The Nightingle

Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

IN China, you know, the emperor is a Chinese, and all
those about him are Chinamen also. The story I am going to
tell you happened a great many years ago, so it is well to
hear it now before it is forgotten. The emperor's palace was
the most beautiful in the world. It was built entirely of
porcelain, and very costly, but so delicate and brittle that
whoever touched it was obliged to be careful. In the garden
could be seen the most singular flowers, with pretty silver
bells tied to them, which tinkled so that every one who passed
could not help noticing the flowers. Indeed, everything in the
emperor's garden was remarkable, and it extended so far that
the gardener himself did not know where it ended. Those who
travelled beyond its limits knew that there was a noble
forest, with lofty trees, sloping down to the deep blue sea,
and the great ships sailed under the shadow of its branches.
In one of these trees lived a nightingale, who sang so
beautifully that even the poor fishermen, who had so many
other things to do, would stop and listen. Sometimes, when
they went at night to spread their nets, they would hear her
sing, and say, "Oh, is not that beautiful?" But when they
returned to their fishing, they forgot the bird until the next
night. Then they would hear it again, and exclaim "Oh, how
beautiful is the nightingale's song!"

Travellers from every country in the world came to the
city of the emperor, which they admired very much, as well as
the palace and gardens; but when they heard the nightingale,
they all declared it to be the best of all. And the
travellers, on their return home, related what they had seen;
and learned men wrote books, containing descriptions of the
town, the palace, and the gardens; but they did not forget the
nightingale, which was really the greatest wonder. And those
who could write poetry composed beautiful verses about the
nightingale, who lived in a forest near the deep sea. The
books travelled all over the world, and some of them came into
the hands of the emperor; and he sat in his golden chair, and,
as he read, he nodded his approval every moment, for it
pleased him to find such a beautiful description of his city,
his palace, and his gardens. But when he came to the words,
"the nightingale is the most beautiful of all," he exclaimed,
"What is this? I know nothing of any nightingale. Is there
such a bird in my empire? and even in my garden? I have never
heard of it. Something, it appears, may be learnt from books."

Then he called one of his lords-in-waiting, who was so
high-bred, that when any in an inferior rank to himself spoke
to him, or asked him a question, he would answer, "Pooh,"
which means nothing.

"There is a very wonderful bird mentioned here, called a
nightingale," said the emperor; "they say it is the best thing
in my large kingdom. Why have I not been told of it?"

"I have never heard the name," replied the cavalier; "she
has not been presented at court."

"It is my pleasure that she shall appear this evening."
said the emperor; the whole world knows what I possess better
than I do myself."

"I have never heard of her," said the cavalier; "yet I
will endeavor to find her."

But where was the nightingale to be found? The nobleman
went up stairs and down, through halls and passages; yet none
of those whom he met had heard of the bird. So he returned to
the emperor, and said that it must be a fable, invented by
those who had written the book. "Your imperial majesty," said
he, "cannot believe everything contained in books; sometimes
they are only fiction, or what is called the black art."

"But the book in which I have read this account," said the
emperor, "was sent to me by the great and mighty emperor of
Japan, and therefore it cannot contain a falsehood. I will
hear the nightingale, she must be here this evening; she has
my highest favor; and if she does not come, the whole court
shall be trampled upon after supper is ended."

"Tsing-pe!" cried the lord-in-waiting, and again he ran up
and down stairs, through all the halls and corridors; and half
the court ran with him, for they did not like the idea of
being trampled upon. There was a great inquiry about this
wonderful nightingale, whom all the world knew, but who was
unknown to the court.

At last they met with a poor little girl in the kitchen,
who said, "Oh, yes, I know the nightingale quite well; indeed,
she can sing. Every evening I have permission to take home to
my poor sick mother the scraps from the table; she lives down
by the sea-shore, and as I come back I feel tired, and I sit
down in the wood to rest, and listen to the nightingale's
song. Then the tears come into my eyes, and it is just as if
my mother kissed me."

"Little maiden," said the lord-in-waiting, "I will obtain
for you constant employment in the kitchen, and you shall have
permission to see the emperor dine, if you will lead us to the
nightingale; for she is invited for this evening to the
palace." So she went into the wood where the nightingale sang,
and half the court followed her. As they went along, a cow
began lowing.

"Oh," said a young courtier, "now we have found her; what
wonderful power for such a small creature; I have certainly
heard it before."

"No, that is only a cow lowing," said the little girl; "we
are a long way from the place yet."

Then some frogs began to croak in the marsh.

"Beautiful," said the young courtier again. "Now I hear
it, tinkling like little church bells."

"No, those are frogs," said the little maiden; "but I
think we shall soon hear her now:" and presently the
nightingale began to sing.

"Hark, hark! there she is," said the girl, "and there she
sits," she added, pointing to a little gray bird who was
perched on a bough.

"Is it possible?" said the lord-in-waiting, "I never
imagined it would be a little, plain, simple thing like that.
She has certainly changed color at seeing so many grand people
around her."

"Little nightingale," cried the girl, raising her voice,
"our most gracious emperor wishes you to sing before him."

"With the greatest pleasure," said the nightingale, and
began to sing most delightfully.

"It sounds like tiny glass bells," said the
lord-in-waiting, "and see how her little throat works. It is
surprising that we have never heard this before; she will be a
great success at court."

"Shall I sing once more before the emperor?" asked the
nightingale, who thought he was present.

"My excellent little nightingale," said the courtier, "I
have the great pleasure of inviting you to a court festival
this evening, where you will gain imperial favor by your
charming song."

"My song sounds best in the green wood," said the bird;
but still she came willingly when she heard the emperor's
wish.

The palace was elegantly decorated for the occasion. The
walls and floors of porcelain glittered in the light of a
thousand lamps. Beautiful flowers, round which little bells
were tied, stood in the corridors: what with the running to
and fro and the draught, these bells tinkled so loudly that no
one could speak to be heard. In the centre of the great hall,
a golden perch had been fixed for the nightingale to sit on.
The whole court was present, and the little kitchen-maid had
received permission to stand by the door. She was not
installed as a real court cook. All were in full dress, and
every eye was turned to the little gray bird when the emperor
nodded to her to begin. The nightingale sang so sweetly that
the tears came into the emperor's eyes, and then rolled down
his cheeks, as her song became still more touching and went to
every one's heart. The emperor was so delighted that he
declared the nightingale should have his gold slipper to wear
round her neck, but she declined the honor with thanks: she
had been sufficiently rewarded already. "I have seen tears in
an emperor's eyes," she said, "that is my richest reward. An
emperor's tears have wonderful power, and are quite sufficient
honor for me;" and then she sang again more enchantingly than
ever.

"That singing is a lovely gift;" said the ladies of the
court to each other; and then they took water in their mouths
to make them utter the gurgling sounds of the nightingale when
they spoke to any one, so thay they might fancy themselves
nightingales. And the footmen and chambermaids also expressed
their satisfaction, which is saying a great deal, for they are
very difficult to please. In fact the nightingale's visit was
most successful. She was now to remain at court, to have her
own cage, with liberty to go out twice a day, and once during
the night. Twelve servants were appointed to attend her on
these occasions, who each held her by a silken string fastened
to her leg. There was certainly not much pleasure in this kind
of flying.

The whole city spoke of the wonderful bird, and when two
people met, one said "nightin," and the other said "gale," and
they understood what was meant, for nothing else was talked
of. Eleven peddlers' children were named after her, but not of
them could sing a note.

One day the emperor received a large packet on which was
written "The Nightingale." "Here is no doubt a new book about
our celebrated bird," said the emperor. But instead of a book,
it was a work of art contained in a casket, an artificial
nightingale made to look like a living one, and covered all
over with diamonds, rubies, and sapphires. As soon as the
artificial bird was wound up, it could sing like the real one,
and could move its tail up and down, which sparkled with
silver and gold. Round its neck hung a piece of ribbon, on
which was written "The Emperor of China's nightingale is poor
compared with that of the Emperor of Japan's."

"This is very beautiful," exclaimed all who saw it, and he
who had brought the artificial bird received the title of
"Imperial nightingale-bringer-in-chief."

"Now they must sing together," said the court, "and what a
duet it will be." But they did not get on well, for the real
nightingale sang in its own natural way, but the artificial
bird sang only waltzes.

"That is not a fault," said the music-master, "it is quite
perfect to my taste," so then it had to sing alone, and was as
successful as the real bird; besides, it was so much prettier
to look at, for it sparkled like bracelets and breast-pins.
Three and thirty times did it sing the same tunes without
being tired; the people would gladly have heard it again, but
the emperor said the living nightingale ought to sing
something. But where was she? No one had noticed her when she
flew out at the open window, back to her own green woods.

"What strange conduct," said the emperor, when her flight
had been discovered; and all the courtiers blamed her, and
said she was a very ungrateful creature.

"But we have the best bird after all," said one, and then
they would have the bird sing again, although it was the
thirty-fourth time they had listened to the same piece, and
even then they had not learnt it, for it was rather difficult.
But the music-master praised the bird in the highest degree,
and even asserted that it was better than a real nightingale,
not only in its dress and the beautiful diamonds, but also in
its musical power. "For you must perceive, my chief lord and
emperor, that with a real nightingale we can never tell what
is going to be sung, but with this bird everything is settled.
It can be opened and explained, so that people may understand
how the waltzes are formed, and why one note follows upon
another."

"This is exactly what we think," they all replied, and
then the music-master received permission to exhibit the bird
to the people on the following Sunday, and the emperor
commanded that they should be present to hear it sing. When
they heard it they were like people intoxicated; however it
must have been with drinking tea, which is quite a Chinese
custom. They all said "Oh!" and held up their forefingers and
nodded, but a poor fisherman, who had heard the real
nightingale, said, "it sounds prettily enough, and the
melodies are all alike; yet there seems something wanting, I
cannot exactly tell what."

And after this the real nightingale was banished from the
empire, and the artificial bird placed on a silk cushion close
to the emperor's bed. The presents of gold and precious stones
which had been received with it were round the bird, and it
was now advanced to the title of "Little Imperial Toilet
Singer," and to the rank of No. 1 on the left hand; for the
emperor considered the left side, on which the heart lies, as
the most noble, and the heart of an emperor is in the same
place as that of other people.

The music-master wrote a work, in twenty-five volumes,
about the artificial bird, which was very learned and very
long, and full of the most difficult Chinese words; yet all
the people said they had read it, and understood it, for fear
of being thought stupid and having their bodies trampled upon.

So a year passed, and the emperor, the court, and all the
other Chinese knew every little turn in the artificial bird's
song; and for that same reason it pleased them better. They
could sing with the bird, which they often did. The
street-boys sang, "Zi-zi-zi, cluck, cluck, cluck," and the
emperor himself could sing it also. It was really most
amusing.

One evening, when the artificial bird was singing its
best, and the emperor lay in bed listening to it, something
inside the bird sounded "whizz." Then a spring cracked.
"Whir-r-r-r" went all the wheels, running round, and then the
music stopped. The emperor immediately sprang out of bed, and
called for his physician; but what could he do? Then they sent
for a watchmaker; and, after a great deal of talking and
examination, the bird was put into something like order; but
he said that it must be used very carefully, as the barrels
were worn, and it would be impossible to put in new ones
without injuring the music. Now there was great sorrow, as the
bird could only be allowed to play once a year; and even that
was dangerous for the works inside it. Then the music-master
made a little speech, full of hard words, and declared that
the bird was as good as ever; and, of course no one
contradicted him.

Five years passed, and then a real grief came upon the
land. The Chinese really were fond of their emperor, and he
now lay so ill that he was not expected to live. Already a new
emperor had been chosen and the people who stood in the street
asked the lord-in-waiting how the old emperor was; but he only
said, "Pooh!" and shook his head.

Cold and pale lay the emperor in his royal bed; the whole
court thought he was dead, and every one ran away to pay
homage to his successor. The chamberlains went out to have a
talk on the matter, and the ladies'-maids invited company to
take coffee. Cloth had been laid down on the halls and
passages, so that not a footstep should be heard, and all was
silent and still. But the emperor was not yet dead, although
he lay white and stiff on his gorgeous bed, with the long
velvet curtains and heavy gold tassels. A window stood open,
and the moon shone in upon the emperor and the artificial
bird. The poor emperor, finding he could scarcely breathe with
a strange weight on his chest, opened his eyes, and saw Death
sitting there. He had put on the emperor's golden crown, and
held in one hand his sword of state, and in the other his
beautiful banner. All around the bed and peeping through the
long velvet curtains, were a number of strange heads, some
very ugly, and others lovely and gentle-looking. These were
the emperor's good and bad deeds, which stared him in the face
now Death sat at his heart.

"Do you remember this?" "Do you recollect that?" they
asked one after another, thus bringing to his remembrance
circumstances that made the perspiration stand on his brow.

"I know nothing about it," said the emperor. "Music!
music!" he cried; "the large Chinese drum! that I may not hear
what they say." But they still went on, and Death nodded like
a Chinaman to all they said. "Music! music!" shouted the
emperor. "You little precious golden bird, sing, pray sing! I
have given you gold and costly presents; I have even hung my
golden slipper round your neck. Sing! sing!" But the bird
remained silent. There was no one to wind it up, and therefore
it could not sing a note.

Death continued to stare at the emperor with his cold,
hollow eyes, and the room was fearfully still. Suddenly there
came through the open window the sound of sweet music.
Outside, on the bough of a tree, sat the living nightingale.
She had heard of the emperor's illness, and was therefore come
to sing to him of hope and trust. And as she sung, the shadows
grew paler and paler; the blood in the emperor's veins flowed
more rapidly, and gave life to his weak limbs; and even Death
himself listened, and said, "Go on, little nightingale, go
on."

"Then will you give me the beautiful golden sword and that
rich banner? and will you give me the emperor's crown?" said
the bird.

So Death gave up each of these treasures for a song; and
the nightingale continued her singing. She sung of the quiet
churchyard, where the white roses grow, where the elder-tree
wafts its perfume on the breeze, and the fresh, sweet grass is
moistened by the mourners' tears. Then Death longed to go and
see his garden, and floated out through the window in the form
of a cold, white mist.

"Thanks, thanks, you heavenly little bird. I know you
well. I banished you from my kingdom once, and yet you have
charmed away the evil faces from my bed, and banished Death
from my heart, with your sweet song. How can I reward you?"

"You have already rewarded me," said the nightingale. "I
shall never forget that I drew tears from your eyes the first
time I sang to you. These are the jewels that rejoice a
singer's heart. But now sleep, and grow strong and well again.
I will sing to you again."

And as she sung, the emperor fell into a sweet sleep; and
how mild and refreshing that slumber was! When he awoke,
strengthened and restored, the sun shone brightly through the
window; but not one of his servants had returned- they all
believed he was dead; only the nightingale still sat beside
him, and sang.

"You must always remain with me," said the emperor. "You
shall sing only when it pleases you; and I will break the
artificial bird into a thousand pieces."

"No; do not do that," replied the nightingale; "the bird
did very well as long as it could. Keep it here still. I
cannot live in the palace, and build my nest; but let me come
when I like. I will sit on a bough outside your window, in the
evening, and sing to you, so that you may be happy, and have
thoughts full of joy. I will sing to you of those who are
happy, and those who suffer; of the good and the evil, who are
hidden around you. The little singing bird flies far from you
and your court to the home of the fisherman and the peasant's
cot. I love your heart better than your crown; and yet
something holy lingers round that also. I will come, I will
sing to you; but you must promise me one thing."

"Everything," said the emperor, who, having dressed
himself in his imperial robes, stood with the hand that held
the heavy golden sword pressed to his heart.

"I only ask one thing," she replied; "let no one know that
you have a little bird who tells you everything. It will be
best to conceal it." So saying, the nightingale flew away.

The servants now came in to look after the dead emperor;
when, lo! there he stood, and, to their astonishment, said,
"Good morning.

[courtesy of Aesopfables.com]

The Shadow

Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

IN very hot climates, where the heat of the sun has great
power, people are usually as brown as mahogany; and in the
hottest countries they are negroes, with black skins. A
learned man once travelled into one of these warm climates,
from the cold regions of the north, and thought he would roam
about as he did at home; but he soon had to change his
opinion. He found that, like all sensible people, he must
remain in the house during the whole day, with every window
and door closed, so that it looked as if all in the house were
asleep or absent. The houses of the narrow street in which he
lived were so lofty that the sun shone upon them from morning
till evening, and it became quite unbearable. This learned man
from the cold regions was young as well as clever; but it
seemed to him as if he were sitting in an oven, and he became
quite exhausted and weak, and grew so thin that his shadow
shrivelled up, and became much smaller than it had been at
home. The sun took away even what was left of it, and he saw
nothing of it till the evening, after sunset. It was really a
pleasure, as soon as the lights were brought into the room, to
see the shadow stretch itself against the wall, even to the
ceiling, so tall was it; and it really wanted a good stretch
to recover its strength. The learned man would sometimes go
out into the balcony to stretch himself also; and as soon as
the stars came forth in the clear, beautiful sky, he felt
revived. People at this hour began to make their appearance in
all the balconies in the street; for in warm climates every
window has a balcony, in which they can breathe the fresh
evening air, which is very necessary, even to those who are
used to a heat that makes them as brown as mahogany; so that
the street presented a very lively appearance. Here were
shoemakers, and tailors, and all sorts of people sitting. In
the street beneath, they brought out tables and chairs,
lighted candles by hundreds, talked and sang, and were very
merry. There were people walking, carriages driving, and mules
trotting along, with their bells on the harness, "tingle,
tingle," as they went. Then the dead were carried to the grave
with the sound of solemn music, and the tolling of the church
bells. It was indeed a scene of varied life in the street. One
house only, which was just opposite to the one in which the
foreign learned man lived, formed a contrast to all this, for
it was quite still; and yet somebody dwelt there, for flowers
stood in the balcony, blooming beautifully in the hot sun; and
this could not have been unless they had been watered
carefully. Therefore some one must be in the house to do this.
The doors leading to the balcony were half opened in the
evening; and although in the front room all was dark, music
could be heard from the interior of the house. The foreign
learned man considered this music very delightful; but perhaps
he fancied it; for everything in these warm countries pleased
him, excepting the heat of the sun. The foreign landlord said
he did not know who had taken the opposite house- nobody was
to be seen there; and as to the music, he thought it seemed
very tedious, to him most uncommonly so.

"It is just as if some one was practising a piece that he
could not manage; it is always the same piece. He thinks, I
suppose, that he will be able to manage it at last; but I do
not think so, however long he may play it."

Once the foreigner woke in the night. He slept with the
door open which led to the balcony; the wind had raised the
curtain before it, and there appeared a wonderful brightness
over all in the balcony of the opposite house. The flowers
seemed like flames of the most gorgeous colors, and among the
flowers stood a beautiful slender maiden. It was to him as if
light streamed from her, and dazzled his eyes; but then he had
only just opened them, as he awoke from his sleep. With one
spring he was out of bed, and crept softly behind the curtain.
But she was gone- the brightness had disappeared; the flowers
no longer appeared like flames, although still as beautiful as
ever. The door stood ajar, and from an inner room sounded
music so sweet and so lovely, that it produced the most
enchanting thoughts, and acted on the senses with magic power.
Who could live there? Where was the real entrance? for, both
in the street and in the lane at the side, the whole ground
floor was a continuation of shops; and people could not always
be passing through them.

One evening the foreigner sat in the balcony. A light was
burning in his own room, just behind him. It was quite
natural, therefore, that his shadow should fall on the wall of
the opposite house; so that, as he sat amongst the flowers on
his balcony, when he moved, his shadow moved also.

"I think my shadow is the only living thing to be seen
opposite," said the learned man; "see how pleasantly it sits
among the flowers. The door is only ajar; the shadow ought to
be clever enough to step in and look about him, and then to
come back and tell me what he has seen. You could make
yourself useful in this way," said he, jokingly; "be so good
as to step in now, will you?" and then he nodded to the
shadow, and the shadow nodded in return. "Now go, but don't
stay away altogether."

Then the foreigner stood up, and the shadow on the
opposite balcony stood up also; the foreigner turned round,
the shadow turned; and if any one had observed, they might
have seen it go straight into the half-opened door of the
opposite balcony, as the learned man re-entered his own room,
and let the curtain fall. The next morning he went out to take
his coffee and read the newspapers.

"How is this?" he exclaimed, as he stood in the sunshine.
"I have lost my shadow. So it really did go away yesterday
evening, and it has not returned. This is very annoying."

And it certainly did vex him, not so much because the
shadow was gone, but because he knew there was a story of a
man without a shadow. All the people at home, in his country,
knew this story; and when he returned, and related his own
adventures, they would say it was only an imitation; and he
had no desire for such things to be said of him. So he decided
not to speak of it at all, which was a very sensible
determination.

In the evening he went out again on his balcony, taking
care to place the light behind him; for he knew that a shadow
always wants his master for a screen; but he could not entice
him out. He made himself little, and he made himself tall; but
there was no shadow, and no shadow came. He said, "Hem,
a-hem;" but it was all useless. That was very vexatious; but
in warm countries everything grows very quickly; and, after a
week had passed, he saw, to his great joy, that a new shadow
was growing from his feet, when he walked in the sunshine; so
that the root must have remained. After three weeks, he had
quite a respectable shadow, which, during his return journey
to northern lands, continued to grow, and became at last so
large that he might very well have spared half of it. When
this learned man arrived at home, he wrote books about the
true, the good, and the beautiful, which are to be found in
this world; and so days and years passed- many, many years.

One evening, as he sat in his study, a very gentle tap was
heard at the door. "Come in," said he; but no one came. He
opened the door, and there stood before him a man so
remarkably thin that he felt seriously troubled at his
appearance. He was, however, very well dressed, and looked
like a gentleman. "To whom have I the honor of speaking?" said
he.

"Ah, I hoped you would recognize me," said the elegant
stranger; "I have gained so much that I have a body of flesh,
and clothes to wear. You never expected to see me in such a
condition. Do you not recognize your old shadow? Ah, you never
expected that I should return to you again. All has been
prosperous with me since I was with you last; I have become
rich in every way, and, were I inclined to purchase my freedom
from service, I could easily do so." And as he spoke he
rattled between his fingers a number of costly trinkets which
hung to a thick gold watch-chain he wore round his neck.
Diamond rings sparkled on his fingers, and it was all real.

"I cannot recover from my astonishment," said the learned
man. "What does all this mean?"

"Something rather unusual," said the shadow; "but you are
yourself an uncommon man, and you know very well that I have
followed in your footsteps ever since your childhood. As soon
as you found that I have travelled enough to be trusted alone,
I went my own way, and I am now in the most brilliant
circumstances. But I felt a kind of longing to see you once
more before you die, and I wanted to see this place again, for
there is always a clinging to the land of one's birth. I know
that you have now another shadow; do I owe you anything? If
so, have the goodness to say what it is."

"No! Is it really you?" said the learned man. "Well, this
is most remarkable; I never supposed it possible that a man's
old shadow could become a human being."

"Just tell me what I owe you," said the shadow, "for I do
not like to be in debt to any man."

"How can you talk in that manner?" said the learned man.
"What question of debt can there be between us? You are as
free as any one. I rejoice exceedingly to hear of your good
fortune. Sit down, old friend, and tell me a little of how it
happened, and what you saw in the house opposite to me while
we were in those hot climates."

"Yes, I will tell you all about it," said the shadow,
sitting down; "but then you must promise me never to tell in
this city, wherever you may meet me, that I have been your
shadow. I am thinking of being married, for I have more than
sufficient to support a family."

"Make yourself quite easy," said the learned man; "I will
tell no one who you really are. Here is my hand,- I promise,
and a word is sufficient between man and man."

"Between man and a shadow," said the shadow; for he could
not help saying so.

It was really most remarkable how very much he had become
a man in appearance. He was dressed in a suit of the very
finest black cloth, polished boots, and an opera crush hat,
which could be folded together so that nothing could be seen
but the crown and the rim, besides the trinkets, the gold
chain, and the diamond rings already spoken of. The shadow
was, in fact, very well dressed, and this made a man of him.
"Now I will relate to you what you wish to know," said the
shadow, placing his foot with the polished leather boot as
firmly as possible on the arm of the new shadow of the learned
man, which lay at his feet like a poodle dog. This was done,
it might be from pride, or perhaps that the new shadow might
cling to him, but the prostrate shadow remained quite quiet
and at rest, in order that it might listen, for it wanted to
know how a shadow could be sent away by its master, and become
a man itself. "Do you know," said the shadow, "that in the
house opposite to you lived the most glorious creature in the
world? It was poetry. I remained there three weeks, and it was
more like three thousand years, for I read all that has ever
been written in poetry or prose; and I may say, in truth, that
I saw and learnt everything."

"Poetry!" exclaimed the learned man. "Yes, she lives as a
hermit in great cities. Poetry! Well, I saw her once for a
very short moment, while sleep weighed down my eyelids. She
flashed upon me from the balcony like the radiant aurora
borealis, surrounded with flowers like flames of fire. Tell
me, you were on the balcony that evening; you went through the
door, and what did you see?"

"I found myself in an ante-room," said the shadow. "You
still sat opposite to me, looking into the room. There was no
light, or at least it seemed in partial darkness, for the door
of a whole suite of rooms stood open, and they were
brilliantly lighted. The blaze of light would have killed me,
had I approached too near the maiden myself, but I was
cautious, and took time, which is what every one ought to do."

"And what didst thou see?" asked the learned man.

"I saw everything, as you shall hear. But- it really is
not pride on my part, as a free man and possessing the
knowledge that I do, besides my position, not to speak of my
wealth- I wish you would say you to me instead of thou."

"I beg your pardon," said the learned man; "it is an old
habit, which it is difficult to break. You are quite right; I
will try to think of it. But now tell me everything that you
saw."

"Everything," said the shadow; "for I saw and know
everything."

"What was the appearance of the inner rooms?" asked the
scholar. "Was it there like a cool grove, or like a holy
temple? Were the chambers like a starry sky seen from the top
of a high mountain?"

"It was all that you describe," said the shadow; "but I
did not go quite in- I remained in the twilight of the
ante-room- but I was in a very good position,- I could see and
hear all that was going on in the court of poetry."

"But what did you see? Did the gods of ancient times pass
through the rooms? Did old heroes fight their battles over
again? Were there lovely children at play, who related their
dreams?"

"I tell you I have been there, and therefore you may be
sure that I saw everything that was to be seen. If you had
gone there, you would not have remained a human being, whereas
I became one; and at the same moment I became aware of my
inner being, my inborn affinity to the nature of poetry. It is
true I did not think much about it while I was with you, but
you will remember that I was always much larger at sunrise and
sunset, and in the moonlight even more visible than yourself,
but I did not then understand my inner existence. In the
ante-room it was revealed to me. I became a man; I came out in
full maturity. But you had left the warm countries. As a man,
I felt ashamed to go about without boots or clothes, and that
exterior finish by which man is known. So I went my own way; I
can tell you, for you will not put it in a book. I hid myself
under the cloak of a cake woman, but she little thought who
she concealed. It was not till evening that I ventured out. I
ran about the streets in the moonlight. I drew myself up to my
full height upon the walls, which tickled my back very
pleasantly. I ran here and there, looked through the highest
windows into the rooms, and over the roofs. I looked in, and
saw what nobody else could see, or indeed ought to see; in
fact, it is a bad world, and I would not care to be a man, but
that men are of some importance. I saw the most miserable
things going on between husbands and wives, parents and
children,- sweet, incomparable children. I have seen what no
human being has the power of knowing, although they would all
be very glad to know- the evil conduct of their neighbors. Had
I written a newspaper, how eagerly it would have been read!
Instead of which, I wrote directly to the persons themselves,
and great alarm arose in all the town I visited. They had so
much fear of me, and yet how dearly they loved me. The
professor made me a professor. The tailor gave me new clothes;
I am well provided for in that way. The overseer of the mint
struck coins for me. The women declared that I was handsome,
and so I became the man you now see me. And now I must say
adieu. Here is my card. I live on the sunny side of the
street, and always stay at home in rainy weather." And the
shadow departed.

"This is all very remarkable," said the learned man.

Years passed, days and years went by, and the shadow came
again. "How are you going on now?" he asked.

"Ah!" said the learned man; "I am writing about the true,
the beautiful, and the good; but no one cares to hear anything
about it. I am quite in despair, for I take it to heart very
much."

"That is what I never do," said the shadow; "I am growing
quite fat and stout, which every one ought to be. You do not
understand the world; you will make yourself ill about it; you
ought to travel; I am going on a journey in the summer, will
you go with me? I should like a travelling companion; will you
travel with me as my shadow? It would give me great pleasure,
and I will pay all expenses."

"Are you going to travel far?" asked the learned man.

"That is a matter of opinion," replied the shadow. "At all
events, a journey will do you good, and if you will be my
shadow, then all your journey shall be paid."

"It appears to me very absurd," said the learned man.

"But it is the way of the world," replied the shadow, "and
always will be." Then he went away.

Everything went wrong with the learned man. Sorrow and
trouble pursued him, and what he said about the good, the
beautiful, and the true, was of as much value to most people
as a nutmeg would be to a cow. At length he fell ill. "You
really look like a shadow," people said to him, and then a
cold shudder would pass over him, for he had his own thoughts
on the subject.

"You really ought to go to some watering-place," said the
shadow on his next visit. "There is no other chance for you. I
will take you with me, for the sake of old acquaintance. I
will pay the expenses of your journey, and you shall write a
description of it to amuse us by the way. I should like to go
to a watering-place; my beard does not grow as it ought, which
is from weakness, and I must have a beard. Now do be sensible
and accept my proposal; we shall travel as intimate friends."

And at last they started together. The shadow was master
now, and the master became the shadow. They drove together,
and rode and walked in company with each other, side by side,
or one in front and the other behind, according to the
position of the sun. The shadow always knew when to take the
place of honor, but the learned man took no notice of it, for
he had a good heart, and was exceedingly mild and friendly.

One day the master said to the shadow, "We have grown up
together from our childhood, and now that we have become
travelling companions, shall we not drink to our good
fellowship, and say thee and thou to each other?"

"What you say is very straightforward and kindly meant,"
said the shadow, who was now really master. "I will be equally
kind and straightforward. You are a learned man, and know how
wonderful human nature is. There are some men who cannot
endure the smell of brown paper; it makes them ill. Others
will feel a shuddering sensation to their very marrow, if a
nail is scratched on a pane of glass. I myself have a similar
kind of feeling when I hear any one say thou to me. I feel
crushed by it, as I used to feel in my former position with
you. You will perceive that this is a matter of feeling, not
pride. I cannot allow you to say thou to me; I will gladly say
it to you, and therefore your wish will be half fulfilled."
Then the shadow addressed his former master as thou.

"It is going rather too far," said the latter, "that I am
to say you when I speak to him, and he is to say thou to me."
However, he was obliged to submit.

They arrived at length at the baths, where there were many
strangers, and among them a beautiful princess, whose real
disease consisted in being too sharp-sighted, which made every
one very uneasy. She saw at once that the new comer was very
different to every one else. "They say he is here to make his
beard grow," she thought; "but I know the real cause, he is
unable to cast a shadow." Then she became very curious on the
matter, and one day, while on the promenade, she entered into
conversation with the strange gentleman. Being a princess, she
was not obliged to stand upon much ceremony, so she said to
him without hesitation, "Your illness consists in not being
able to cast a shadow."

"Your royal highness must be on the high road to recovery
from your illness," said he. "I know your complaint arose from
being too sharp-sighted, and in this case it has entirely
failed. I happen to have a most unusual shadow. Have you not
seen a person who is always at my side? Persons often give
their servants finer cloth for their liveries than for their
own clothes, and so I have dressed out my shadow like a man;
nay, you may observe that I have even given him a shadow of
his own; it is rather expensive, but I like to have things
about me that are peculiar."

"How is this?" thought the princess; "am I really cured?
This must be the best watering-place in existence. Water in
our times has certainly wonderful power. But I will not leave
this place yet, just as it begins to be amusing. This foreign
prince- for he must be a prince- pleases me above all things.
I only hope his beard won't grow, or he will leave at once."

In the evening, the princess and the shadow danced
together in the large assembly rooms. She was light, but he
was lighter still; she had never seen such a dancer before.
She told him from what country she had come, and found he knew
it and had been there, but not while she was at home. He had
looked into the windows of her father's palace, both the upper
and the lower windows; he had seen many things, and could
therefore answer the princess, and make allusions which quite
astonished her. She thought he must be the cleverest man in
all the world, and felt the greatest respect for his
knowledge. When she danced with him again she fell in love
with him, which the shadow quickly discovered, for she had
with her eyes looked him through and through. They danced once
more, and she was nearly telling him, but she had some
discretion; she thought of her country, her kingdom, and the
number of people over whom she would one day have to rule. "He
is a clever man," she thought to herself, "which is a good
thing, and he dances admirably, which is also good. But has he
well-grounded knowledge? that is an important question, and I
must try him." Then she asked him a most difficult question,
she herself could not have answered it, and the shadow made a
most unaccountable grimace.

"You cannot answer that," said the princess.

"I learnt something about it in my childhood," he replied;
"and believe that even my very shadow, standing over there by
the door, could answer it."

"Your shadow," said the princess; "indeed that would be
very remarkable."

"I do not say so positively," observed the shadow; "but I
am inclined to believe that he can do so. He has followed me
for so many years, and has heard so much from me, that I think
it is very likely. But your royal highness must allow me to
observe, that he is very proud of being considered a man, and
to put him in a good humor, so that he may answer correctly,
he must be treated as a man."

"I shall be very pleased to do so," said the princess. So
she walked up to the learned man, who stood in the doorway,
and spoke to him of the sun, and the moon, of the green
forests, and of people near home and far off; and the learned
man conversed with her pleasantly and sensibly.

"What a wonderful man he must be, to have such a clever
shadow!" thought she. "If I were to choose him it would be a
real blessing to my country and my subjects, and I will do
it." So the princess and the shadow were soon engaged to each
other, but no one was to be told a word about it, till she
returned to her kingdom.

"No one shall know," said the shadow; "not even my own
shadow;" and he had very particular reasons for saying so.

After a time, the princess returned to the land over which
she reigned, and the shadow accompanied her.

"Listen my friend," said the shadow to the learned man;
"now that I am as fortunate and as powerful as any man can be,
I will do something unusually good for you. You shall live in
my palace, drive with me in the royal carriage, and have a
hundred thousand dollars a year; but you must allow every one
to call you a shadow, and never venture to say that you have
been a man. And once a year, when I sit in my balcony in the
sunshine, you must lie at my feet as becomes a shadow to do;
for I must tell you I am going to marry the princess, and our
wedding will take place this evening."

"Now, really, this is too ridiculous," said the learned
man. "I cannot, and will not, submit to such folly. It would
be cheating the whole country, and the princess also. I will
disclose everything, and say that I am the man, and that you
are only a shadow dressed up in men's clothes."

"No one would believe you," said the shadow; "be
reasonable, now, or I will call the guards."

"I will go straight to the princess," said the learned
man.

"But I shall be there first," replied the shadow, "and you
will be sent to prison." And so it turned out, for the guards
readily obeyed him, as they knew he was going to marry the
king's daughter.

"You tremble," said the princess, when the shadow appeared
before her. "Has anything happened? You must not be ill
to-day, for this evening our wedding will take place."

"I have gone through the most terrible affair that could
possibly happen," said the shadow; "only imagine, my shadow
has gone mad; I suppose such a poor, shallow brain, could not
bear much; he fancies that he has become a real man, and that
I am his shadow."

"How very terrible," cried the princess; "is he locked
up?"

"Oh yes, certainly; for I fear he will never recover."

"Poor shadow!" said the princess; "it is very unfortunate
for him; it would really be a good deed to free him from his
frail existence; and, indeed, when I think how often people
take the part of the lower class against the higher, in these
days, it would be policy to put him out of the way quietly."

"It is certainly rather hard upon him, for he was a
faithful servant," said the shadow; and he pretended to sigh.

"Yours is a noble character," said the princess, and bowed
herself before him.

In the evening the whole town was illuminated, and cannons
fired "boom," and the soldiers presented arms. It was indeed a
grand wedding. The princess and the shadow stepped out on the
balcony to show themselves, and to receive one cheer more. But
the learned man heard nothing of all these festivities, for he
had already been executed.

[Source: Aesopfables.com]

The Wicked Prince

Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

THERE lived once upon a time a wicked prince whose heart
and mind were set upon conquering all the countries of the
world, and on frightening the people; he devastated their
countries with fire and sword, and his soldiers trod down the
crops in the fields and destroyed the peasants' huts by fire,
so that the flames licked the green leaves off the branches,
and the fruit hung dried up on the singed black trees. Many a
poor mother fled, her naked baby in her arms, behind the still
smoking walls of her cottage; but also there the soldiers
followed her, and when they found her, she served as new
nourishment to their diabolical enjoyments; demons could not
possibly have done worse things than these soldiers! The
prince was of opinion that all this was right, and that it was
only the natural course which things ought to take. His power
increased day by day, his name was feared by all, and fortune
favoured his deeds.

He brought enormous wealth home from the conquered towns,
and gradually accumulated in his residence riches which could
nowhere be equalled. He erected magnificent palaces, churches,
and halls, and all who saw these splendid buildings and great
treasures exclaimed admiringly: "What a mighty prince!" But
they did not know what endless misery he had brought upon
other countries, nor did they hear the sighs and lamentations
which rose up from the debris of the destroyed cities.

The prince often looked with delight upon his gold and his
magnificent edifices, and thought, like the crowd: "What a
mighty prince! But I must have more- much more. No power on
earth must equal mine, far less exceed it."

He made war with all his neighbours, and defeated them.
The conquered kings were chained up with golden fetters to his
chariot when he drove through the streets of his city. These
kings had to kneel at his and his courtiers' feet when they
sat at table, and live on the morsels which they left. At last
the prince had his own statue erected on the public places and
fixed on the royal palaces; nay, he even wished it to be
placed in the churches, on the altars, but in this the priests
opposed him, saying: "Prince, you are mighty indeed, but God's
power is much greater than yours; we dare not obey your
orders."

"Well," said the prince. "Then I will conquer God too."
And in his haughtiness and foolish presumption he ordered a
magnificent ship to be constructed, with which he could sail
through the air; it was gorgeously fitted out and of many
colours; like the tail of a peacock, it was covered with
thousands of eyes, but each eye was the barrel of a gun. The
prince sat in the centre of the ship, and had only to touch a
spring in order to make thousands of bullets fly out in all
directions, while the guns were at once loaded again. Hundreds
of eagles were attached to this ship, and it rose with the
swiftness of an arrow up towards the sun. The earth was soon
left far below, and looked, with its mountains and woods, like
a cornfield where the plough had made furrows which separated
green meadows; soon it looked only like a map with indistinct
lines upon it; and at last it entirely disappeared in mist and
clouds. Higher and higher rose the eagles up into the air;
then God sent one of his numberless angels against the ship.
The wicked prince showered thousands of bullets upon him, but
they rebounded from his shining wings and fell down like
ordinary hailstones. One drop of blood, one single drop, came
out of the white feathers of the angel's wings and fell upon
the ship in which the prince sat, burnt into it, and weighed
upon it like thousands of hundredweights, dragging it rapidly
down to the earth again; the strong wings of the eagles gave
way, the wind roared round the prince's head, and the clouds
around- were they formed by the smoke rising up from the burnt
cities?- took strange shapes, like crabs many, many miles
long, which stretched their claws out after him, and rose up
like enormous rocks, from which rolling masses dashed down,
and became fire-spitting dragons.

The prince was lying half-dead in his ship, when it sank
at last with a terrible shock into the branches of a large
tree in the wood.

"I will conquer God!" said the prince. "I have sworn it:
my will must be done!"

And he spent seven years in the construction of wonderful
ships to sail through the air, and had darts cast from the
hardest steel to break the walls of heaven with. He gathered
warriors from all countries, so many that when they were
placed side by side they covered the space of several miles.
They entered the ships and the prince was approaching his own,
when God sent a swarm of gnats- one swarm of little gnats.
They buzzed round the prince and stung his face and hands;
angrily he drew his sword and brandished it, but he only
touched the air and did not hit the gnats. Then he ordered his
servants to bring costly coverings and wrap him in them, that
the gnats might no longer be able to reach him. The servants
carried out his orders, but one single gnat had placed itself
inside one of the coverings, crept into the prince's ear and
stung him. The place burnt like fire, and the poison entered
into his blood. Mad with pain, he tore off the coverings and
his clothes too, flinging them far away, and danced about
before the eyes of his ferocious soldiers, who now mocked at
him, the mad prince, who wished to make war with God, and was
overcome by a single little gnat.

[courtesy of Aesopfables.com]

The Garden of Paradise

Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen

THERE was once a king's son who had a larger and more
beautiful collection of books than any one else in the world,
and full of splendid copper-plate engravings. He could read
and obtain information respecting every people of every land;
but not a word could he find to explain the situation of the
garden of paradise, and this was just what he most wished to
know. His grandmother had told him when he was quite a little
boy, just old enough to go to school, that each flower in the
garden of paradise was a sweet cake, that the pistils were
full of rich wine, that on one flower history was written, on
another geography or tables; so those who wished to learn
their lessons had only to eat some of the cakes, and the more
they ate, the more history, geography, or tables they knew. He
believed it all then; but as he grew older, and learnt more
and more, he became wise enough to understand that the
splendor of the garden of paradise must be very different to
all this. "Oh, why did Eve pluck the fruit from the tree of
knowledge? why did Adam eat the forbidden fruit?" thought the
king's son: "if I had been there it would never have happened,
and there would have been no sin in the world." The garden of
paradise occupied all his thoughts till he reached his
seventeenth year.

One day he was walking alone in the wood, which was his
greatest pleasure, when evening came on. The clouds gathered,
and the rain poured down as if the sky had been a waterspout;
and it was as dark as the bottom of a well at midnight;
sometimes he slipped over the smooth grass, or fell over
stones that projected out of the rocky ground. Every thing was
dripping with moisture, and the poor prince had not a dry
thread about him. He was obliged at last to climb over great
blocks of stone, with water spurting from the thick moss. He
began to feel quite faint, when he heard a most singular
rushing noise, and saw before him a large cave, from which
came a blaze of light. In the middle of the cave an immense
fire was burning, and a noble stag, with its branching horns,
was placed on a spit between the trunks of two pine-trees. It
was turning slowly before the fire, and an elderly woman, as
large and strong as if she had been a man in disguise, sat by,
throwing one piece of wood after another into the flames.

"Come in," she said to the prince; "sit down by the fire
and dry yourself."

"There is a great draught here," said the prince, as he
seated himself on the ground.

"It will be worse when my sons come home," replied the
woman; "you are now in the cavern of the Winds, and my sons
are the four Winds of heaven: can you understand that?"

"Where are your sons?" asked the prince.

"It is difficult to answer stupid questions," said the
woman. "My sons have plenty of business on hand; they are
playing at shuttlecock with the clouds up yonder in the king's
hall," and she pointed upwards.

"Oh, indeed," said the prince; "but you speak more roughly
and harshly and are not so gentle as the women I am used to."

"Yes, that is because they have nothing else to do; but I
am obliged to be harsh, to keep my boys in order, and I can do
it, although they are so head-strong. Do you see those four
sacks hanging on the wall? Well, they are just as much afraid
of those sacks, as you used to be of the rat behind the
looking-glass. I can bend the boys together, and put them in
the sacks without any resistance on their parts, I can tell
you. There they stay, and dare not attempt to come out until I
allow them to do so. And here comes one of them."

It was the North Wind who came in, bringing with him a
cold, piercing blast; large hailstones rattled on the floor,
and snowflakes were scattered around in all directions. He
wore a bearskin dress and cloak. His sealskin cap was drawn
over his ears, long icicles hung from his beard, and one
hailstone after another rolled from the collar of his jacket.

"Don't go too near the fire," said the prince, "or your
hands and face will be frost-bitten."

"Frost-bitten!" said the North Wind, with a loud laugh;
"why frost is my greatest delight. What sort of a little snip
are you, and how did you find your way to the cavern of the
Winds?"

"He is my guest," said the old woman, "and if you are not
satisfied with that explanation you can go into the sack. Do
you understand me?"

That settled the matter. So the North Wind began to relate
his adventures, whence he came, and where he had been for a
whole month. "I come from the polar seas," he said; "I have
been on the Bear's Island with the Russian walrus-hunters. I
sat and slept at the helm of their ship, as they sailed away
from North Cape. Sometimes when I woke, the storm-birds would
fly about my legs. They are curious birds; they give one flap
with their wings, and then on their outstretched pinions soar
far away.

"Don't make such a long story of it," said the mother of
the winds; "what sort of a place is Bear's Island?"

"A very beautiful place, with a floor for dancing as
smooth and flat as a plate. Half-melted snow, partly covered
with moss, sharp stones, and skeletons of walruses and
polar-bears, lie all about, their gigantic limbs in a state of
green decay. It would seem as if the sun never shone there. I
blew gently, to clear away the mist, and then I saw a little
hut, which had been built from the wood of a wreck, and was
covered with the skins of the walrus, the fleshy side
outwards; it looked green and red, and on the roof sat a
growling bear. Then I went to the sea shore, to look after
birds' nests, and saw the unfledged nestlings opening their
mouths and screaming for food. I blew into the thousand little
throats, and quickly stopped their screaming. Farther on were
the walruses with pig's heads, and teeth a yard long, rolling
about like great worms.

"You relate your adventures very well, my son," said the
mother, "it makes my mouth water to hear you.

"After that," continued the North Wind, "the hunting
commenced. The harpoon was flung into the breast of the
walrus, so that a smoking stream of blood spurted forth like a
fountain, and besprinkled the ice. Then I thought of my own
game; I began to blow, and set my own ships, the great
icebergs sailing, so that they might crush the boats. Oh, how
the sailors howled and cried out! but I howled louder than
they. They were obliged to unload their cargo, and throw their
chests and the dead walruses on the ice. Then I sprinkled snow
over them, and left them in their crushed boats to drift
southward, and to taste salt water. They will never return to
Bear's Island."

"So you have done mischief," said the mother of the Winds.

"I shall leave others to tell the good I have done," he
replied. "But here comes my brother from the West; I like him
best of all, for he has the smell of the sea about him, and
brings in a cold, fresh air as he enters."

"Is that the little Zephyr?" asked the prince.

"Yes, it is the little Zephyr," said the old woman; "but
he is not little now. In years gone by he was a beautiful boy;
now that is all past."

He came in, looking like a wild man, and he wore a
slouched hat to protect his head from injury. In his hand he
carried a club, cut from a mahogany tree in the American
forests, not a trifle to carry.

"Whence do you come?" asked the mother.

"I come from the wilds of the forests, where the thorny
brambles form thick hedges between the trees; where the
water-snake lies in the wet grass, and mankind seem to be
unknown."

"What were you doing there?"

"I looked into the deep river, and saw it rushing down
from the rocks. The water drops mounted to the clouds and
glittered in the rainbow. I saw the wild buffalo swimming in
the river, but the strong tide carried him away amidst a flock
of wild ducks, which flew into the air as the waters dashed
onwards, leaving the buffalo to be hurled over the waterfall.
This pleased me; so I raised a storm, which rooted up old
trees, and sent them floating down the river."

"And what else have you done?" asked the old woman.

"I have rushed wildly across the savannahs; I have stroked
the wild horses, and shaken the cocoa-nuts from the trees.
Yes, I have many stories to relate; but I need not tell
everything I know. You know it all very well, don't you, old
lady?" And he kissed his mother so roughly, that she nearly
fell backwards. Oh, he was, indeed, a wild fellow.

Now in came the South Wind, with a turban and a flowing
Bedouin cloak.

"How cold it is here!" said he, throwing more wood on the
fire. "It is easy to feel that the North Wind has arrived here
before me."

"Why it is hot enough here to roast a bear," said the
North Wind.

"You are a bear yourself," said the other.

"Do you want to be put in the sack, both of you?" said the
old woman. "Sit down, now, on that stone, yonder, and tell me
where you have been."

"In Africa, mother. I went out with the Hottentots, who
were lion-hunting in the Kaffir land, where the plains are
covered with grass the color of a green olive; and here I ran
races with the ostrich, but I soon outstripped him in
swiftness. At last I came to the desert, in which lie the
golden sands, looking like the bottom of the sea. Here I met a
caravan, and the travellers had just killed their last camel,
to obtain water; there was very little for them, and they
continued their painful journey beneath the burning sun, and
over the hot sands, which stretched before them a vast,
boundless desert. Then I rolled myself in the loose sand, and
whirled it in burning columns over their heads. The dromedarys
stood still in terror, while the merchants drew their caftans
over their heads, and threw themselves on the ground before
me, as they do before Allah, their god. Then I buried them
beneath a pyramid of sand, which covers them all. When I blow
that away on my next visit, the sun will bleach their bones,
and travellers will see that others have been there before
them; otherwise, in such a wild desert, they might not believe
it possible."

"So you have done nothing but evil," said the mother.
"Into the sack with you;" and, before he was aware, she had
seized the South Wind round the body, and popped him into the
bag. He rolled about on the floor, till she sat herself upon
him to keep him still.

"These boys of yours are very lively," said the prince.

"Yes," she replied, "but I know how to correct them, when
necessary; and here comes the fourth." In came the East Wind,
dressed like a Chinese.

"Oh, you come from that quarter, do you?" said she; "I
thought you had been to the garden of paradise."

"I am going there to-morrow," he replied; "I have not been
there for a hundred years. I have just come from China, where
I danced round the porcelain tower till all the bells jingled
again. In the streets an official flogging was taking place,
and bamboo canes were being broken on the shoulders of men of
every high position, from the first to the ninth grade. They
cried, 'Many thanks, my fatherly benefactor;' but I am sure
the words did not come from their hearts, so I rang the bells
till they sounded, 'ding, ding-dong.'"

"You are a wild boy," said the old woman; "it is well for
you that you are going to-morrow to the garden of paradise;
you always get improved in your education there. Drink deeply
from the fountain of wisdom while you are there, and bring
home a bottleful for me."

"That I will," said the East Wind; "but why have you put
my brother South in a bag? Let him out; for I want him to tell
me about the phoenix-bird. The princess always wants to hear
of this bird when I pay her my visit every hundred years. If
you will open the sack, sweetest mother, I will give you two
pocketfuls of tea, green and fresh as when I gathered it from
the spot where it grew."

"Well, for the sake of the tea, and because you are my own
boy, I will open the bag."

She did so, and the South Wind crept out, looking quite
cast down, because the prince had seen his disgrace.

"There is a palm-leaf for the princess," he said. "The old
phoenix, the only one in the world, gave it to me himself. He
has scratched on it with his beak the whole of his history
during the hundred years he has lived. She can there read how
the old phoenix set fire to his own nest, and sat upon it
while it was burning, like a Hindoo widow. The dry twigs
around the nest crackled and smoked till the flames burst
forth and consumed the phoenix to ashes. Amidst the fire lay
an egg, red hot, which presently burst with a loud report, and
out flew a young bird. He is the only phoenix in the world,
and the king over all the other birds. He has bitten a hole in
the leaf which I give you, and that is his greeting to the
princess."

"Now let us have something to eat," said the mother of the
Winds. So they all sat down to feast on the roasted stag; and
as the prince sat by the side of the East Wind, they soon
became good friends.

"Pray tell me," said the prince, "who is that princess of
whom you have been talking! and where lies the garden of
paradise?"

"Ho! ho!" said the East Wind, "would you like to go there?
Well, you can fly off with me to-morrow; but I must tell you
one thing- no human being has been there since the time of
Adam and Eve. I suppose you have read of them in your Bible."

"Of course I have," said the prince.

"Well," continued the East Wind, "when they were driven
out of the garden of paradise, it sunk into the earth; but it
retained its warm sunshine, its balmy air, and all its
splendor. The fairy queen lives there, in the island of
happiness, where death never comes, and all is beautiful. I
can manage to take you there to-morrow, if you will sit on my
back. But now don't talk any more, for I want to go to sleep;"
and then they all slept.

When the prince awoke in the early morning, he was not a
little surprised at finding himself high up above the clouds.
He was seated on the back of the East Wind, who held him
faithfully; and they were so high in the air that woods and
fields, rivers and lakes, as they lay beneath them, looked
like a painted map.

"Good morning," said the East Wind. "You might have slept
on a while; for there is very little to see in the flat
country over which we are passing unless you like to count the
churches; they look like spots of chalk on a green board." The
green board was the name he gave to the green fields and
meadows.

"It was very rude of me not to say good-bye to your mother
and your brothers," said the prince.

"They will excuse you, as you were asleep," said the East
Wind; and then they flew on faster than ever.

The leaves and branches of the trees rustled as they
passed. When they flew over seas and lakes, the waves rose
higher, and the large ships dipped into the water like diving
swans. As darkness came on, towards evening, the great towns
looked charming; lights were sparkling, now seen now hidden,
just as the sparks go out one after another on a piece of
burnt paper. The prince clapped his hands with pleasure; but
the East Wind advised him not to express his admiration in
that manner, or he might fall down, and find himself hanging
on a church steeple. The eagle in the dark forests flies
swiftly; but faster than he flew the East Wind. The Cossack,
on his small horse, rides lightly o'er the plains; but lighter
still passed the prince on the winds of the wind.

"There are the Himalayas, the highest mountains in Asia,"
said the East Wind. "We shall soon reach the garden of
paradise now."

Then, they turned southward, and the air became fragrant
with the perfume of spices and flowers. Here figs and
pomegranates grew wild, and the vines were covered with
clusters of blue and purple grapes. Here they both descended
to the earth, and stretched themselves on the soft grass,
while the flowers bowed to the breath of the wind as if to
welcome it. "Are we now in the garden of paradise?" asked the
prince.

"No, indeed," replied the East Wind; "but we shall be
there very soon. Do you see that wall of rocks, and the cavern
beneath it, over which the grape vines hang like a green
curtain? Through that cavern we must pass. Wrap your cloak
round you; for while the sun scorches you here, a few steps
farther it will be icy cold. The bird flying past the entrance
to the cavern feels as if one wing were in the region of
summer, and the other in the depths of winter."

"So this then is the way to the garden of paradise?" asked
the prince, as they entered the cavern. It was indeed cold;
but the cold soon passed, for the East Wind spread his wings,
and they gleamed like the brightest fire. As they passed on
through this wonderful cave, the prince could see great blocks
of stone, from which water trickled, hanging over their heads
in fantastic shapes. Sometimes it was so narrow that they had
to creep on their hands and knees, while at other times it was
lofty and wide, like the free air. It had the appearance of a
chapel for the dead, with petrified organs and silent pipes.
"We seem to be passing through the valley of death to the
garden of paradise," said the prince.

But the East Wind answered not a word, only pointed
forwards to a lovely blue light which gleamed in the distance.
The blocks of stone assumed a misty appearance, till at last
they looked like white clouds in moonlight. The air was fresh
and balmy, like a breeze from the mountains perfumed with
flowers from a valley of roses. A river, clear as the air
itself, sparkled at their feet, while in its clear depths
could be seen gold and silver fish sporting in the bright
water, and purple eels emitting sparks of fire at every
moment, while the broad leaves of the water-lilies, that
floated on its surface, flickered with all the colors of the
rainbow. The flower in its color of flame seemed to receive
its nourishment from the water, as a lamp is sustained by oil.
A marble bridge, of such exquisite workmanship that it
appeared as if formed of lace and pearls, led to the island of
happiness, in which bloomed the garden of paradise. The East
Wind took the prince in his arms, and carried him over, while
the flowers and the leaves sang the sweet songs of his
childhood in tones so full and soft that no human voice could
venture to imitate. Within the garden grew large trees, full
of sap; but whether they were palm-trees or gigantic
water-plants, the prince knew not. The climbing plants hung in
garlands of green and gold, like the illuminations on the
margins of old missals or twined among the initial letters.
Birds, flowers, and festoons appeared intermingled in seeming
confusion. Close by, on the grass, stood a group of peacocks,
with radiant tails outspread to the sun. The prince touched
them, and found, to his surprise, that they were not really
birds, but the leaves of the burdock tree, which shone with
the colors of a peacock's tail. The lion and the tiger, gentle
and tame, were springing about like playful cats among the
green bushes, whose perfume was like the fragrant blossom of
the olive. The plumage of the wood-pigeon glistened like
pearls as it struck the lion's mane with its wings; while the
antelope, usually so shy, stood near, nodding its head as if
it wished to join in the frolic. The fairy of paradise next
made her appearance. Her raiment shone like the sun, and her
serene countenance beamed with happiness like that of a mother
rejoicing over her child. She was young and beautiful, and a
train of lovely maidens followed her, each wearing a bright
star in her hair. The East Wind gave her the palm-leaf, on
which was written the history of the phoenix; and her eyes
sparkled with joy. She then took the prince by the hand, and
led him into her palace, the walls of which were richly
colored, like a tulip-leaf when it is turned to the sun. The
roof had the appearance of an inverted flower, and the colors
grew deeper and brighter to the gazer. The prince walked to a
window, and saw what appeared to be the tree of knowledge of
good and evil, with Adam and Eve standing by, and the serpent
near them. "I thought they were banished from paradise," he
said.

The princess smiled, and told him that time had engraved
each event on a window-pane in the form of a picture; but,
unlike other pictures, all that it represented lived and
moved,- the leaves rustled, and the persons went and came, as
in a looking-glass. He looked through another pane, and saw
the ladder in Jacob's dream, on which the angels were
ascending and descending with outspread wings. All that had
ever happened in the world here lived and moved on the panes
of glass, in pictures such as time alone could produce. The
fairy now led the prince into a large, lofty room with
transparent walls, through which the light shone. Here were
portraits, each one appearing more beautiful than the other-
millions of happy beings, whose laughter and song mingled in
one sweet melody: some of these were in such an elevated
position that they appeared smaller than the smallest rosebud,
or like pencil dots on paper. In the centre of the hall stood
a tree, with drooping branches, from which hung golden apples,
both great and small, looking like oranges amid the green
leaves. It was the tree of knowledge of good and evil, from
which Adam and Eve had plucked and eaten the forbidden fruit,
and from each leaf trickled a bright red dewdrop, as if the
tree were weeping tears of blood for their sin. "Let us now
take the boat," said the fairy: "a sail on the cool waters
will refresh us. But we shall not move from the spot, although
the boat may rock on the swelling water; the countries of the
world will glide before us, but we shall remain still."

It was indeed wonderful to behold. First came the lofty
Alps, snow-clad, and covered with clouds and dark pines. The
horn resounded, and the shepherds sang merrily in the valleys.
The banana-trees bent their drooping branches over the boat,
black swans floated on the water, and singular animals and
flowers appeared on the distant shore. New Holland, the fifth
division of the world, now glided by, with mountains in the
background, looking blue in the distance. They heard the song
of the priests, and saw the wild dance of the savage to the
sound of the drums and trumpets of bone; the pyramids of Egypt
rising to the clouds; columns and sphinxes, overthrown and
buried in the sand, followed in their turn; while the northern
lights flashed out over the extinguished volcanoes of the
north, in fireworks none could imitate.

The prince was delighted, and yet he saw hundreds of other
wonderful things more than can be described. "Can I stay here
forever?" asked he.

"That depends upon yourself," replied the fairy. "If you
do not, like Adam, long for what is forbidden, you can remain
here always."

"I should not touch the fruit on the tree of knowledge,"
said the prince; there is abundance of fruit equally
beautiful."

"Examine your own heart," said the princess, "and if you
do not feel sure of its strength, return with the East Wind
who brought you. He is about to fly back, and will not return
here for a hundred years. The time will not seem to you more
than a hundred hours, yet even that is a long time for
temptation and resistance. Every evening, when I leave you, I
shall be obliged to say, 'Come with me,' and to beckon to you
with my hand. But you must not listen, nor move from your
place to follow me; for with every step you will find your
power to resist weaker. If once you attempted to follow me,
you would soon find yourself in the hall, where grows the tree
of knowledge, for I sleep beneath its perfumed branches. If
you stooped over me, I should be forced to smile. If you then
kissed my lips, the garden of paradise would sink into the
earth, and to you it would be lost. A keen wind from the
desert would howl around you; cold rain fall on your head, and
sorrow and woe be your future lot."

"I will remain," said the prince.

So the East Wind kissed him on the forehead, and said, "Be
firm; then shall we meet again when a hundred years have
passed. Farewell, farewell." Then the East Wind spread his
broad pinions, which shone like the lightning in harvest, or
as the northern lights in a cold winter.

"Farewell, farewell," echoed the trees and the flowers.

Storks and pelicans flew after him in feathery bands, to
accompany him to the boundaries of the garden.

"Now we will commence dancing," said the fairy; and when
it is nearly over at sunset, while I am dancing with you, I
shall make a sign, and ask you to follow me: but do not obey.
I shall be obliged to repeat the same thing for a hundred
years; and each time, when the trial is past, if you resist,
you will gain strength, till resistance becomes easy, and at
last the temptation will be quite overcome. This evening, as
it will be the first time, I have warned you."

After this the fairy led him into a large hall, filled
with transparent lilies. The yellow stamina of each flower
formed a tiny golden harp, from which came forth strains of
music like the mingled tones of flute and lyre. Beautiful
maidens, slender and graceful in form, and robed in
transparent gauze, floated through the dance, and sang of the
happy life in the garden of paradise, where death never
entered, and where all would bloom forever in immortal youth.
As the sun went down, the whole heavens became crimson and
gold, and tinted the lilies with the hue of roses. Then the
beautiful maidens offered to the prince sparkling wine; and
when he had drank, he felt happiness greater than he had ever
known before. Presently the background of the hall opened and
the tree of knowledge appeared, surrounded by a halo of glory
that almost blinded him. Voices, soft and lovely as his
mother's sounded in his ears, as if she were singing to him,
"My child, my beloved child." Then the fairy beckoned to him,
and said in sweet accents, "Come with me, come with me."
Forgetting his promise, forgetting it even on the very first
evening, he rushed towards her, while she continued to beckon
to him and to smile. The fragrance around him overpowered his
senses, the music from the harps sounded more entrancing,
while around the tree appeared millions of smiling faces,
nodding and singing. "Man should know everything; man is the
lord of the earth." The tree of knowledge no longer wept tears
of blood, for the dewdrops shone like glittering stars.

"Come, come," continued that thrilling voice, and the
prince followed the call. At every step his cheeks glowed, and
the blood rushed wildly through his veins. "I must follow," he
cried; "it is not a sin, it cannot be, to follow beauty and
joy. I only want to see her sleep, and nothing will happen
unless I kiss her, and that I will not do, for I have strength
to resist, and a determined will."

The fairy threw off her dazzling attire, bent back the
boughs, and in another moment was hidden among them.

"I have not sinned yet," said the prince, "and I will
not;" and then he pushed aside the boughs to follow the
princess. She was lying already asleep, beautiful as only a
fairy in the garden of paradise could be. She smiled as he
bent over her, and he saw tears trembling out of her beautiful
eyelashes. "Do you weep for me?" he whispered. "Oh weep not,
thou loveliest of women. Now do I begin to understand the
happiness of paradise; I feel it to my inmost soul, in every
thought. A new life is born within me. One moment of such
happiness is worth an eternity of darkness and woe." He
stooped and kissed the tears from her eyes, and touched her
lips with his.

A clap of thunder, loud and awful, resounded through the
trembling air. All around him fell into ruin. The lovely
fairy, the beautiful garden, sunk deeper and deeper. The
prince saw it sinking down in the dark night till it shone
only like a star in the distance beneath him. Then he felt a
coldness, like death, creeping over him; his eyes closed, and
he became insensible.

When he recovered, a chilling rain was beating upon him,
and a sharp wind blew on his head. "Alas! what have I done?"
he sighed; "I have sinned like Adam, and the garden of
paradise has sunk into the earth." He opened his eyes, and saw
the star in the distance, but it was the morning star in
heaven which glittered in the darkness.

Presently he stood up and found himself in the depths of
the forest, close to the cavern of the Winds, and the mother
of the Winds sat by his side. She looked angry, and raised her
arm in the air as she spoke. "The very first evening!" she
said. "Well, I expected it! If you were my son, you should go
into the sack."

"And there he will have to go at last," said a strong old
man, with large black wings, and a scythe in his hand, whose
name was Death. "He shall be laid in his coffin, but not yet.
I will allow him to wander about the world for a while, to
atone for his sin, and to give him time to become better. But
I shall return when he least expects me. I shall lay him in a
black coffin, place it on my head, and fly away with it beyond
the stars. There also blooms a garden of paradise, and if he
is good and pious he will be admitted; but if his thoughts are
bad, and his heart is full of sin, he will sink with his
coffin deeper than the garden of paradise has sunk. Once in
every thousand years I shall go and fetch him, when he will
either be condemned to sink still deeper, or be raised to a
happier life in
the world beyond the stars."

[courtesy of Aesopfables.com]

The Butterfly

THERE was once a butterfly who wished for a bride, and, as
may be supposed, he wanted to choose a very pretty one from
among the flowers. He glanced, with a very critical eye, at
all the flower-beds, and found that the flowers were seated
quietly and demurely on their stalks, just as maidens should
sit before they are engaged; but there was a great number of
them, and it appeared as if his search would become very
wearisome. The butterfly did not like to take too much
trouble, so he flew off on a visit to the daisies. The French
call this flower "Marguerite," and they say that the little
daisy can prophesy. Lovers pluck off the leaves, and as they
pluck each leaf, they ask a question about their lovers; thus:
"Does he or she love me?- Ardently? Distractedly? Very much? A
little? Not at all?" and so on. Every one speaks these words
in his own language. The butterfly came also to Marguerite to
inquire, but he did not pluck off her leaves; he pressed a
kiss on each of them, for he thought there was always more to
be done by kindness.

"Darling Marguerite daisy," he said to her, "you are the
wisest woman of all the flowers. Pray tell me which of the
flowers I shall choose for my wife. Which will be my bride?
When I know, I will fly directly to her, and propose."

But Marguerite did not answer him; she was offended that
he should call her a woman when she was only a girl; and there
is a great difference. He asked her a second time, and then a
third; but she remained dumb, and answered not a word. Then he
would wait no longer, but flew away, to commence his wooing at
once. It was in the early spring, when the crocus and the
snowdrop were in full bloom.

"They are very pretty," thought the butterfly; "charming
little lasses; but they are rather formal."

Then, as the young lads often do, he looked out for the
elder girls. He next flew to the anemones; these were rather
sour to his taste. The violet, a little too sentimental. The
lime-blossoms, too small, and besides, there was such a large
family of them. The apple-blossoms, though they looked like
roses, bloomed to-day, but might fall off to-morrow, with the
first wind that blew; and he thought that a marriage with one
of them might last too short a time. The pea-blossom pleased
him most of all; she was white and red, graceful and slender,
and belonged to those domestic maidens who have a pretty
appearance, and can yet be useful in the kitchen. He was just
about to make her an offer, when, close by the maiden, he saw
a pod, with a withered flower hanging at the end.

"Who is that?" he asked.

"That is my sister," replied the pea-blossom.

"Oh, indeed; and you will be like her some day," said he;
and he flew away directly, for he felt quite shocked.

A honeysuckle hung forth from the hedge, in full bloom;
but there were so many girls like her, with long faces and
sallow complexions. No; he did not like her. But which one did
he like?

Spring went by, and summer drew towards its close; autumn
came; but he had not decided. The flowers now appeared in
their most gorgeous robes, but all in vain; they had not the
fresh, fragrant air of youth. For the heart asks for
fragrance, even when it is no longer young; and there is very
little of that to be found in the dahlias or the dry
chrysanthemums; therefore the butterfly turned to the mint on
the ground. You know, this plant has no blossom; but it is
sweetness all over,- full of fragrance from head to foot, with
the scent of a flower in every leaf.

"I will take her," said the butterfly; and he made her an
offer. But the mint stood silent and stiff, as she listened to
him. At last she said,-

"Friendship, if you please; nothing more. I am old, and
you are old, but we may live for each other just the same; as
to marrying- no; don't let us appear ridiculous at our age."

And so it happened that the butterfly got no wife at all.
He had been too long choosing, which is always a bad plan. And
the butterfly became what is called an old bachelor.

It was late in the autumn, with rainy and cloudy weather.
The cold wind blew over the bowed backs of the willows, so
that they creaked again. It was not the weather for flying
about in summer clothes; but fortunately the butterfly was not
out in it. He had got a shelter by chance. It was in a room
heated by a stove, and as warm as summer. He could exist here,
he said, well enough.

"But it is not enough merely to exist," said he, "I need
freedom, sunshine, and a little flower for a companion."

Then he flew against the window-pane, and was seen and
admired by those in the room, who caught him, and stuck him on
a pin, in a box of curiosities. They could not do more for
him.

"Now I am perched on a stalk, like the flowers," said the
butterfly. "It is not very pleasant, certainly; I should
imagine it is something like being married; for here I am
stuck fast." And with this thought he consoled himself a
little.

"That seems very poor consolation," said one of the plants
in the room, that grew in a pot.

"Ah," thought the butterfly, "one can't very well trust
these plants in pots; they have too much to do with mankind."

[Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen, courtesy of Aesopfables.com]

The Emperor's New Suit

Written by Hans Christian Andersen

MANY, many years ago lived an emperor, who thought so much
of new clothes that he spent all his money in order to obtain
them; his only ambition was to be always well dressed. He did
not care for his soldiers, and the theatre did not amuse him;
the only thing, in fact, he thought anything of was to drive
out and show a new suit of clothes. He had a coat for every
hour of the day; and as one would say of a king "He is in his
cabinet," so one could say of him, "The emperor is in his
dressing-room."

The great city where he resided was very gay; every day
many strangers from all parts of the globe arrived. One day
two swindlers came to this city; they made people believe that
they were weavers, and declared they could manufacture the
finest cloth to be imagined. Their colours and patterns, they
said, were not only exceptionally beautiful, but the clothes
made of their material possessed the wonderful quality of
being invisible to any man who was unfit for his office or
unpardonably stupid.

"That must be wonderful cloth," thought the emperor. "If I
were to be dressed in a suit made of this cloth I should be
able to find out which men in my empire were unfit for their
places, and I could distinguish the clever from the stupid. I
must have this cloth woven for me without delay." And he gave
a large sum of money to the swindlers, in advance, that they
should set to work without any loss of time. They set up two
looms, and pretended to be very hard at work, but they did
nothing whatever on the looms. They asked for the finest silk
and the most precious gold-cloth; all they got they did away
with, and worked at the empty looms till late at night.

"I should very much like to know how they are getting on
with the cloth," thought the emperor. But he felt rather
uneasy when he remembered that he who was not fit for his
office could not see it. Personally, he was of opinion that he
had nothing to fear, yet he thought it advisable to send
somebody else first to see how matters stood. Everybody in the
town knew what a remarkable quality the stuff possessed, and
all were anxious to see how bad or stupid their neighbours
were.

"I shall send my honest old minister to the weavers,"
thought the emperor. "He can judge best how the stuff looks,
for he is intelligent, and nobody understands his office
better than he."

The good old minister went into the room where the
swindlers sat before the empty looms. "Heaven preserve us!" he
thought, and opened his eyes wide, "I cannot see anything at
all," but he did not say so. Both swindlers requested him to
come near, and asked him if he did not admire the exquisite
pattern and the beautiful colours, pointing to the empty
looms. The poor old minister tried his very best, but he could
see nothing, for there was nothing to be seen. "Oh dear," he
thought, "can I be so stupid? I should never have thought so,
and nobody must know it! Is it possible that I am not fit for
my office? No, no, I cannot say that I was unable to see the
cloth."

"Now, have you got nothing to say?" said one of the
swindlers, while he pretended to be busily weaving.

"Oh, it is very pretty, exceedingly beautiful," replied
the old minister looking through his glasses. "What a
beautiful pattern, what brilliant colours! I shall tell the
emperor that I like the cloth very much."

"We are pleased to hear that," said the two weavers, and
described to him the colours and explained the curious
pattern. The old minister listened attentively, that he might
relate to the emperor what they said; and so he did.

Now the swindlers asked for more money, silk and
gold-cloth, which they required for weaving. They kept
everything for themselves, and not a thread came near the
loom, but they continued, as hitherto, to work at the empty
looms.

Soon afterwards the emperor sent another honest courtier
to the weavers to see how they were getting on, and if the
cloth was nearly finished. Like the old minister, he looked
and looked but could see nothing, as there was nothing to be
seen.

"Is it not a beautiful piece of cloth?" asked the two
swindlers, showing and explaining the magnificent pattern,
which, however, did not exist.

"I am not stupid," said the man. "It is therefore my good
appointment for which I am not fit. It is very strange, but I
must not let any one know it;" and he praised the cloth, which
he did not see, and expressed his joy at the beautiful colours
and the fine pattern. "It is very excellent," he said to the
emperor.

Everybody in the whole town talked about the precious
cloth. At last the emperor wished to see it himself, while it
was still on the loom. With a number of courtiers, including
the two who had already been there, he went to the two clever
swindlers, who now worked as hard as they could, but without
using any thread.

"Is it not magnificent?" said the two old statesmen who
had been there before. "Your Majesty must admire the colours
and the pattern." And then they pointed to the empty looms,
for they imagined the others could see the cloth.

"What is this?" thought the emperor, "I do not see
anything at all. That is terrible! Am I stupid? Am I unfit to
be emperor? That would indeed be the most dreadful thing that
could happen to me."

"Really," he said, turning to the weavers, "your cloth has
our most gracious approval;" and nodding contentedly he looked
at the empty loom, for he did not like to say that he saw
nothing. All his attendants, who were with him, looked and
looked, and although they could not see anything more than the
others, they said, like the emperor, "It is very beautiful."
And all advised him to wear the new magnificent clothes at a
great procession which was soon to take place. "It is
magnificent, beautiful, excellent," one heard them say;
everybody seemed to be delighted, and the emperor appointed
the two swindlers "Imperial Court weavers."

The whole night previous to the day on which the
procession was to take place, the swindlers pretended to work,
and burned more than sixteen candles. People should see that
they were busy to finish the emperor's new suit. They
pretended to take the cloth from the loom, and worked about in
the air with big scissors, and sewed with needles without
thread, and said at last: "The emperor's new suit is ready
now."

The emperor and all his barons then came to the hall; the
swindlers held their arms up as if they held something in
their hands and said: "These are the trousers!" "This is the
coat!" and "Here is the cloak!" and so on. "They are all as
light as a cobweb, and one must feel as if one had nothing at
all upon the body; but that is just the beauty of them."

"Indeed!" said all the courtiers; but they could not see
anything, for there was nothing to be seen.

"Does it please your Majesty now to graciously undress,"
said the swindlers, "that we may assist your Majesty in
putting on the new suit before the large looking-glass?"

The emperor undressed, and the swindlers pretended to put
the new suit upon him, one piece after another; and the
emperor looked at himself in the glass from every side.

"How well they look! How well they fit!" said all. "What a
beautiful pattern! What fine colours! That is a magnificent
suit of clothes!"

The master of the ceremonies announced that the bearers of
the canopy, which was to be carried in the procession, were
ready.

"I am ready," said the emperor. "Does not my suit fit me
marvellously?" Then he turned once more to the looking-glass,
that people should think he admired his garments.

The chamberlains, who were to carry the train, stretched
their hands to the ground as if they lifted up a train, and
pretended to hold something in their hands; they did not like
people to know that they could not see anything.

The emperor marched in the procession under the beautiful
canopy, and all who saw him in the street and out of the
windows exclaimed: "Indeed, the emperor's new suit is
incomparable! What a long train he has! How well it fits him!"
Nobody wished to let others know he saw nothing, for then he
would have been unfit for his office or too stupid. Never
emperor's clothes were more admired.

"But he has nothing on at all," said a little child at
last. "Good heavens! listen to the voice of an innocent
child," said the father, and one whispered to the other what
the child had said. "But he has nothing on at all," cried at
last the whole people. That made a deep impression upon the
emperor, for it seemed to him that they were right; but he
thought to himself, "Now I must bear up to the end." And the
chamberlains walked with still greater dignity, as if they
carried the train which did not exist.

[Source: Aesopfables.com]