THE EMPEROR’S NEW CLOTHES(Page 2)

* A.D. 1482-1513
While the conversation turned on this subject, and was
only for a moment interrupted by the arrival of a journal
that contained nothing worth reading, we will just step
out into the antechamber, where cloaks, mackintoshes,
sticks, umbrellas, and shoes, were deposited. Here sat two
female figures, a young and an old one. One might have
thought at first they were servants come to accompany
their mistresses home; but on looking nearer, one soon
saw they could scarcely be mere servants; their forms were
too noble for that, their skin too fine, the cut of their dress
too striking. Two fairies were they; the younger, it is true,
was not Dame Fortune herself, but one of the waitingmaids
of her handmaidens who carry about the lesser good
things that she distributes; the other looked extremely
gloomy—it was Care. She always attends to her own
serious business herself, as then she is sure of having it
done properly.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
24 of 260

They were telling each other, with a confidential
interchange of ideas, where they had been during the day.
The messenger of Fortune had only executed a few
unimportant commissions, such as saving a new bonnet
from a shower of rain, etc.; but what she had yet to
perform was something quite unusual.
‘I must tell you,’ said she, ‘that to-day is my birthday;
and in honor of it, a pair of walking-shoes or galoshes has
been entrusted to me, which I am to carry to mankind.
These shoes possess the property of instantly transporting
him who has them on to the place or the period in which
he most wishes to be; every wish, as regards time or place,
or state of being, will be immediately fulfilled, and so at
last man will be happy, here below.’
‘Do you seriously believe it?’ replied Care, in a severe
tone of reproach. ‘No; he will be very unhappy, and will
assuredly bless the moment when he feels that he has freed
himself from the fatal shoes.’
‘Stupid nonsense!’ said the other angrily. ‘I will put
them here by the door. Some one will make a mistake for
certain and take the wrong ones—he will be a happy
man.’
Such was their conversation.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
25 of 260
II. What Happened to the Councillor
It was late; Councillor Knap, deeply occupied with the
times of King Hans, intended to go home, and malicious
Fate managed matters so that his feet, instead of finding
their way to his own galoshes, slipped into those of
Fortune. Thus caparisoned the good man walked out of
the well-lighted rooms into East Street. By the magic
power of the shoes he was carried back to the times of
King Hans; on which account his foot very naturally sank
in the mud and puddles of the street, there having been in
those days no pavement in Copenhagen.
‘Well! This is too bad! How dirty it is here!’ sighed the
Councillor. ‘As to a pavement, I can find no traces of one,
and all the lamps, it seems, have gone to sleep.’
The moon was not yet very high; it was besides rather
foggy, so that in the darkness all objects seemed mingled
in chaotic confusion. At the next corner hung a votive
lamp before a Madonna, but the light it gave was little
better than none at all; indeed, he did not observe it
before he was exactly under it, and his eyes fell upon the
bright colors of the pictures which represented the wellknown
group of the Virgin and the infant Jesus.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
26 of 260
‘That is probably a wax-work show,’ thought he; ‘and
the people delay taking down their sign in hopes of a late
visitor or two.’
A few persons in the costume of the time of King Hans
passed quickly by him.
‘How strange they look! The good folks come probably
from a masquerade!’
Suddenly was heard the sound of drums and fifes; the
bright blaze of a fire shot up from time to time, and its
ruddy gleams seemed to contend with the bluish light of
the torches. The Councillor stood still, and watched a
most strange procession pass by. First came a dozen
drummers, who understood pretty well how to handle
their instruments; then came halberdiers, and some armed
with cross-bows. The principal person in the procession
was a priest. Astonished at what he saw, the Councillor
asked what was the meaning of all this mummery, and
who that man was.
‘That’s the Bishop of Zealand,’ was the answer.
‘Good Heavens! What has taken possession of the
Bishop?’ sighed the Councillor, shaking his bead. It
certainly could not be the Bishop; even though he was
considered the most absent man in the whole kingdom,
and people told the drollest anecdotes about him.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
27 of 260
Reflecting on the matter, and without looking right or
left, the Councillor went through East Street and across
the Habro-Platz. The bridge leading to Palace Square was
not to be found; scarcely trusting his senses, the nocturnal
wanderer discovered a shallow piece of water, and here
fell in with two men who very comfortably were rocking
to and fro in a boat.
‘Does your honor want to cross the ferry to the
Holme?’ asked they.
‘Across to the Holme!’ said the Councillor, who knew
nothing of the age in which he at that moment was. ‘No,
I am going to Christianshafen, to Little Market Street.’
Both men stared at him in astonishment.
‘Only just tell me where the bridge is,’ said he. ‘It is
really unpardonable that there are no lamps here; and it is
as dirty as if one had to wade through a morass.’
The longer he spoke with the boatmen, the more
unintelligible did their language become to him.
‘I don’t understand your Bornholmish dialect,’ said he
at last, angrily, and turning his back upon them. He was
unable to find the bridge: there was no railway either. ‘It is
really disgraceful what a state this place is in,’ muttered he
to himself. Never had his age, with which, however, he
was always grumbling, seemed so miserable as on this
eBook brought to you by
Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
28 of 260
evening. ‘I’ll take a hackney-coach!’ thought he. But
where were the hackneycoaches? Not one was to be seen.
‘I must go back to the New Market; there, it is to be
hoped, I shall find some coaches; for if I don’t, I shall
never get safe to Christianshafen.’
So off he went in the direction of East Street, and had
nearly got to the end of it when the moon shone forth.
‘God bless me! What wooden scaffolding is that which
they have set up there?’ cried he involuntarily, as he
looked at East Gate, which, in those days, was at the end
of East Street.
He found, however, a little side-door open, and
through this he went, and stepped into our New Market
of the present time. It was a huge desolate plain; some
wild bushes stood up here and there, while across the field
flowed a broad canal or river. Some wretched hovels for
the Dutch sailors, resembling great boxes, and after which
the place was named, lay about in confused disorder on
the opposite bank.
‘I either behold a fata morgana, or I am regularly tipsy,’
whimpered out the Councillor. ‘But what’s this?’
He turned round anew, firmly convinced that he was
seriously ill. He gazed at the street formerly so well known
to him, and now so strange in appearance, and looked at
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
29 of 260
the houses more attentively: most of them were of wood,
slightly put together; and many had a thatched roof.
‘No—I am far from well,’ sighed he; ‘and yet I drank
only one glass of punch; but I cannot suppose it—it was,
too, really very wrong to give us punch and hot salmon
for supper. I shall speak about it at the first opportunity. I
have half a mind to go back again, and say what I suffer.
But no, that would be too silly; and Heaven only knows if
they are up still.’
He looked for the house, but it had vanished.
‘It is really dreadful,’ groaned he with increasing
anxiety; ‘I cannot recognise East Street again; there is not a
single decent shop from one end to the other! Nothing
but wretched huts can I see anywhere; just as if I were at
Ringstead. Ohl I am ill! I can scarcely bear myself any
longer. Where the deuce can the house be? It must be
here on this very spot; yet there is not the slightest idea of
resemblance, to such a degree has everything changed this
night! At all events here are some people up and stirring.
Oh! oh! I am certainly very ill.’
He now hit upon a half-open door, through a chink of
which a faint light shone. It was a sort of hostelry of those
times; a kind of public-house. The room had some
resemblance to the clay-floored halls in Holstein; a pretty
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
30 of 260
numerous company, consisting of seamen, Copenhagen
burghers, and a few scholars, sat here in deep converse
over their pewter cans, and gave little heed to the person
who entered.
‘By your leave!’ said the Councillor to the Hostess,
who came bustling towards him. ‘I’ve felt so queer all of a
sudden; would you have the goodness to send for a
hackney-coach to take me to Christianshafen?’
The woman examined him with eyes of astonishment,
and shook her head; she then addressed him in German.
The Councillor thought she did not understand Danish,
and therefore repeated his wish in German. This, in
connection with his costume, strengthened the good
woman in the belief that he was a foreigner. That he was
ill, she comprehended directly; so she brought him a
pitcher of water, which tasted certainly pretty strong of the
sea, although it had been fetched from the well.
The Councillor supported his head on his hand, drew a
long breath, and thought over all the wondrous things he
saw around him.
‘Is this the Daily News of this evening?’ be asked
mechanically, as he saw the Hostess push aside a large
sheet of paper.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
31 of 260
The meaning of this councillorship query remained, of
course, a riddle to her, yet she handed him the paper
without replying. It was a coarse wood-cut, representing a
splendid meteor ‘as seen in the town of Cologne,’ which
was to be read below in bright letters.
‘That is very old!’ said the Councillor, whom this piece
of antiquity began to make considerably more cheerful.
‘Pray how did you come into possession of this rare print?
It is extremely interesting, although the whole is a mere
fable. Such meteorous appearances are to be explained in
this way—that they are the reflections of the Aurora
Borealis, and it is highly probable they are caused
principally by electricity.’
Those persons who were sitting nearest him and beard
his speech, stared at him in wonderment; and one of them
rose, took off his hat respectfully, and said with a serious
countenance, ‘You are no doubt a very learned man,
Monsieur.’
‘Oh no,’ answered the Councillor, ‘I can only join in
conversation on this topic and on that, as indeed one must
do according to the demands of the world at present.’
‘Modestia is a fine virtue,’ continued the gentleman;
‘however, as to your speech, I must say mihi secus videtur:
yet I am willing to suspend my judicium.’
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
32 of 260
‘May I ask with whom I have the pleasure of speaking?’
asked the Councillor.
‘I am a Bachelor in Theologia,’ answered the
gentleman with a stiff reverence.
This reply fully satisfied the Councillor; the title suited
the dress. ‘He is certainly,’ thought he, ‘some village
schoolmaster-some queer old fellow, such as one still often
meets with in Jutland.’
‘This is no locus docendi, it is true,’ began the clerical
gentleman; ‘yet I beg you earnestly to let us profit by your
learning. Your reading in the ancients is, sine dubio, of
vast extent?’
‘Oh yes, I’ve read a something, to be sure,’ replied the
Councillor. ‘I like reading all useful works; but I do not
on that account despise the modern ones; ‘tis only the
unfortunate ‘Tales of Every-day Life’ that I cannot bear—
we have enough and more than enough such in reality.’
‘‘Tales of Every-day Life?’’ said our Bachelor
inquiringly.
‘I mean those new fangled novels, twisting and
writhing themselves in the dust of commonplace, which
also expect to find a reading public.’
‘Oh,’ exclaimed the clerical gentleman smiling, ‘there is
much wit in them; besides they are read at court. The
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
33 of 260
King likes the history of Sir Iffven and Sir Gaudian
particularly, which treats of King Arthur, and his Knights
of the Round Table; he has more than once joked about it
with his high vassals.’
‘I have not read that novel,’ said the Councillor; ‘it
must be quite a new one, that Heiberg has published
lately.’
‘No,’ answered the theologian of the time of King
Hans: ‘that book is not written by a Heiberg, but was
imprinted by Godfrey von Gehmen.’
‘Oh, is that the author’s name?’ said the Councillor. ‘It
is a very old name, and, as well as I recollect, he was the
first printer that appeared in Denmark.’
‘Yes, he is our first printer,’ replied the clerical
gentleman hastily.
So far all went on well. Some one of the worthy
burghers now spoke of the dreadful pestilence that had
raged in the country a few years back, meaning that of
1484. The Councillor imagined it was the cholera that was
meant, which people made so much fuss about; and the
discourse passed off satisfactorily enough. The war of the
buccaneers of 1490 was so recent that it could not fail
being alluded to; the English pirates had, they said, most
shamefully taken their ships while in the roadstead; and
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
34 of 260
the Councillor, before whose eyes the Herostratic* event
of 1801 still floated vividly, agreed entirely with the others
in abusing the rascally English. With other topics he was
not so fortunate; every moment brought about some new
confusion, and threatened to become a perfect Babel; for
the worthy Bachelor was really too ignorant, and the
simplest observations of the Councillor sounded to him
too daring and phantastical. They looked at one another
from the crown of the head to the soles of the feet; and
when matters grew to too high a pitch, then the Bachelor
talked Latin, in the hope of being better understood—but
it was of no use after all.
* Herostratus, or Eratostratus—an Ephesian, who
wantonly set fire to the famous temple of Diana, in order
to commemorate his name by so uncommon an action.
‘What’s the matter?’ asked the Hostess, plucking the
Councillor by the sleeve; and now his recollection
returned, for in the course of the conversation he had
entirely forgotten all that had preceded it.
‘Merciful God, where am I!’ exclaimed he in agony;
and while he so thought, all his ideas and feelings of
overpowering dizziness, against which he struggled with
the utmost power of desperation, encompassed him with
renewed force. ‘Let us drink claret and mead, and Bremen
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
35 of 260
beer,’ shouted one of the guests—‘and you shall drink
with us!’
Two maidens approached. One wore a cap of two
staring colors, denoting the class of persons to which she
belonged. They poured out the liquor, and made the most
friendly gesticulations; while a cold perspiration trickled
down the back of the poor Councillor.
‘What’s to be the end of this! What’s to become of
me!’ groaned he; but he was
forced, in spite of his opposition, to drink with the rest.
They took hold of the worthy man; who, hearing on
every side that he was intoxicated, did not in the least
doubt the truth of this certainly not very polite assertion;
but on the contrary, implored the ladies and gentlemen
present to procure him a hackney-coach: they, however,
imagined he was talking Russian.
Never before, he thought, had he been in such a coarse
and ignorant company; one might almost fancy the people
had turned heathens again. ‘It is the most dreadful
moment of my life: the whole world is leagued against
me!’ But suddenly it occurred to him that he might stoop
down under the table, and then creep unobserved out of
the door. He did so; but just as he was going, the others
remarked what he was about; they laid hold of him by the
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
36 of 260
legs; and now, happily for him, off fell his fatal shoes—and
with them the charm was at an end.
The Councillor saw quite distinctly before him a
lantern burning, and behind this a large handsome house.
All seemed to him in proper order as usual; it was East
Street, splendid and elegant as we now see it. He lay with
his feet towards a doorway, and exactly opposite sat the
watchman asleep.
‘Gracious Heaven!’ said he. ‘Have I lain here in the
street and dreamed? Yes; ‘tis East Street! How splendid
and light it is! But really it is terrible what an effect that
one glass of punch must have had on me!’
Two minutes later, he was sitting in a hackney-coach
and driving to Frederickshafen. He thought of the distress
and agony he had endured, and praised from the very
bottom of his heart the happy reality—our own time—
which, with all its deficiencies, is yet much better than that
in which, so much against his inclination, he had lately
been.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
37 of 260
III. The Watchman’s Adventure
‘Why, there is a pair of galoshes, as sure as I’m alive!’
said the watchman, awaking from a gentle slumber. ‘They
belong no doubt to the lieutenant who lives over the way.
They lie close to the door.’
The worthy man was inclined to ring and deliver them
at the house, for there was still a light in the window; but
he did not like disturbing the other people in their beds,
and so very considerately he left the matter alone.
‘Such a pair of shoes must be very warm and
comfortable,’ said he; ‘the leather is so soft and supple.’
They fitted his feet as though they had been made for him.
‘‘Tis a curious world we live in,’ continued he,
soliloquizing. ‘There is the lieutenant, now, who might go
quietly to bed if he chose, where no doubt he could
stretch himself at his ease; but does he do it? No; he
saunters up and down his room, because, probably, he has
enjoyed too many of the good things of this world at his
dinner. That’s a happy fellow! He has neither an infirm
mother, nor a whole troop of everlastingly hungry
children to torment him. Every evening he goes to a
party, where his nice supper costs him nothing: would to
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
38 of 260
Heaven I could but change with him! How happy should
I be!’
While expressing his wish, the charm of the shoes,
which he had put on, began to work; the watchman
entered into the being and nature of the lieutenant. He
stood in the handsomely furnished apartment, and held
between his fingers a small sheet of rose-colored paper, on
which some verses were written—written indeed by the
officer himself; for who has not’, at least once in his life,
had a lyrical moment? And if one then marks down one’s
thoughts, poetry is produced. But here was written:
OH, WERE I RICH!
‘Oh, were I rich! Such was my wish, yea
such
When hardly three feet high, I longed for
much.
Oh, were I rich! an officer were I,
With sword, and uniform, and plume so
high.
And the time came, and officer was I!
But yet I grew not rich. Alas, poor me!
Have pity, Thou, who all man’s wants dost
see.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
39 of 260
‘I sat one evening sunk in dreams of bliss,
A maid of seven years old gave me a kiss,
I at that time was rich in poesy
And tales of old, though poor as poor
could be;
But all she asked for was this poesy.
Then was I rich, but not in gold, poor me!
As Thou dost know, who all men’s hearts
canst see.
‘Oh, were I rich! Oft asked I for this boon.
The child grew up to womanhood full
soon.
She is so pretty, clever, and so kind
Oh, did she know what’s hidden in my
mind—
A tale of old. Would she to me were kind!.
But I’m condemned to silence! oh, poor
me!
As Thou dost know, who all men’s hearts
canst see.
‘Oh, were I rich in calm and peace of
mind,
My grief you then would not here written
find!
O thou, to whom I do my heart devote,
Oh read this page of glad days now remote,
A dark, dark tale, which I tonight devote!
eBook brought to you by
Create, view, and edit PDF. Download the free trial version.
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
40 of 260
Dark is the future now. Alas, poor me!
Have pity Thou, who all men’s pains dost
see.’
Such verses as these people write when they are in
love! But no man in his senses ever thinks of printing
them. Here one of the sorrows of life, in which there is
real poetry, gave itself vent; not that barren grief which
the poet may only hint at, but never depict in its detail—
misery and want: that animal necessity, in short, to snatch
at least at a fallen leaf of the bread-fruit tree, if not at the
fruit itself. The higher the position in which one finds
oneself transplanted, the greater is the suffering. Everyday
necessity is the stagnant pool of life—no lovely picture
reflects itself therein. Lieutenant, love, and lack of
money—that is a symbolic triangle, or much the same as
the half of the shattered die of Fortune. This the lieutenant
felt most poignantly, and this was the reason he leant his
head against the window, and sighed so deeply.
‘The poor watchman out there in the street is far
happier than I. He knows not what I term privation. He
has a home, a wife, and children, who weep with him
over his sorrows, who rejoice with him when he is glad.
Oh, far happier were I, could I exchange with him my
being—with his desires and with his hopes perform the
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
41 of 260
weary pilgrimage of life! Oh, he is a hundred times
happier than I!’
In the same moment the watchman was again
watchman. It was the shoes that caused the metamorphosis
by means of which, unknown to himself, he took upon
him the thoughts and feelings of the officer; but, as we
have just seen, he felt himself in his new situation much
less contented, and now preferred the very thing which
but some minutes before he had rejected. So then the
watchman was again watchman.
‘That was an unpleasant dream,’ said he; ‘but ‘twas droll
enough altogether. I fancied that I was the lieutenant over
there: and yet the thing was not very much to my taste
after all. I missed my good old mother and the dear little
ones; who almost tear me to pieces for sheer love.’
He seated himself once more and nodded: the dream
continued to haunt him, for he still had the shoes on his
feet. A falling star shone in the dark firmament.
‘There falls another star,’ said he: ‘but what does it
matter; there are always enough left. I should not much
mind examining the little glimmering things somewhat
nearer, especially the moon; for that would not slip so
easily through a man’s fingers. When we die—so at least
says the student, for whom my wife does the washing—
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
42 of 260
we shall fly about as light as a feather from one such a star
to the other. That’s, of course, not true: but ‘twould be
pretty enough if it were so. If I could but once take a leap
up there, my body might stay here on the steps for what I
care.’
Behold—there are certain things in the world to which
one ought never to give utterance except with the greatest
caution; but doubly careful must one be when we have
the Shoes of Fortune on our feet. Now just listen to what
happened to the watchman.
As to ourselves, we all know the speed produced by the
employment of steam; we have experienced it either on
railroads, or in boats when crossing the sea; but such a
flight is like the travelling of a sloth in comparison with
the velocity with which light moves. It flies nineteen
million times faster than the best race-horse; and yet
electricity is quicker still. Death is an electric shock which
our heart receives; the freed soul soars upwards on the
wings of electricity. The sun’s light wants eight minutes
and some seconds to perform a journey of more than
twenty million of our Danish* miles; borne by electricity,
the soul wants even some minutes less to accomplish the
same flight. To it the space between the heavenly bodies is
not greater than the distance between the homes of our
Andersen’s Fairy Tales
43 of 260
friends in town is for us, even if they live a short way from
each other; such an electric shock in the heart, however,
costs us the use of the body here below; unless, like the
watchman of East Street, we happen to have on the Shoes
of Fortune.