the poor bird and he bent his head down to the surface of the water and awaited death.
But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image-no longer a dark-gray bird, ugly and disagreeable, but a graceful and beautiful swan!
He was born in a duck’s nest in a farmyard but he came from a swan’s egg! He now felt glad. He suffered sorrow and trouble, and it enabled him to enjoy all the pleasure and happiness around him. The great swans swam round the newcomer and stroked his neck with their beaks.
Into the garden presently came some little children and threw bread and cake into the water.
“See,” cried the youngest, “there is a new one;” and the rest were delighted, and ran to their father and mother. They were dancing and clapping their hands and shouting joyously,
“There is another swan here; a new one!”
Then they threw more bread and cake into the water and said,
“The new swan is the most beautiful of all, he is so young and pretty!”
And the old swans bowed their heads before him.
Then he felt quite ashamed and hid his head under his wing. He did not know what to do, he was so happy! But he was not at all proud. They persecuted and despised him for his ugliness, and now the said he was the most beautiful of all the birds! Even the elder tree bent down its boughs into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright.
Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart,
“I never dreamed of such happiness while I was the despised ugly duckling!”
The Emperor’s New Clothes
Many years ago there lived an Emperor who was so monstrous fond of fine new clothes that he spent all his money on it. He wanted to be really smart. He didn’t care about his army, he didn’t didn’t care about his people. He only wanted to show his new clothes. He had a coat for every hour in the day. As people say about a king, that “he’s holding a council”, so in this country they always said, “The Emperor is in his dressing room”.
In the great city where he lived, life was very pleasant. Lots of strangers came there every day; and one day there arrived two swindlers. They said that they were weavers, and said they knew how to make the loveliest dress in the world. Not only were the colours and patterns extraordinarily pretty, but the clothes had this marvellous property: they were invisible to anyone who could not work well or was intolerably stupid.
“Very excellent clothes those must be,” thought the Emperor; “if I put them on, I’ll be able to tell which are the men in my realm who aren’t fit for the posts they hold. I’ll be able to tell clever people from stupid ones[9]. I must have these clothes!”
He gave the two swindlers a large sum in advance, and they began their work. They set up two looms and pretended to be working. But they hadn’t a vestige of anything on the looms. In hot haste they demanded the finest of silk and the best of gold, which they stuffed into their own pockets. And they worked at the bare looms till any hour of the night.
“I want to know how they are working,” thought the Emperor. But to tell the truth he was afraid. Anyone who was stupid or unsuited to his post couldn’t see the dress. Of course, he was sure that he needn’t be afraid for himself. but he decided to send someone else first. Everybody in the whole city knew what a marvellous power was in the dress. So everybody was agog to see how incompetent and how stupid his neighbour was.
“I’ll send my good old minister to the weavers,” thought the Emperor; “he can quite well see everything. He’s an intelligent man, and suited for his post”.
So the old minister went into the hall where the two swindlers were sitting working at the bare loom.
“My God!” thought the old minister. He was staring with all his eyes; “I can’t see anything”; but he didn’t say so.
Both the swindlers begged him to step nearer, and asked if here were not a pretty pattern and beautiful colours. They pointed to the bare looms, and the poor old minister was staring at it, but he couldn’t see anything, because there was nothing.
“Oh God!” thought he; “can I be stupid? I never thought so, and nobody must know it. Can I be unfit for my office? No, no! I won’t say anybody about my defeat”.
“Well, have you nothing to say about it?” said the one who was weaving.
“Oh, it’s charming! Most delightful!” said the old minister. He was looking through his spectacles. “The pattern! The colour! Yes, indeed, I must tell the Emperor I am infinitely pleased with it”.
“We are glad indeed to hear it,” said both the weavers, and proceeded to describe the colours and the uncommon pattern. The old minister listened carefully so as to be able to repeat it when he went back to the Emperor. So he did. The swindlers now demanded more money and more silk and gold for the weaving. They pocketed it all. And, as before, they were weaving at the bare loom.
Very soon, the Emperor sent another honest official over to see the progress. Will the clothes be ready soon? The official was just like the minister. He looked and looked, but there was nothing there but the empty loom. He saw nothing.
“Well, isn’t that fine?” said both the swindlers. They were exhibiting and explaining the lovely patterns that weren’t there at all.
“Stupid, I am not,” thought the man; “it must be my nice post that I’m not fit for? That is a good joke! But I mustn’t tell people anything”.
So he praised the dress which he couldn’t see, and assured the swindlers of his pleasure in the pretty colours and the exquisite pattern.
“Yes, it is positively sweet,” he told the Emperor. Everybody in the city was talking of the splendid dress.
At last the Emperor decided to see it, while it was still on the loom, with many people-among them the two worthy officials. He went over to the two clever swindlers, who were now weaving hard; only without a vestige of a thread.
“Now, is not that magnificent?” said both the worthy officials “Will Your Majesty deign to note the beauty of the pattern and the colours”; and they pointed to the bare loom. They thought all the rest could certainly see the dress.
“What’s the meaning of this?” thought the Emperor. “I can’t see anything! This is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I not fit to be Emperor? That is the most frightful thing”.
“Oh, it’s very pretty, it has my all-highest approval!” said the Emperor. He was nodding complacently and gazing on the empty loom. Of course, he wouldn’t say he could see nothing. The whole of the suite he had with him looked and looked, but saw nothing. However, they said, too: “Oh, it’s very pretty!” And they advised him to put on this splendid new dress on the occasion of a great procession. The procession will take place shortly.
“Magnificent! Exquisite! Excellent!” went from mouth to mouth. The whole company was in the highest state of gratification. The Emperor gave each of the swindlers a knight’s cross and the title of “Gentleman in Weaving”.
The whole night the swindlers sat up, and lit sixteen candles. People could see they were working hard to finish the Emperor’s new clothes. They clipped with scissors in the air, they sewed with a needle without thread-and finally they said: “Look now! The clothes are finished!”
The Emperor with the noblest of his personal attendants came thither himself. Each of the swindlers raised an arm in the air as if holding something up, and said:
“See, here are the hose, this is the coat, this is the mantle, and so on. It is as light as a spider’s web. But that is, of course, the beauty of it”.
“Yes”, said all the attendants. But they couldn’t see anything, for there was absolutely nothing in the room.
“Will Your Imperial Majesty graciously take off your clothes?” said the swindlers. “We can then put