every word to the Emperor. Then the swindlers asked for even more silk and gold thread, claiming they needed it to finish the job. Of course, they simply stuffed it all into their bags and kept up their pretend work at the empty looms.

Soon the Emperor sent another official to check on the weavers' progress. The very same thing happened to him: he examined the looms from every angle but could see nothing except the bare frames.

"Doesn't the fabric look just as beautiful to you as it did to the minister?" the swindlers asked, making the same gestures as before and describing colors and patterns that didn't exist.

"I'm certainly not stupid!" the man thought to himself. "So I must be unfit for this excellent, well-paid job! How strange — but no one else needs to know." So he praised the fabric he couldn't see and said he was delighted with both the colors and the pattern. "Your Majesty," he reported back to the Emperor, "the cloth the weavers are making is truly magnificent."

Soon the whole city was buzzing with talk about this splendid cloth the Emperor was having made at his own expense.

At last, the Emperor decided to see the amazing fabric for himself while it was still on the loom. He gathered a group of trusted officials — including the two honest men who had already praised the cloth — and went to visit the clever swindlers. As soon as the tricksters saw the Emperor coming, they began working harder than ever, though they still didn't use a single thread.

"Isn't this absolutely magnificent, Your Majesty?" said the two officials who had visited before. "Just look at this design! These colors!" They pointed at the empty looms, fully believing that everyone else could see this incredible craftsmanship.

"What is going on?" the Emperor thought to himself. "I can't see anything at all! This is terrible! Am I a fool? Am I unfit to be Emperor? That would be the worst thing that could happen." But out loud, he said, "Oh, the cloth is charming! I approve completely." He smiled warmly and studied the empty looms closely, since he would never admit — after two of his own officials had praised it so highly — that he couldn't see a thing. All the other people in his group strained their eyes too, trying to spot something on the looms, but they saw no more than anyone else had. Still, they all exclaimed, "Oh, how beautiful!" and urged the Emperor to have a new suit made from this wonderful material for the upcoming parade. "Magnificent! Charming! Excellent!" rang out from every side, and everyone seemed remarkably pleased. The Emperor, caught up in the excitement, gave the swindlers medals to pin to their jackets and the official title "Royal Weavers."

The night before the parade, the two swindlers stayed up all night with sixteen candles burning, making a great show of finishing the Emperor's new suit. They pretended to cut the invisible cloth with scissors and sew it with needles that had no thread. "Look!" they finally announced. "The Emperor's new clothes are ready!"

The Emperor arrived with all his most important lords, and the swindlers raised their arms as though they were holding something up. "Here are your trousers, Your Majesty! Here is the scarf! Here is the robe! The whole outfit is as light as a spiderweb — you'll hardly feel like you're wearing anything at all. That's the special magic of this delicate fabric."

"Yes, indeed!" agreed all the courtiers, even though not one of them could see anything at all.

"If Your Majesty would kindly remove your clothes," said the swindlers, "we will help you into your new suit here, in front of the mirror."

So the Emperor undressed, and the tricksters pretended to dress him in the new clothes, turning him this way and that in front of the mirror.

"How splendid His Majesty looks in his new clothes! What a perfect fit!" everyone cried out. "What a design! What colors! These are truly royal robes!"

"The canopy for the parade is ready and waiting, Your Majesty," announced the chief of ceremonies.

"I'm quite ready," said the Emperor, turning once more in front of the mirror to make it look as though he were carefully admiring his new outfit.

The noblemen who were supposed to carry the Emperor's train reached down and pretended to lift the ends of his robe off the ground, carrying an invisible train, since none of them wanted to seem foolish or unfit for their positions.

So the Emperor walked beneath his tall canopy at the front of the parade, through the streets of his city. The crowds lining the streets and watching from windows all cried out, "Oh! How beautiful are the Emperor's new clothes! What a magnificent train on that robe! How elegantly the scarf hangs!" No one would admit they couldn't see the clothes everyone else was praising, because that would mean confessing they were either foolish or unfit for their job. In fact, none of the Emperor's other outfits had ever impressed people so much as these invisible ones.

"But he doesn't have anything on at all!" said a little child.

"Listen to the innocent truth!" said the child's father, and soon everyone in the crowd was whispering what the child had said.

"He doesn't have anything on!" the crowd finally shouted all together.

The Emperor felt a chill of embarrassment, because he knew they were right. But he thought, "The parade must go on now, no matter what!" So he walked on, holding his head even higher than before, while his attendants continued gravely holding up a train that wasn't there at all.

THE SWINEHERD

Once there was a poor Prince who had a kingdom. It was a very small kingdom — but still large enough to get married on — and he wanted very much to marry.

It was a bit bold of him to simply ask the Emperor's daughter, "Will you marry me?" But that's exactly what he did, because his name was famous everywhere, and a hundred princesses would gladly have said, "Yes, thank you." Let's find out what this particular princess said.

Listen closely!

Where the Prince's father was buried, there grew a rose bush — the most beautiful rose bush imaginable. It only bloomed once every five years, and even then it produced just a single rose. But oh, what a rose it was! Its scent was so sweet that anyone who smelled it forgot all their worries and sorrows.

The Prince also owned a nightingale, a small bird whose song was so lovely it seemed as if every beautiful melody in the world lived inside her tiny throat.

So the Prince decided to send the Princess both the rose and the nightingale. They were placed in large silver boxes and sent to her.

The Emperor had them brought i